A/N:Thanks to Chantal (The attack he had is not due to the morphine, though...it's something else that you'll find out about in a later chapter!) and MadLizzy (Wow - 17 reviews in two days?? I really appreciate your feedback! I'll be going back and sorting out those typos...I'm so glad you like it. Erik, a graverobber? Hmm...I can almost see him with a wooden spade and canvas sheet, digging away. But maybe Christine believed so strongly in everything about the Angel that she imaginedit to be the exact sound of her father's violin? It did say in the Leroux novel that she was already imagining korrigans when she went to the cemetery that night...And "eldritch" happens to be my favourite word, second to "maravedi"!) for the reviews.

Forgive the shortness...and watch out for the brief change in POV.

An entire week passed. An entire week of being under the ground in the company of a loving corpse who became so obedient and slavish that I found myself shocked. It was surprising how easily Erik could set aside his dark dignity and fawn over me endlessly. Even when it was hard to keep up the pretence, I would still smile graciously at each of his attentions, at every new talent of his he demonstrated. However, I did not always have to try hard; some of our days were filled with blissful music and sung duets that made me remember the time I believed him to be an Angel. Other days, too, were bearable - if not quite sad - when Erik would suddenly divulge to me a tiny but heartbreaking detail of his past. I learned, from the bits and pieces he would mention almost unwittingly, that his mother had not been able to love him, that he had spent some of his youth as a freak show exhibit, and had travelled to Persia, India and even Tonkin, in Vietnam. Whenever I would ask him specific questions about these events in his life however, he would occasionally stumble upon a painful memory and refuse to talk about it any more. He could become quite reserved at times like that, but what he told me was enough for me to begin to piece together what must surely have been a horrendous life. The light I saw Erik in kept changing, incessantly; though I had so recently feared a monster, I now pitied a man...a living man with real emotions who deserved a little kindness.

At the end of the week, Erik had become so confident that he offered to take me above ground. My heart swelled at the prospect, but he cautioned that we would only be doing a tour of the Bois de Boulogne in a carriage, in the safety of darkness. Nevertheless, I longed for a breath of fresh air and the feeling of the wind on my face again. It was with great enthusiasm that I contemplated the prospect of being able to leave this tomb, even for just a little while...

-Raoul-

The night was still and calm - deceptively so, even. It would have been more fitting had it been stormy and pouring down with rain, which would have gone well with the turmoil raging in Raoul de Chagny's heart and mind. Christine's mysterious and troubling disappearance had worried him to no end...he was certain that it was something to do with the so-called "Angel of Music". For days he had not slept, so frightened he was for her; to think of his poor, sweet Christine, so full of innocence even at the brink of full womanhood, in the hands of a strange man who had deceived her and now had succeeded in whisking her away from the rest of the world. And what a perfectly timed kidnapping it had been: right after the chandelier accident, when all the Opera house was in chaos and confusion and nobody would know the young singer had vanished until days later!

But was it really a kidnapping? Was there any possibility that Christine had actually gone willingly? Had she merely run off with her "Angel"? Raoul picked at his gloves distractedly as he stood in the darkened Bois. A few days ago he had spent hour upon hour at the Palais Garnier, asking whoever he could find about the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Daaé. The directors had been aggravatingly vague and unconcerned, which had maddened him. How could people care so little for the talented young Swedish girl? He had asked around a bit more...and then he had heard a rumour from somebody. It was said that Christine had been seen in the Bois de Boulogne, leaning from the window of a carriage and gazing up at the night sky. What tore at Raoul's heart most was that there was allegedly a male companion in the carriage with her. Who could this "companion" be? He would have found it easier to accept if Christine had only told him of this man...

Now he stood waiting, waiting for the carriage to appear. He half hoped it wouldn't, as that would disprove the rumours...but then again, he so desperately wished to see Christine again...

'De Chagny, this is pointless. You don't even know if the damned carriage is coming or not,' said a disapproving voice next to him. Raoul sighed inwardly. This afternoon his brother Philippe had been adamant that Raoul needed to "stop pining and actually live", so he had sent him out with several acquaintances to different cabarets and other places of entertainment. Not that Raoul had stopped pining in any way; he had been quite morose, as usual, which in turn made his camarades ill-tempered, too.

'Go home then, d'Aubigné, if you must,' Raoul grumbled back. He had insisted on coming to the Bois, which meant his companions were dragged along, too.

The young man named d'Aubigné, however, had no intention of leaving. He merely shrugged and raised his eyebrows at the others.

'I must say, your attachment to this singer is -'

'Ssshhh!' Raoul stiffened and silenced d'Aubigné with a quick gesture, his eyes fixed on something down the road.

A carriage, glossy-black in the moonlight, was travelling at a leisurely pace along it, coming steadily closer. Raoul's pulse quickened. It would pass them soon, and then he would be able to see just who it was that Christine was -

The silvery glow of the moonlight suddenly lit up a face - the lovely, familiar face of a young woman leaning out of the window. Her chin was tilted upwards in simple bliss, her hair stirring gently in the breeze...

'Christine!' Raoul cried out in wonder before he could stop himself. As soon as the name left his lips, he realised he really should have kept quiet...but the sight of his loved one was too much!

At the sound of his cry, the carriage suddenly sped up, and Christine's face disappeared. Wheels clattering, it bolted down the path with such speed that Raoul barely got a glimpse of the dark shadow sitting beside Christine as it passed him. However, he almost managed to throw himself at the carriage just as it flew past, but his friends grabbed him and held him back, their faces all whipped by the carriage's windstream.

'Are you insane?'

'It was her! It was her!' Raoul cried, straining against the arms that held him, looking desperately at the carriage that was disappearing rapidly into the distance. 'Tell me you saw who was in there with her...'

The others looked at each other and shook their heads. D'Aubigné rolled his eyes in a long-suffering manner. 'Really, now, if the girl is so openly flaunting a new relationship, why should you trail after her like a shameless little dog?' he put forth snipingly. 'It's apparent your dear chorus girl is just like the rest, my friend - evasive and in constant search of different lovers. She seems to have charmed you with her coquettish ways, at first, and now she has obviously found someone with more money to spend on her -'

Raoul spun around and glared at the young man in outrage. 'How dare you say such a thing!' he uttered in horror. 'Christine isn't like that one bit -'

D'Aubigné crossed his arms and replied rather sneeringly: 'Then how would you explain her actions? I personally think that if a young woman goes about the Bois alone in the carriage of another gentleman, then her intentions are quite clear.' He looked towards the others. 'Would you not agree? Little harlots, the lot of them, and you would do best not to get tied down with - argh!' Raoul's furiously clenched fist struck him straight in the smirking face, sending him sprawling on the ground. The young Vicomte's cheekbones were a fiery red with his indigation, and he yelled out: 'If you say another word against her I'll clout you one again!'

'You just can't stand the truth, can you, little de Chagny? Look at you - too juvenile to accept reality!' d'Aubigné threw back, leaping to his feet with his hands curled into fists as well.

The tussle that ensued was eventually broken up - with much difficulty - by the other young men, who had been rather horrified to see such violence from the usually shy younger brother of the Comte. When they finally succeeded to drag the furious Raoul off d'Aubigné, the two of them were sporting several bruises each, along with blackened eyes, cut lips and bleeding noses. Fortunately for d'Aubigné, albeit Raoul's outrage-fuelled anger, the Vicomte was not a very experienced fighter, having been mostly raised by his two sisters. Nevertheless, both d'Aubigne and Raoul had given each other a good pummelling, and their fight would definitely be something to talk about for the ensuing weeks...

'Public brawling.' Philippe's tone was stern, sharp, and very displeased indeed. He sighed in disbelief, then looked back up at his younger brother from his desk. 'I don't know what to say to you, Raoul, really I don't...I know I have always been rather lenient with you, but this is just taking it too far...'

Raoul hung his head in shame, feeling very much like a small child in the face of the Comte's discontentment.

'Do you realise that your rash actions are dragging down our family name?' Philippe said seriously. 'We are very fortunate indeed that you did not choose to lay into that young d'Aubigné in broad daylight. Even so, your reputation is tainted now - attacking a fellow gentleman at night in the Bois! Why, I would never expect such a thing from you, of all people, Raoul! I would think only outlaws would accost others in such a way - not you! Not shy young Raoul...it's not like you at all. I can barely recognise you of late; always so miserable and suddenly extremely interested in the Opera...and now this!'

Raoul picked at his fingernails. 'But Philippe, I was provoked -'

His brother slammed his hands down on the desk. 'You are missing the point entirely!' he interrupted. 'We cannot afford to be the fodder of gossip in this city. We must maintain our reputation, and I will nothave you dragging the name of de Chagny through the dirt! Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Raoul mumbled, unable to meet Philippe's eye. 'I'm sorry I behaved so rashly.'

'And so you should be,' replied the Comte, but the rage had by now faded from him. 'Now get out of my sight.'

-Christine-

I seriously, honestly, and with all truth thought he was going to kill me after we had flown from the Bois. When the carriage stopped outside his private entrance into the Opéra's cellars, he did not let me down from it graciously as he had before - he seized my wrist in a cold, bony grip and dragged me after him, like a boucher leading a poor, stupid lamb to be slaughtered.

He had not spoken to me since the terribly familiar voice - the voice of the one I least needed to hear at that moment - had called out my name with such adoring awe back in the Bois. As silent as the grave but full of a seething rage, Erik took me back down to his lair and threw me from him angrily. Although his face was normally an inhuman stark yellow-white, it was now blotchy and greyish in places with his sheer fury.

'So, he lingers still, ce maudit Vicomte!' he growled. 'He still follows you like a mindless, lovesick little schoolboy! Pity that he is not bright enough to leave us alone!'

I could only stand and tremble in the face of his anger as he paced back and forth like a maddened animal. Abruptly he halted in his pacing and fixed me with a burning gaze, his lipless teeth bared in rage.

'He lovesyou, doesn't he?' Erik hissed, his voice suddenly dangerously quiet. I couldn't look at him for fear of being seared by his eyes. 'He loves you!' he repeated, a mad, morbid awe stealing over him. 'Tell me, Christine...tell me - you find him handsome, do you not? Stop turning away - answer me! Tell Erik...the young de Chagny lad appeals to you, with his flaxen locks and blue-eyed gaze! Hmm? Not to mention his title and noble family!' His tone was deceptively coaxing and kind, insanely trying to urge me to confide in him. My eyes began to water; I hated this madness that seized Erik, this uncontrollable pain-driven insanity that twisted his way of thinking on some occasions. In one flowing stride he crossed the distance between us and took my shoulders in his hands. 'Cease your weeping, Christine, and tell Erik! You like the boy too, don't you!' his voice was now harsh and racked with pain. 'You surely must...he has everything: a family, a title, youth, good looks - even a lovely nose to go with it!' I shut my eyes tightly, shivering in his grip as he let out an awful laugh at his own black sense of humour. 'The only way a young man can show such ardour is if he knows there is a chance he is loved in return!' Erik cried out, his horrible amusement gone all of a sudden. 'I know it, Christine! I know he will be back again! You have disobeyed me - you have let earthly indulgences get the better of you!'

'No, Erik!' I whimpered desperately, noticing that he was working himself into a frenzy. 'It's not true, Erik - I have not disobeyed you, not in the slightest! He won't bother us again, I assure you...he is leaving soon!'

Erik's mad rage faltered, and his poor repulsive face paused in its scowling. 'Leaving, you say? What do you mean by that, ma colombe?'

Spurred on by the sudden abating of the storm and the small word of tenderness that had slipped into his speech, I continued: 'He is soon going on an expedition, all the way to the North Pole...in a few months, Erik, he will leave in his ship and never return.'

'Really, now?' His yellow eyes gleamed, his hands still holding onto my shoulders. I felt quite vulnerable all of a sudden; I knew that Erik would no doubt begin to formulate plans of what the two of us would do together once Raoul was not there to hinder him. I saw days and months and years of sitting alone with him in his lair, politely praising his magic tricks and listening to his frightening music. A shudder threatened to pass through me, but I did not let my horror show on my face. The best would be to humour the monster while I was with him, so that he would not fly into one of his terrible rages and keep me with him for an indefinite amount of time. I had been with Erik long enough to see that his grip on sanity was loosening...he was hanging onto it as wearily as a one-armed man dangling from a cliff all his life. It was only a matter of time before he lost his strength and plummeted into the abyss of madness...and I did not wish to be near him when it happened. Hopefully his strange affliction would strike him down before he completely lost his mind...

Erik released my shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. He stood taller and straighter than he ever had before, eyes narrowed and a smile curling his thin lips. 'That does indeed change matters!' he remarked. 'If you speak correctly, then I suppose in a few months' time we shall have nobody to intrude upon our moments together!'

I resisted a second shudder, forcing a gracious smile on my face. Oh, the vagaries of his twisted moods would be the death of me! One thing was for certain, though: Erik was most profoundly jealous of Raoul, which was quite understandable in itself. I only hoped nothing bad would happen to my poor friend the Vicomte, and that he did not hate me for my quick flight from him in the Bois...oh, what must he think of me now?

Erik's ill humour had now completely vanished. 'I have heard in passing that there will be a ball here at the Opéra, two nights from now,' he told me pensively. 'It is quite an exceptional affair.' He turned his head suddenly to face me, grinning wickedly. 'And do you know, ma chère Christine, what type of ball it shall be?'

I shook my head silently, wondering what had suddenly amused him so.

'Why, a bal masqué!' he cried, his voice thunderous with mirth. He began to laugh; his laugh sounded strange to me, as if he had not been given the chance to practice it often. 'But you see, Christine, I am going to make a little joke - I have a rather amusing idea in mind for my own costume!' - he chuckled to himself - 'Yes! Wait until you see what my joke will be...'

I knew that I would not be disappointed...the only thing was, I did not know whether Erik shared the same idea of "funny" as the rest of the human race...

I was equally sure that I would need to brace myself for something wry and macabre.