Raoul de Chagny had been frantic with worry. After a taxing couple of hours spent with the managers, Carlotta, and Giry, several things were determined. Firstly, that the Opera Ghost had made away with Christine. Secondly, that Christine was to replace La Carlotta in Il Muto, later that night. So, she would have to be returned by then. But, what could that monster be doing to her?

Raoul felt the muscles in his square jaw clench firmly. He did not even wish to think of the fate which had befallen Christine. No doubt this monster would take what any man would from a woman such as Christine. He would take her innocence, he would use her naïve mind, and he would twist it to suit his own purpose. Raoul felt helpless, powerless over her suffering. Unless…there was always the chance he had not harmed her? Surely, if he wanted Christine to play a leading role at the Opera Populaire, he would be concerned for her future. He would wish her success. Perhaps he would not have touched her. As there was nothing he could do, he opted to sit in the Opera café and order a croissant and coffee while he waited anxiously for any news of her return. She would have to show sooner or later, and this time, he would not fail her.

Christine knew she should be getting some rest, but rest seemed the thing furthest from her mind. She was lost in a world blurred by fantasy. She felt lucky, blessed even to have such excitement in her life. He had surely burned a path into her existence, with his fiery eyes and strong stature. Her angel, who had looked after her as a child, was a man, and a man who had feelings for her. Strong feelings. Christine blushed as she knew she reciprocated those strong feelings he had for her. She could not think when he was near, and yet she knew not why. It should be just as ordinary as any other man standing near her. But with Erik, it was almost like a presence hung in the air, an electric current with threatened to take her sanity. Her mind told her not to act this way, but her body was already heated with the knowledge they would soon again meet to have a lesson. He brought out thoughts and feelings she didn't even know she had. She had to chide herself time and again for thinking of such disgusting, vulgar thoughts, but somehow in her mind, all vulgarity was replaced by….pleasure…

How strange it was that the body should rule the mind in that respect, she thought. 'He must think me a wanton,' she thought to herself, almost smirking. 'He must think me highly improper and unladylike,' she thought again, yet she could not bring herself to believe this. On the contrary, Erik seemed not to mind her boldness one bit.

Christine was, in truth, acting no more forward than Jammes, or any other chorus girl; she was merely a curious girl on the brink of womanhood. A girl questing for answers which could not be spoken alone; they had to be demonstrated. The knowledge that she could change, and him be the cause of it was somehow very exciting to her. She could give herself to him fully, regretting nothing, gaining everything. After all, he had been her tutor, her mentor and guide for so long, why not a lover, companion….husband even?

Shocked by her thoughts, she moved to her dressing table and sat. Why should she be thinking of husbands? True, the time was coming where she should think of marriage, but she was still young. And, of course, she thought ruefully, his thoughts would not be on marriage; merely the physical acts married couples are permitted to do, which still confused and worried her a bit. Or would he think of marriage?

And then there was Raoul. She was confused by him. She had missed her childhood friend, and to see him now, fully grown, was surely a happy reunion. Perhaps she should turn her thoughts Raoul as a possibility for a suitor, even though she truthfully thought of Raoul in more of a friendly way.

She picked up her ivory handled brush and began to smooth the soft curls of their tangles. She remembered the feeling of his lips on her own; the pressure, the unrelenting heat, and she had to stop and control her thoughts.

Madame Giry had found her not long after that, and Christine begged her for privacy and rest. Giry agreed warily, and set about to tell Raoul, the managers, and Carlotta, that Christine was back, but was not accepting any visitors.

She reclined on her chaise as she felt her eyelids droop. With one final glance that the fine red rose, an ebony ribbon about its stem, she drifted off into oblivion.

Christine was awakened several hours later when she heard the mirror slide open. Her mind had not fully regained consciousness and yet she could feel him, sense him coming to stand beside her.

Erik watched his beautiful angel, sensuously reclining on her chaise, and gently reached his hand out to touch her shoulder. "Christine," he spoke softly, "it is I, Erik. I've come for our lesson."

She smiled up at him dreamily, stretching her arms above her head daintily. "Erik…I knew you'd come."

Watching her move heated his body. His face surely betrayed his thoughts, for it became a mass of tight, questioning planes. Christine seemed to notice this as her eyes grew wider, and her arms drifted to her sides. And yet, a single thought entered her head. 'He is here in my dressing room. We are alone….I am wearing….my dressing gown!'

Her pulse sped up as she looked at him, watching her. He clenched his jaw muscles once, then looked away. "Shall I return after you've had time to…dress," he asked, not looking at her.

Christine considered her answer, sat up, then responded. "No…I…well as long as you don't mind that I am wearing the same garments as yesterday, no."

He turned to her so suddenly that her breath left her lungs in a silent whoosh. "You know that's not what I was referring to, Miss Daae."

She did not speak; although she tried, she couldn't. It bothered him, her state of undress. Her breathing became deeper, causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly. Although Erik tried not to, his eyes were immediately drawn to the quivering flesh at the top of her corset.

Erik tried to look away, but he was mesmerized by her chest. By the almost invisible blue veins which lay under the surface of her skin, by the glorious slope of breast, by the edge of the corset, which left nearly nothing to the imagination. Why must women cage their bodies so in these contraptions?

She shifted her legs on the chaise; anything to fill the silence. He forced himself to look at her face although his mind drifted to her breasts. Would they look like fuller versions of his chest, or something different altogether? In the books he'd read, the women had full, round breasts like oranges, with large, dark nipples in the center. Surely Christine, slight as she was, would not have such ample cleavage. That did not bother him, but the fact he was so desperate to see…not even to touch…but to see her, bare before him, worried him greatly. He was only a man, after all. She seemed to be like a little Delilah, taunting him, finding his weakness and using it against him. There was a limit to how much he could stand, and then, he would lose control.

She spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Erik, I…I wish to speak with you."

He turned towards her and spoke slowly. "Of course."

She paused a moment, trying to figure out the best wording. "Erik, you know that I do not….entertain conversation with men other than yourself."

He nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Then, I…I find that some times I have no one to speak to about certain things."

He paused, confused. "What of Giry, or her little daughter?"

"Meg," she asked, as he nodded.

"Meg doesn't….I-," she cleared her throat, "I would not like to worry nor disgust them."

Disgust them? What on earth was she talking about. His lips parted, for the heat had become unbearable, as he spoke to her, his voice suddenly deep. "Go on."

"It's just that….I am sixteen, and…," she seemed to change the course of her sentence, and she asked him, "…how old are you, Erik?"

His eyes rolled up slightly, and his face took on a pensive appearance as he tried to determine the answer to her question. "I cannot be positive, but…I suppose I would put my age somewhere between thirty three and thirty nine."

She spoke again, her face flushing. "It's just that…"

He interrupted her. "Speak, Miss Daae. Speak your mind."

"I…," her voice trailed off completely as she struggled to gain her courage before blurting out, "I find that I have strange feelings when you are near."

Oh God. There it was. What he had only dreamed of hearing her say. She felt it as well. The current between them, stronger than a chain of iron. She was remarkably decisive and outspoken for one so young.

She continued. "And I am upset when you are away. And…I find your instruction and guidance invaluable. I do hope that you shall always…," her face turned a furious crimson as she looked at the floor,"…instruct me as you see fit."

She had not meant to pause before speaking the work instruct. With the pause added, she realized she was alluding to something else altogether. Something she should not be speaking of in his presence…

She had put emphasis on the word instruct for a reason. He was certain of it. He was slightly taken aback by her audacity, but overall grateful for her truthfulness in the disclosure of her feelings. He was alarmingly unsure of how to proceed. He let the joy of her words sink in. Could his angel actually wish him to…instruct her in other ways as well?

Unsure of everything except the pounding of his heart, he strode to her side at the chaise, kneeling down next to her. He gently reached out a hand, pushing her shoulder down to the chaise. Her body obeyed, reclining again. He spoke softly to her, as he brought his gloved hand to rest at her chin. "It was wrong of me to wake you so early before a performance. You have not had enough rest, Christine. That is why you think these things of me. You are confused…"

"No, Erik," she responded, bringing her face inches from his, looking directly into his eyes. "I am not confused. I know what it is I am feeling. I do not feel this way around Raoul, or any other man, for that matter."

She was remarkably concise, and she knew exactly what she was saying. Christine may be young, but she had more maturity than all the ballet rats combined.

"You are young," he said huskily. "You are inexperienced."

"So are you." Again, she inched her face to his. "You told me this," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. She would die for want of his proximity.

"You are not thinking of consequences." His very soul burned.

"Consequences of what," she asked, then, as she looked into his fiery eyes and realized, blushed.

She spoke softly, "You mean-?"

He nodded, as his lips parted. He began to stroke the skin at the side of her face.