My theatre was full. Every seat was sold and most of them were occupied. Word had gotten out about the unearthly new Prima Donna. My dear managers had wasted no time in advertising their "delightful light opera, starring Miss Christine Daae." My only regret was that there would be no way to prove that it was the improvement in performers and not the change to light opera that improved our ticket sales.

I could not lurk in the catwalks above the audience; there would be too great a chance of being seen. Instead, I had entered long before even the performers arrived and perched on the narrow wall ledge behind a long satin drape. It was uncomfortable, but it was the only place I could think of where I could both hear and see her without being seen myself.

I loved the thrill of a performance. I loved every moment as it happened; the rustle of the crowd with their programs and their purses and the way that rustle subsided to only the occasional cough once the houselights dimmed, the cacophony of the orchestra tuning up and getting settled, and that marvelous moment when the curtains were drawn and the show began. Tonight was no different, except that when the leads emerged, one of them would be my Christine.

Emerge she did. And when she sang, the audience gasped. I could only nod and smile with pride. She had come far since I'd left. Somehow, she had continued her own improvement without my tutelage. Of course, she would have come further had I been her teacher, but her progress was still impressive. I listened carefully, but there were no mistakes.

She received a standing ovation.

The following night, wrapped around the stem of a thornless rose there was a tiny note. Her handwriting was smooth and narrow, sweeping upwards with each letter. It said,

Maestro,

One down, three to go.

Opera Diva

I could not help but smile, though her success only foreshadowed my great humiliation and loss.

Each night, I had the pleasure of witnessing perfect performances. Each morning I received the note.

Two to go.

One to go.

See you tonight.

That last one… I looked at it for many minutes before setting it with the others. Though I knew it was not intended in a cynical light, I could only read it that way. She would, indeed, see me in all my glory tonight. In my photographic memory, I had catalogued every reaction of every person who had ever seen my face.

When I was young, it had been disgust and contempt, until I ran away. Then on the streets it had been a superstitious fear, though I did my best to keep my secret well guarded. Fear engenders hate, and I was thoroughly hated by all the street people who lived near my haunts. Many a scar I received from a fellow bum who decided it was time to beat the crap out of the freak. I was still a child and unable to fight back. I must admit that as I grew older I lost those fights less and less often.

Later, after Nadir rescued me, my face brought two reactions. Our boss was shocked at first, but then amused. He liked to look at me and comment on the fact that "here, at last, is an uglier mug than mine." His wife never could bear to look at me, but she frequently had me in to 'perform' for her guests. She liked to hear them scream. The other reaction was sheer terror. By then, I was an accomplished hit-man and my victims had every reason to be frightened. It became my trademark to remove the mask just before delivering the death-blow.

Since I left that life, I have always covered my face. In fact, I find it most useful to cover everything that can safely be covered. You'd like to see? No…

But that night, as I had promised, I would show myself to Christine. I wondered morosely whether she would scream first, then faint or faint first and then scream when she woke. Or maybe she would simply turn and run out of the theatre. Such a multitude of possibilities, and I looked forward to none of them.

As I sat pondering these happy thoughts, Christine came in. She was smiling and still held one of the bouquets her adoring public had presented to her on her last night's performance. She floated down the aisle and presented the bouquet to me.

"I thought you should get one, too. Half the work was yours." She was being flattering.

"Thank you." I tried to think of a way to address the delicate issue at hand, but nothing occurred to me. Christine, on the other hand, appeared to have specific plans.

"You know you still have two promises left unfulfilled…" she was teasing again.

How I would miss her teasing!

"Two? I only recall one." I carried the roses to the piano and set them atop it.

"Nooo, no. Before my audition, remember?"

"I remember the roses."

"But you also promised me to show me how you hid from me, and that trick with your voice. Remember that?" She was grinning in anticipation.

It was true. I had promised that, and it would serve as a brief reprieve. I took my little ingénue all through the theatre. I showed her the catwalks and the draw-ropes. It frightened me to see her climb on the ropes and scurry about the catwalks, but she seemed to be having so much fun that I had not the heart to stop her.

"You can see everything from here," she exclaimed happily, sitting almost thirty feet above the best seating. "I thought the view from the stage was good – but this is amazing! I bet all the people look so tiny to you."

I spent another hour displaying my vocal abilities. Ventriloquism was a hobby of mine that had come in surprisingly handy on many occasions. Sadly, Christine showed no talent for it, though her interest was intense. I showed her how I could throw my voice and make it seem to come from just one place (a magical talking seat) or from everywhere. I called that one 'the voice of the gods.' This was the one I had used with her - it worked wonders. If I could have thought of any more tricks I would have entertained her with them until the sun came up, but I could not. My cupboard was bare.

"And now," she announced, "the final promise. All masks off!" I could not help but think that she would have been far less bubbly if she had known what she was in for.

"You are absolutely sure?" We were standing on the stage, facing one another.

"Will you please stop procrastinating? I'm getting sleepy; I can't stay all night." Her eyes were bright with excitement – and I suspect, with the thrill of finally getting her way.

"Alright. But, please do not be frightened. What you are going to see…it is just me. It is only Erik."

That's when I saw the first lines of worry wrinkle her pretty forehead.

I turned from her and took off my hat and mask. Turning back around to face her was undoubtedly the most difficult thing I have ever done in my entire life. I thought Nadir would be proud.

Can you imagine my surprise when she did not scream or faint? Her eyes grew very, very wide and her mouth dropped slightly opened, but she did not run away.

"That's amazing," she said in an awed voice. "How long did it take you to get that on? Mine takes about an hour and that's just to play the Princess." She leaned in closer; she appeared to be searching for something.

The crowning jewel of cruel fate: We were both creatures of the theatre now; Christine thought my face was a skillfully applied latex mask and make-up.