A/N: Hmmm, this one's rather short I'm afraid. Much apologies to you guys! Anyway, I'm watching Phantom at the moment and it's time for Don Juan. And yes, I do realise it's 1.45am here. I'm a student, I can handle it...--zonks out-- I would just like you all to know that I've written the final chapters of IHD. I just have to write the chapters between here and there now...argh...

In France, the day after Christmas Day isn't a public holiday. Poor French people.

HisInspiration: Heehee, Christmas. The dress is absolutely gorgeous. I guess the royal family do have some taste…

WanderingChild24: In love? Maybe…maybe not…

TwistedEveryWayForErik: Heehee, glad you like. Thanks for the review of 1000 Talents as well. I've got a few ideas for a sequel.

SariPunkinPie: Awww thanks. Here's the next chapter!

PhantomFreak07: I haven't actually read the Count of Monte Cristo but I watched the movie. Doesn't really count, I know… I quite like Dumas' stuff. I've read The Man in the Iron Mask and The Three Musketeers and loved them. Scottish accents aren't really a problem for me-my first flute teacher was from Glasgow and had the thickest accent ever. Not long until the ball now…

Bonus cookies to the person who finds the shoeboxproject reference!

In His Darkness…

When I woke, I wondered why Monique's sofa had transformed itself into a rug on a stone floor and how my pillow had turned into a knee. I wriggled round so I was lying on my back and rubbed my arm to try and get some feeling back into it.

"You sleep like the dead." The warm French tenor made me smile sleepily.

"So I've been told." I looked up at Erik. "You could have woken me up, you know."

"I didn't want to disturb you; you looked so peaceful."

"I didn't snore, did I?"

"You breathe heavily, remember? And yes. It's endearing," he said, as I buried my face in his knee in embarrassment.

"Iff imbarrffin."

"I'm sorry, Marguerite, I don't speak pathetic bas…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. I may have to kill you," I said, lifting my head up and resting my chin on his knee. "I said, it's embarrassing." I struggled into a sitting position and leant against the armchair. "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't."

"You what? Why not?"

"You try sleeping when you're sitting up against a hard chair on a stone floor."

"I said you could have woken me."

"And I said I didn't want to."

We glared at each other until the moment was broken by Erik yawning so hugely, his face split in two. "You need to sleep," I said patting his knee and standing up, "and I need to get back to Monique. She's already thrown a major wobbly at me." I went over to the dress where it was still draped over the chair and carefully folded it back into the box, laying the wig and mask on top.

"Do you have to go?" His voice was soft and hopeful.

"Stop it," I said warningly. "No more seasonal blackmail until Easter."

"What about regular blackmail?"

"That's never allowed."

"Damn."

I tucked the box under my arm and turned to look at him. "What are you doing today?"

"The usual," he replied, easing himself to his feet and brushing dust from his clothes. "I thought I'd lurk in my underground lair, play some music, lurk some more and then, to break up the lurking, I thought I'd go and frighten some of the dancers."

"It's Boxing Day. The theatre will be closed."

"What?"

"The day after Christmas is a public holiday. Isn't it?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Why do you call it 'Boxing Day'? Do you get together with your family and have a fight or something?"

"I'm not sure why," I said, ignoring his sarcasm. "In my house it's known as recover-from-over-indulgence day."

"You English have some strange traditions."

"And you French eat horsemeat and frogs."

"Touché."

I gave a mock bow and smiled at him brightly. "Right, I'm off." I turned to leave but found my way blocked. "Oh, Nadir. Sorry, I was just leaving."

"It's M. Khan," he replied bitingly. "And there is no need to apologise."

"O…k…" I shot him a confused look but he merely pushed past me and began talking to Erik in quick, hushed French. I turned to say goodbye at Erik but he was deep in conversation with Na…M. Khan. I slipped out quietly without either of them noticing.

-8 -

It was a pity my stay with Erik had been spoilt by M. Khan's untimely appearance. Even more trouble was waiting for me when I got back to Monique's flat.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" Two angry voices in unison greeted me as I walked through the door. In English. I was in serious trouble.

"Hello to you too," I replied, brushing past Monique and Pierre to tuck the box under the sofa.

"WELL?"

"Could you talk a bit quieter, please? Your parents plied me with a lot of wine yesterday." I flopped down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. Secretly, I was enjoying acting so indifferent to their indignant outburst. Wouldn't you?

"Where the hell were you!" yelled Monique. "And how dare you hang up on me like that! I thought something terrible had happened!"

"Oh, pfft," I sad, waving my hand airily. "I can look after myself."

"Do you not remember the black eye you had only a few weeks ago! Because I do."

"Monique," I said patiently, "that is all in the past. We have resolved our differences."

"ARGH! Where were you!"

"Were you with a man?" asked Pierre quietly in French.

"Yes," I replied honestly, "but not in the way you're thinking."

"You were with him, weren't you? The man you think is the phantom."

I couldn't be bothered to argue the point so I simply said, "Yes."

He sat down on the sofa next to me with a shaky sigh. "You must be careful, Marguerite. You could get into all sorts of trouble."

"I sincerely hope you're not going to start giving me the birds-and-the-bees talk," I said dryly. "I got that when I was twelve."

"I am serious, Marguerite," he said, switching back to English for emphasis and staring at me, his black eyes glistening. "I worry about you."

"Oh, Pierre." I took his hand and smiled gently. "You have nothing to worry about. He and I are just friends. Close friends. You're the only one for me," I added playfully.

"It is not that," he insisted. "I don't like the idea of this man having you so under his control that you cannot get out. It is like l'hypnose."

"It is nothing like hypnosis," I said sharply, pulling my hand away and fixing him with an angry glare.

"Then prove it," said Monique.

I jumped, forgetting she was there. "How?"

"Do not see him for a month."

"If I was going to do that, I wouldn't be able to go to work."

She shrugged. "The Christmas season is over. We do not have to go."

I sighed, seeing no way to get out of this. "A month? What about the ball? I know he'll be there."

"If he is there, then you must avoid him. You have to show us that you are not under this man's spell."

"Spell?" I looked around at them stunned. "He's not a magician, nor a hypnotist. He. Is. A. Man. A normal, regular man."

"Who just happens to believe that he is the phantom of the opera and possess the power to make you believe it too," said Pierre.

I paused, thinking about just how insane it sounded. "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Marguerite," said Monique, coming to sit the other side of me, "he will make you his Christine." She took my hand and her blue eyes filled with worry. "He will take you away and try to…to…well, I do not want to think about it. He will make you his obsession, his every waking thought. He will not rest until he has you forever."

"My God," I said disgustedly, snatching my hand away and looking at them both with contempt. "Can you hear what you're saying? He is not a monster. You don't understand, you could never understand. You don't know what it's like; living down there with only the rats and that glorified security guard for occasional company." I stood up and fixed them both with a fierce glare, hands on hips and ready for a row. "He isn't a monster," I repeated, "not in the slightest. You two have no idea. You don't know him. I do. I know you think I'm mad but I don't care. You don't believe me and that's fine. You can shut me away in a madhouse but I know the truth. He's not like in the stories. He's honest and kind and the best friend you could ever have. He's so intuitive. He knows when I want to be left alone, he knows when I want to talk and, get this, Monique-" I pointed my finger at her "-he knows when to ply me with chocolate and painkillers and run in the other direction. He has amazing instincts and they're so finely tuned that he can smell a rant like this from a mile off. That way, he knows not to bug me. Something which you two need to work on."

I began to leave, but whirled on them as a thought struck me. "You know what? I accept your challenge. Consider the gauntlet thoroughly picked up. I will pass a whole month without seeing Erik-" except at the ball, I added silently, "-and you will see that he is not some sort of hypnotist."

My rant finished, I glared at them both for a moment longer before stomping into Monique's room and slamming the door behind me. It's very hard to storm off in a four room flat. Nothing could calm me. I punched the pillows, threw books at the wall and tried to listen to calming music. Nothing helped, not even Music of the Night. In the end I took a deep breath and yelled various English obscenities at nothing in particular before collapsing onto the bed in floods of exhausted, angry tears.

A month. How hard could that be?

-8 -

A/N: I've put up a one-shot called 1000 Talents. It was one of those ideas that had to be written down. Please go read it and tell me what you think :)

Also, if you're a Harry Potter fan and haven't read The Shoebox Project, go read it now! This work of comic genius can be found at:

www . livejournal . com/community/shoeboxproject

I've just found out how many people are reading this-432 hits for chapter one, down to 48 for chapter 24. It's...rather depressing, actually so thank you to all of you for sticking with me and giving my writing a chance.