Once again, I do not own any of these character or the literary works to which they belong. And thank you all for your kind words..

"What!" Erik shouted, confused. "I forbade you to ever bring that slow young fellow here, and you invite him for tea!" Waves of jealousy ran through his body. Was she still seeing him? Was she lying? And, above all, what was she thinking?

"Erik, it's just that I haven't seen him in so long... I Mean, we were friends since childhood, and it's a bit rude to just go three years without so much as an invitation..."

"If you must converse with that young fool, you may do so, but only in the upper floors of the opera house, where I may keep a perspective on your coming and goings!" Erik said cooly, thinking himself to be lenient. After all, his first instinct was to forbid her to ever see him again. He was actually being quite generous, allowing her to continue to meet him at all!

"I am not a toy to be controlled, Erik! I thought you had learned that!"

"Yes, dear, I know, but as my wife, living in my home, there are certain... Principles.. To which you will find yourself obligated to assent."

Christine blinked at him blankly for a few seconds. "Well, I am tired of only seeing him in the theater! It is only civil to invite someone into you're home, Erik, whatever will people think if we never have company or extend invitations?"

For a moment, Erik wondered if she realized that they inhabited what could aptly be described as a lair, five floors below the opera house, accessible only to the surface through a series of dark, wet passage ways and mechanized doors.

"No, Christine, I forbid it!" He said sharply. He was poised to turn and stalk off into the darkness, when he heard a pitiful noise behind him.

Christine stood, her tiny fists clenched and her sides, eyes swimming with tears. She was sniffling. "I..just wanted to..." she mumbled and choked back a sob.

Oh, god, Erik thought, knowing he was on the verge of agreeing to the unspeakable. Once again his eyebegan twitching.

"All...Right.." He growled through his teeth. "I suppose. But... Just...This...Once..."

"Oh, Erik! We're going to have so much fun! You'll see!" said Christine, who stood staring vacantly at the wall for a few seconds before wandering into the adjoining chamber.

Erik pulled out his Punjab lasso, that dark instrument of death, and began to run it through his hands, in what was another of his now familiar nervous habits. He set himself to pacing back and forth quickly, cloak billowing behind like a great black sail, when he heard an ungodly din start up behind him.

He whirled towards the sound, eyes ablaze with a dark light, prepared to staunch whatever intrusion might be disturbing his peace-

And he was met with the sight of Erik Jr. Mashing his hands onto the organ keys in what seemed like a random, noise producing frenzy. Out of his small mouth came the most disagreeable noise Erik had ever heard.

I tried so hard to teach him some sort of musicality... Erik thought sadly to himself. However, no matter how much practice and training he bestowed upon his small son, his concepts of pitch and key remained among the worst Erik had heard, even in a child. None the less, the boy sang and attempted to play music constantly, often as loudly as was possible.

The child noticed he was being watched and turned, beaming at his father. "Daddy! Can you believe it?"

"Believe what?" Erik said pleasantly, admiring the beautiful contours of his son's face. It had been a great relief to him that his children lacked his facial deformity, and as he watched them grow, fatherly pride assured that he found them the two most beautiful (albeit noisy) creatures alive.

"Uncle Raoul's coming here! For tea! Tea time! Tea Time!" The boy began to chant in what attempted to be rhythmic, singsong notes, but came out sounding more like a cacophony of poorly emphasized syllables.

Erik blinked at his son, running his hand over the lasso. Uncle Raoul?

"Dear, have the children ever met Raoul?" Erik asked through the door, loathe to disturb Christineduring her redecorating efforts. The question started off loudly but ended in what sounded like a hiss.

"What?"

"HAVE THEY EVER MET RAOUL?" He yelled, edging closer to the door

"WHAT?"

"HAVE THEY EVER-" His face was pressed against the heavy wooden frame of the door. "Oh, forget it I'll just enter. It can't be exceedingly vital that I not..."

His hand clenched, clawlike around the doorknob as he regarded the newly renovated chamber.

"WHAT? Oh, there you are!" Christine turned, paintbrush in hand, looking quite satisfied with herself. "What do you think?" She smiled.

Erik looked about himself in horror. The dark luxury of the room had been replaced with soft, pastel tones which brought light into the room and made it appear larger. Erik did not think it could have possibly looked any worse.

The walls were white, with light pink trim, and had been draped in places with a light, cotton like material embroidered with pink and blue flowers. The beautiful wooden table had been covered with a sky blue cloth that matched the fluffy carpeting she had apparently bought and installed herself.

He was struck speechless, and stood, mouth agape, staring into this nest of colorful distaste.

"I always thought this room would look better with more color, so, I just decided to try it! I have to say, I amso verypleased with the result!" Christine continued obliviously, smiling. "If only we could get gas lighting installed, these candles are so old fashioned and are constantly dripping wax on everything..."

Erik had finally regained his composure. He decided internally to acquiesce to this hideous change for the moment. "I am here to ask whether the children have already met Raoul, as Erik Jr seems to be quite familiar with his name..."

"Oh, of course!" Christine intoned merrily. "I take them to visit him once a week usually, at his chateau. He buys them ice cream sometimes, and lets Charlotte see the horses in his stables. Oh Erik, they enjoy it so!"

His outward appearance gave no sign of his inner turmoil, save his left eyelid, which was, aswas its wont, twitching rapidly. "I thought you said that you hadn't seen Raoul in a long time, which was why I consorted to allow him here in the first place. Why.. Why.." He said, his voice breaking. "Why was I never told of this before?"

"Now dear, I knew you would just become angry, and unreasonably so! And really, I haven't seen him for a month, I have been so busy about the house!" she said innocently.

"You belong to me! I will not have you dashing about the city, seeing this foolish young Viscount!" Erik cried, his voice escalating.

"Oh, Erik, it's not as you think. Am I then never to have male company because you can never trust me?"

"Male company, fine! Just not him!" He said angrily, his arms visually beginning to tremble.

Christine looked at him for a moment, her eyes large and soft as a doe's. "Erik, you have my word, my heart belongs to you," she said, her arms slipping around his neck and pulling him towards her.

He was instantly soothed. He lost himself in the glory of this woman, this sole being capable of love for him. Once again the sound of the new song wrapped itself around his consciousness, a ceaseless wave of notes which waited to be written down, to be composed...

"Now, go wash up and get ready! Raoul will be here in half an hour!" Christine Chirped.Erik groaned.

Without his mask, he let the cool water flow over his face, feeling safe and protected in the majestic, marble laden bathroom.. Erik closed his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for the trial which was to ensue.

They snapped open again when he felt a warm finger prod his face. He looked down to see Charlotte peering at him inquisitively.

He instinctually moved to cover his face, but stopped as he realized that the girl showed no sign of fear or disgust.

That's right, they have all seen this horrible face so many times as to be accustomed to it, he thought to himself, wondering when it was that he himself would grow comfortable with this fact.

"Daddy, what's wrong with your face?" She asked loudly, looking at him with the air of a naval commander enquiring after the length of a journey.

"I... Was born this way," he answered slowly.

"Daddy, will I look like you when I grow up?"

"Most certainly not."

"Why?"

"Why must you beset me constantly with these endless questions?" He snapped, somewhat irritated at having been interrupted during his ablutions.

"WELL GOOD! I DON'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE YOU ANYWAY!" Charlotte yelled, and dashed out of the room.

Erik exhaled loudly and massaged his temples for a moment. Is it normal for a girl to be that strong-willed? Christine was never like that... He pondered for a moment. Well, he thought, maybe that's for the best, then.

He cast his eyes down to the spot where he had left the mask, feeling a sudden urge to return it to his face. It wasn't there.

He glanced quickly about the room. The mask was indeed gone. His guess was that Charlotte had hidden it, in a sort of childish lark.

What a day this is turning out to be, he thought wearily, as he went off in search of his mask..