She loved the smell of him. The raw earthy smell of him as she pressed her face into his chest, to the threadbare fabric of his shirt, the smell of outdoors, the smell of ink, his cologne, and the smell of a man comfortable with who he was and who he'll always be.

Christine buried her face against him and breathed deeply. She loved the feeling of his arms around her. The feel of his hand stroking the back of her hair, his body pressed hard against hers. She could hear her heart racing, and the strong steady beat of his heart against her ears. Very gently he slid his fingers beneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards and gazed into her eyes. She saw love there, pure adoration. What she saw made her want to cry, such a perfect reflection of the love she felt for him. She stared in anticipation as his head begin to lower. His lips tenderly brushed against hers. He pulled back a little and gave her a smile. That smile that made her heart melt.

"May I have this dance" he asked. His voice was deep and strong and sure of itself. He made a mocking bow, and she pulled back horrified.

" you know you shouldn't be with me in this house. Raoul will be home any minute- he'll be furious if he finds you here"

Eric laughed and circled her waist with one arm.

"don't worry. In that old carriage of his we'll hear him in plenty of time. Besides, its Piangis day off and it'd be a shame to waste it. Come Christine, dance with me."

Before she could protest, he led her in a dizzying waltz, around and around, and around the ballroom, through the hallway and into the parlor, till she was laughing and out of breath. The soft glow of the fireplace cozied the formal austerity of the room- the stiff horsehair sofa, the straight backed chairs, the carved tables of darkly polished maple wood, neatly ordered shelves of leather bound classics, the stern portraits of the De Chagney ancestors stared down in mute disapproval from their place high on the wall. A porcelain clock kept rigid time upon the mantel, but Eric's voice drowned it out as he hummed their own tune, swooping, dipping, and gliding laughing at Christine's happiness. They danced faster and faster, till they both collapsed in a heal before the fire.

For a while they simply lay there side by side, trying to catch their breath. There was no music, no sound at all, save for the clock and the crackling of flames and the soft hiss of falling ash. Christine turned her head to look at him. His face was only inches from hers, and his eyes seemed to draw her into his very soul.

Very slowly he raised himself on one elbow. With his free hand he took the combs from her hair and loosened the bun at the back of her neck spilling her hair around her shoulders. His eyes never left her face. She could feel his breath, faint and warm, upon her cheek , and she could feel his fingertips as they slid down the side of her face, down her neck, as they lingered at the tiny pearl buttons of her dress and began to unfasten them one by one.

" I love you" she whispered, "oh God, Eric, I love you so much"

There was an unbearable ache inside her. As Eric's body shifted, his hands caught each side of her face, and he kissed her deeply, desperately, his lips melting into hers. She could feel the passion; it was more intense with every second, over her eyelids, her cheeks, tracing a pathway down her neck, burning her soft bare skin.

"let me have you. Christine. Please" Eric's voice was husky with emotion, and she clasped her arms tightly around his neck and drew him even closer. "let me take you away from here, Christine, somewhere he'll never be able to hurt you again. You belong to me Christine. Not with him. I can give you the world. Come with me"

At that she was crying, and he was kissing away her tears, and somewhere far off in the distance, yet alarmingly close-too close!-came the sound of creaking carriage wheels and the whine of a horse eager to be home.

Christine chocked back a scream. For one horrible second the two of them pulled apart and stared into each others eyes, where the love and longing abruptly turned into pain.

"you must go" Christine whispered. " If he see's you he'll never let you go. He'll find you" With one deft movement Eric was on his feet pulling her up beside him. He kissed her once more roughly before turning and disappearing through the back of the house. Christine spun just as quickly and started for the stairs. Her fingers worked frantically at her buttons and she nervously gathered her hair back from her flushed cheeks. The combs! Eric had dropped them on the floor by the fire, yet even now she could hear the ponderous tread of Raoul's boots on the front porch, pausing just outside the door as he growled one last order to his lowly stable boy. Christine dashed upstairs. She heard the slam of the front door as she pushed her own door quietly. My sanctuary. For that's how she'd become to think of this room, the only room in this house that was truly her own. A peaceful retreat where she could think, where she could dream her most private dreams. A safe place, a sweet place to hide. There was not the slightest touch of Raoul in here, not the soft lace of the curtains, the gilded oval mirror that once been her mothers, or the polished violin that sat in its case in the corner, especially not the monkey doll with symbols that Eric had presented her when they had first met. Christine sat on her bed and trembled now, one hand at her mouth to hold back a sob. She heard Raoul coming up the stairs towards her room, and she hurriedly situated her self at her dressing table. His knock echoed like a gunshot.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Christine managed a weak "come in".

The suspicion was there, of course, written all over his face. His narrowed eyes swept over the room in one glance, and he walked over to the monkey doll and picked it up turning towards her.

" you know, you never did tell me where you got this hideous thing"

" it was a gift" she whispered.

" are you sick, Christine" he sneered.

Christine responded with a halfhearted nod. She put her fingertips to her temples. " yes my head has been aching since morning, I thought it would pass, but it seems to have gotten worse. Did you finish all your business in town?"

If Raoul De Chagney heard the question, he gave no sign. "well" he mused, "perhaps the pain comes from harboring sinful thoughts." His cold serpent eyes narrowed even more.

"I harbor no sinful thoughts" she answered calmly "how could I, with all the good you've taught me? Piangi left some notes for you on your desk about the next audition. He said he will come speak with you in the morning"

He stalked towards her and placed his hands on her hair. " and where are your combs? The ones you had on this morning at breakfast?"

"oh" Christine's heart jolted in her chest, yet her voice was unperturbed. "I must have left them in the parlor when I was sewing earlier. My head hurt so badly, I had to take them out"

Turning suddenly, Christine looked up and fixed her husband with a tender smile. The simple gesture caught him off guard, as she knew it would . He hesitated, as though searching for suspicions, then gave a curt nod.

" Annette will be spending the night. I wont be needing you this evening. You may spend the night here if you wish"

She turned back to her mirror. She waited as he walked out into the hallway. Then she covered her face with her hands and leaned forward on to the table. It was the door that frightened her. The door slamming suddenly, violently, shuddering the very boards beneath her.

Christine gasped and jumped back. For a split second there was nothing but total darkness around her, but then, as her eyes began to focus, she felt an icy chill run through her veins.

She didn't know where she was. The room around her was cold and silent, as dark as death. There was no furniture of any kind and the sound of her breathing echoed loudly in the emptiness. Christine stood there, rooted to the floor. She glanced over her shoulder and somehow knew that it opened onto the upstairs hall, and that if she walked out and turned to the left there would be the steps leading her back down…..

How did I get here?

She had absolutely no memory of climbing the staircase or finding her way into this room at he very end of the hallway.

"This cant be real" Christine whispered. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her wrists, she clamped her arms tightly around her chest. "this cant be happening."

The very thought of wandering through the opera house unnerved her. The thought of having come to this room she never knew existed, of having come through no choice of her own, as though she were meant to come, as though she belonged.

She screamed as another crash resounded through the house. The door! Someone slammed the door!

For a minute her mind flashed back, and her hands went nervously to her head, searching for-what-something she'd forgotten-something she'd left downstairs, yet almost at the same instant she knew it wasn't a door slamming, not a door at all. It was only the tree outside the window, the tree in the cold relentless wind, pounding against the side of the upstairs room. Christine pressed both her hands to her forehead. What's wrong with me! I must be losing my mind!

The room spun around her.

As she turned to run, she saw a young woman near the window, a young woman staring back, her eyes equally wild with terror. And then, suddenly, Christine burst out laughing. It was a laugh bordering on hysteria, but a laugh nonetheless. She gazed at the far wall, at the grimy mirror that hung there, reflecting her own frightened face. She let out a sigh of relief and instinctively clutched her stomach, willing the queasiness to pass. The mirror was so old and warped, her face scarcely looked human. more like a mask.. Christine thought, as she went closer to examine it. A pale, wavy mask flecked wtith black scabs, like something long dead and decayed.

I sat here and looked at my face, because he loved me. He said I was beautiful.

She remembered then. The dancing, his kisses, the warm strong feel of him, every sight and sound, every raw emotion. Real. Every bit as real as standing her now, as real as the room, as this wall, as this oval of antique glass. Christine gazed deep into her own sad eyes. She held their sorrowful gaze until she noticed a faint movement behind her in the mirror…as though a shadowy figure had stepped forward into the room. Gasping she spun towards the door.

The room was empty; the hallway beyond deserted. With her heart pounding, Christine faced the mirror once more. And still the faint wavering of shadow reflected behind her…while in heavy silence of the room, a deep mournful sign seemed to echo softly from every corner…

"Eric" She murmured.

If she stared hard enough, she could almost see a face looking back at her through the gloom, a young man with coal black hair and midnight eyes.

And if she held her breath, if she listened closely in the eerie quiet she could almost hear him whispering

"Christine…Christine…..please come back to me"

Ok let me begin by saying I AM SO SORRY!

so much has happened since I last posted. I lost my job, found the love of my life, and finished graduate school!

I hope you are all having a wonderful holiday and enjoy this chapter.

I had to write this chapter without a beta, so if anyone is looking to help out please reach out to me!

With love

-Ibis