This may be similar to how Christine was accosted from her dressing room, but remember, this is a story, and I can do what I want. This chapter isn't my favorite but it's the longest!

The performance was magnificent. Claire could tell that her flawless dancing had captured the audience's attention just as Carlotta had entranced them with her operatic voice. As she moved backstage admirers showered her with praises and flowers. She was being led rather quickly through all this by Madame Giry.

"Sorelli is not in her dressing room tonight," Giry said, "You may use it." Claire once again felt the flush of guilt course through her body. She knew some of these events had to be her fault. Madame Giry led her straight to the dressing room and moved to unlock the door but found it was already open. They entered to a fantastic sight. Flowers adorned every inch of the dressing room.

"Usually such praise is reserved for the Prima Donna but it seems you have out done even her tonight," Madame Giry said with a slight smile. Claire walked over to the night stand and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was pulled pup into an elegant French braid and her makeup was immaculately applied. She still wore the outfit from the last act and desperately wanted to get out of it. The corset was cutting into her skin like a knife. She sat down at the chair, continuing to stare at herself in the small mirror. She watched as Madame Giry came up behind her and began to remove the pins that held her hair up.

"You were wonderful tonight Claire," Giry said, removing the last pin and watching as Claire's hair fell in rivers down her back. Claire was not used to such praise. She had always been one of the Opera Brats, not the soloist.

"I wasn't that great Madame," Claire responded. Giry picked up a brush from the night stand and began to brush out Claire's hair. The feel of the bristles against her scalp relaxed her. She had been tense all night and now, finally, she could relax.

"You made the dance yours Claire, something that Sorelli tries to do but fails," Madame Giry said. She finished brushing out Claire's hair and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You are gifted," Giry said, her grip on Claire's shoulder tensing up, "I'd hate to see that gift be wasted."

"You won't see it wasted, I promise," Claire said, a smile spreading across her face. Madame Giry seemed happy with this answer and removed her hand. She turned to the door. Claire turned her attention to Giry's leaving.

"There's something for you to wear when you wish to retire for the evening. I don't recommend staying up too late, however, you have a show to do tomorrow." With those last words Madame Giry left the room. Claire was now all alone. She got up from her seat and crossed the room to an armchair. A white night gown and robe were tossed over the side of the chair. She sighed and turned her attention towards something else, a full length mirror. She had never been able to look in one long enough to take in her reflection. She looked tired, aged beyond her years.

"I look like death," she said aloud and walked closer to the mirror. She had always hated the way mirrors mocked you. They showed you what you didn't want to see, the way you really looked. Curiously, as she got closer, she felt colder. It was as if the mirror emitted its own energy. Claire reached out and touched the glass.

"I'm being silly," she said and pulled away. She went back over the chair and picked up the night slip. She wanted to be out of the dressing room as quickly as possible. She changed into her sleeping garments and was preparing to leave the room. As she reached for the door knob she heard a familiar voice begin to gently sing.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance," It was him. She didn't know whether to leave the room or stay. Her eyes went wide with surprise and fright. How could she hear him yet not see him?

"Why do you come to me?" she asked her voice loud and clear. There was no response. Claire reached for the door knob again and heard,

"Look at yourself in the mirror…I am there inside," the voice now spoke. It sounded distant now. Claire looked at the mirror and remembered feeling the cold air. She slowly moved forward until her nose was mere inches away from the glass.

"Come to me," she heard him say. It sounded as if he were right next to her. She pressed both of her hands to the glass and then gasped. She could see beyond the mirror, and there was the Phantom. She didn't even seem to notice being pulled into the mirror and hearing it lock quietly behind her. She was in a long tunnel, her hand grasped tightly by The Phantom. He lead her quickly down the passage and then into another. Everything looked the same to Claire as they passed through many levels of the Opera House. She had never known it to go so deep. He finally led her to the edge of an underground lake. She couldn't even begin to reason with this man who had in so many ways taken her hostage. She was being led by him. There was a force stronger than free will guiding her towards some unknown destination.

Claire was being whisked away across the lake now, the Phantom's eyes always staring straight ahead. She looked to the water and saw her reflection. She could read her own fear and excitement. She didn't know how long they'd been moving through the water but she soon found herself staring at something holey unbelievable. An underground lair, filled to the ceiling with candles. A giant Organ could be seen adorning a part of this cavern. There seemed to be rooms, each carved into the very foundation. The Phantom got out of the boat and offered her a hand. She took it. He lifted her up and out of the boat with grace and poise.

"Welcome to my home," he said, finally breaking the silence. Claire's eyes grew wide.

"Your home?" she asked stupidly. He had not let go of her hand yet, as he was leading her towards his organ.

"Yes," he answered. He stopped walking and let go of her hand. Confusion danced across her face. She watched as he took a seat at the Organ and began to play. The music he played was like angels weeping. Claire felt herself give into this man completely. She moved a few steps forward and then stopped herself. The music had stopped abruptly. She could see the Phantom's shoulders move up and down with his heavy breathing.

"Erik," he said softly.

"What?" she responded. Before her eyes he got up quickly and crossed over to her. Claire stumbled back a few steps. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and drew her close to him.

"My name is Erik," he said, his voice filled to the brim with venom. Claire felt her legs grow weak as she struggled mentally against this haunted creature. Fear had finally taken over her.

"Let me go!" she cried trying to pull away from him. His grip was strong and she was unable to break free.

"Say my name!" he roared. Claire turned her eyes away from him. She couldn't bear to look at him.

"Look at me!" he snapped. Claire gulped and slowly raised her eyes to his. She expected to see hate and horror in those eyes but all she found was hurt and sadness. Her fear didn't melt away completely but she gave in.

"Erik," she whispered. Silence followed. She was still in his grip but the anger that had once filled his touch was now ebbing slowly. She still stared into the eyes of this man named Erik, never once attempting to look away.

"Why am I here?" she asked, breaking the silence. His eyes filled with pain and he raised a shaking hand to her cheek and gently brushed it.

"You are here to inspire me," he answered, "Make my music mean something." Claire shivered.

"Will you ever let me go?" The silence once again dominated all. He released her from his grasp and looked weakly down at the ground.

"That is entirely in your hands my dear," he responded. Claire felt her heart beat wildly in her chest as she watched his walk up stone steps and disappear into another room.

"If I do as you wish?" Claire said loudly. She waited for his answer. It never came. He reappeared from another room and moved down to her. He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her to him. Once again she found herself in that compromising position they'd left of with on the roof. This time he did not whisper in her ear. He sang.

"Help me make the music of the night." His hands took her hands in his own and moved them slowly across her body. Every inch of Claire began to tingle with passion. She didn't know this man or what he planned to do to her but at the moment that was all pushed from her mind. All she knew was his touch.

"Erik," she heard herself say. He pulled away.

"I am sorry," he uttered, "Please forgive me." Claire didn't answer. She looked at this man with all the pity and love she could handle at the moment.

"Come," she heard him say at last, "I will show you where you will sleep."