AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you all again for your reviews! I emailed a few of you with this update for chapter four, but now you have to be proud of me! Two chapters in one day!

To The Phantom Parisienne: I know.I know. I am a die-hard E/C fan too, but this story is somewhat hypocritical, isn't it! ;) I really am just experimenting.;)

CHAPTER FIVE

"No, no, no. Like this-" Erik's voice serenaded through every part of Aaralyn, and she fought to keep on task and pay attention to her lessons without losing herself in his warm, gentle, lulling voice. This was the second or third of her lessons and she did not regret her decision to let him teach her in the least.

She repeated Erik's song, trying as hard as she could to please him. After all, he was her teacher. She let the music flow through her like water, surrendering her soul to its enrapture.

Her solo became a duet, as Erik sang along with her, also losing himself in its beauty. Their song became more and more extravagant, until the final climactic notes were sung and the ecstasy ceased.

Erik moved his hands away from the organ, as if singing like that pained him. He took several deep breaths.

"What's wrong?" Aaralyn asked, concerned.

"It's nothing."

"No really, you look hurt. What's wrong? Is it I?"

"No, not at all, it's just." he stopped not wanting to continue. "You remind me."he paused again, searching for words.

"Of someone?" she offered.

He took another deep breath before answering, "Not just anyone. An angel,"

This nearly floored Aaralyn. She reminded him of an angel? Surely not. He was mistaken. There was no way-

"My angel," he finished, confirming her beliefs.

So, she sang like someone he once loved. That was good, she supposed, but she wanted to know more.

"What happened to her?" she asked carefully.

"She chose the beauty of faces rather than the beauty of music," he answered simply, with a sigh.

"She left, then."

"Yes, angel, she left."

She almost grinned at being called 'angel', but refrained from doing so. She moved over to the organ bench and sat next to Erik.

"You miss her." She said quietly.

He turned to look at her. "Yes, very much so," Her brilliant green eyes met his dark ones for a fleeting moment. "You look like her, you know," he said, his eyes never leaving her face. "But Christine's eyes," he continued slowly, "were blue, not green like yours. They always showed fear.Fear of," he paused before going on. "Me." He returned his gaze to the organ, wishing he could forget everything.

"You? But why would she fear you?" He turned to look at her, his white mask answering her question. "Your face." she said, barely above a whisper. " I thought she loved you!" Thinking she had gone too far, judging by the mournful look Erik showed her, she added "But I don't think--" she stopped, searching for the right words. "That you are ugly." she reached a trembling hand up to the right side of his face and softly caressed the smooth mask that covered his hideous features. He could not look at her. No one had ever shown him such compassion or tenderness before.Not even Christine. Her eyes bored into his, searching out the secrets he held. She stroked his hair across his forehead gently and murmured, "There. Now I can see your eyes." She smiled.

An idea came to him.

"Would you like to see Mlle Daaé's dressing-room?" he asked with new determination. Aaralyn had no idea who Mlle Daaé was, and a puzzled look crossed her face. What did she have to do with anything anyway?

He noticed her puzzled expression. "I can explain on the way. Follow me!" He said almost cheerfully, rising from the organ bench, Aaralyn in tow.

He led her through the catacombs of his lair, and it became so dark in the tunnels that Aaralyn cried out Erik's name and reached for his hand, which was cold. He stopped only for an instant, acknowledging this gesture, and she knew that if she could see, his eyes would be on hers. She didn't let go of his hand. He proceeded.

They came to a tunnel that was lit by dim torches. There was a large door- like indentation in the wall. Erik and Aaralyn approached it, still hand in hand.

The door opened to reveal what was obviously a dressing-room. They walked in.

"Turn around." Erik commanded, and she noticed that the door she had come through had appeared to be a mirror.

"I used to sing to Christine from behind this mirror, she couldn't see me, and I told her I was an angel. She believed me," he said with a mournful smile. "That is, until I took her down under the Opera House." He sighed, not wanting to share details. He shook his head remembering.

'You said yourself, he is nothing but a man. Yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead.'

He looked up, a tear threatening to slide down his cheek. "Oh, Christine.."

He was glad that Aaralyn was there, and that he was not alone. He was grateful for her company. If she had not been there, he supposed he would collapse with wracking sobs. He attempted to smile at her, and she knew what it meant. She stood next to him.

"She was a great singer, wasn't she?"

"Marvelously so. I taught her as well. I suppose she is about your age now."

"Twenty-five?" she asked, half giving away her age, half wanting to know.

Erik nodded. Aaralyn reluctantly let go of his hand and walked over to Christine's vanity. She noticed numerous powder puffs and make-up cases. There was a gold plaque above the small mirror, which read "Christine Daaé". Now she understood.

"We don't need to stay here if it hurts you," she stated gently. "We do have a lesson to finish, you know." she tried not to sound like she was eager to leave.

"Right, of course." Erik stood and Aaralyn once again took his hand, and this time, she could see his face. He smiled weakly but appreciatively.

They made their way through the catacombs to the house by the lake. He resumed his position by the organ and attempted to play. After a few measures, he stopped and ran his hands through his hair and let his head fall into his hands.

"You haven't the heart to play, have you?" Aaralyn asked knowingly. She again sat down at the bench, next to him. She, almost by reflex, extended her arm across his shoulders. He looked up at her gratefully.

"It's not that it just."he stopped, knowing he could not escape Aaralyn's sharp intuition. "Alright.it's exactly that." he was inclined to simply lay his head on the organ, like he had done so many times before, just to hear the awful sound it emitted, reflective of his mood, but he didn't.

Reaching over his shoulder, he took Aaralyn's hand and kissed it. He wrapped both hands around her small one and pressed them to his forehead as if the warmth of her hand would cure his awful past. Hot tears soon drenched her hand. She released it from the grasp of his hands, but only to wipe away his silent tears. She stroked his hair from his face. An idea came to her. She took his hand and forced him to stand.

"Erik, can you dance?" she asked excitedly. Surely lively dancing would cure him of his mournful mood. After all, dancing was fun!

"Of course, angel. What should we dance to?"

"A waltz!" she suggested, and Erik nodded his head in agreement. Something wouldn't work.

"Child, I cannot both play a waltz and dance to a waltz simultaneously," he said, again disheartened.

"Then sing! We shall dance to a waltz that has words. Agree?"

Erik thought it over for a moment. He was in the worst of moods, and while Christine would have left him in his agony, Aaralyn only tried to make it better. He truly respected her, he was even starting to love her. As much as he didn't like to admit this to himself, he found it was true.

Determined to put Christine in the past, he nodded to Aaralyn with a smile, slid his hand around her waist and took her small hand in his. He began to sing the waltz he had promised her, and lost himself in the dance.

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