A/N This Buds for you, Banana! I hope your weekend is spanktacular! Much loff to ma beta, Elektra!

1870, February 25.

Dearest Angelina,

My precious womb mate, I am at a loss.

I know myself to be an astonishing singer.

I cut, without a doubt, a figure of remarkable style and grace.

My lush golden hair has not one dull follicle.

I can prepare a fine feast and sew a gown with the greatest of ease.

How is it, then, that I am most confused when it comes to the men of the Opera Populaire-Garnier?

Everything was so much simpler back on the coast with you, Father, Patrick and the hag who shall not be named.

When I returned to my room, shivering with cold and some unrecognizable yet thoroughly pleasant sensation in my most unknown and rather disavowed region, Lissy put me to bed at once.

"If the mirror rattles, do not answer it," she commanded. "I give him thirty minutes at the most to… compose. He might think it sport to come up here and try to lure you down to the fifty-seventh cellar. Listen to me, Catherine, " she said, tilting my chin up, "do not- I repeat- do not go to him. I don't care if he sings Barry White. You need your rest. We have a full run-through tomorrow, and you need to die with aplomb."

I nodded, and she smiled. "Very well then. I'll see you in the morning."

Once she had left, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Incredibly, I dreamed so vividly that I remember every single detail as it were happening to me in reality, but a reality fraught with cloying metaphor, epic symbolism and a touch of the fantastic just to add a spot of dramatic irony to the whole endeavor.

And thus, the dream sequence commences!

I was alone in a field of grass, clad in a glittering white dress, my hair in cascading curls, walking with my arms outstretched, feeling perfectly fresh and clean, like a summer's eve.

I heard a voice call to me.

Turning, I saw a small white rabbit palm a pocket watch, raise his paw at me and lift the tiny middle toe. Refusing to be dissuaded from pursing the voice, I kicked a bit of dirt at the rabbit, which suddenly turned into a cigar and began to smoke himself.

I ran towards the voice, which grew louder and louder until I was standing before an enormous mirror floating in the field.

I looked magnificent!

The voice sang so beautifully:

"Sing once again with me, our strange duet!"

I opened my mouth, and began to vocalize, then stopped in confusion. "I don't know which piece you mean. From Beauty and the Beast?"

The voice huffed. "No! Our 'strange duet' is the fact that you and I have an uncommon bond of music and sexual tension. It is a 'duet' in that there are two of us… or at least one and a half people present. The 'strange' element lies in the fact that, well, I live underground, wear a mask, and prance about in a very big and cumbersome cape. 'Strange' also applies to the unique and erotic relationship we're developing."

The voice paused.

"Stop listening to the words; they will only confuse you. Focus on the throbbing melody and the pumping electric guitars. Where the hell was I…"

"Where are you, oh strange duet-er?"

The entire landscape vanished, and I was suddenly in a palace, I think. An opulent house of gold and marble.

My white dress had changed to blood red, and I wandered down an impossibly long hallway. "Cecil"' I cried. "Oh Cecil, come to me! Come to me my Cherub of Crooning!"

"I'm in here! Wait one minute. You are my Cherub of Crooning. I'm your… I don't know what the hell I am. This always gets challenging."

I pushed open a massive door. A roaring fire bellowed in the enormous fireplace. I walked towards it, mesmerized by the flames.

"Do I get your knickers all in a twist?"

I looked down to see Cecil sprawled on a bearskin rug, wearing his mask, a pair of black leather boots, and nothing else.

I gasped!

He grinned seductively at me, then looked down and shrieked!

"Where in the name of God did my genitalia go?"

I covered my eyes and shook my head.

"I've never seen a man naked! I don't know what you… look like… down there!" I cried.

"My God, woman! Can't you make something up? Haven't you seen a picture book or a filthy slide show or something?"

I began to wail. "I'm sorry! I really don't know what to do!"

Cecil rolled over, folded his arms and laid his head down.

"Catherine," he said with a muffled voice, "you are going to be the death of me. I really thought Christine was just about the worst-case scenario. But you. If you weren't so damn attractive, supple, talented and stupid, I'd pack my bags and hop the next train for Amsterdam."

Oh, Angelina, what a terrible yet immensely sensual nightmare!

As I came to from my frightening subconscious, I felt a presence in the room. Groggy still, I could not speak, but as my immensely long eyelashes fluttered open, I beheld the greatest horror!

The most haggard face!

Christine.

Yours in fear and loathing,

Catherine