Author's Note: Long chapter for you tonight! The longest I've written for any of my stories, I think. I wanted to split it into two chapters, but it would have been one short chapter and one still pretty long one, so I decided to keep them combined.

"No, no, no!" Snapped the ballet mistress, pounding her cane into the stage to emphasize each word. "What has gotten into you, woman? Giselle is innocent, naïve, love struck, you dance like you belong in a Turkish harem!"

Anya hung her head some, flushing deeply. "I'm sorry, Madame. I'll try again."

"Yes, you will. And if you wouldn't mind dancing the piece with a little less lust so we could all get on with the scene, I'm sure we would all be very much obliged."

The girls in the wings snickered and whispered among themselves while Anya held her head high, refusing to let the jab effect her in front of those little rats.

Giselle was set to open that night, and still Erik had not so much as said hello let alone come to visit her. Anya certainly wasn't surprised; she had suspected this might happen the moment she returned to her room two weeks prior. Her boldness had surely frightened him off. She couldn't say she blamed him; if a man had been so bold with her, Anya would likely have slapped him. Unless perhaps that man were Erik… but that was another matter.

Even suspecting Erik might return to ignoring her, Anya found the gesture still stung. What was it about that man that drew her to him so? She could not explain it, but the man certainly had a way of capturing her imagination in the best and worst ways imaginable.

After the final dress rehearsal was through and the cast was dismissed to rest before the performance, Anya returned to her room, politely returning the half-hearted wishes for luck from the girls who still did not believe she had earned the part she played. Closing the door behind her, Anya immediately flopped into her small bed with an exhausted sigh. Checking the clock, she pulled herself out of bed deciding against sleeping before the performance; she was so tired there was a good chance she might sleep right up until the curtain call.

When she sat up, Anya noticed a small vase with a single red rose on the center of the vanity. At the base of the thin vase was a small card with a short but sweet message.

"I look forward to your debut

-Erik"

Not the Opera Ghost, simply Erik. For the first time in weeks she no longer felt alone as she sat at the vanity to apply her make-up for the performance and changed into her costume before stretching, humming to herself sweetly in her lightened mood. She had not realized how much she relied on Erik's companionship until the times he vanished like this. The first two week period had worried her so much she had gotten herself lost in the cellars seeking him out, and the second had left her feeling abandoned and alienated in this strange but beautiful country full of beautiful people who wanted nothing more than to see her miss a step and break an ankle, or to catch her in an act of passion with someone who far outranked her. Such petty competitiveness! Had she really been so cruel in her youth? Anya could only remember admiring the women who outranked her in the ballet, and could not recall any desire to spread such horrible rumors about them. Granted, they had all quite clearly earned their status.

Stroking the petals of the rose for luck, Anya moved out to the stage to perform. How she had longed for this moment! The thrill of being someone she wasn't for two full hours was an incomparable sensation. The telling of a story through her movements, feeling so incredibly graceful and beautiful, the polite applause of the audience after a particularly impressive looking or challenging set of movements was simply astounding. There was no other feeling like it in the world. This was where she had been raised, and after over a year of absence she was finally home. Why on earth had she wanted to go to America to teach this wonderful art when she still desired to live it?

The curtain fell and Anya smiled brilliantly as the girls around her squealed and moved to embrace her. "Oh Anya, you were stunning, simply stunning. None of your rehearsals have ever been so good! Watch the Mistress try and scold you now! It was like watching Giselle herself!" They prattled on over each other until Anya found herself growing quite impatient with them. What a strange group of women! Only hours before they were mocking her during a rehearsal, and now they all were desperate for her attention. Anya took her final bow upon the stage politely, looking quite alarmed when the manager Moncharmin approached her on the stage. He waved to the audience with delight and the theatre hushed.

"Madames and Messieurs, a bright new star upon our stage, Madame Anya Chekov!" Once again the applause began, and Anya was beginning to feel rather like a piece of livestock as opposed to an artist.

Moncharmin spoke with a brilliant smile upon his face. "Would you believe it was less than a year ago that Madam Chekov came to us outside of church one morning, all but begging for work?" Anya now turned a hundred shades of red and tried desperately to slip out of the man's grasp to no avail. "And less than three months ago, she was polishing the stage rather than lighting it as beautifully as she did tonight. And who do we have to thank for this wonderful performance this evening? Why, none other than the Opera Ghost!" Announced the man, gesturing with a flourish up to the Box Five, and Anya went from deep red to sickly pale in an instant. The entire theatre fell under a horrified silence and every head turned to the box.

"Monsieur Moncharmin, please, I am very tired…"

"I am certain you are, Madame Chekov," smiled Moncharmin as a significant amount of struggling came from the box high above the stage. Oh God, what was happening? The theatre began to buzz with nervous chatter before the struggling stopped, and a group of policemen dragged an unconscious masked figure down the main aisle of the ground floor of the theatre. The figure's head was hung, but Anya could tell something was wrong… The figure wore a full mask, unlike the one she had seen Erik wear that revealed his bottom lip and enabled him to speak unhindered. Also, the color of his hair was off… Erik's hair was as thin, but black as pitch. And wasn't Erik taller-

No. No, it was not Erik! Anya tried not to show her visible relief as Moncharmin turned to her and gestured to the unconscious man below them. "Madame Chekov, this is your benefactor, is it not?" Asked the man, clearly feeling quite smug that he had succeeded in finally capturing the Opera Ghost.

Anya thought rapidly, and only stuttered a bit when she spoke. "I… Yes, Monsieur, it is," she told the man, though she honestly had no idea who the man in the mask really was.

"Well, let us see who it is once and for all then, shall we? Remove the mask!" Barked Moncharmin, and as one of the policemen pulled the full mask off the man's face the entire audience gasped.

"Ri-Richard?" Stammered Moncharmin, and Anya covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Immediately Moncharmin left the stage to see to his partner, who was slowly regaining consciousness and attempting to speak in spite of the gag in his mouth. The entire audience groaned, suspecting some sort of prank; many of them had been present during the last attempt to catch the infamous phantom, and both Richard and Moncharmin had been present at the time.

Anya's delight was interrupted by a booming voice, which caused even her to jump nearly out of her skin. "Really, Monsieurs, did you think a Ghost would be so easy to catch? Even with such magnificent bait as your new star, you cannot ever expect to contain me. Allow me to demonstrate what precisely might happen should you dare try such a feat again," snarled the voice. The whole room seemed to quiver as the chandelier flickered and swung wildly above the audience. Women shrieked and men shouted as the entire room vacated in a panic. Anya all but fell back against the curtain in terror as the lights went out completely. A hand snaked over her mouth to quiet her shriek as another arm wrapped around her, keeping her on her feet and pulling her someplace unseen in the darkness. The lights backstage were all lit, and suddenly Anya was released into the flurry of panicking ballet rats. Shaking some, she made her way to her dressing room, closing and bolting the door behind her in an attempt to avoid the chaos outside.

The room was now completely filled with flowers of every shape and size, nestled neatly into vases fit for royalty. But her mind could not be quieted by the beauty; what on earth had just happened!

"I apologize for my absence of late," said a voice from inside the room that seemed to have no source. Anya sighed visibly in relief.

"Erik! What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Do you not like the flowers I brought for you?"

"…You're responsible for all of these?"

"All of the tasteful ones. The tackier bouquets were sent by your admirers during intermission," Erik explained, still unseen as Anya looked around at the flowers.

"They're beautiful, Erik. I do like them. But what on earth was that wretched display just now? And why didn't you warn me what was going to happen? I was scared half out of my wits!"

Suddenly the man appeared behind her, in front of the door she could have sworn she bolted. "I was too busy preparing for it to tell you. I found out about their plan not long after I returned you, and I had many preparations to make. Don't worry, the chandelier is at no risk of falling. It was just an illusion to frighten them out of trying again. Though it turns out the catwalk is just as nice a place to watch the production as the best Box in the house, so perhaps I should have been more lenient."

"You planned to frame Richard all along?"

"I did. Rather clever, don't you think?"

Anya couldn't help but smile a little. "I nearly cried I was trying so hard not to laugh. I swear on my life, I knew it wasn't you," she added. "If I had thought it was you I never would have said-"

"I know. I thank you for playing along, it made for quite an entertaining evening. You were truly marvelous tonight," Erik told her quietly, almost shyly. She smiled at his praise.

"Thank you. After all the scolding I've been receiving the past few days in rehearsals, I'm glad it went well."

"Scolding?"

The woman flushed some under her makeup, moving to the vanity to remove it to avoid looking at him. "Apparently I've been dancing like… how did the woman put it? Ah yes, as though I belonged in a Turkish harem."

Erik laughed, and Anya glared at him some over her shoulder as he perched on the edge of her bed. "Perhaps I shall request the next performance be The Abduction of the Seraglio if the part so suits you."

"Ha-ha," Anya told him sarcastically, knowing quite well the opera was set in, what else, a Turkish harem. "You're a real riot sometimes, has anyone ever told you?" She told him dryly.

The man frowned some. "I've offended you."

Anya sighed. "No. I'm sorry, it's been a strange day is all," she promised, turning back to him once the layers of powder were off her face. "First that awful rehearsal, then the performance, then all this nonsense with the managers, then you scaring the living daylights out of half of France… It's a lot to deal with all in one day. I'm afraid it's put me a little too on edge… What is it you're staring at?" She demanded when she caught him staring at her face intently. As soon as she called attention to it, his eyes diverted to the floor.

"Nothing. You missed a bit of powder is all," he lied, and Anya turned to inspect herself in the mirror.

"No I didn't, you rotten liar. Well, out with it."

"I… You look lovely with a fresh face is all," he promised quietly. "Not that you don't always look lovely, it's just that you're always wearing at least a little kohl on your eyes even when you're working-"

Anya smiled some and approached him where he sit on the bed. "You're right, I always wear a little kohl. You really pay attention to thinks like that? You notice the strangest things."

Erik nodded some. "Very little escapes my notice. It is a gift and a curse."

"I would certainly call it a gift," she smiled, sitting next to him on the bed. "I'm really glad you're all right. For a moment I thought they really caught you. I felt awful."

"They've tried and failed before, they will try and fail again," Erik promised. His heart skipped in his chest as Anya cupped his masked cheek in her hand and leaned over him to kiss him gently. Erik let her, and after a moment of Erik began to return the kiss. Anya pulled back with a smile.

"What was that for?" Ventured Erik quietly, eyes fixated on the ground.

"For being so clever and not getting yourself arrested. And for not killing anyone in the process," she added. "I get the feeling that was probably the alternative…"

"It would have been, yes," Erik admitted and Anya leaned over to kiss him again. Erik returned the gesture immediately this time, something that pleased Anya immensely. Without warning the kisses deepened, and like before the room began to feel terribly warm as their heart rates quickened. Anya hummed in delight against his mouth, the quiet vibration sending chills up his spine. How was she able to do this to him, to manipulate his body so with only her mouth and the small sounds she made? Erik decided he would probably never know, but how he delighted in every miniscule sensation. Every movement of her lips, every hum, the feel of her hands on the nape of his neck drove him wild with desire.

Carefully her hands moved to his shirt and before Erik realized it his shirt was unbuttoned and being pushed off his shoulders by cool hands. Erik's kisses moved to that place on her neck that made her toes curl and her fingers grasp his hair involuntarily. He had only kissed her like this once yet already he knew her secret places as well if not better than her husband had ever bothered to learn them. After a moment her eyes slid open, and Anya caught sight of Erik's back and gasped audibly. One of the hands that had been in Erik's hair shot to her mouth as he pulled away in alarm.

What she had seen had horrified her, but not for the reasons that enraged Erik; his back showed every rib and every vertebrae as pronounced as if his skin were merely parchment stretched across a skeleton. Anya had known he was thin, but she could not have possibly imagined exactly now sickly he appeared. What horrified here more still were the countless ancient scars that crossed and dotted his back, causing her eyes to well with tears.

"Well? Go on and say it!" Snapped Erik. "I knew this was a horrible idea! I knew you would regret ever touching me the moment you saw-"

"You stupid, stupid man!" Snapped Anya back with a small sob. "Please, do not insult me so. Or yourself, for that matter. My heart aches for you," she told him tearfully, reaching out and touching one of the scars on his shoulder and running her fingers down the hollows of his ribs. Erik hissed, and closed his eyes involuntarily at the gentleness of her touch. "I knew you would not be beautiful," Anya told him quietly. "But I never imagined the scars on your heart would be so visible."

Erik opened his mouth as if to argue before deciding against it. As if testing her words, he ventured forward and took her lips gently. She did not recoil or draw away in disgust, but rather deepened the gesture passionately, as if her lips might erase his scars. Erik kissed her back deeply, and after a few moments Anya drew away again. Erik was about to berate her when he saw her turn and reach behind her back, pulling the ties of her costume dress loose before slipping it off over her head. The sight of her nearly stopped Erik's heart. Her ribs showed nearly as much as his did, though her ribcage was far more slight and so the effect was less dramatic. She was thin, with small but firm breasts and a prominent collar bone that seemed even more graceful as she sat before him, bare but her tights.

Anya turned a deep shade of red when Erik inspected her so thoroughly, not used to such careful scrutiny. Not for the first time that night, she felt like livestock… but then Erik reached forward, and caressed the curve of her waist with such grace and affection, gooseflesh consumed her head to foot. "Forgive me," he whispered, eyes still roving her top to bottom. "I've never seen… I've never seen a woman in the flesh but for statues and paintings. I never imagined the real thing would surpass them all," he muttered, and Anya leaned forward to kiss him firmly on the mouth.

Where moments before she had felt like a cow at auction, she now felt more beautiful than she had in her entire life. Nobody in her entire life had said such kind things about her. She was always too thin, or too big, or too tall, or too short. Never in her life had she been compared to and even surpassed a painting. Anya kissed him and kissed him until his hands seemed unsure of where to touch now that she was barren. She guided his hands to her waist, shivering under his touch as she guided his hands up her front. With an indulgent sound, Erik moved to kiss everywhere his hands touched and Anya laid back on the small bed to let him. He seemed intent on tasting her from hip bone to mouth, and Anya was more than content to let him indulge. Finally she drew him back up to her mouth and wriggled out of her tights from under him, when he froze so like he had before after a small sound of pained pleasure as her hips brushed his.

The woman clutched at him as if in terror and kissed his neck fervently. "Don't leave again, Erik. We're so close," she begged, cupping his masked face and kissing him deeply. "Please stay."

Every time Erik tried to protest Anya consumed his words with her mouth, kissing him deeply again and again to ease his shame and convey her desire. When he finally began to kiss her back again and she began to feel the renewed desire in his kisses, Anya moved her hands down to the edge of his trousers. To her delight and surprise, Erik only hesitated a moment before moving off her and removing them before returning to her and kissing her again, deeply.

True to the rumors, Erik was much less easily released after his initial embarrassment. He was clumsy and unsure of himself until he fell into a rhythm that gratified them both before too long. Anya's toes curled and her breath caught in her chest as she clung to the man who groaned involuntarily not long after, collapsing over her utterly exhausted.

Erik kissed at her neck lazily, and could not remember ever feeling so whole in his life. This… this was happiness. True happiness. No high in the world was the equal to the high this woman gave him. "I love you," he whispered between kisses, not noticing the change in the woman beneath him. "I cannot imagine anyone more wonderful," a kiss, "more beautiful," another kiss, "more remarkable-"

"Erik you don't really mean that," she ventured, turning her head back to him with a bit of a frown.

"Of course I do," he promised, kissing her soundly, and Anya shook her head.

"No no no no no, Erik, you don't really love me," she insisted firmly, and Erik sat up to stare at her incredulously.

"…You mean you don't love me," he corrected her simply, hurt filling his voice as he stood to dress with his jaw set.

"Erik you can't expect me to love you just because we-"

"No, Anya, quite the opposite. I expected that just happened because you loved me," he told her, pointing at the bed as she sat up and held the sheets around her breast with a frown.

"Erik-"

"If all I wanted from a woman was sex I would have raped you when I had the chance," he snaped.

Anya bit the inside of her cheeks, trying hard not to cry. "I certainly don't think that was just sex, Erik. It's not that I don't care about you."

"No, Anya, it's that you don't love me," he retorted with a sneer. "I understand perfectly well, thank you."

"You don't love me either!" She countered, folding her arms tight. "You keep dresses and a room for a woman who left you years ago! It's quite obvious where your heart belongs! You only think you love me because I bedded you and she ran off with another man."

"For a woman your age you are so naïve!" Erik bemoaned, buttoning his shirt. "That day I fished you out of the cellars? I had just gotten back from purchasing you an entire wardrobe in case you somehow showed up in my house again. You just had the misfortune of arriving before they were ready."

"…I had only been to your house twice. Why did you buy me an entire wardrobe?"

"Because I love you, how man God damn times must I say it?" He snapped angrily. "I had hoped you would show up again someday, and I wanted to be prepared. I bought you ballet slippers, dresses, these God damned flowers," Erik growled, swiping one of the vases off a bedside table and sending it crashing to the floor. "And you still mock my love!"

"Nobody is mocking you, Erik!" Anya insisted. "But please, try and see things from where I stand. Christine-"

"Damn Christine to hell for all I care!" Seethed Erik. "She left me bloody and broken for a man with half a brain and a full pocketbook! I can no sooner love her than a camel loves a flea!"

"But you DID love her, Erik. You may not now, but you did. You loved her enormously, so much that she was able to hurt you deeply when she left. You told her of your love before you asked her to marry you! Me… You told me of your love after we made it. It's all in your mind Erik, not in your heart. It must be."

"Is marriage what you want, Anya? If it is just say the word and we will go to a church and it will be done! I would marry you over all the women in the world, without hesitation," he swore, moving back to her side and taking her hands in his while her eyes glued themselves to the floor.

"Please don't do this, Erik."

"Why shouldn't I? I would be the happiest man in the world if I could call you my bride! Your husband's loss would be my sweet, wonderful gain-"

Anya pulled her eyes off the floor tearfully, knowing what she was about to say, what she had no choice but to say would mean not seeing him again for potentially quite some time. "I cannot marry you Erik. I… I'm still in love with my husband. If there is a God in heaven I pray that he gives me the strength to put the past where it belongs, and perhaps when that day comes I will love you as you deserve to be loved," she whispered through her tears, moving to cup his cheek until he turn away from her viciously and stood. "Why must it be all or nothing in your world?" She sobbed. "Why can I not care for you as deeply as I do and not call it love? Fifteen years I spent with him Erik! I have known you less than a year, and I have been this fond of you less than that! Have patience-"

"Good evening, Madame Chekov," Erik sneered as he stepped through the mirror, and Anya cupped her face into her hands and cried.

No man had ever made her feel as Erik did. Even when her husband had been trying to woo her, he had not worshiped her the way Erik did. He had never used such sweet, poetic words, with no intent at all but to describe her as he saw her. He was not trying to woo her; it had been she who had to persuade him into bed! In fifteen years of intimacy with her husband, he had only brought her to that breath-taking release once… Erik had managed on his first try, and on his first time with any woman no less! Erik had already learn the places to kiss that brought her pleasure, his voice and words alone could send shivers down her spine… the best her husband had done for her was drink too much to bring himself to completion, which had inadvertently brought her to hers.

So why could she not love this strange, remarkable man who lived so far removed from the world?