----Ch. 11------

When she woke, she was on a bed of crushed silk, surrounded by a veiled night. No, just a veil, concealing the room with its stitched darkness. Reaching out to touch the sheer wall, she was surprised when it brushed away like cobwebs. Rolling off her shoulder and sitting up straight, she gazed around as the room began to unfold. She was in a bed, true, but it was shaped like a swan...in truth, it looked as if it once was a swan boat!! Easing herself up and over the edge of the boat bed, she wobbled on unsure legs towards a golden light. She reached out to steady herself on the wall and found it to be made of stone. In fact, as her vision began to clear, she realized that the room in front of her was a cavern carved directly from stone!

"Well, I'm not dead..." She thought to herself, slowly wandering down a flight of stone steps towards the source of the beckoning light. "At least, I don't think I'm dead...which, of course, stands to reason that if I can think then I am not dead...at least, I think that's how it works. Where am I?" Suddenly, a quiet melody reached her ears. It was not the same one that led her to this deadly demise, but it was obviously played by the same hands. As she continued down the stone stairs, she was greeted by not one glowing golden light, but dozens of them!! Candles hovered in brass stands, each stand sprouting at least five or six arms, and every arm supporting a lit candle. She continued on, each of her shaky steps threatening to deposit her onto the cold stone floor, but she couldn't help it. A need urged her on, whether it was to merely find the music or the extravagant player themselves, she was unsure of, but nevertheless, she pressed on.

As she stepped past the last step, a massive organ came into view, its tall pipes with thin ribbons of smoke slithering from their slanted mouths. The very sight of it stopped her movements and stunned her so completely that she did not see the composer at first. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to wander again towards the fantastic and mysterious sight.

"Who are you..." She whispered, her eyes fixed on the figure perched before the elaborate organ.

"I am known by many names. Stranger. Devil. Angel. Spirit. Genius. Madman. Guardian. Musician." He murmured back, refusing to look at her, instead, continuing to play at the organ. She slowly approached him from behind, unsure at first whether or not to join beside him, then rested her hands on the back of his shoulder with a feather-light touch.

"Then I shall know you as my hero." She whispered beside his ear, making him close his eyes in amorousness. She shifted to walk around past him and his organ, and suddenly felt herself fall, a startling pain shooting up her hip. He turned and reached out to catch her, quick as lightning, and she found herself wrapped up in his arms, pressed against him.

"You must be careful..." He murmured to her, easing her upright. "When you fell from the catwalk, I caught you, but you will still have a rather nasty bruise tomorrow..." She gazed wordlessly up into his caring masked face, her heart pounding. He gently sat her beside him on the organ bench, trying to break their locked gaze, but was transfixed. After moments, which seemed like eternity cut short, he slowly unwrapped his arms from her waist and rested his fingers back onto the organ's pearly keys. Resuming the song, he was painfully aware of every breath she took beside him, and wondered if she could hear his heart pounding beneath his ensemble. She slowly closed her eyes to shut out everything except his music and laid her head on the edge of his shoulder.

"Beautiful..." She murmured and he felt a swell of joy rush through his veins. She loved his aria. Perhaps, she could even love...No. He shook his head minutely, trying to dislodge his persistent hopes without disturbing her from her perch on his shoulder. No, it could never work. She could never...He glanced down at her. Could she?

He frowned to himself. Something was wrong here. Glancing back down at her, he realized that she extremely pale. "My dear Christine..."

"Christine...no one calls me that anymore..." She giggled to herself slightly. "But you may, my dear beau, and only you." He smiled at her last comment.

"Beau? So, you do remember our little chat?" He asked, his voice teasing her into opening her eyes.

"...it was you, wasn't it?" She asked, turning her face up towards him, and suddenly she seemed so small and helpless to him. "That was you who saved me that night...who gave me the dress...you're the Opera Ghost?"

"...Yes." He replied reluctantly, turning back to the keys and the sheets of music in front of him. It was that she knew less about him, then she would not hurt him as much when she left back to the lighted world.

"You say that as if it was a bad thing!" She laughed quietly again, sending a rush of heat to his face. "The dress is beyond gorgeous...why didn't you say anything that night, let me know it was you? I wanted to thank you..." She stood up slightly, her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she rested her knees on the bench seat.

"Then do so." He told her curtly. Damn, it was going to be painful to return her to the world above...it was already hurting him! She grew quiet, cocking her head as she studied his face. "...you have suddenly lost your tongue?" He asked, softening his tone into a coddling tease.

"You've stopped playing." Was her explanation. They shared a look for a few moments, and he was surprised to find there was no fear there. "It was very pretty..."

"If you wish." He nodded and began to play once more. In truth, he had not noticed that he had ever stopped. She seemed to be taking up his mind... perhaps... "Christine?" He called gently, turning when he got no reply. She was still watching his face, scrutinizing his mask, unaware that he had turned to her. "Christine...please..."

"I wont ask." She assured him, smiling gently, and surprisingly he felt at ease. "I will only ask you one thing."

"Anything but this." He agreed, and turned the page of his aria. She pursed her lips for a second, as if judging on how to word her question.

"Who are you? Really?" He rested his fingers on the keys, ducking his head, trying to decide on what to do. "Ghost or man, I don't care. I just want to know who is the one who saved me and gave me such beauty." His heart ached as he turned to her and he was sure the pain was showing through his eyes. He placed two fingers over her eyes, closing the lids shut.

"...I am nothing more than a dream." He whispered, and caught her as she leaned sideways off the bench. Holding her to his chest, he frowned to himself again, cursing himself that this was the way things must be. It could not be any different...she could never really love him, not the real him. It was the way things were. "...Nothing but a dream." He repeated to himself, stroking her bangs from her face. Suddenly, his gloved hand paused. Odd...her cheeks were warm...too warm...Pressing his palm to her forehead, he jerked it away with alarm. "You are burning up, mon belle! Oh, the retched storm, brewing above!! You have caught a fever..." Gathering her up in his arms, he began to carry her off into the darkness, to somewhere she could rest and recover from the night's events.