A/N: Writing this sequel was really fun and I finished it rather quickly. I have to admit, Long Lost Love is one of my favorites, hope you enjoy it too. Thanks to Lyn for the fundamental incentive to write this sequel and to you all that e-mailed me to ask for a happy ending or talk about Nightwish (good to know that there are other metal phans fans out there). The first chapter was briefly revised and slightly modified. More phics in 2004 :)

Disclaimer: This is entirely based on ALW's Phantom and I don't own any of the characters mentioned here. They belong to Webber, Kay and Leroux. The two Nightwish quotes here belong, respectively, to Gethsemane, from the CD Oceanborn, and to Ever Dream, another music from Century Child. 

"Another Beauty

Loved by a Beast

Another tale of infinite dreams

Your eyes they were my paradise

Your smile made my sun rise"

"My mother made you a cup of tea, Monsieur," Meg knocked lightly on the door, trying to be as quiet as possible as she walked toward the dark silent figure that paced back and forth inside her bedroom.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry," the man replied, addressing her with surprising courtesy, coming from the main character of the horror stories told among the corps. She figured out in a second why Christine had once told her that her tutor was the Angel of Music. She hadn't been teasing Meg at all; a voice like his was worthy of an angel.

She noticed that for the first time his head hadn't jerked up when she entered the room. Perhaps he was getting used to her constant intromissions, or simply didn't care, devoting his attention to Christine. Even after watching the mob's horrid vandalism in the name of the dead, Meg's eyes had widened with shock as soon as she had recognized her friend lying unconscious in his arms. Had she not seen his ugly face streaked with the vestiges of tears, had she not witnessed the way he had put himself into danger just to hire a coach and bring them safely home, she certainly wouldn't have believed in his narrative of how he had found Christine collapsed on the shore. The young soprano only left the security of his arms when he had laid her kindly on Meg's bed, and even then he had seemed sad for letting her go. It had become implicit that he wouldn't leave until he was certain that his beloved was all right. The concern written on his half-masked face confirmed Meg's recent conclusions; now she believed that the Phantom – or Erik, like her mother had called him a couple of times – loved Christine very much.

However, he did not expect Christine to love him in return. His ruined self-confidence couldn't acknowledge the viability of such an unequal love. Paradoxically, for a few minutes, his love for her had made him oblivious to the absence of the mask that usually hid his features, until Meg gave it to him, already inside the coach. She had been scared and dubious then, but looking at him now, she saw a man who could feel love and grief like any other, not the inhuman Opera Ghost. That new perception inspired her trust; she wasn't afraid of meeting his eyes anymore.

That man could have been very happy and successful, had Mother Nature aided him a little. It was a pity that he should be condemned to a lonesome existence, never knowing love or care. Yet, Meg saw his only chance to change that stir, as did he, who was kneeling beside the bed before she could open her eyes.

"Erik…" Christine stuttered, raising one hand to touch the air in front of her, as if trying to finally reach some light after having only darkness before her eyes during her collapse.

"I'm here, Christine," he soothed, taking her hand in his with the protective instinct of the man that had guided her in the cellars. His heart leapt in his chest with the realization that she had called his name instead of the Vicomte's, although he preferred to not deduce exactly what it meant.

"I'll tell my mother that she's awake," Meg said, receiving a curt nod from Erik and a bewildered glance from her friend.

With her free hand, Christine reached out to touch his face, hardly believing that she wasn't dreaming. The way he winced, releasing her other hand instantly, hurt her more than any frustrating illusion would have done.

She sat up, wondering where they were. Evidently not in the Louis-Philippe room or any part of Erik's house – everything was probably destroyed by now. After all they had gone through, she had thought that his sudden appearances couldn't make her faint anymore. Finding him at last had caused a rush of emotion strong enough to prove her wrong.

The sudden silence that had followed the mob's return upwards confused her; still lost in thought, she had touched the waters that had received her confession, wondering if the nothingness was the only thing left after a tragedy. But it wasn't exactly nothingness that had remained with her on the shore. Her last remembrance was of his desolated figure, so close that she had tried to call out to him. However, her voice had sounded suddenly weak and she couldn't know if he had heard her when everything had turned into a blur; she had lost her balance, but the sensation of hitting the ground had escaped to her – strong arms had kept her away from that pain in her last instants of consciousness.

Now standing a few steps away, Erik drew a deep breath, knowing he must answer her questions in order to enlighten his own confusion.

"Madame Giry and her daughter found us on the shore," he broke the silence, mistaking the serenity that emerged in her eyes at the sound of his voice for relief for not being totally alone with him. "You were unconscious and I helped them to bring you here, to their home."

If only she knew what had passed through his mind when he had realized that those words of love brought by the wind might have been more than mere illusion! Amazed at the thought of having his prayers answered for once in his life, he had searched for the owner of the celestial voice that had called his name and the sight of a dazed Christine, who could barely stand, met his eyes. Ahead of any word, he had run to support her when his accurate perception had warned him that she had fainted. He couldn't even disguise his perplexity, for Mme. Giry had materialized before him immediately, as if expecting an opportune moment to offer her help one more time. She had assumed wisely that bringing Christine to her flat would facilitate her recovery, something that he had accepted as an involuntary excuse to carry her for an instant more. The feeling of her in his arms had been a sweet torture, but it was worth the endurance now that he saw the color finally returning to her face, that had grown pale at the sight of him.

Defenseless in his embrace, still wearing the wedding dress he had designed solely for her, Christine had been the bride he would never come to have. With this bittersweet memory in mind, he questioned if the words he had heard on the shore had been the first symptom of plain madness. But if it were madness, why was she here and not with the man she had chosen to love?

"Why were you there?" he asked after a long pause, fearing and desiring her answer at the same time.

She stared down at him, despondent. She had hoped this question wouldn't come so soon. After that night, would he ever believe if she told him the truth? She had hurt him badly and not only once; surely that declare her love wouldn't heal the scars deep inside him effortlessly. Even so, there was something different in him and all of a sudden she discovered what it was. He knew about her hopeless confession. This fact gave her the redeeming certainty that if he had heard her once, she could strive to make him hear her for a second time.

"Because I couldn't live with any more mistakes, Erik," she said. He frowned slightly, clearly not comprehending what she meant by "mistakes". She rose, as though this very motion, instead of just sending him backwards, could make him understand. "I couldn't leave you, knowing I will belong forever by your side."

Stern disbelief dominated him. He wondered if maybe his extremely sensitive ears had captured the wrong words, or if she was delirious. He had to check her temperature, but the thought of touching her discouraged him; he definitely didn't trust himself to stroke her soft skin and remain composed.

"I not even got into the gondola with Raoul," she added, this detail obviously essential to her – how could she use the same boat that had brought her to Erik to flee from him? "I realized at that point that my life without you wouldn't be worth living."

The more he listened, the less he could believe. She was pretending; that was the only possible answer. Hadn't he read the fear in her eyes when she had run away? But now, only tears of genuine regret were falling from those eyes. The hope that had stirred in his heart during their heavenly moment of farewell nearly convinced him that she was purely telling the truth. All the same, he wouldn't let this irrational emotion overcome him, not a second time.

"I don't think so," he replied, the bitterness in his tone acting upon her like a gunshot. "Without this dreadful ghost, your life would be much better. You'd finally have the chance to live those sunny days and wonderful mornings in the company of that boy."

"I don't want this," she muttered, "not with Raoul."

"Oh, my dear, you made it reasonably clear that you do," he said resignedly.

She looked away, not having the courage to face his rigid air. He had every reason to think that; after all, not so many hours ago, she had abandoned him. And earlier than that she had watched impassively his heart being shattered by words and acts. In fact, she had seen in Erik's painful jealousy a sort of shield against his love, although she had craved for this love even when her childish fears had mercilessly denied it.

"Why would I be here if I did?" she retorted, confronting his eyes again.

He distinguished an atypical resolve sparkling in her eyes. She couldn't be pretending, but was she truly aware of what she was saying? For how long would this resolve last?

"I already asked you this," he said with deliberated coldness, "but you refuse to tell me the truth."

"This is the truth!" she protested, feeling her temper rising with an increasing frustration of not being comprehended. "Erik, I want to stay with you. I would have told you, had you given me the chance to really make my choice. That's why I was there and that's why I am here!" her voice was reduced into a murmur after this outburst, "If you tell me that you don't want me to stay, I'll go now, even if it costs my own happiness. Just tell me – don't you want me to stay?"

"I used to hope you'd stay despite everything," he turned away, wishing more than ever that his mask could effectually hide his misery. "But now I know this cannot be. How could you remain with me if the memory of my face will always haunt you? I can't have you recoiling from me, horrified, every time you evoke how I look like without a mask."

"Your face stopped frightening me long ago, Erik," she answered, the previous anger fading from her voice. Her hand stopped inches away from his back in an interrupted spontaneous movement, and she retreated it once more, knowing that not even a comforting touch would be welcome at the moment. "You shouldn't think it matters so much."

"It mattered for all my life," he snapped.

"Things change," she said simply.

"For me, they never did," he sighed. "Just go, my dear. We both know it's for the best."

He shut his eyes against the image of her departure, which was still fresh in his mind. It felt as though he was living it right now; seeing her move away from him, leaving his realm of doom behind as soon as the ring planted on his palm destroyed the last bond between them. How painful that remembrance would always be… One was enough to make him suffer indefinitely; he wouldn't see her leave again, though she ought to leave. He could hear her footfalls, even if she hadn't moved at all; and with his eyes closed, he could see her walking out of the room to never come back. This awful fantasy was interrupted by her voice, uttering words of an unbelievable disobedience,

"No, I'd be ruining your life and mine, and not making the best," she grasped his arm, forcing him to turn and look at her. Only then he realized with great surprise how close to him she was. She sketched a smile, noticing that even withdrawing hastily from her touch, he hadn't backed off. "You say the memory of your face will make me recoil from you, but can't even guess what my true fears are."

He gave her an indirect look. What could terrify her more than that infernal vision?

"All the time, I was very afraid of losing you, of doing something that displeased you," she admitted. Uncontrollable relief washed over him at such an unexpected affirmation, stronger than his skepticism or astonishment. "I'd be horrified if you recoil from me yet again, my love."

His hands fell to his sides as he watched her tiptoe and begin to untie the ribbons that kept the mask in place. He still expected her to shrink away from him when his visage was revealed; instead, she leaned forward and quietly met her lips with his. Love, fear and desire blended in his soul, he closed his eyes; his whole being absorbing hungrily the contact he had never thought to feel again. Astounded with his own boldness, he found himself bending to passionately respond to her kiss, and she let the mask fall to the floor, entwining her fingers in his.

"I must ask you something," he whispered into her hair when they parted and he held her close to his heart.

"And what is it?" she looked up at him, smiling.

"I don't know if the moment is appropriate for such a proposal," he began, while taking off his graceful hands' only adornment and slipping it on her wedding finger, then kissing tenderly the back of her hand, "but I think anything is better than my earlier attempt to make you mine. Christine, would you accept my ring, along with my love?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his face with assenting kisses.

"I never wanted anything else," she said softly.

"The only dreams I ever craved were the two dreams I shared with you

One I now have, will the other ever dream remain?

For yours I truly wish to be"