Why hello dear readers. Here's a present for spring break!

Warning, this chapter is most definitely rated T. I didn't think it quite constituted a Mature though, as I come across much worse rated T.

It was dark. It was so, so dark. Even his eyes, which had grown accustomed to endless night beneath the opera house, could not comprehend the full details of his surroundings.

Breath fanned around his face, his neck. Hands smoothed down his back, as if to iron out his scars.

Everything was shifting. The dark made everything pixelated, spots of black preventing full sight appreciation.

Every so often he felt a stinging at his shoulder, nails digging in.

His hand found a hip, a waist, and arm. It never stopped moving, never stopped touching. The other alternated between holding fiercely to the back of a head to splaying out against the smooth, arching back.

"Oh…"

The soft voice thrilled him, and he found its lips with his, molding them for a few delirious seconds.

The eyes kept holding his. They sparkled even in the non-light.

Gasps and pants echoed around them, interrupted occasionally by a small cry.

They were one being, he and this creature. They moved together. Equals, soul mates, inseparable. Nothing could tear them apart. Nothing...

The beautiful one made another breathless cry, and every inch of him was on fire.

"Oh, my Angel…"

It wrapped itself around him, holding so tightly they fused together.

And suddenly there was light in the darkness: bright, white, intense light that surrounded them.

They collapsed against each other, finding hands and joining fingers. The light remained, glowing around them and accentuating every feature.

Her eyes shone brightly, slight evidence present that she had cried only recently. They held his, her hand reaching up to cup his left cheek. She tugged, kissing him fully, tears running anew across both faces.

"I love you!" was his breathless whisper when she finally released him. She said nothing, but buried her faced against his neck. Her fingers squeezed his.

He kept kissing the top of her head, burying his nose in her rich curls. He released her hand, both of his arms coming around and holding her tight. She mimicked the motion.

"Don't let me go." She sobbed against his throat, placing a kiss beneath his chin.

Never! I will never release you now. No one can survive having one's soul ripped from them! How could I be expected to do so now?

Her hands kept finding more of his skin, holding and molding bodies. Tears were kissed from both faces, and again and again he seemed to find a heavenly rapture, bliss in her arms.

It was when he was feeling lightheaded with joy that the darkness intruded once more, like a knife slicing through a fine curtain.

Her hand, cupping the right side of his neck, trailed upward, splaying over his cheek. His horrible, mangled cheek.

His blood turned to ice, his body tensing. She didn't seem to notice. Her hand continued its journey, fingers sliding through his hair back down his back, tracing lightly over scar tissue.

She gave a muffled sob, pressing his hand harder against his back; a small shield against attacks from a bloody past.

She finally slipped into sleep after many quiet minutes. He found no such peace.

Scarred, ugly, deformed, hideous! All had been things he'd wish her to see past. And she did now! She did! He felt her acceptance in her embrace, in her kisses. It was not a lie, it could not be.

But now… now, what could he offer her? He was no longer in control of the Opera house. Could no longer give her the fame she deserved. He was a wanted man, a murderer, a thief, hunted for crimes both real and imagined. Already proclaimed guilty of every perceived offense. He could not give her a life any longer. It was too late.

He tried not to shake as he extricated his arms from around her. He made himself freeze when she stirred. When they were finally separated, the world felt cold. Colder than it had ever before.

He bent down carefully, retrieving his limited garments and dressing. They did not bring any heat to his body. They felt stiff, itchy.

He looked at her once last time, not believing he could take the steps to leave her. He leaned in close again, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. Unable to stop there, he went to her cheek, nose, and finally her lips. She stirred again, and he retreated back an inch, watching her carefully. Her mouth twitched slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

"I love you. Be happy. Please be happy."

Her found her clothes; put them in a neat pile for her, draping the dress over the single table in the small room. She gave a small shiver from the bed, and she brought the small blanket around her. Thinking it may not be enough, he laid her garments over her.

Feeling a sob rise in his throat he bolted from the room, the little house he'd secluded himself in. He kept running, so hard and fast that the surroundings warped and twisted. Everything fell away in a swirl and black and gray, and he fell, screaming in agony.

When he woke, he was once more drenched in sweat, tears bathing his face. His screams still echoed slightly in his small bedchamber, bouncing mockingly from the stones.

He dropped his head down again against the pillow, taking deep gulps of air.

These kinds of dreams were becoming a usual occurrence. Odd images that seemed real and lifelike, the pain of them felt to his core. He'd seen the small boy often enough. Occasionally, Erik saw a vast, colorful world, filled with lights and laughter, the smell containing a hint of the sea. And even though he had never seen the place before in his life, he knew without a doubt that it was his. His kingdom, his dominion. There, he was like a God, even more so than he was at the Opera. People respected him, obeyed his commands without protest. Yes, there and only there had Erik had total control.

Erik growled under his breath. Stupid imagination. Curse hope! Curse dreams! But most of all, curse this most recent torment.

He exhaled a shaky breath. He'd never had such a dream before. Not to say he hadn't dreamt about Christine, but most dissolved into nightmares of her screams.

But this one…

He'd felt everything. It had been so powerful, so real. And the pain of walking away from her, when she'd come to him willingly, had lied naked in his arms, was making his heart rip at the seams.

Christine. She gave him the hope he scorned but could not repulse. She gave him dreams during the day of what could be. He'd didn't have to leave her! He could still make her career, give her a life of splendor. Why shouldn't he? He ran this Opera house, would always have his orders obeyed. She would be a star, the toast of Paris, of Europe! His diva, his angel, his wi-

He cut off that train of thought. It was still too raw, too dangerous to contemplate. But her words, her actions, were so beautiful.

He got up, unable to stay and risk another nightmare. He went to the desk he'd worked on for the past few days. His current project lay across it, almost complete except for a few more minor details. Its fellow lay finished, its simplicity making the job far less strenuous. It had come to him in a spur of the moment during a fit of melancholy, and the idea had run its course.

Erik prayed Christine would like it. It would look stunning on her, he was sure.

He glanced at the clock. It was 5:30. He still had a few more hours before the rats and workers started running about. It was too risky to go back to sleep.

He had an entire day to prepare for this evening. Saturday evening, when she would spend the night. Everything must be perfect.

IIIIIII

"Come in."

Madame Giry glanced up for a moment as the door opened. She had been expecting this conversation. She only wondered why it had taken a few weeks to come up.

"Good morning, Madame." Christine said, giving a small curtsy.

"Good morning, Christine. Was there something you needed?"

Christine was fisting her dress in her hands, wrinkling it, and Madame corrected her. Ever the taskmaster, even when the coming conversation would no doubt have heavy consequences.

Christine clasped her hands in front of her, bringing herself to face the ballet mistress.

"I wish to discuss something rather important with you, Madame."

Madame Giry inclined her head, gesturing to the empty seat in front of her. Christine sat quickly, placing her hands in her lap.

"What is it?"

Christine looked her full in the face, trying to mask her nerves.

"About that night I disappeared, Madame." She paused there, and swallowed. Madame Giry maintained a calm façade, while apprehension grew inside her.

"Yes?"

"I know you know where I went." Christine said it quickly, looking at her intently. Madame Giry nodded slowly. "And, I know… you know who I was with."

"Indeed?" Madame said carefully.

"And I believe you have known the truth for quite some time now. Perhaps, ever since the beginning?"

Madame Giry sighed, leaning back in her chair. She knew the conversation was coming, but that didn't make it easier.

"Christine, child, what is it you truly wish to say? These statements are not moving the conversation forward, merely establishing mutual knowledge."

Christine pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, appearing to brace herself.

"I want you to know that I have agreed to see him. That I have…accepted him."

Madame looked at her closely, placing her elbows on the table and folding her hands.

"And," she spoke softly, "in what capacity have you chosen to accept him in, Christine?"

"Well, he will accompany me to the masque. He has agreed to it." Christine smiled slightly at the mistress' momentary shock.

"Well, as impressive a feat that is, it does not quite answer my question, dear. You have convinced him to take you. Oh," Madame waved a hand in front of you at Christine's blush, "I'm no fool, girl. I know you must have asked him. But we'll ignore that breach of propriety. What I want to know is what the current condition of your relationship is?" Madame raised her eyebrow at Christine's continued blush.

"We-I have… We've accepted each other's suit, Madame." Christine's hands were gripping each other tightly now, and Madame once more corrected her.

"I see. And the ball shall be your debut into society as such?"

Christine nodded a little enthusiastically. She smiled at her, and leaned forward.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you, Madame, is because," she faltered, looking slightly downcast, "I have no one else I can share the truth with. At least, not yet." Madame nodded in agreement.

"Indeed. More than once I have had my daughter upon me, demanding I speak with you so that you might confess all your secrets. She has been very upset, Christine." Madame gave her a reproving look, but only a slight one. She looked ashamed enough.

"I know, Madame. I have tried to tell her what I could. It's just, we both agreed not to tell anyone the truth of our relationship, be it platonic or otherwise. And, and you know Meg, Madame! She would not understand! She is the first to proclaim the phantom is around. She wouldn't believe me; she'd probably think I was mad. She already scolded me for turning down Raoul." Christine took a breath, calming her voice. "I'm just not ready for her to know the truth, Madame."

Madame Giry held up her hand, signaling Christine to stop. She was not cross, not really.

"Christine, dear, I know. I can even understand. Despite my association with him, I too have kept Meg in the dark. They have never met, and I wish I could encourage her that he does not exist. But as I handle his notes, that isn't possible. Generally, I simply refuse to answer her questions." Madame sighed tiredly. "I believe that may have been why she reacted so strongly when you would tell her nothing. She can no longer stand to have something kept from her."

"Madame," Christine began, reaching over to grasp her hand, "we can one day tell her the truth, can we not? We are all attending the masque, and she will have to meet him. She only knows that he is my suitor, not that he was the Angel. Or phantom. Perhaps, after having met him out of context, and having known of his existence for some time, we could all sit together, and tell her the truth?"

Madame held Christine's hand over her own, giving her a small smile.

"I wish that it could be so simple, my dear. Such a strategy, while bearing a deceit, may yet be the best course of action. But events rarely play out as we wish they will. We can only pray, and hope all will be well."

Christine returned the pressure, biting her lip as uncertainty rose in her eyes.

"What is your next question, child?" Madame Giry asked calmly.

"You do not… I cannot be certain it would matter, but you do not disapprove of my decision, do you, Madame?" Christine did not look at her as she spoke.

"Indeed, I cannot be certain at this point, Christine. I have never known him to do you harm, aside from that odious ruse. Which, I may add, we will speak about at some point. But you must understand, child, that while it may seem wondrous and romantic now, that man…" Madame sighed, squeezing her hand. "I have no doubt he is dangerous, lethal when threatened. I would never wish to see you affected by such a tendency. And his secrets, I'm sure, go deep."

Christine nodded slightly, looking up at her again.

"There are two secrets I already known, Madame. I know his name." Madame smiled. It was a simple thing, but she doubted anyone else besides the two of them knew it. "And, I meant what I said before Madame. I have seen him."

Comprehension dawned, and Madame Giry's eyes went wide.

"You mean… he showed you? He took away the mask?"

Christine colored, and looked down ashamed.

"No. He didn't. I-I took it off before he realized I was there. I snuck up behind him-"

"You what? Mon Dieu, Christine! Your infernal curiosity will be the death of you one day!" Madame Giry looked at her, terror momentarily gripping her at what Erik might've done to her in response. "What did he do to you?"

Christine was shaking her head, as if to deny Madame Giry's thoughts.

"I-I jumped away from him almost immediately. He screamed, yelled at me for a bit. Chased after me when I tried to dart away. He was wild, but," Christine looked at her then, a sheen of tears coating her eyes, "oh Madame, he was heartbroken! He believed I'd never have anything to do with him again, once I knew the truth. I hate myself for causing him such pain." Christine shook her head. "But Madame, it was necessary! The feelings between us now, he cannot doubt them, thinking I will turn away when I see his face. I've seen it many times now, taken the mask away myself. His face will never stop me."

Madame Giry leaned back in her chair, eyeing Christine.

"I never could have guessed at your…resolve, regarding him. Truly, you are still so very young. Do not take offense, but I wouldn't have guessed you to be so strong, now."

Christine laughed lightly. Tears fell down her cheeks, which Giry reached over to quickly dash away.

"I am not strong. People keep saying I'm so very strong now. It's not true. I just," another shaky breath, "I need him. He is a part of me, and I believe I am a part of him. I could not bear to be separated now."

"May God grant you happiness, Christine, should this truly be your choice, for I must warn you, I feel this world will not be so kind."

And the plot thickens with Giry getting more involved, and Erik's former reality continuing to haunt him. Stay tuned…

Thank you to all my reviewers! I'm sorry I didn't give you personalized thank yous this time!