Author's note: I've finally updated! My serious Erik muse decided to go
into hibernation while I worked on my parody, and I've only just managed to
wake him up!
Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I hope you haven't got tired of the wait and given up on me!
Anyway, this chapter is another 1881 chapter, from Christine's POV. From now on I'm going to try and write a past chapter, then an 1881 chapter, and so on to give the story more of a structure. And I promise you'll find out why Erik is so hostile towards Mme. Giry within the next couple of chapters.
I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. The characters and events in this story are based on those in the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and the novel by Gaston Leroux.
Christine 1881
I was awoken by the sound of a music box playing a tender little melody. The strangeness of the sound did not immediately register, and for a moment I was certain I lay in my own bed in the Opera House dormitory.
I knew I had been dreaming. I could not remember much about the dream, only that it was filled with longing for something which I could not have. I remembered a dark shape with golden eyes, a journey across a misty lake, and hands that felt like silk. And there had been music...
The sound of an organ suddenly tore through the air, bringing me back to my senses in an instant. My eyes flew open and I looked around in bewilderment. This was not my own bed, and the room in which I now found myself certainly wasn't the dormitory.
And then the events of the previous evening came flooding back in a terrifying rush.
My God, the Phantom! I had been so sure it was a dream, but I was obviously still here, in his lair!
I leapt out of bed and gazed at my new surroundings in wonder. The bed was shaped like a gondola, much like the one I had travelled in the previous evening. It was surrounded by red silken curtains. The floor was of varnished wood, and the walls were stone, decorated here and there with tapestries. The music box was beside the bed: a little lead monkey playing the cymbals atop a barrel organ.
Despite the strange beauty of my surroundings, I grew cold with panic. Was I now the Phantom's prisoner, doomed to spend eternity locked away in his shadowy kingdom? Why had he brought me here?
Deep down, I already knew the answer to this question. I shivered as I remembered his seductive song, his hands upon my body. This creature wanted me, and – I admitted with a blush – his desire was not entirely unrequited.
Embarrassed, I sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to calm myself. Despite his rather unconventional methods of courtship, the Phantom had, for the most part, behaved in an honourable fashion towards me. He had deceived me, that was true, but I sincerely believed he would not hurt me. I decided to seek him out.
Following the sound of the organ, I pulled a velvet curtain aside to reveal a door. I pushed it open, and the most incredible sight met my eyes.
I was standing on the threshold of an immense cavern, illuminated by huge candelabras. At the far end of the cavern I beheld the figure of the Phantom, seated at a gigantic organ with golden pipes.
I approached him cautiously, drawn by the beauty and power of his wonderful music. He looked small in comparison to the cavern and his huge instrument, and, as I stepped closer, I noticed that his clothing had changed. He was now wearing a long, loose-fitting silken robe, intricately decorated with Oriental patterns: leaves, flowers, Chinese dragons. It was one of the most beautiful garments I had ever seen, similar to a costume that had been worn by Piangi in a particularly lavish opera. The Phantom was also wearing a matching circular hat, embellished with green silk and gold braid.
I allowed his strange garb to distract me for a moment. I realised he looked rather sweet. Vulnerable is probably a better word. I could just imagine him reclining on a couch, smoking a pipe and reading 'Le Epoque.' I almost laughed aloud at this vision, until I remembered how delicate and potentially dangerous my situation was.
Who was this man?
I knew now that he could not possibly be a ghost or an angel. Surely ghosts didn't feel soft and warm when you touched them? Surely angels didn't sit in caverns playing organs? What sort of man had the power to masquerade as both?
I walked forward until I was right behind him. If he knew I was there, he gave no indication of it. His large, pale hands moved dexterously over the keys, and his feet, with their delicate black shoes, were furiously working the organ's bellows
He looked so real and so tempting. I longed to reach out and touch him, to run my hands through that gorgeous silky hair.
And, more than anything else, I longed to see his face.
Before I realised what I was doing, my hand closed around the delicate porcelain mask, and I tore it away.
The Phantom gave a high-pitched scream of rage and spun around. Then the world suddenly went black as I beheld the terrible sight of his face. I uttered a cry and backed away, staring at him in disbelieving horror. The right side of his face was hideously disfigured, the skin terribly scarred, the lips swollen, the nose twisted. But the worst thing about the face was its expression, the way an awful snarl twisted the lips, the sweat on the brow, the blazing eyes which stared at me with pure hatred.
"Damn you!" he screamed, leaping up from the organ bench. "So, this is why you came to me last night...you wanted to see the freak! Well, my dear, what do you think of me? I'm a very interesting specimen, aren't I?"
I backed away in terror, repulsed by his face and by the saliva spraying from his deformed mouth.
The Phantom gave a bitter little laugh.
"Oh, you're trembling! You're scared of the poor freak! Well, I'll give you something to really be frightened of, you little demon!"
And he lunged at me, fingers extended like claws. I screamed and ran, and he gave chase, cursing and swearing and growling and spitting. The pursuit seemed to last for hours, even though it must have only been a few minutes, and just when I thought I had managed to escape from that monstrous visage, it reappeared, like a face from a nightmare. And every time I saw it, it seemed to have grown bigger and more horrible, as though it would fill my entire world. I thought the monster would never stop chasing me, it was so furious.
"Look at me, Christine!" it cried. "Look at your Angel's face!"
After what seemed like an eternity, I collapsed with exhaustion in a far corner of the cavern and lay there, trembling with fear. I closed my eyes, waiting for the Thing to come and dash my head against the wall.
But the room was silent. Maybe the Monster had exploded; disappeared in a puff of smoke. Maybe the nightmare was over.
Then I heard a noise. It was almost a whimper, a tiny sound of pain or distress. The sound brought me back to reality, and I opened my eyes.
And I gasped.
The Monster was crouching on the floor a few feet away from me, and it was crying. It had covered the ugly side of its face with one hand, and its whole body was shaking with great, racking sobs.
I sat there, frozen, staring at the pathetic creature with a mixture of pity and revulsion. A part of me wanted to turn away and run, leaving this ugly abomination alone in the cellars. But when I saw those tears, those tears in the beautiful golden eyes of that hideous face, I knew I could not leave him. As I looked at him, I found myself recalling how he had been the previous evening...his warmth, his music, his gentleness. I remembered the feelings I had had for him, the friendship that had grown steadily between us since he had first begun teaching me.
"Maestro..."
The Phantom cringed at the sound of my voice. Then he brought his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around his head, and began to rock back and forth, his shoulders still shaking as he wept.
I watched him helplessly. I had never seen a human creature in such a state of madness and grief, and I had no idea what to do. I looked down at his mask, which I still held in my hand. It was such a simple, strange little object, and I could never have imagined the effect which its removal would have on him. Perhaps if I gave him the mask back, it would make things better.
Fearfully, I slid across the floor towards him. He jumped and looked up at me in bewilderment, being careful to keep the disfigured side of his face covered with his hand. Very slowly, so as not to cause further panic, I held out the mask.
The Phantom looked from my face to the mask and back again in disbelief. Then he started to cry again. I realised there was something different about his sobs this time. It was as though the madness and anger had vanished, leaving only grief.
"Oh, Christine..." he wept, reaching out to take the mask with his spare hand. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I'm so sorry..."
"It's all right," I said, my voice shaking. It wasn't all right, but I could think of nothing else to say.
The Phantom got to his feet and turned away from me, slipping the mask back over his head. When he turned to address me again he seemed a completely different man: strong, confident, and in control.
"This was a mistake," he said, extending a hand towards me. "A terrible mistake. I should never have brought you down here. I must take you back to the Opera House. Come."
I hesitated, staring down at his outstretched hand in surprise. I should have felt relieved that he intended to take me back to the real world, but instead I just felt strangely sad. It was as though our special friendship had been destroyed in a moment of madness and horror. An overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over me as I realised just how much I had hurt this man with my callous curiosity. He wanted to take me back to the Opera House to protect himself from further pain, and I knew that, if I didn't make peace with him now, I would probably never see him again. This enigmatic and terrifying man was still my Angel, and, despite my fear and revulsion, the thought of losing him was more than I could bear.
The Phantom looked at me sadly, clearly pondering the reason for my reluctance.
"Why won't you take my hand, Christine?" he asked, wearily. "I will not hurt you. I wish only to take you home, and then I promise you will never see or hear from me again."
I looked him straight in the eyes and shook my head.
"I'm not leaving."
The Phantom wrung his hands in agitation.
"Why do you torment me, Christine? I'm giving you your freedom! Don't you think this is hard enough for me without you making it more difficult?"
I looked at him angrily. This man expected me to obey his every command without question! Despite my fear, I dared to argue with him.
"Well, I'm very sorry if my presence here has become such an inconvenience to you. You pretend to be the Angel of Music, you lure me down here, you frighten me half to death, and now you're going to send me back without so much as an explanation? I thought I meant more to you than that."
The Phantom shook his head sadly.
"Oh, Christine," he said. "If you had any idea how much you really mean to me, you would flee from me right now."
I was silent, waiting for him to continue. Something told me that he was ready to talk to me now, but I did not know how to prompt him.
"Do you have a sitting room?" I asked, finally. It seemed an absurd thing to say, but it was all I could think of at that moment. "I think I would like to sit down; just for a few minutes."
The Phantom looked at me in surprise, and then nodded warily, gesturing for me to follow him.
"Of course. This way."
He pulled aside a velvet curtain to reveal the entrance to a smaller cavern. This room was similar to the bedroom, with its varnished wooden floor and tasteful furniture. There was a pretty, floral-patterned couch and two matching chairs, a fireplace, and a book case against one wall. Despite my nervousness, I almost smiled at the sight of the homely little room. The masked man looked all the more peculiar in this comfortable setting.
He looked at me for a long moment, and then gestured towards the couch.
"Please sit down."
I did as instructed, while the Phantom busied himself in a fancy little drinks cabinet beside the hearth.
"Would you care for a drink? Red wine, perhaps?"
"No, thank you."
"Do you mind if I...?"
"No, of course not."
The Phantom poured himself a brandy, and then sat down in one of the armchairs. There was a long silence as he stared at the golden liquid thoughtfully, swirling it around in his crystal glass.
"You wanted an explanation," he said eventually. "Ask me what you will, and I'll do my best to answer you."
"All right," I said, a little perturbed by his formal way of speaking to me. "But what should I call you? What's your name?"
The Phantom hesitated for a moment, looking at me suspiciously from behind the mask.
"Please?" I said, gently. "I can't call you 'Angel' anymore, can I? Not now I know you're a man."
The Phantom sighed.
"Very well. My name is Erik."
"Erik," I repeated reverently. It suited him. "That's a nice name."
The Phantom did not respond to the compliment. Instead he continued to stare into his brandy.
"Erik..." I began tentatively. "Why did you pretend to be my Angel of Music?"
The Phantom downed a very large mouthful of brandy, apparently for courage, and gave a sigh of resignation.
"I wanted to teach you how to sing. Your voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard and I wanted to give you the confidence and ability to share it with other people. I wanted you to have the fame and success which you deserve. At first I just wanted to be your friend. I knew you were sad because of your father's death, and I wanted to help you."
"Then why didn't you just appear to me as you are now? Why did you have to pretend to be an Angel?"
The Phantom's expression changed to one of deep hurt.
"Why ask me that? You already know the answer!" He gestured towards his mask. "I didn't know how you'd react to me. I could hardly knock on your door after a performance and ask you out to dinner, could I?"
"I suppose not," I replied, silently cursing my own stupidity. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
The Phantom drained his glass and put it down on the table.
"No, I'm sorry," he said, turning to look at me pleadingly. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I should never have deceived you. I didn't know what else to do...it seemed pretending to be your Angel was the only way I could speak to you...the only way I could show you how much I...Oh, forgive me! Please forgive me..."
The Phantom put his head in his hands and sobbed.
I watched this fresh display of emotion in silence. I had never seen a man's emotions change so rapidly. One moment he seemed quite calm, the next moment he was in a fit of anguish and despair.
Hardly realising what I was doing, I got up and went to stand beside him, cautiously placing a hand on his arm.
He jumped and looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise and wonder; the tears still streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry, Christine. Oh God, what have I done?"
I squeezed his arm gently.
"It's all right. Please don't cry."
The Phantom stared at me desperately. A single tear glittered in his right eye and ran down the smooth surface of his mask.
"I love you, Christine."
I closed my eyes.
"I know."
Author's note: Thanks for reading. Please review! I'd really like to know what you think of this chapter.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I hope you haven't got tired of the wait and given up on me!
Anyway, this chapter is another 1881 chapter, from Christine's POV. From now on I'm going to try and write a past chapter, then an 1881 chapter, and so on to give the story more of a structure. And I promise you'll find out why Erik is so hostile towards Mme. Giry within the next couple of chapters.
I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom. The characters and events in this story are based on those in the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber and the novel by Gaston Leroux.
Christine 1881
I was awoken by the sound of a music box playing a tender little melody. The strangeness of the sound did not immediately register, and for a moment I was certain I lay in my own bed in the Opera House dormitory.
I knew I had been dreaming. I could not remember much about the dream, only that it was filled with longing for something which I could not have. I remembered a dark shape with golden eyes, a journey across a misty lake, and hands that felt like silk. And there had been music...
The sound of an organ suddenly tore through the air, bringing me back to my senses in an instant. My eyes flew open and I looked around in bewilderment. This was not my own bed, and the room in which I now found myself certainly wasn't the dormitory.
And then the events of the previous evening came flooding back in a terrifying rush.
My God, the Phantom! I had been so sure it was a dream, but I was obviously still here, in his lair!
I leapt out of bed and gazed at my new surroundings in wonder. The bed was shaped like a gondola, much like the one I had travelled in the previous evening. It was surrounded by red silken curtains. The floor was of varnished wood, and the walls were stone, decorated here and there with tapestries. The music box was beside the bed: a little lead monkey playing the cymbals atop a barrel organ.
Despite the strange beauty of my surroundings, I grew cold with panic. Was I now the Phantom's prisoner, doomed to spend eternity locked away in his shadowy kingdom? Why had he brought me here?
Deep down, I already knew the answer to this question. I shivered as I remembered his seductive song, his hands upon my body. This creature wanted me, and – I admitted with a blush – his desire was not entirely unrequited.
Embarrassed, I sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to calm myself. Despite his rather unconventional methods of courtship, the Phantom had, for the most part, behaved in an honourable fashion towards me. He had deceived me, that was true, but I sincerely believed he would not hurt me. I decided to seek him out.
Following the sound of the organ, I pulled a velvet curtain aside to reveal a door. I pushed it open, and the most incredible sight met my eyes.
I was standing on the threshold of an immense cavern, illuminated by huge candelabras. At the far end of the cavern I beheld the figure of the Phantom, seated at a gigantic organ with golden pipes.
I approached him cautiously, drawn by the beauty and power of his wonderful music. He looked small in comparison to the cavern and his huge instrument, and, as I stepped closer, I noticed that his clothing had changed. He was now wearing a long, loose-fitting silken robe, intricately decorated with Oriental patterns: leaves, flowers, Chinese dragons. It was one of the most beautiful garments I had ever seen, similar to a costume that had been worn by Piangi in a particularly lavish opera. The Phantom was also wearing a matching circular hat, embellished with green silk and gold braid.
I allowed his strange garb to distract me for a moment. I realised he looked rather sweet. Vulnerable is probably a better word. I could just imagine him reclining on a couch, smoking a pipe and reading 'Le Epoque.' I almost laughed aloud at this vision, until I remembered how delicate and potentially dangerous my situation was.
Who was this man?
I knew now that he could not possibly be a ghost or an angel. Surely ghosts didn't feel soft and warm when you touched them? Surely angels didn't sit in caverns playing organs? What sort of man had the power to masquerade as both?
I walked forward until I was right behind him. If he knew I was there, he gave no indication of it. His large, pale hands moved dexterously over the keys, and his feet, with their delicate black shoes, were furiously working the organ's bellows
He looked so real and so tempting. I longed to reach out and touch him, to run my hands through that gorgeous silky hair.
And, more than anything else, I longed to see his face.
Before I realised what I was doing, my hand closed around the delicate porcelain mask, and I tore it away.
The Phantom gave a high-pitched scream of rage and spun around. Then the world suddenly went black as I beheld the terrible sight of his face. I uttered a cry and backed away, staring at him in disbelieving horror. The right side of his face was hideously disfigured, the skin terribly scarred, the lips swollen, the nose twisted. But the worst thing about the face was its expression, the way an awful snarl twisted the lips, the sweat on the brow, the blazing eyes which stared at me with pure hatred.
"Damn you!" he screamed, leaping up from the organ bench. "So, this is why you came to me last night...you wanted to see the freak! Well, my dear, what do you think of me? I'm a very interesting specimen, aren't I?"
I backed away in terror, repulsed by his face and by the saliva spraying from his deformed mouth.
The Phantom gave a bitter little laugh.
"Oh, you're trembling! You're scared of the poor freak! Well, I'll give you something to really be frightened of, you little demon!"
And he lunged at me, fingers extended like claws. I screamed and ran, and he gave chase, cursing and swearing and growling and spitting. The pursuit seemed to last for hours, even though it must have only been a few minutes, and just when I thought I had managed to escape from that monstrous visage, it reappeared, like a face from a nightmare. And every time I saw it, it seemed to have grown bigger and more horrible, as though it would fill my entire world. I thought the monster would never stop chasing me, it was so furious.
"Look at me, Christine!" it cried. "Look at your Angel's face!"
After what seemed like an eternity, I collapsed with exhaustion in a far corner of the cavern and lay there, trembling with fear. I closed my eyes, waiting for the Thing to come and dash my head against the wall.
But the room was silent. Maybe the Monster had exploded; disappeared in a puff of smoke. Maybe the nightmare was over.
Then I heard a noise. It was almost a whimper, a tiny sound of pain or distress. The sound brought me back to reality, and I opened my eyes.
And I gasped.
The Monster was crouching on the floor a few feet away from me, and it was crying. It had covered the ugly side of its face with one hand, and its whole body was shaking with great, racking sobs.
I sat there, frozen, staring at the pathetic creature with a mixture of pity and revulsion. A part of me wanted to turn away and run, leaving this ugly abomination alone in the cellars. But when I saw those tears, those tears in the beautiful golden eyes of that hideous face, I knew I could not leave him. As I looked at him, I found myself recalling how he had been the previous evening...his warmth, his music, his gentleness. I remembered the feelings I had had for him, the friendship that had grown steadily between us since he had first begun teaching me.
"Maestro..."
The Phantom cringed at the sound of my voice. Then he brought his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around his head, and began to rock back and forth, his shoulders still shaking as he wept.
I watched him helplessly. I had never seen a human creature in such a state of madness and grief, and I had no idea what to do. I looked down at his mask, which I still held in my hand. It was such a simple, strange little object, and I could never have imagined the effect which its removal would have on him. Perhaps if I gave him the mask back, it would make things better.
Fearfully, I slid across the floor towards him. He jumped and looked up at me in bewilderment, being careful to keep the disfigured side of his face covered with his hand. Very slowly, so as not to cause further panic, I held out the mask.
The Phantom looked from my face to the mask and back again in disbelief. Then he started to cry again. I realised there was something different about his sobs this time. It was as though the madness and anger had vanished, leaving only grief.
"Oh, Christine..." he wept, reaching out to take the mask with his spare hand. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I'm so sorry..."
"It's all right," I said, my voice shaking. It wasn't all right, but I could think of nothing else to say.
The Phantom got to his feet and turned away from me, slipping the mask back over his head. When he turned to address me again he seemed a completely different man: strong, confident, and in control.
"This was a mistake," he said, extending a hand towards me. "A terrible mistake. I should never have brought you down here. I must take you back to the Opera House. Come."
I hesitated, staring down at his outstretched hand in surprise. I should have felt relieved that he intended to take me back to the real world, but instead I just felt strangely sad. It was as though our special friendship had been destroyed in a moment of madness and horror. An overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over me as I realised just how much I had hurt this man with my callous curiosity. He wanted to take me back to the Opera House to protect himself from further pain, and I knew that, if I didn't make peace with him now, I would probably never see him again. This enigmatic and terrifying man was still my Angel, and, despite my fear and revulsion, the thought of losing him was more than I could bear.
The Phantom looked at me sadly, clearly pondering the reason for my reluctance.
"Why won't you take my hand, Christine?" he asked, wearily. "I will not hurt you. I wish only to take you home, and then I promise you will never see or hear from me again."
I looked him straight in the eyes and shook my head.
"I'm not leaving."
The Phantom wrung his hands in agitation.
"Why do you torment me, Christine? I'm giving you your freedom! Don't you think this is hard enough for me without you making it more difficult?"
I looked at him angrily. This man expected me to obey his every command without question! Despite my fear, I dared to argue with him.
"Well, I'm very sorry if my presence here has become such an inconvenience to you. You pretend to be the Angel of Music, you lure me down here, you frighten me half to death, and now you're going to send me back without so much as an explanation? I thought I meant more to you than that."
The Phantom shook his head sadly.
"Oh, Christine," he said. "If you had any idea how much you really mean to me, you would flee from me right now."
I was silent, waiting for him to continue. Something told me that he was ready to talk to me now, but I did not know how to prompt him.
"Do you have a sitting room?" I asked, finally. It seemed an absurd thing to say, but it was all I could think of at that moment. "I think I would like to sit down; just for a few minutes."
The Phantom looked at me in surprise, and then nodded warily, gesturing for me to follow him.
"Of course. This way."
He pulled aside a velvet curtain to reveal the entrance to a smaller cavern. This room was similar to the bedroom, with its varnished wooden floor and tasteful furniture. There was a pretty, floral-patterned couch and two matching chairs, a fireplace, and a book case against one wall. Despite my nervousness, I almost smiled at the sight of the homely little room. The masked man looked all the more peculiar in this comfortable setting.
He looked at me for a long moment, and then gestured towards the couch.
"Please sit down."
I did as instructed, while the Phantom busied himself in a fancy little drinks cabinet beside the hearth.
"Would you care for a drink? Red wine, perhaps?"
"No, thank you."
"Do you mind if I...?"
"No, of course not."
The Phantom poured himself a brandy, and then sat down in one of the armchairs. There was a long silence as he stared at the golden liquid thoughtfully, swirling it around in his crystal glass.
"You wanted an explanation," he said eventually. "Ask me what you will, and I'll do my best to answer you."
"All right," I said, a little perturbed by his formal way of speaking to me. "But what should I call you? What's your name?"
The Phantom hesitated for a moment, looking at me suspiciously from behind the mask.
"Please?" I said, gently. "I can't call you 'Angel' anymore, can I? Not now I know you're a man."
The Phantom sighed.
"Very well. My name is Erik."
"Erik," I repeated reverently. It suited him. "That's a nice name."
The Phantom did not respond to the compliment. Instead he continued to stare into his brandy.
"Erik..." I began tentatively. "Why did you pretend to be my Angel of Music?"
The Phantom downed a very large mouthful of brandy, apparently for courage, and gave a sigh of resignation.
"I wanted to teach you how to sing. Your voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard and I wanted to give you the confidence and ability to share it with other people. I wanted you to have the fame and success which you deserve. At first I just wanted to be your friend. I knew you were sad because of your father's death, and I wanted to help you."
"Then why didn't you just appear to me as you are now? Why did you have to pretend to be an Angel?"
The Phantom's expression changed to one of deep hurt.
"Why ask me that? You already know the answer!" He gestured towards his mask. "I didn't know how you'd react to me. I could hardly knock on your door after a performance and ask you out to dinner, could I?"
"I suppose not," I replied, silently cursing my own stupidity. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
The Phantom drained his glass and put it down on the table.
"No, I'm sorry," he said, turning to look at me pleadingly. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I should never have deceived you. I didn't know what else to do...it seemed pretending to be your Angel was the only way I could speak to you...the only way I could show you how much I...Oh, forgive me! Please forgive me..."
The Phantom put his head in his hands and sobbed.
I watched this fresh display of emotion in silence. I had never seen a man's emotions change so rapidly. One moment he seemed quite calm, the next moment he was in a fit of anguish and despair.
Hardly realising what I was doing, I got up and went to stand beside him, cautiously placing a hand on his arm.
He jumped and looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise and wonder; the tears still streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry, Christine. Oh God, what have I done?"
I squeezed his arm gently.
"It's all right. Please don't cry."
The Phantom stared at me desperately. A single tear glittered in his right eye and ran down the smooth surface of his mask.
"I love you, Christine."
I closed my eyes.
"I know."
Author's note: Thanks for reading. Please review! I'd really like to know what you think of this chapter.