EEP! We have reached double digits! Well... if the chapters were not in Roman numerals I suppose... but still! Tea and scones all around! Or maybe we should just skip to the champagne... for those of us who have reached majority of course.

This is my last update before I'm back at my aunt's for the official move. I'm not sure when I will have internet so review replies with your snippets might be a little slow in coming. The good news is that I have quite a few chapters already written so even if I find no time for writing, everything will proceed as scheduled! Even if I have to bribe my Beta to get on my account and post your new chapters...

But anyway, onward!

X

"Erik, I know you said I am in your home, but where exactly is that?"

They had finished their evening meal—well, Christine had, while Erik sipped wine and made occasional conversation—and they were now in their preferred seats, passing a pleasant evening before the fire as they read.

But of course Christine would not be content to allow them their simple joys of silent companionship. Erik sighed.

"Where do you think we are? You have not pressed the matter before now."

Christine stared at her lap thoughtfully. "I did not think it mattered, and I suppose it still does not. I miss the sunshine sometimes, but I am quite... happy to no longer be living in the city."

Erik chuckled softly at that. "I am certain you are, and I hate to disillusion you, my dear, but we are still in the city."

She looked rather startled. "We are? But it is so quiet!"

He nodded. "Living underground is one of the surest ways to be guaranteed privacy."

"Underground? Are you trapped here?"

Now Erik truly did laugh at that, and he noticed that Christine's cheeks turned a lovely shade of rose. "You were with me when I ventured above—I took you right off the streets! How would you think me trapped?"

She shrugged, and Erik felt a twinge of discomfort that she was so embarrassed by her enquiry, or perhaps because of his reaction to her sobered, and repeated his question, making sure to keep any trace of amusement from his tone.

"It seems an odd thing, to choose to live below ground."

Erik gave her a look of mild surprise. "Really? I would think you of all people should understand the impulse. Think for a moment, and tell me what you conclude."

That little crease between her brows returned, and Erik occupied himself while she thought with studying it and wondering what it would feel like to smooth it away with a lone finger tip.

"I suppose," she said haltingly. "You would want to escape. You could live in the country and have no neighbours for miles around, but you could still be found. If you live underground..." Her eyes found his and he could see the clarity within. "No one can find you. You are safe." Her hands abandoned their fiddling with the book in her lap and instead she held them around herself, obviously intent on finding whatever comfort she could from her own embrace. "I think I like that idea."

Erik had expected to feel contended that another living soul could understand, that instead of thinking him some sort of strange mole that would seek to burrow within the earth instead of face the world above, they should know that he had done so for protection. But instead he found that while there was a tinge of happiness that Christine should be capable of comprehending his motives, there was an inexplicable sadness that overwhelmed him. She should not be able to infer such things. She should feel safe in the streets above, absorbing sunshine and basking in the perfectly normal interactions of merchants and shopkeepers as she deemed to patron their businesses.

But instead he had to watch her grapple with the knowledge that she might prefer the solitude and darkness of a subterranean home, if that so meant she could be safe.

"Erik, I hope you do not think me a horrible nag, but you still have not told me where we are."

It was a fair question, and he did not quite know why he hesitated to answer. She was free to leave at any time—though he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he would gladly haunt her for the rest of his days, teaching her from afar and ensuring her safety even as he did so.

Or perhaps it was simply indulgence on his part, that he liked the air of mystery, knowing that she trusted him enough to live with him regardless of not knowing precisely where that dwelling was located. But with startling clarity he realised that it was not he that she trusted, but the figment of her angel, bound by the laws of a heavenly being that could not possibly harm her. The thought chilled him.

"You said that your father auditioned at the theatre. While he did not know the satisfaction of living and working within those hallowed halls, his daughter now knows the pleasure."

Christine gasped. "We are below the Opera House?"

"Indeed."

Her eyes flitted about his sitting room, and he idly wondered if she would give herself a headache as she took in his home with freshly awakened admiration. "How did all of this get here then?"

If there was one thing that truly filled Erik with pride, it was his work. For the next hour he regaled her with tales of the construction and architecture of both his home and the building above—how although a silent contributor, many of the unique details were carefully crafted and expedited on Erik's insistence.

"So that is how we entered the pantry, you fashioned the tunnel and the secret panel!" His chest began to tighten as she looked at him with such awe and esteem, and he felt strangely humbled to be the recipient of such value. "It seems so obvious now that the Angel of Music should want to be involved in the building of the musical heart of Paris."

Erik's mood instantly plummeted. He knew exactly why Christine held so dearly to this notion, regardless of his protestations and gentle nudges that he was not in fact the apparition she suggested. He truly did not think her delusional—after all, he preyed upon the superstitious nature of the people above, and knew them to simply be reacting to concepts instilled in childhood. But he had not sought to manipulate Christine in such a way. While he knew that his fondness for her was growing daily, her trust and affection for him was based on the lie she told herself—the only method at her disposal to allow her to cope with the horrors she had suffered, and to make the act of living with a man more tolerable in her delicate mental state.

She must have noticed the change in him, even as he tried to stifle his irritation and dismay at the confirmation of his belief that she could not care for him for simply himself. "Are you upset that we did not sing today?"

After their late night interlude with the laundering, Christine had slept even later than was her usual time, and he had been glad of it. It gave him time to set his home to rights while also providing him some much needed time to compose and distance himself from the easy enjoyment he had found caring for domestic tasks with her.

When she had finally risen and after he had given her breakfast, he had moved to the organ in order to begin their customary lesson. But she had held back, looking at him with pleading eyes that he was helpless to refuse. "I am sorry, Erik, but I do not think I feel well enough to sing today." Her hand strayed to her womb, and desperate to keep her from telling him even more of that subject, he hurriedly acquiesced. He found that when he periodically gave her tea and things to nibble, her moodiness greatly diminished, and she happily had spent the day reading on the settee while he either composed or read as well.

"No, I am not angry." Inwardly he scoffed, knowing that when he was truly angry there would be little doubt in her mind as to his feelings.

She nodded, but did not seem wholly convinced, eyeing him suspiciously every few minutes while she pretended to have turned back to her book. Eventually she tired of her little game and closed her novel, settling it once more in her lap. "Papa once said that there is a lake beneath the Opera House. Is that true?"

Erik looked at her for a long moment as he wondered at just how terrified she must have been the last time they have ventured above because she surely must have noticed it. But perhaps she was too preoccupied in the darkness by ensuring that she had stayed practically soldered to his side to pay much attention to any of her surroundings.

"Yes, it is true. Would you care to see?"

"Yes, please!" Her enthusiasm loosened the pain of his earlier musings, and he fetched their cloaks. She still did not have one of her own and so he once again provided her the borrowed garment he had leant her previously. As he had predicted, the hem was in a sorry state indeed, but it would serve its purpose well enough and they would not be out long. He did not really require a cloak, used to the temperatures of the cellars, but he knew Christine would be far more comfortable with a covering. And if he was honest with himself, he rather liked the way his cloak whooshed as he walked. Not that he would ever inform Christine of that—better she think him cold.

She was waiting for him in the sitting room, practically quivering with excitement. He had failed to realise she had not left his home since their raid on the pantry, and she never said she had any inclination to do so. He carefully placed his cloak upon her shoulders and walked to his front door, but Christine's voice gave him pause.

"Can we... perhaps take a light?"

He had intended to simply keep the front door open, but when he turned and saw the look of severe trepidation that had crossed her once enthusiastic features, he realised that his temporary abandonment of her in the darkness had done more damage than he had first thought.

"Of course."

He located his solitary lantern, lighting it deftly and turning the small knob until it produced as much light possible. This was a jaunt for Christine, and her comfort was paramount. They would remain on his side of the lake, and none of his traps had warned of intruders, so a light would be of little danger to them.

Erik was startled when he felt Christine grasp his cloak with two of her fingers—not enough to touch him at all, but enough for them to be connected as he walked through the door out to the lake beyond. Though the winter above was harsh, there was a consistent temperature here that while chilly, was not nearly as unpleasant as above. He held the lantern high so as to distribute the light more evenly throughout the cavern, and he felt Christine move away from him with a gasp.

"It is beautiful!"

That was hardly the word he would use for it.

If looking objectively, the lantern light did twinkle on the occasional ripple in the lake, and the stone walls around them glistened with moisture in a manner that was almost friendly. There were no plants except for small patches of moss that grew on some of the stones.

His boat was moored close by, and for a brief moment he imagined a candlelight picnic between lovers on the lake, feeding each other bits of cheese and olives, tittering of nonsense and foolish words of fondness and admiration.

And he wanted it.

So lost in his imaginings of things that could never be, he did not notice Christine moving from his side as she sat down upon the shore. He had thought she merely meant to sit and watch the water, so he was slightly startled when she lifted the hem of her skirt and removed her slippers. He noted with some amusement that she wore no stockings, and he was glad as he was certain that the garter would irritate her still healing cut.

When she had made her feet properly bare, she lifted her hem a little more and dipped her toes into the icy water of the lake.

Her shriek of delight echoed upon the walls, as did the giggles that followed, and Erik was too stunned to offer proper chastisement for her apparent determination to give herself hypothermia.

"What on earth are you doing?"

She wriggled her toes and patted the hard ground beside her. "Enjoying the lake. You should join me."

He did not know exactly what possessed him to comply, but he supposed it might have had something to do with the way her eyes were shimmering in the glow of the lantern, and how she looked so peaceful and contented in that moment that he knew he would grant her any request, no matter how ridiculous.

Or undignified.

Erik placed the lantern down at his side and sat down next to Christine. He kept his own feet carefully free from the water's edge, but this apparently was dissatisfactory to his pupil.

"Oh no, you cannot properly enjoy if your toes are not wet." She poked at his shoes teasingly. "You have seen my toes."

Yes, but her toes were pink and perfect and surprisingly small for a girl her age. The shoes she had been wearing when he found her had nearly worn through, but evidently not to the point where her feet had been damaged.

But with a sigh of resignation as well as the acute knowledge that there was no one else in the entirety of the world that he would willingly do this for, Erik removed his black leather shoes as well as his socks, and rolled up the hem of his trousers so that his own pale ankles were visible.

Then, begrudging the girl for her preposterous notions, he placed his feet beside hers.

The water was indeed cold, though not quite as much as he expected given Christine's reaction. He marvelled at how large his feet were compared to hers—his toes long and his skin yellow. While the water had not made him yelp, when she nudged his foot with her own a noise escaped him that was certainly similar.

"What are you doing?"

She laughed again, and although his toes were slightly numb, his chest felt warm at the sound. "You already asked me that. I am enjoying the lake."

Christine left his person alone after that, seemingly satisfied to pull her—his—cloak more tightly around herself while she watched the water ripple and took pleasure in the gentle lapping of the water on her feet. "The Seine is so dirty compared to this; I had trouble finding clean water to drink."

Erik shuddered as he considered how desperate Christine must have been if she had resorted to considering the filthy river as potential drinking water.

"Do you ever sit here? And just... think?"

"No." It had never occurred to him to do so. Thinking was not a good thing for him. Sometimes his thoughts would become muddled, and he felt the tinges of madness as all the years of loneliness compounded into terrible thoughts and despair. So it was much better that he be indoors, where his organ and his violin were welcoming, and he could distance himself from any such thinking.

"I think it is very peaceful here. Quiet. Safe."

Erik stiffened. "Christine, you must promise to never try and swim in this water. If you should ever want to leave, I will... take you across and let you go, but you must not try to leave by yourself. Understand?"

How it hurt him to say the words! He had known from the beginning that she would leave, but the thought that she might someday be so frantic to escape him that she should try to swim in the icy waters—hear the siren's song—it was not something he cared to contemplate.

Christine cocked her head. "Why? What would happen? And why would I ever want to leave you?"

Where to begin? "Firstly, the water is too cold for swimming, and I would not want you to catch your death. I would have to drag you back in and you would get water all over my carpets." He said this with a sniff, and he noticed that his caution was merely met with a soft smile. "Secondly, there are many traps that protect us from prying eyes and invading peoples. What is the point of living belowground if just anyone could stumble in?"

She nodded. "That seems reasonable."

He highly doubted she would say so if he mentioned just how many people had died over the years as they foolishly entered the Opera Ghost's domain.

"And lastly, you will want to leave poor Erik once you allow yourself to understand. But now I think you are still too desperate and sad to believe me."

He was of course referring to her insistence of his supposedly angelic nature, and while he wanted to deny it, he knew she would turn from him once she had healed enough to realise that he was simply a man.

A man who would never hurt her, but there was no way of knowing if she would allow herself time to recognise that before the fear and distrust took hold.

This was why he did not care for thinking. Pondering was good—solving puzzles and agonising over every detail of a project until it was perfect. Thinking depressed him.

Christine sighed, and moved her foot so that it sent a small wave in his direction, thankfully not soaking him in the process. "I do not know what that means, but I do not like that you have so little faith in me." Her eyes were wide and he so wanted to believe their assurances.

"Christine, this has nothing to do with my faith in you. This has everything to do with the fact that you are not yet ready to face the truth. And until you can do so, any promises you give me are not sufficiently informed."

Her hand twitched slightly and Erik watched it warily as it came closer to his arm, wrapping around it as she laid her head against his shoulder. "When do you think I will be ready to make those promises? That you will accept that I want this to be my home? With you?"

Erik's eyes stung with tears—the amber eyes that glowed only in the darkness—and looked down at the little waif at his side. Never. She would never accept it. But when he opened his mouth, he heard the foolish dreams and hopes slip through even as he was desperate for them to return.

"With time."

She pressed more firmly against him, and he heard her soft sigh. "I like time."

And as they sat upon his shore, staring at the lake that had once only seemed a protective and dramatic measure against the world, Erik found that he liked time very much as well.

Sooo… that was nice! Enjoy it, because I guarantee you guys will not like next chapter. Imeanwhat? See you Monday!