I kept constant watch on her, spied on her, one could say. But, I had never given much consideration to what others might say of the Opera Ghost, very few in the world really knew me, and of those to whom I spoke, only Christine had any inkling of the person I really was. Why would I chose to have further association with a world of people that had only ever offered me derision and scorn? I had learned, very early in life, that it was in my best interest to remain alone, and to be contented with this loneliness. A self-imposed alienation, rather than one forced upon me by 'polite' society.

In hindsight, perhaps, I may have saved myself a great deal of pain and anguish had I simply let Christine alone in her absence from me. Still, I was a man desperately in love, and in such a state of passion, I could not go more than a matter of hours without knowing her whereabouts and her dealings with others. One might call me a stalker, insane, even. Maybe it was an accurate description, but, again, it did not matter. I would do anything to keep Christine, to have her love me forever.

She did reply to the Vicomte's message. I watched her pen her response from the other side of the dressing room mirror. And, as fortune appeared to be on my side at the time, I was afforded a chance to read it.

As Christine folded the letter, a knock came upon her dressing room door. It was the little Giry girl, eager as always to lure my angel away with girlish gossip. Christine grabbed her cloak, pinned it about her fine neck and followed her friend out of the room. As soon as I could no longer detect the sounds of their laughter, their dainty footfalls, I plied the turning mechanism on the mirror, and made a soundless entrance into her chambers.

In an instant, I had opened the, thankfully, unsealed note and quickly perused its contents.

Raoul,

How good it is to hear from you, my childhood friend! Memories of our times by the sea and the stories which my dear papa used to tell us come flooding back to me. How I miss him! After his death, I felt my life was over, but now, how things have changed! Against all odds, I have sung at the Paris Opera. I can still hardly believe it! Do you recall how my father spoke of the Angel of Music, how he would guide me and look after me? On his deathbed, my beloved Papa told me that when he got to Heaven, he would send the Angel to me. You may laugh, my friend, but Papa was right! I have been visited by his angel, and it is my Angel of Music who has fulfilled my dreams of singing! I have so much to share with you, Raoul. My happiness is overwhelming! Please send word to me this evening if you would like to once again share stories of our childhood, so that we may again rekindle our friendship of long ago.

My angel is a very strict teacher, and I am called to my lessons on a demanding schedule. However, my teacher is very proud of my recent success, and has granted me a week of rest from my lessons. I would deeply enjoy sharing this time with my friends, and look forward to seeing you again very soon.

Kind regards,

Christine

"My angel is a very strict teacher. . ." I folded the letter and replaced it on her dressing table in the manner in which I had found it, the heat of anger rising within every part of my body. Did Christine not consider the Vicomte a potential suitor at the time? I do not know. I tend to believe, that at the time of her reply, that her intentions were completely innocent, completely honorable. Still, to me, it seemed a portent of the disaster that was to come.

I paced the room in agitation, already forming the paranoid images of my darling girl locked in his embrace, her eyes bright, reveling in his handsomeness. He would be able to giver her so much more than I ever could. Beauty, riches, a privileged life at the pinnacle of Paris society. I was only the monster that loved her beyond reason, and I offered only my music. And, wasn't that what Christine desired most, to rightfully take her place as the prima donna of the Paris Opera, to share her glorious voice with all of France?

Only I could bring her dreams to reality. I hoped against hope that it would be enough to keep her.

Downtrodden, and suffering from a renewal of self-loathing, I left her quarters and returned to my home, eager to write, to let loose the demons of emotion into something of beauty, the only beauty I would ever be capable of producing...my music. My opera, composed only for Christine, her voice already resounding in my mind on every single note I penned. She would be my voice to the world above, the star of my magnum opus: Don Juan Triumphant.

That evening, I again made the trip up to her room, resuming my perch, ready to be an unseen witness to her meeting with that beautiful, ignorant boy. I knew he would eagerly accede to her request of a reunion, and it would take place that very night.

I was not disappointed. My love was applying the final touches to her appearance, straightening the fall of her emerald gown and combing her lustrous hair. Her loveliness brought another pang of anguish to my already troubled mind. How could this woman be for any other man but me? It was impossible to cease loving her, and I did not wish to try. Satisfied with her preparations, she took a seat on the chaise lounge in the far corner of the room, humming to herself as she read over the score for the next opera of the season.

The Vicomte came knocking only a few minutes later, causing Christine to literaly hop to the door in eager anticipation. How I wanted to bound through the mirror and take her at that moment, to prevent her meeting with him! Instead, I simply watched with morbid curiosity, as he greeted her with a dozen pink roses and a beaming smile.

"Raoul, I am so glad you have come!" Forgetting propriety, she threw her arms about his neck in an affectionate hug.

"It is a great joy to see you, Little Lotte."

I knew then, that I was doomed. I would lose the battle for her love before it had even begun.