Chrissy watched from the roof of the opera house as the Viscount and his family left. She stayed hidden in the shadows for them not to see her. She left hours later to and returned to home. Her father had not returned yet. She slipped into her bedroom, changed into her night dress, climbed into bed, and was just about to drift into and uneasy sleep as she heard the door open.

The next morning, the two candles that were burning on Chrissy's mantle were two burnt out stubs when she awoke. She dressed and went out into the living room where her father was working at the piano.

"Hello, Daddy," Chrissy said, walking over and kissing her father on the cheek. He turned around and held her for a moment. When he let go, Chrissy went to fix breakfast while he continued to work. Her father didn't seem to be in too bad a mood from the night before.

When breakfast was ready, Chrissy lit a candle as she and Erik sat down to eat. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Chrissy was trying to decide how she was going to start a conversation about her mother.

"We're getting a bit low on firewood," Chrissy said.

"Well, I'll alert the managers to buy some with my salary at the end of next month." Erik replied.

"Oh, good," Chrissy said. The conversation was not going as she had planned.

"How is breakfast?" Chrissy asked.

"Delicious as always," Erik said, patting her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, having a sudden idea. "I bet I don't cook as good as Mamma, though."

Erik looked at his daughter in surprise. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," Chrissy said, "I've been thinking about her alot lately. Do you think about her alot?"

"I think about her everyday," Erik said. "I always see her face when I look at you."

That's what I'm afraid of, Chrissy thought.

"Was she pretty?" Chrissy asked.

"She was beautiful," Erik said, "So much like you. It's a shame she didn't know you,"

"I wish I had known her, too," Chrissy said, "What did she die of again?"

"Complications during child birth." Erik said, "After all, we couldn't get a doctor or a midwife. I had to deliver you myself."

"Oh," Chrissy said. Now she was going for the kill, "Daddy, where did meet Mamma?"

Erik started choking on his coffee. He looked up at Chrissy a second later, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious about her!" Chrissy said, "I want to know everything about her!"

Erik was silent for a minute more. He sipped some more of his coffee, then stood up. "You know, I have some things to take care of," he said, "Why don't you stay here and clean up and I'll...I'll be back later."

"Where are you going?" Chrissy asked, "You rarely ever leave and when you do, you go talk to M. Harrison."

"Chrissy I'll be back later," Erik said, "Never you mind where I'm going,"

"Can you answer my question first?" Chrissy asked, "Where did you meet Mamma?"

Erik still didn't answer. He grabbed his cloak and started climbing the stairs.

"Fine!" Chrissy said, "Leave! I'll just ask you again when you get back."

Erik turned around and walked back over to Chrissy.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, "What does it matter where I met your mother? Why all of a sudden does it matter more now than ever before?"

Now it was Chrissy's turn to be silent. She thought for a minute about yet another cover-up story, but nothing came to her.

"Because," she stuttered, "because...because I know Mamma's not dead!"

Erik looked shocked. He took a deep breath. "You know about your mother?"

"Not about everything, but enough!" Chrissy said, "I know she's still alive and she's married to someone else and I have a half brother!"

"What?" Erik asked, confused.

"Yes!" she said, "I know that she had an affair with you, even though she was married to the Viscount and had a four year old son at the time! Don't deny it! I know that Christine Viscount de Chagny is my mother!"

Erik took another deep breath. He thought for a second, then looked at Chrissy. "Come and sit over here," he said, calmly.

Chrissy didn't argue. She went over to the sofa and sat next to her father, eager to hear the truth, and a bit frightened.

"Chrissy, what I am about to tell you is going to shock you and greatly upset you." he said.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Chrissy asked.

"No," he said, "Christine Daae and I knew each other long before you or her son was even born. She was a student of mine. My mother, when I was born, wanted nothing to do with me because of the way I looked."

"What did she do with you?" she asked.

"That's not important," he said, "But, when I meet Christine, I had been alone for quite sometime. She was given to me as a student and...I fell in love with her."

"So she is my mother," Chrissy said.

"Just listen," he said, quiet but firmly, which Chrissy knew ment that she should stay silent, "I fell in love with her so much, I become possesive over her, which I think scared her. It was then that she came in contact with an old childhood friend, the Viscount. I...I gave her a choice as to whether she could spend the rest of her days with me, or go with him. She chose him in the end and...I let them go. That was decades ago back in Paris, France. I haven't spoken to Christine until now. I spoke with her for the first time last night as a matter of fact."

"Oh," Chrissy said, pretending as if she didn't know the last bit of information. The rest, however was new to her. "So, a few years after you separated, she had M - her son?"

"Yes, I suppose," Erik said.

"But I still don't understand something," Chrissy said, "I found a collection of photographs of the Viscountess in my room - "

"You did?" Erik interrupted.

"Yes," replied Chrissy, "Why do you have pictures of her but none of my mother?"

Erik took another deep breath. "I knew I was going to have to tell you this someday." he said, "I just didn't think it would be so soon."

Erik stood up and walked over to the piano, his back to Chrissy. He leaned against the black surface. "Sixteen years ago, six years after Christine had left with the Viscount, I had been living alone here in this place."

Chrissy stayed silent. Her ears hungered for the truth

"One night, wondering among the catacombs, I heard...voices."

"Voices?" Chrissy whispered.

"Yes," Erik replied, "They belonged to a man and a woman. They were carrying a basket with them. They were saying how they couldn't live their lives with what lay inside it and...they set it a float in the river. They said that someone would find it, but I knew perfectly well that a basket of that size would never get out of the opera house. It seemed hard to believe that neither of them knew that. I'm sure they just wanted to make a clean job of it. They left the basket in the river. Once they were gone, I went over to it and took it from the waters. I opened it and inside I found...I found...a little baby girl with a skin condition like mine. She was you."

Silence rung through the air after Erik spoke his last word. He turned back around to see Chrissy covering her mouth with her hand. She looked away from Erik. Almost ten minutes later, she lowered it.

"I see," she said, tears forming in her eyes, "So that woman...that woman was my mother. Then that man, that man must have been my..."

She looked back at Erik. The tears were on the verge of breaking loose.

"Now you know who both your mother and your father are," he said.

Chrissy nodded. She turned away from Erik. He went to go and comfort her.

"Chrissy, I'm so sor-"

"No!" she screamed, standing up.

"Chrissy -" Erik said.

"No, just stay away from me!" she cried, running up the stairs and out the door.

"Chrissy, come back here." Erik said, chasing after her. But Chrissy was too fast for Erik. By the time he had reached the door and opened it to catch up with her, she was no where to be seen.

Chrissy ran out onto the opera house roof moments later. They morning sky was covered in gray clouds and the wind was blowing morderately. She ran to the edge and looked over the side for a few moments. The streets below were quiet, which wasn't too surprising for early morning. She watched for a few moments before turning around. She walked over to the hidden shadows of the roof. She sat on the ground. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she started crying on them.

How long Chrissy sat there, she wasn't sure. She had stopped crying after a while and just sat thinking. But the more she thought, the more upset she got and soon buried her face in her knees and began sobbing again. The day past by her and soon it was dark, but she was not aware of it. She wasn't aware of anything until she felt someone's hand on her shoulder.

Chrissy stood up from the ground in a flash. The shadows were too dark to see who had touched her, but she wasn't about to stick around to find out. She started to run, but the person soon grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Get away from me!" She screamed, trying to break free.

"Chrissy, it's me!" Marc said.

Chrissy looked at her holder. She couldn't see anything. The clouds had become thicker since that morning and no stars nor moon could be seen.

"Marc?" she asked, her voice shivering from cold and anxiety.

"Of course!" he said, "Who else would it be?"

Chrissy reached up her hand and felt his face. She knew his touch all too well. She embraced him a moment later, strainning her eyes to see him better.

"Listen, Chrissy, I have been thinking about you and your father and my mother all day and...well, since I'm pretty sure I know why you've been crying, I just want you to know that, even if we are related...I will still always be here for you as...as your brother. And, I know, it will always seem weired that your brother is in love with you but...I can't help it! But if I have to have you as just my sister, then...at least I'm with you."

"Marc, I did talk to my father this morning," she said, letting go of him, "You...you don't have to worry about that anymore. We are not related."

"Oh thank you God!" Marc said, holding Chrissy again, "I was so scared I was going to lose you. I could't take it if we were related."

"But you just said that even if I'm just your sister, then at least we're together!" Chrissy replied.

"I was lying!" he said, "I was trying to be strong for you!"

Chrissy pulled back a bit to look at him, "You're wonderful!"

Marc leaned in and kissed Chrissy. She felt safe while she was kissing him, although she didn't know why.

As they pulled back, Marc took a deep breath. He opened his eyes after a moment.

"All day, I just kept thinking over and over that I would never taste your kiss again." Marc said.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," Chrissy said, "I will always be here with you!"

Marc smiled as he kissed Chrissy again. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Just as she did, rain began to fall on the roof and all of New York City. It grew fairly heavy in a matter of moments. Marc's and Chrissy's lips pulled apart as they felt the rain falling among them.

"Let's go inside," Marc said.

"Why?" Chrissy said, "I've never felt rain before!"

"Never?" Marc asked, amazed.

"Never," Chrissy replied.

"It's not that big of a deal, Chrissy," Marc said.

"Maybe not for you!" Chrissy replied, "Come on, a little rain never hurt anybody!"

Marc smiled. Although Chrissy couldn't see it, she could tell that he was. They kissed again. Chrissy wrapped her arms around his neck again. Marc lifted her up and swung her around as the rain swept around among them.

Erik had stayed at his piano working the whole day. It seemed like so long ago when he use to work all day with no interuptions. He sat back now and remembered when his work began having its breaks now and then. He remembered when Chrissy was a baby and needed feeding and changing every few hours, which wasn't easy at first considering she was only a month old. He remembered when she was learning how to walk. He taught her how to speak; her first word was "Dadda". It melted his heart when he heard that. It was hard even for him to believe that a man who had been so cold back in Paris before Christine left him could be soften by a child's simple word. He remembered when she would always want to play her little-girl games. As she got older, he'd give her her signing lessons and piano lessons. She could read music better than he could at her age. Of course, he had to teach himself. Her whole life, he had lied to her and told her that her mother had loved her and died at birth. He told her that he, in fact, was her father. Now she knew the truth. He must have shattered her life.

Quickly, he stood up and left. He had to find Chrissy. She might not be his biological daughter, but he was her father nevertheless.

Erik slipped through the secret passage ways and hidden tunnels of the opera house. Chrissy was no where to be found. Surely she couldn't have left the opera house.

Then it dawned on him. Chrissy must have been with...that boy.

Whoever that boy was, Erik didn't trust him. He saw the happiness on his daughter's face the day he had spied on him atop the opera house. The last he had seen Chrissy so happy, she was just a little girl who believed every person in the world lived in darkness, sucluded from others. Something inside him told him that the boy wouldn't want to stay with her. Eventually, he would get bored and leave her or...something worse would happen. He didn't even want to think about what that could be.

"I'm not sure where he is!" a voice said, "He's seemed so distant all day!"

Erik could hear footsteps on the other side of the wall. He began following them. He reconized that voice. It was Christine and he knew who she would be talking to.

"Did he say he was going anywhere?" Raoul said, "He told me he was going out for a walk."

"No, he told me nothing!" Christine replied. "Perhaps he could be seeing that girl of his. What was her name again?"

"Carrie, I think," Raoul answered, "Weren't we suppose to meet her last night?"

"Yes," Christine said, "I wonder why they never showed up. It was a good thing they didn't."

Raoul sounded suspicious, "Why is that?"

"Uhh..." Christine stuttered, "ummm...well, you see, I uh...I was, um...I was just...um, so...tired last night that I...uh, I didn't...have the strength to stay awake much longer."

"But," Raoul said, confused, "You were up most of the night at home. You said you had trouble sleeping."

"I...must have been walking in my sleep." Christine replied quickly.

There was a pause, "There's something you're not telling me."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Christine asked, trying to hide the truth.

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Raoul said, "And what was it that you were going to tell me a few nights ago?"

"Tell you?" Christine said.

There was another pause. Erik wished he could see what was going on.

"Well," Christine said, "I...I was...I think you had better sit down."

"There's no where to sit!" Raoul said.

"Then let's go to my dressing room." Christine said.

They're footsteps began walking in the opposite direction. Erik turned quickly and chased after them. He knew the way into Christine's dressing room and he wasn't about to miss this conversation.

Christine took out her key and unlocked her dressing room. She stepped inside, led Raoul in, and lit an oil lamp. She shut the door and locked it behind her.

In a hidden tunnel, Erik made it right behind the walls of Christine's dressing room. He slipped into a closet like space to sat next to her closet. There wasn't anything here for Erik to tell what was going on, but the hearing was crystal clear.

"Ok," Christine said, "You had better sit down."

Raoul did as his wife asked. Christine sat down a moment later.

"You..." she said, "You are going to be furious when you hear this."

"I don't care, I want to know what is going on with you?" Raoul asked.

"Alright," she said, almost in a whisper, "I told you that M. Firmin and I both received letters from someone."

"Yes," Raoul said.

"Raoul, they were from the same person," she said.

"And?" Raoul asked.

"Raoul they...they...they were from...him."

Raoul sat frozen in his seat for a minute. Christine could almost hear the fear and anger boiling inside of him.

"He's here?" Raoul asked, almost in silence.

Christine nodded. Raoul stood up in rage.

"I knew it. I knew it!" Raoul yelled, "I knew it was too easy! He's been following you for 22 years, hasn't he!"

"No," Christine cried, jumping up and gently grabbing her husband's arm, "Apparently, from what he told me, he's been here for 22 years. And for 16 of those years, he's...he's been raising...his daughter."

Raoul turned in surprise, anger still flashing in his eyes. "His daughter?"

"Yes," she said, "He said 16 years ago, he saw two people below the opera house abandon a little baby girl with the same skin condition."

Raoul thought for a second. "Wait, what do you mean 'he said'?"

Christine was silent again. She avoided Raoul's eyes as he looked at her.

"You met with him?" he asked.

Christine didn't say anything. She just nodded.

"Last night, wasn't it?" he asked, "That's why you were so grateful that you didn't meet with Marc and Cassie."

"I thought it was Carrie!" Christine asked.

"That doesn't matter right now!" Raoul said, "Did he just sneak up on you or...did you know he was going to meet with you?"

Christine hesitated. She bit her lip. "I knew," she said.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?" Raoul asked.

"I didn't want to worry you!" she said.

"Christine!" Raoul said, "What if he had had other intentions than just meeting with you? You could have been taken away again. Or worse, he could have killed."

"He's not a murderer." Christine replied.

"He tried to kill me." Raoul said.

"I know, but...I don't think he's going to bother us anymore." Christine said, "M. and Mme. Firmin have both agreed to keep his box open for him and his daughter and they are paying him his salary every month. He...he told me that he'll leave us alone."

"No," Raoul said, "I won't rest until both he and his daughter are forced out of here! I'll kill them both if I have to!"

"Raoul!" Christine cried, "He said he'd leave us alone! Besides, you've never even met his daughter. You don't know if she's dangerous like him."

"Dangerous?" Erik whispered to himself, "She thinks I'm dangerous?"

"Did you meet her?" Raoul asked.

"Well, no-"

"Then you don't know if she is or not!" Raoul cried, "They have no right to be here!"

Christine said nothing. This made Erik even more angry. He promised her he'd leave them alone. Besides, neither of them even knew Chrissy! How dare they asume that she would try to hurt them. She was gentle and kind. Chrissy would never do that to anyone!

"Raoul, maybe we should go home now," Christine said.

"But we haven't found Marc yet." Raoul answered.

"Marc's a grown man," Christine said, "He may stay out as late as he wants with Kelly, or whatever her name was."

"You're right," Raoul said, "let's go home."

Raoul and Christine left a moment later. Erik listened as their footsteps quieted until there was silence once more. He walked out of the closet-like listening space and slammed the door behind them.

The slam shook the walls of the dressing room, so much, her heard the crash of the something that was glass smash into a thousand pieces. Something must have fallen, but it didn't matter to him what it was. He walked through the hidden tunnels through the opera house once more, looking for Chrissy and trying to forget the things he had just heard.
Chrissy slowly opened the door leading to her home. She opened it just a crack so she could peek inside. The hand that wasn't keeping a hold on the doorknob was being held by Marc's. There was no sound or site of anyone inside. She opened it fully and led Marc inside.

"This is where you live?" Marc whispered.

"Yes," Chrissy said, also in a whisper. She lead him slowly down the stairs. Both were dripping wet. Chrissy was freezing more than Marc was. For Marc had on gloves and an over coat. Chrissy was in her thin dress and bare feet. She didn't mind, though. After all, she was use to the cold.

"I'm just going to check to see if my father is asleep." Chrissy said, "Stand back. If my father comes out, rush into my bedroom."

Marc nodded. He opened the door of her bedroom just a bit, prepared incase he needed to go inside. Chrissy pushed her father's door open just a crack as she did with the front door. She stood still for a few minutes.

"That's strange," she said in a normal voice.

"What is?" Marc whispered.

"My father's not here!" Chrissy said, turning around. "His bed's empty and there are no candles in his bedroom."

"Really?" Marc asked, walking over to her.

"Yes," Chrissy said, "Stay here,"

Chrissy went into her father's bedroom. Marc walked back over to Chrissy's door incase he needed to rush in again. A moment later, Chrissy stepped back out with some neatly folded cloths.

"Here, put these on," she said, "At least you'll be dry."

Marc nodded. Chrissy went to go into her bedroom.

"Wait!" he said, "Why can't I change in there and you change out here?"

"Because if my father walks in, he'll be suspicious as to why I'm changing out here instead of in there," Chrissy replied, "Besides, it's my room!"

She kissed him on the cheek and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

"But what if your father walks in?"

"Change fast and hide under the couch!" she said.

Marc rolled his eyes. Quickly as he could, Marc changed out of his wet cloths and into the dry ones of Chrissy's father. It felt a little strange for him to be wearing someone else's cloths, especially someone he'd never met.

Once Marc had changed, he sat down on the sofa and waited for Chrissy. She knocked a second later.

"Are you decent?" she asked.

"Yes," Marc said.

Chrissy walked out of her room in a cotton night dress that reached her ankles. Her feet were bare and her hair was still damp from the rain. Chrissy took some wood and placed it in the fire place. She took a candle and used the flame to light it. In a matter of moments, there was a warm fire before them. Chrissy made them each a cup of some hot chocolate.

"At least you'll get warmed up a little bit," Chrissy said, "I know you're not use to this kind of environment."

"Thank you," Marc said, taking his hot chocolate. "Now Chrissy, you know I've been dying to ask, why were you crying when I found you?"

Chrissy hesitated as she took a slow sip of her drink. Once she had swallowed she said. "I had been there since this morning. I...I had just finished talking to my father about...about my mother."

She set her hot chocolate down. Marc imitated her and set his next to hers.

"But if your father told you that Christine was not your mother," Marc began, "then why were you so upset?"

Chrissy again hesitated. She stared into the fire. "He told me about my real mother. He told me why he doesn't have any pictures of her."

"Why doesn't he?" Marc asked.

Chrissy started shivering again with anxiety. "He said that..." she began to cry again, "He told me that...he's not my real father."

Marc looked shocked. "What?" he said, almost in a whisper.

Chrissy nodded. "When I was born, apparently, I was born with a skin infection on my face and my real mother and my real father abandon my beneath the opera house."

"Oh my god!" Marc said.

"I know," she said, "He said he found me and...well, the rest is obvious!"

Marc moved closer to her. Chrissy was still crying.

"Chrissy, it's ok," he said.

"No it's not ok, Marc!" answered Chrissy, "It's not ok! You've lived with your parents your whole life! You don't know what it's like all of a sudden to find out that your mother and your real father didn't even want you when you were born!" She was quiet for a minute, just letting the tears fall down her face. "I can't believe my parents didn't want me!"

"No, Chrissy!" Marc said, "They were not your parents! Look, there's nothing I can say about your mother, but...that man was not your father. I don't know who your biological father is but he certainly was not. The man who's taken care of you and loved you for 16 years, that's your father!"

Chrissy looked at Marc again. She was still crying.

"Thank you, Marc, but...you don't understand." she said, "For 16 years, I thought I had someone in my life whom I belonged to. I don't have anything now."

"What do you mean you don't have anything?" Marc asked, "What do you mean you don't belong to anyone?"

"What?" Chrissy asked, "What do I have, Marc?"

Marc looked at Chrissy in shock. "Me, Chrissy!" he said, "You have me! I belong to you and you will be mine until the day I die!"

Chrissy looked at Marc. But, to her, it seemed like she was really seeing him for the first time. She buried her head in his chest and started sobbing again. He wrapped his arms around her. He rocked gently, trying to calm her.

"I love you," she managed to whisper after a few minutes, "I love you so much, Marc!"

"I know," Marc said, "I love you, too. So very much."

They stayed like that for a while longer. By the time they finally let go, Chrissy's hair was dry.

Chrissy smiled as she looked at him. He smiled back and kissed her a moment later. After a second, she broke away.

"Have you done that to every girl who smiles at you like that or holds you?" Chrissy asked, jokingly.

"Only the ones with good taste," Marc replied, "And you taste very good!"

He kissed her again. Chrissy began wrapping her arms around him again, when suddenly, she pushed him away. She looked up. "Listen," she said.

Marc did and began to hear someone's footsteps coming closer and closer to them. Chrissy took the cups of now cold chocolate and poured them into the fire, putting it out. She grabbed Marc's arm and they both dashed into her bedroom just as the door at the top of the stairs opened.

"Quick!" Chrissy cried, opening her closet. "Don't come out until I come to get you."

"I won't," he said, kissing her on the cheek and shutting the door with a soft snap.

Chrissy got onto her bed and climbed quickly under the covers. Her bedroom door began to open and she pretended to be asleep.

She could feel her father's presence standing next to her bed. He said nothing, nor tried to wake her. He stood there for a moment, as if relieved to see her lying there. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead before turning around and leaving the room.

Chrissy kept her eyes shut until long after her father's bedroom door had been shut. She sat up in her bed, climbed out, and tiptoed over to her closet.

"Sorry," she whispered as she opened it.

"It's ok," Marc whispered back, "I think I'd better go,"

He and Chrissy walked out of her bedroom. One solo candle was burning on the mantle piece of the living room now. Marc took his wet cloths out from under the sofa.

"Let me keep those," Chrissy said, "If you go home with wet cloths, your mother will be furious."

"Yes, of course, it will be a bit hard to explain why I'm wearing someone else's cloths." Marc said, "Bye, Chrissy, I love you."

"I love you, too." she said.

Marc turned to leave, but Chrissy grabbed his arm. He turned back to look at her.

"Don't go," she said.

"Chrissy, honey, I have to," he replied.

"No you don't," she said.

"Well," Marc asked with a quizzical look upon his face, "where am I going to sleep?"

"With me," she said.

Marc looked a bit surprised, but he didn't argue. Chrissy pulled him into her bedroom and shut the door behind the both of them.