Meg sighed heavily as she sat on the floor of her mother's office, legs sprawled in front of her, leaning her back against one of the walls and throwing a small rubber ball against the side of her mother's desk. It bounced off the wood with a thud and she caught it before tossing it again.

The steady thuds of the ball caused Madame Giry to wrinkle her brow.

"Please don't do that, Meg," she fretted.

"Maman," Meg moaned. "I could have made plans with Francesca or Doreen. But now everyone left already!"

"Well, fuss at your Auntie, not at me - I'm not the one who canceled the visit," Madame Giry said. "I was quite ready to go today if not for the telegram she sent last night saying she was busy and she didn't want any company today."

Meg huffed, but she knew her mother was right. Still, the only thing worse that having to go sit in her aunt's parlor and drink that terrible weak tea she made was to be stuck in the opera house when all of her friends were off elsewhere.

Even Christine had gone and left her!

There was a knock at the little office door, and Madame Giry went to see who was there.

"Oh! Monsieur le Vicomte! How do you do today?" she politely asked as she opened the door wide and ushered him into the office. "What can I do for you, Monsieur?"

Meg scrambled up from the floor and tried to make herself look presentable.

Raoul smiled at both of them. He had spoken with Madame Giry on a number of occasions, buying tickets and so on. He already knew Meg, of course, since she was Christine's best friend.

"It's lovely to see you both again," he told them. "But I'm actually looking for Christine. Do you know where she is?"

And he smiled again, that bright, winning smile that was very handsome to look at but it did very little to help the sudden sinking feeling Meg felt in her stomach.

At that very moment, unknown to anyone else except for Meg Giry, Christine was taking a lesson from her tutor. The director of the show might be terrible, but at least her singing would be wonderful.

Madame Giry looked to her daughter, and Meg quickly recalled what Christine had asked her to say.

"I haven't seen her at all," she shrugged apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know where she is."

His smile faded a little.

"Oh," he said. "Well, does she still rent a room here?"

"Yes, Monsieur, I can assure you that she still rents her room," Madame Giry supplied.

He nodded.

"Then she should be back this evening, I take it?" he looked to Meg once more. "Unless she had other plans?"

Meg bit her lip. If she told him Christine would be away, he'd ask how she knew. But if he came back and waited for her - he'd be waiting quite a long time.

"Was Christine expecting you?" she asked.

He shrugged sheepishly.

"No, my coming here is a surprise. She thinks I'm not even in France at the moment!"

"Oh, my..." she said weakly, trying to smile.

"If she's out at the moment, do you happen to know when she'll be back?"

"Unfortunately not, I'm sorry!"

"Ah, it's okay. I'm sure I'll see her soon enough."

He took his leave, and Meg sank down the wall again, suddenly lost in a spiral of worry. She squeezed the ball in her hand, too distracted to even think of throwing it anymore.

While Raoul was out waiting for her to return, Christine was biting her lip in concentration as she leaned over a table in Erik's workroom. He had let her borrow a few sheets of paper and a pen, and she was carefully writing out a number of Swedish words as he leaned over her shoulder to watch.

"Erik!" she laughed. "Just wait until I'm done! I can't focus with you over my shoulder like that!"

He pulled back.

"Hmph. I am merely curious. You can't fault a man for his curiosity, Christine."

"Just give me a moment - I'm almost done!" she grinned as she continued writing them out.

It had been ages since she'd written anything in Swedish, but a discussion with Erik had led to him asking about Swedish, a language he didn't know. She had realized that with his gift for language (it turned out he spoke six languages quite fluently, and knew a fair amount of three others, while she herself only knew four languages) he could probably pick it up quite quickly, and she had offered to teach him a number of words and sayings.

He found he was quite eager to learn whatever he could of the language - he was already making plans to buy some books on the matter. The languages he knew he had learned because he had lived in those countries or visited for a long period, but he had never had a reason to learn Swedish - until now. What could be sweeter than being able to talk to Christine in her native tongue?

"Meg, dear-"

Meg looked up at her mother, pulled out of her worries.

"I'm finished with my work here, would you like to go shopping?"

Meg hesitated. She hated window shopping - she only liked shopping when she had money to buy something. Staring at things she wanted but had no way of getting was not her idea of fun.

"I'm finally going to buy that dress I've been wanting," Madame Giry went on, beaming with pride. "And I thought perhaps you could get that hat I know you've had your eye on!"

"Maman..."

Meg was puzzled. She knew her mother had been saving up for a new dress for a while now, but if she finally had enough for the dress, how could she also afford that pretty pink hat?

Madame Giry knew what her daughter was thinking. She reached deep into her pocket and pulled out the envelope that had been left by the Opera Ghost. She held it open and showed its contents to Meg, who gasped.

"Yes, Maman, I agree! Let's go shopping!"

"The Ghost has been very good to us, hasn't he?" Madame Giry said, a little on the loud side as she glanced up at the ceiling. "We are most appreciative."

Meg put the thoughts of Raoul out her mind for the afternoon as she shopped with her mother. She managed to forget entirely about the whole problem for a little while. It wasn't until she arrived back to the girls' dormitories that she noticed he was there in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking concerned.

"Meg!" he called out to her, and her stomach felt uneasy.

"Christine hasn't returned yet," he frowned.

"Oh?"

"I asked a girl, Doreen, I think, and she said Christine usually doesn't stay out very late. Do you think she'll be back soon?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not certain. Like I said, I'm not sure where she is, so I really don't know when she'll be back."

"You're her best friend - she didn't mention any plans anywhere?"

Meg frowned. She was afraid the Vicomte was going to worry too much over it all, worry that Christine was in some sort of trouble. If only Christine had known he was coming! Why did he have to try and surprise her? And Meg had only tried to follow Christine's wishes! How was she to know Raoul would wait outside Christine's doorway like a little lost puppy until she came back? She could have thought of a more convincing story than 'I haven't seen her', if only she had known...

"No, she didn't say anything."

Raoul shifted a little.

"She didn't mention any plans in her last letter to me, either. In fact she even mentioned that her next few weeks were going to be rather quiet!"

Meg chewed at her lip. Raoul looked quite concerned, and she wanted to let him know he had nothing to worry about - but how could she do that without revealing anything about Christine's teacher? She had been so insistent that no one know!

"Is she-" Raoul looked uncomfortable. "Is she seeing anyone? A suitor, or a- a patron?"

He hated to bring it up, as he knew that he was neither and therefore had no real business even asking. If Christine hadn't seen fit to tell him, then it wasn't fit for him to pry about it.

Meg froze, eyes wide.

"I won't be upset if you say yes," he looked down, shamefaced. "I just want to know that she's okay, that's all."

Meg shook her head slowly. For all the teasing she had done, and even if she did think Christine had a bit of a crush on the mysterious man, she had told Meg that her teacher was neither a suitor nor a patron, and Meg believed her.

"No, she doesn't."

Raoul nodded a little. He wasn't sure how to feel - a little relieved, he supposed, but as awful as finding out she secretly had a suitor would be, it would have been offset by knowing that she was simply out having fun somewhere and didn't want him to know. It would sting, but it wouldn't hurt as much as finding out she had been some accident.

Meg felt awful over the whole thing. She searched for something, anything, to say and said the first somewhat comforting thing that came to mind.

"I'm sure she's alright, Raoul. She'll be fine. It's not like that kidnapper is still out there," she chuckled nervously.

Raoul's eyes went wide.

"Kidnapper?"

Meg closed her eyes and cursed herself.

"Oh, er, yes, that Mister Williams, the man from England? He, ah, he kidnapped a few young women a while ago... Well, he's in prison now, at least."

"Kidnapped," Raoul breathed, and Meg scowled.

"No, no - I said she's not kidnapped, Raoul. She's fine," she said firmly.

"How do you know?" he cried. "How do you know she's fine if you don't even know where she is or when she'll be back?"

Meg stared, dumbstruck. She had truly gone and done it. How was she going to get out of this one?

Christine sat on one of the chairs in his sitting room and listened to him as he played the piano. She had a book in her lap, but concentration for the story was difficult to come by - she kept glancing up at him, pausing to watch him from behind. He had taken his jacket off earlier in the afternoon, sometime during their impromptu Swedish lesson (a subject he had certainly picked up very well - she had enjoyed hearing such familiar words in his voice, enjoyed that he hadn't thought it beneath him to learn from his student, even enjoyed correcting his pronunciation). His white shirtsleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms and her eyes kept being drawn back to those sinewy arms and bony wrists.

Content with the knowledge that he couldn't see her looking at him, she set her book down for a little while and focused solely on him, letting her mind wander.

She wondered what he would have been like had he looked everyone else. He had known such awful things, had been through so many hardships - yet even after all that, even while he shunned society and lived underground, he was so sweet to her, so thoughtful and caring towards her... How much kinder would he have been if he had been accepted by others? How much more would his career - careers - have flourished if he didn't have to hide? His music played freely for all to hear? His buildings sought after by so many?

He would be incredibly wealthy, far more so than he was now as the Ghost. Perhaps he would have been a philanthropist - he was certainly terribly generous with her, how much more so would he be if he didn't hate most of humanity? He'd live in a lovely house, probably one of his own design. He'd have a wife, certainly - how could a man as talented and funny and kind as him not have a wife? He'd have children, too. Probably a great deal of children, she thought wryly. And he'd have friends - so many friends.

He wouldn't be so awfully nervous about so many things, wouldn't shrink away and avoid contact with other people. He'd live just like anyone else, sleep at night and eat meals with his family. He might not be so thin, either because he ate regularly or because whatever it was that had caused his face to look like was also what made him look thin.

He would be happy.

She sighed a little. He deserved a lovely life like that. He deserved friends and loved ones, and people who loved him in return. But fate had given him this instead. A horrible face and a lifetime of loneliness.

He glanced behind him and noticed she was no longer reading.

"Do you have any requests, sweet?"

She let her eyes slide closed and smiled. She loved when he called her that.

So many men often tried to call the girls in the company by pet names, and it nearly always sounded patronizing and falsely sweet - but when Erik said things like that, he said them in such a way that there was no mistaking the honest sincerity behind them.

"Hmm. Play the song you're writing for me."

His fingers paused over keys.

"It's not finished."

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head, and he began to play.

It was going to be a beautiful song, she could tell. Even only halfway finished, it sent a shiver down her spine and made her heart soar. If she could master this one, she'd surely get all sorts of roles, more than she was getting now.

The ending left uncertain, still unwritten, he instead played the first half again when he got to the end of what he already written.

Christine opened her eyes and watched him again.

When she was a child and she and her father had first come to France, she had right away noticed a bunch of yellow flowers growing up between the cobblestones in the market street. She had excitedly pointed them out to her Papa, telling him how pretty she thought they were.

"They're weeds," Gustave DaaƩ had smiled. "They don't belong there."

"No, Papa! They're beautiful! How could they not belong?"

They had returned to the market a few days later, she had been heartbroken to find the flowers had disappeared. She had asked her Papa about what happened to them.

"Ah," he had said. "Someone must have cut them down."

How could someone destroy such beauty simply because they thought it didn't fit?

The next time they had gone to the market, however, those same yellow flowers had already begun to grow back in exactly the same place, and she eagerly pointed them out again.

Her Papa had laughed.

"Yes," he said. "That's what weeds often do. You can try to trample them down, but they come right back up, strong as ever!"

She had secretly been glad that this was the case, and had stared hard at the little yellow flowers, rooting them on in her mind, telling them to never give up if they truly wanted to bloom.

Erik was like a weed, she thought. For the sin of existing, so many had tried to cut him down or trample him, but like those flowers he kept blooming anyway. He held such a beauty inside, but most who glanced his way surely only saw something they thought didn't fit, something that wasn't right, something that they wanted gone. But still, he bloomed. When the world would not allow him to sing on a stage, he instead crafted a student into a promising talent. When he was forced to live in a cellar, he instead designed a normal house for himself. When the world told him he had the appearance of a monster, he had created the image of a perfect gentleman. The world had tried its best to be rid of him, to trample him down, but still he bloomed in a flurry of creative endeavors, in his designs for make believe houses, in his compositions for all sorts of instruments - in the dark corners, and hidden away, perhaps, but he was still there, still creating beautiful things even if there was no one there to appreciate them.

How easy it would have been, she thought, for him to give up at any point in the past. And who could have blamed him? Yet still he pressed on.

He trailed off the song with a few chords here and there, eventually bringing it to a sort of an end. He turned back to face Christine to see her opinion of it. She was staring at the wall, a far off look in her unfocused eyes and a dreamy smile on her face.

He cleared his throat.

"That was beautiful, Erik," she turned her attention towards him.

He smiled.

"What were you thinking about just then?" he asked, curious.

"Flowers," she said simply.

"Ah."

Flowers. He should buy her some flowers. Women loved flowers. He often bought her flowers for after her performances, but perhaps he could also give her some for no particular reason, too.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair as he waited in the hallway outside the older girls' dormitories. There was no other way out or in besides that hallway, so Christine would have to pass through it when she returned - or if she returned. Meg's words still hung heavy in his mind, and the fact that the man she had been referring to was in jail held very little comfort for him - there were surely dozens more such monsters out there who would think nothing of kidnapping a young woman.

It made no sense to him - where was she? It was dark outside now, had been dark for over an hour. He had stopped every girl who had passed through the hallway and asked if they knew where Christine was, and each one had no idea. When asked when the last time they saw her was, most couldn't even name a specific day - they had seen her a few days ago, that much was certain, but as to whether or not anyone was sure they had seen her the previous day or even the day before that, no one could say.

Around midnight he could hear a group of laughing girls approaching. There was a number of them, all coming down the hallway at once, and he assumed from their state of dress and seeming slight intoxication that they had come back from a party of sorts. Perhaps Christine was with them! But she was nowhere to be found, and when asked they all frowned or shrugged and none of them were certain where she could be either.

Raoul fell asleep in the hallway sometime around two in the morning. He was sitting on the floor, his back propped against the wall.

Alexis and Marie peeked out at him.

"Why is he still here?" Alexis whispered.

"He's waiting for Christine," Marie's voice was hushed.

They were silent a long moment.

"Do you think she's okay? I can't even remember when I saw her last..." Alexis fretted.

"I'm not sure... She was at rehearsal, wasn't she? But did we see her again after that?"

"I hope she's alright."

They stared intently at the Vicomte.

"Should we get someone to kick him out?" Marie asked.

"No, he didn't seem creepy, I don't think he'll be any trouble. Besides, he's kind of handsome isn't he?" she giggled.

"Alexis stop!"

Her giggled were contagious, and they tried to muffle them as best they could, but even with the threat of waking him, neither one wanted to leave just yet.

In the morning Raoul awoke feeling stiff and sore and a little confused as to his surroundings, but everything came back to him soon enough. He wanted to spring up and rush down the hallway as quickly as his aching joints would allow and see if Christine was in her room, but he hesitated. He didn't want to simply charge into the dormitories - it seemed terribly rude, and he didn't want to make any of the girls uncomfortable with his presence in their private quarters.

He waited until someone came down the hallway.

"Did Christine return?" he asked eagerly.

The girl looked puzzled, and asked him to wait a moment. She returned down the hallway and was out of sight for a few moments, presumably checking Christine's room.

She came back and shrugged.

"I even opened her door, but she's not there," she said apologetically.

Raoul's shoulders sagged.

"I see. Thank you."

The girl went on her way, and after a minute or two Raoul turned and marched out of the hallway, out of the opera house entirely.

He was not going to sit by and do nothing while his dear friend was missing.