Little did I know that she was to betray me so unremorsefully! Ironically, if the idiot managers had not delivered my salary in a crudely wrapped gossip paper, I would have never been made aware of such a startling rumor.

The Epoque read,

"The latest news in the Faubourg is that there is a promise of marriage between Mlle. Christine Daaé, the opera-singer, and M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."

My immediate reaction was to kill him right away to avoid all future rude awakenings, but after a second of consideration, I began to see that perhaps such an impulsive act would cost me more than I could afford. If I killed him, it would have to be on premises away from the Opera House to avoid a search of my catacombs (such drama would bring productions to a standstill), but I had little interest in killing him in a place that I was unfamiliar with. Suppose I needed to dispose of the body in an unsuitable place, and if he'd tried to run, I preferred to avoid making a mess..

But I was unconsciously avoiding the descent of the problem—Christine. I had underestimated her ability to deceive. It infuriated me to think that she had used this time of distance between her and me to invigorate her affair with the Vicomte, but what enraged me perhaps even more was that if it were not for this sudden coincidence, I could be discovering her "engagement" after the wedding!

I dipped a rose in charcoal and folded the article over it. That night, while she rehearsed, I visited her chamber and laid the message on her bed. I waited until she returned to discover the curious item on her pillow. Then as her complexion paled with realization that her secret had been unveiled, I began to laugh with sweet unbearable satisfaction.

She jumped at the sound of my voice, dropping the paper from her hands and kneeling instinctively in front of the mirror from where she knew I was watching. At that moment she had all the composure of a guilty vixen preparing to be tried. She hung her head shamefully, her hands hanging from her sides in trembling dread of what I might say next.

Strangely, as she knelt in anticipation of the downpour of my rage, I was inclined to say nothing at all.

I denied her the privilege of hearing my voice.

She sat on her heels for a very long time, with her head hanging and eyes unable to meet the surface of the cold glass. Finally as she reached for the mirror she lifted her head slightly and relinquished my name.

What an agony it was to hear it from her lips! And as she began to cry and cling onto the mirror with both her small hands, I withdrew a step back from the glass in terrible anguish. It was unbearable being this close to her, despite the pane of glass which separated us. Even in my bitterness I could not fight the urge to reach forward and scoop her into my arms in forgiveness. She began to cry that she had been weak, and that I was still her Angel of Music, and though this flattered me, it did nothing to ease my anger. I began retreating into the darkness that seemed to allow me to breathe with each backwards step I took.

"Erik! Please…!" Her voice was excruciating.

She pressed her cheek against the mirror and wept. "I was lost…forgive me."

I wanted to believe her, I really did…but she had lied. And I could not stand to be lied too. Nor could I tolerate another deception. Christine Daaé needed to be punished, and I would give her silence.

Turning from her weeping figure, I disappeared into the darkness. If she wanted the Angel of Music, she would have to find him on her own.