So for this version of the song, I used the 25th anniversary lyrics. Ramin Karimloo is my favourite musical phantom and I have been watching this version ever since I was a teenager. On with the music of the night...

Chapter 20: The Music of the Night

"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses."

Christine remembered when she sat on the back of the wagon and dreamed about floating on a cloud. It was exactly how she felt now. Her body was weightless, drifting along the bars of music she could only ever dream about. It was magical, thrilling, perfect in every way. Her soul had ached for his presence for so long and now it was finally here. It didn't feel real.

"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light."

His gloved hand hovered under her cheek, tracing her jaw-line like a ghost. It barely touched her, but turned her head towards him nonetheless. At first his lone finger pulled her closer to him. She could feel the heat of his body against her chest though he did not touch her. The environment around her fizzled away, blurring away until all she could see was a porcelain mask and bright eyes. Then he stepped away, guiding her forward with his fingertip that gently hooked under her jaw.

"And listen to the music of the night. Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dream. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar. And you'll live as you've never lived before."

She followed him through the foreign passageways, his voice pulling her through the darkness. Long gone was the stench of the dungeon and the terror in her heart. Instead, her senses drank every part of him: the coolness of his fingers, the colour of his eyes, the smell of spices that radiated off him. But mostly, she was lost in his voice. It was rich and enticing, drawing every ounce of her attention. It seemed unearthly, like the gods themselves hand-crafted it. It was just like how she remembered, but deeper, more angelic, and much more refined. It was flawless and she was irrevocably mesmerised.

"Softly, deftly music shall surround you. Hear it, feel it closing in around you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind. In this darkness which you know you cannot fight. The darkness of the music of the night."

Yes, Christine thought. That was exactly what she wanted. Freedom from the darkness of her mind. She wanted to be enveloped in her dreams, free of the harsh cold reality from which she lived. Her eyes opened and he stood before her. How could she describe that emotion she saw there? Passionate? Hungry? Vulnerable? Terrified? She watched as he circled in front of her again. She stared at the man before her.

Yes, a man.

"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me."

As his voice rose, she felt her eyes flutter shut. It was as if she couldn't stand the power behind his voice, the passion she found there. It shook her bones and swelled in her core; its beauty too pure to possess. Though he may physically be a man, there was no doubt his voice was angel-like. Her body nearly crumpled as he whispered that last line, but she fought herself to stay awake. Her angel was here and she wanted to be with him. She felt him step behind her, her spine tingling at the near sensation of his torso. Gently, his arm wrapped over the top of her shoulder, cradling her head in his elbow. At first, he dared not to touch her, but she fell into his arm and leaned back against him. It was a mixture of needing his support to hold her upright and wanting to feel him. Her angel was real. He was here. He stiffened as a choked groan escaped his lungs. That noise set her nerves on fire. For a moment, he hesitated, but continued to sing. His voice was deeper, huskier, and it lulled her to something impure.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in. To the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night."

She turned to him as he stepped away from her, his gloved hand reaching out for her to take. Her arm, heavy and numb, lifted on its own accord as she took it. He pulled her around a corner to a small, circular opening. In the center, rested a black piano.

"You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night."

Christine stood in awe as she gazed at it. She hadn't seen a piano throughout most of their journey and missed its welcoming silhouette. Hypnotised, she walked to it. The clicking of her shoes brought her attention downward and she froze. They were standing on glass, the bluest river flowing below her. With a small smile of wonder, she turned to him. Was this real? Was this what heaven looked like? A floating piano on a gentle river? Her angel's eyes widened as his shoulders loosened. Although she could just see one side of his face, she was certain the corner of his lips rose into the slightest smile.

"Christine." He exhaled.

"Angel." She whispered. "My angel of music. You are here." Her eyelids grew heavy as she watched him slowly walk towards her. She surrendered to the darkness, her knees buckling out from under her.

His arms caught her, one hand quickly darting under her knees as the other supported her upper back. When he lifted her, she felt her mind numb. Now she really was floating on a cloud.

A single tear trickled down her cheek. The voice she had prayed for had finally returned. But the tear also formed from a deep despair, one that reached up from the bottom of her heart. All this time, she was abandoned by a man.

A man who had lied to her since she was a little girl.

-Erik POV:-

Erik forced himself to play the piano. If he didn't, he was certain he would lose control. His entire plan had collapsed in shambles because of his weak resolve and if he had the opportunity, he would flee from this heaven and never turn back. But he couldn't. Christine lay on the ground, wrapped in his cloak. He couldn't leave her in his hidden piano room, especially considering he was the only one who knew it existed.

He wasn't sure what drove her to faint. Malnutrition? Strenuous travel? His voice? His disgusting form? Whatever it was, he was slightly grateful. At least this way, he could regain his composure. His original plan was to ask her to join him for dinner here so that they could rehearse afterwards. But as he watched her from the mirror, all he could see was this broken young woman. Something inside him wanted to sooth her, though he had no idea why. He started to sing before he could even formulate some sort of plan. A uncharacteristic move on his part.

The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.

Damn that blasted ballet instructor. Next time he saw Madame Giry, she would pay for this. This explained the flames in her eyes when she sang that angelic line. She knew him as a monster. Before her was the dreaded phantom of the opera, a facade he used as a teenager to scare annoying performers from finding his underground abode.

Yet, she still followed him. She sang for him, became hypnotized by his music. Their bodies moved like the tides, ebbing and flowing to each other harmoniously. It was as if their souls had been trapped in a cage, their melody finally unbarred. Her eyes were full of wonder, her body naturally curving towards his. She even touched him willingly. Did she really despise him? She almost seemed to want to be near him.

He scoffed at his absurd thought. No, Christine could not have felt the same way he did. He felt the constant need to be beside her as well as flee from the unusual ache in his heart. But if she hated him, would she have followed him? If she despised him, why didn't she scream?

He could not explain her actions, though now he understood his own. There was only one possible explanation as to why he was like this around her. Normally, he was collected, strategic, and calculated. Every decision he made came from experience and serious internal debate. But with her, everything went awry. Now he understood. He understood why his skin burned when he touched her, and why he craved it nonetheless. He knew why his eyes were always drawn to her and why he could never get her voice out of his head.

Yes.

He was merely infatuated with her.

She was a woman and he was just a man. It was a natural attraction. In the end, it was nothing more than animalistic desire. She was the only woman who showed him some semblance of kindness, so it was natural he felt this way, wasn't it? It would eventually pass and he would move along, as he always had. For now, however, it was driving him insane. He constantly felt the need to see her, to feel the warmth in her cheeks. As he sang to her, entrancing her to follow him, he lost all control. He dared to touch her, though used the little restraint he had to do so chastely. When would he grow up and get over this meaningless lust?

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice she was awake until she walked to the side of the piano. He froze, mid bar, and gawked at her. He gulped as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Yet, the adorable sight before him changed instantly when he was met with an even glare. She didn't seem pleased to see him, nor did she seem terrified. Originally, he had prepared an entire speech to explain himself. A speech he rehearsed like an idiot in the carriage. But now he couldn't remember one line of it.

"Are you…" She began, but faltered. Her lower lip trembled and Erik felt his heart tighten.

"Christine, I-"

"Were you my angel of music?"

A simple question; direct and to the point, yet impossible to answer. It wouldn't be long until she found out the truth, but he wanted her to maintain that naive innocence. For so long, she was the only one who didn't see her as the freak he was, but clearly now, that was going to change. Why did he ever believe that someone so pure would weep for him? Now that she knew the truth, she would hate him forever. Despite his internal struggle, he forced the truth out of his lips.

"Yes."

For just a moment, her jaw loosened and shoulders drooped. Her body seemingly crumbled at this revelation, but before he could study her desperation, she straightened herself and regained her composure.

"And you were the phantom?"

It was now his turn to maintain his composure. The even glare slowly turned into a red-eyed stare. The last thing he wanted was to see her cry.

"Yes. I was." He responded calmly. Christine looked away from him, her hand coming up to her mouth. He could just hear the faintest sob leave her lips. "I understand that this may be a lot to process-"

"You lied to me." She sobbed. She turned from him, gripping onto the piano bench. "You lied to me since I was a child."

"Christine." He begged, his tone darkening. "I had no choice."

"We always have a choice. Wasn't that what you told me yesterday?"

He growled. "This was different."

"Different?"

He waved his hands. "This is the least of our concerns. I shouldn't have lied to you, but the circumstances called for it." Though he fully planned on apologizing, he had no intentions on diving into his past. The little she knew about him, the better. She glared back up at him, turning her body to face him again. He hadn't seen that spark of stubbornness their entire journey and though it was small, it shined brightly. His stomached flipped with the realization that he was not going to escape this conversation.

"Everyone was right." She whispered. "I am a naive fool. I believed you were an angel, a voice in my head. But you were just..."

A monster. He could already finish her sentence. His hands automatically curled into fists as he waited for her inevitable response.

"You were just a man."

A man? It had been years since anyone had called him anything remotely like that. 'Monster', 'freak', and 'thing' were all common. In fact, he barely flinched when he overheard their whispers behind his back. But a man, if anything, was a strange compliment.

"Why?" She asked, her voice cracking. "Why did you lie to me?"

He stood, flinching as she stepped away from him.

"You were a little girl who needed an angel. Obviously I am anything but that."

"How did you know that? How did you know about the angel of music?"

He hesitated. "I overheard you crying in the chapel, the first night we met."

Erik remembered the night vividly. He had heard the most beautiful sound and scurried throughout the entire opera to find it. Once he did, he saw a young girl singing in the chapel. She spoke in a tongue he did not know, but when he questioned her in french, she was able to answer. She sang because she missed her father and needed the angel of music he promised her.

"I had asked you if you were my angel." Christine murmured. Her eyes too seemed glazed with the memory of that night.

"You possessed the most angelic voice I had ever heard." He admitted solemnly. "How could I tell you no?"

They stared at each other for a short period. He watched as the fire in her eyes withered away and her lower lip began to tremble.

"Why did you never reveal yourself?"

"You needed an angel, not a monster like me."

"You're not a monster. You were never a monster."

He scoffed, ignoring that sharp ache in his heart. "Never? You do remember, mademoiselle, that I, "that man and mystery" was always the phantom of the opera? Wasn't he just monstrous?" His final line was a dark snarl and he turned from her, his back leaning against the piano. He fumed in their silence, unable to take the sadness in her eyes. He heard her circle around the piano, standing hesitantly near him.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth when you returned? I was no longer a child then."

He released a dark chuckle. "Isn't it obvious why?" He snarled, gesturing to his mask. She was silent for a few moments before she replied.

"Is it because I betrayed you?"

Erik froze, his fingers trembling. Her betrayal. Yes, he remembered that fateful night. It was the last night he saw her before she performed in that amphitheatre. That night was one of his biggest regrets. Why did he ever go back? Why did he say what he had said to her? Why did he go to that blasted chandelier after what he saw?

He shook the memory out of his head. The fact of the matter was Christine believed his years of lies were because of her betrayal. Though they prompted his departure, she couldn't bear the blame for his devilish form. It was his abhorrent face that kept them separated, not her. He turned to explain himself, but felt a slight tug on his pant leg. His eyes widened as his angel collapsed before him, gripping onto the bottom of his trousers with tears streaming out of her eyes.

"I am so sorry." She cried. "After all your years of friendship and compassion, I betrayed you. I was weak, I was a fool. I let my emotions get in the way of what I wanted and I broke our promise. I don't understand why you lied, but I should respect it. Without you, I would not be the woman I am today. You taught me how to be brave. You gave me my voice and-and I betrayed you!"

The last words barely escaped her lips before she burst into tears. Erik trembled, unable to take the sound of her cries. He crouched down before her, his heart rattling in his rib cage.

"Stop." He pleaded. "It's not-"

"You had every right to be angry with me, especially after all the years of tutelage that I threw away. Please forgive me! I can't live another day without your forgiveness!" Her eyes finally met his and he was shaken to his core. He gaped at the shattered remnants of a woman before him.

This was wrong. This was entirely wrong. Yes, he was angry with her. She had betrayed him and led him down this path of insanity. In a way, he wanted to be angry with her. But the truth was, he wasn't angry at all. In fact, he was ashamed. His student, his only friend, cried before him for forgiveness, when the truth was that she never needed it.

He sat down, trying to lower himself to her eye level. His trembling hand betrayed the calmness of his voice. "I forgive you." He whispered.

The words burned as they escaped his lips, though the weight on his heart lifted immediately. For so long he was consumed by hatred. The one good thing in his life had hurt him in ways he couldn't put into words. She was so quick to abandon him that he sunk into a hole of blackness, his worthlessness consuming him. He wanted to hate her, to despise her existence and make her suffer. But he could never speak against her, or think any malicious thought. Her smiling face, the years of joy, all flooded his memories and instead he wallowed in his own self hatred. Despite all the lies that had been revealed tonight, she admitted that she never saw him as a monster. In fact, she begged for his forgiveness as if he was a man. He was the monster, she was the angel. Why did she ask for forgiveness? He searched through the anger in his soul and found that despite everything, there was no true animosity towards her.

Christine leapt forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head against his chest. Erik's heart stopped beating. He now sat against the piano leg, his legs sprawled out and around her lithe form that sat in between them. She leaned against his chest as she cried into his shoulder. Every part of her was touching him, and it burned. His shaking hands rested at his side, unable to move. This was too much. Her cries deafened him, each one a knife into his soul. The warmth of her body consumed him, though he wasn't sure if he wanted to wrap his arms around her or push her away from him. Instead, he closed his eyes and didn't move. It didn't matter how he felt. Christine needed him. For once he would be there for her.

"I'm so sorry." She cried.

He hushed her, his voice a cracked whisper. "I forgive you. It's over. I forgive you."

How could he describe this feeling? Painful but joyful? Heartbreaking but healing? Hesitantly, he gently placed a hand onto her back, exhaling deeply. What kind of cruel God placed someone so pure into his world to make her cry for forgiveness for his monstrous deeds? He blocked out all the thoughts in his mind and gently brought his other hand around her. Even though she cried into his chest, this was blissful. Damn that daroga for being correct. Telling her the truth would heal these wounds, for the both of them.

After years of anguish, he finally felt as though he was beginning to feel something again. Something warm, something good. Whatever it was, he would hold her like this until the end of time until she felt it too.

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Since we are getting closer to where I am editing, I will probably go back to posting once a week. I hope you guys are still liking this story, and I would love your (constructive )critiques and reviews. Thank you all!

Lucyole: Christine is definitely naive, but I didn't want her to be as as clueless as she can be portrayed. She was just lonely and needed a friend. They definitely need more time to discuss but this was a good start. Thank you for your review!

Phantomgirl24: You may detect something there... Erik and Christine still have a long way to go, but they're finally beginning to grow. I am glad you saw how it was just like when they first met! I love things coming back to a full circle. Thanks for your review!

YinuoTong: Sorelli is a older than Christine and Meg and Jammes is just a little younger. Hopefully this chapter was sweeter haha. Thanks for your review!