A/N: Just a quick note to everyone- Raoul's behavior in this chapter is taken from Phantom…so if you're a fop-lover, don't blame me! Also, sorry this update took so long...I had my big sophomore English project due on Friday, and I was a tad stressed out about it...

P.S: Also, thanks to my reviewers! You guys rock! Oh, and one more thing…the 'T' rating will come into effect either at the end of the next chapter or the whole way through the one after that, just to let everyone know. And if that confused you, just ignore it and start reading.

IN THIS LABYRINTH

I know what people called me in those weeks of solitude; I know how Raoul's servants whispered amongst themselves after leaving my chamber, speaking in hushed voices and glancing at me when they came through that door, waiting for something to happen. They thought me mad.

Perhaps I was.

The wedding was scheduled a few days later; a vague nod on my part was all Raoul required for his interpretation of my approval. In a few weeks, I was to become a Comtesse, married (my God, would the term remain foreign to my ears for the rest of my life?) to a wealthy, handsome young man who devoted every waking moment to fulfilling the zenith of my desires…

And I longed for another.

I must be the most ungrateful woman in Paris…any other girl in my position would be overwhelmed with pure, wordless delight. But I spent my time in my room, alone, singing to myself…and thinking of him.

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with me.

Blessed art thou with women…

It never seemed necessary to continue those lines…I do not even understand the logic behind my unfounded obsession. Those weeks seem blurred and oblique to me now, as if I was remembering some dream I once had, instead of my life…as if I looked through a mirror…

In those lingering days before my scheduled wedding, I felt a strange combination of engraved dread and hesitant anticipation…anticipation not for the marriage itself, but for the day before… damn my own pitiful insincerity when I looked into Raoul's eyes and said I loved him.

But I did, I argued with myself. I did love Raoul…how could I not? He would have given me the world had he possessed it. Maybe my hesitation was founded in the fact that the universe itself had been offered to me, but in my fear, I had denied its provider…

I had not written the wedding invitation with the intention of hiding its contents from my fiancé. His congenial hospitality and utter devotion to me over the past month had been so admirable, and some part of me tried to reprimand the connection I shared with Erik. But I continued to think relentlessly of him, and when the day before my wedding arrived, my heart was pounding with eagerness.

I took a seat at my ornate writing desk, true to the popular French style with its fancy gold paint and curved wooden legs. All the other invitations had been written on a pure white paper in silky black ink, the Chagny crest imprinted on the bottom left-hand corner. When I wrote Erik's, I used blood red lettering on a rich cream-colored parchment, no decoration to speak of. I did not think Erik would approve of such wasted extravagance…

Erik had requested I bring one on the day of my return, so he could 'add it to his collection,' he had said. A collection of wedding invitations seemed quite out of the ordinary for Erik, but with one as unexplainable and mysterious as he, I knew not to question his hobbies or interests. Perhaps he did indeed have a drawer full of letters… And so I began the note as I had all the others.

"The Vicomte Raoul Philippe François de Chagny and the Mademoiselle Christine Marguerite Daaé cordially request your presence at…"

I could not, I would not will myself to continue with such detached emotion…not for Erik. I watched in powerless awe as my hand began to increase in its rapidity, soon flying across the page, writing with an overwhelmingly fervent passion that I was not aware I possessed. 'My life is now empty without my Angel…music in my mind…my heart is yours…'

Christine…

I stopped, my fingers trembling as the pen finished signing my name. As I stared at the words, it felt as though I were reading the personal thoughts of another, going through someone else's private journal. Tears crested the corners of my eyes, the back of my throat stinging and clenched. I wiped a single, shaking finger over the dark bags under my eyes.

The echoing slam of the front door announced Raoul's arrival. Quickly I folded up the letter and shoved it into an envelope in haste before running a hand down my dress, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in the deep scarlet velvet. With the note clutched in my fingers, I turned to face the door, wiping my sweating palms against my skirt.

A curt but gentle rapping sounded at my door, and without waiting for a response, Raoul strode into my chambers. His eyes flickered to the paper in my hand, and I bowed my head meekly. I looked up hesitantly, meeting his eyes, and I could tell by his expression that he had not missed the brimming excitement that shone from my eyes. My gaze fell upon the bouquet of flowers that now lay flaccidly at his side, and my guilt deepened.

"It is time for us to go back," I murmured. "Remember?" I wanted him to come with me, I wanted him there so I would not give into that calling that had haunted me during those long, sleepless nights. Bewilderment crossed his smooth, flawless face, and he took a hesitant step towards me.

"What?"

I was beginning to lose my nerve. "You said…Erik…"

In two fluid steps, he crossed the room and put his hands on my shoulders, his delicate features lined with confusion and clouded anger, and he shook me back and forth roughly. I pulled away from Raoul, staring at him in shock, eyes wide. What exactly had I done to this man…?

"You're not going back there…" he breathed, chest heaving. "You must be mad if you think you're going back…"

"But you promised him," I said, my voice low and barely recognizable. "You promised me."

"The man is insane!" Raoul roared, throwing the dozen carnations across the room. I watched as they hit the wall, pink and white petals scattered aimlessly across the carpet. "Of course I promised to bring you back to him! If I hadn't, he would have killed us both! Can't you understand that…?"

"He would never hurt me," I whispered. "Never." Slowly I sank into my chair, staring at the flames that danced in the fireplace. "I'm going," I told him. "I'm going with or without you."

With a swiftness that made me start, Raoul leaned over and grabbed the letter from my hand. For one horrifying moment, I though he was going to open it, read it…learn my secret. Instead, he began to rip it apart until he held a dozen tiny pieces of parchment in him hand. Looking me straight in the eyes, he tossed the shreds into the blazing fire.

"If you go see him…" Raoul whispered, his voice shaking. "Your invitation would be for a wedding that would not exist. " Without another word, he left my room, slamming my chamber door shut.

I sat alone in the shadows, listening to the faint sounds of his carriage pulling away down the street. I shuddered despite the warmth emitted from the fireplace. Glancing out the window, I watched the bare branches of the trees shiver in the wintry Parisian wind.

"Christine…"

I stood from my seat on the little velvet chair and drifted towards my cabinet. Upon opening it, my eyes were drawn to the small, black leather journal sitting in the corner of the darkened shelf. I pulled it out and opened it, running my fingers over the familiar cream-colored parchment between the covers. I snapped the book shut and left the room.


No one cast me strange looks as I ascended the escalair of the Opera Garnier. No one questioned my intentions, no one even gave me a second glance. I was simply another passerby on the crowded streets of Paris. The sun was setting against the horizon, the sky painted a deep blood red, hints and whispers of gray-black streaking the heavens.

The undeniable symbolism of the approaching shadows of night was not lost to me.

As I wandered through the halls, I was suddenly hit with the awareness that this place…it was not familiar to me at all. It was if I walked through the corridors of a stranger's house, even though I had called the Opera house my home for a good third of my life.

My dressing room was unoccupied, a light layer of dust coating the furniture that sat, empty and forgotten, against the corners of the room. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, floor-length mirror that stood dauntingly in the center of the wall. Almost as if drawn by an unseen force, my feet carried me towards the glass. Slowly I reached out my fingers to the frame, trembling as I touched the wooden paneling in a soft caress.

I remembered…I remembered everything. It's not that I had forgotten…but still, the intense, almost overwhelming sensation of reminiscence flooded my mind. I recalled the first time I heard my Angel, the first time since the death of my father that I had not felt alone. I had knelt before the mirror- as I did now, without realizing- in an act of pure humility. My cheek pressed against the glass, and my eyes closed.

"I always believed in you…I always believed in you…" I whispered. "Forgive me…"

The mirror swung open on its pivot, and I was pitched forward onto the ground, landing on my hands and knees. A pair of feet loomed in my sight before me, and upon looking up, I found the face that swam a million miles above me to be shrouded in shadows. "Erik…?" I murmured, squinting.

The man stepped forward, and I knew immediately that he was not Erik. He was about a head shorter, and his face was framed by a mass of graying, dark brown hair. I felt him survey me with a critical gaze, but when he stepped into the light, I saw benevolence glinting in his beetle black eyes.

"I can safely rely on Nadir…" Erik had said. "Isn't it nice to have people about you that you can really trust, Christine? Nadir was a good friend to me once upon a time… Once upon a time…"

"Monsieur Nadir…" I choked out, my voice caught in my throat.

He pulled me to my feet gently before bowing his head in respect. "Mademoiselle Daaé," he said, his words thick with a rich foreign accent. He bit his lip. "It is still Daaé, correct?"

I set my mouth into a firm line, lips tightly drawn. My stare was bright with defiance at this accusing question. "I gave him my word, Monsieur," I replied resolutely. "I would not go back on that."

Again, that moment of uncertainty. "He was not expecting you, Mademoiselle…" he said.

His tone set off warning bells in my head. "What happened?" I demanded. "Where is Erik?"

"I fear Erik is… He had another seizure, and afterward he told me… You know his knowledge of medicine and health is infallible…" Clearly there was something man did not want to tell me.

"What is it? Please, Monsieur…" I pleaded, desperation glowing in my eyes. "What happened to Erik?"

"He's dying." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with the curt wave of his hand. "Erik says that if he goes into another seizure, he will not wake up." I had no response, so I remained silent. Nadir ran a large, dark hand through his hair. "He told you half-a-year, correct?"

"It wouldn't be for very long…six months and you would be a young widow, free to make a true marriage…"

I nodded.

"I'm afraid that was a bit of an …" Nadir swallowed with difficulty. "…An exaggeration…"

I took a careful, guarded stride towards him, and without thinking he stepped back, away from my burning stare. "How long?" I whispered. He turned his gaze to the damp, stone ground.

"His time is limited," he said vaguely. "If God is merciful…only a day or so." He did not look me in the eyes as he said this.

The color had been slowly draining from my face during our conversation, and when he spoke of Erik's dawning fate, I felt the last of the blood leave my cheeks. I put my hand to my throat and rubbed it, fearing that without coaxing, my voice would fail to work. "He is still here?" I asked hoarsely.

Nadir gave me a sad, ironic smile, his gaze trailing over my face. "Mademoiselle…" he began, his voice filled with an exhausted sorrow. "Where else would he go?"


The journey to Erik's home seemed to take an eternity, each step lasting long enough to allow for a thousand thoughts to cross my mind. I glanced around and saw that the walls were no longer darkly enticing in their Gothic design; instead, I felt a strangely unnerving trepidation in the pits of my stomach as I gazed upon the stone gargoyles and angels. Nadir did not speak to me as we descended into the catacombs. He led me in disquieting, pensive silence, the flickering of his torch casting leering black shadows across our forms.

When we came to the lake, Nadir swept his cloak past his chest, revealing the gondola that floated motionlessly on the vast, glassy surface. He bowed his head as I stepped past him, his black eyes glittering in the darkness. I sat on my knees at the edge of the wooden boat, my gaze turned to the blackened shape of Erik's house. Nadir pushed off the side of the bank, and I glanced back at him for a moment. His eyes, however, were locked on our destination, ignoring my presence completely. Within a few minutes I felt the bottom of the boat scrape against the rocks along the shore in front of the chamber. Nadir jumped into the water, his legs soaked up to the top of his knee-high leather boots, and he waded towards me, taking my hand and helping me onto the dry ground.

The unbroken silence was unnerving…the only sound to be heard was the constant hammering of my heart at my chest, the pounding of blood in my ears. I drifted forward wordlessly, Nadir following closely behind. The front door hung open dauntingly, as if the long, skeletal hands of a menacingly black death would reach out to me through the shadows. I shivered impulsively against the impending chill and stepped inside.

The breath stopped in my throat as my eyes traveled around the room, once so beautiful in its dark majesty. Now, it had been transformed into the very pits of Hell itself. Everything Erik had held dear, anything his dexterous fingers had ever created, lay in ruins on the floor. The music…oh God, the music was ripped into pieces of unreadable, unrecognizable parchment. As I knelt down and gathered some of the scraps, I wondered distractedly if I was holding his masterpiece, his Don Juan Triumphant in the palm of my hand.

I turned to Nadir, my cheeks darkened with tears, and held out my hand. "Why?" I whispered.

The Persian did not answer right away. Instead, his eyes traveled along the walls of slashed velvet, meeting the distorted pile of metal in the corner that I soon recognized as Erik's pipe organ, and finally back into the passages and corridors behind me. He turned back to me, mouth set into a firm line. "He did not want to be remembered," he said. "If you did not return, and he had assumed you would not, he wanted no trace of himself or his genius left in this opera. He said…" Nadir hesitated, sighing to himself and gazing at the ground. "He said that when he died, he wanted to be erased from history, but more importantly, your thoughts."

I stood up, folding my skirts behind me. Meeting his eyes, I stared at him, unblinking. "Take me to him," I said quietly, wrapping my arms around my shoulders and hugging myself tightly. "Let me see him."

He nodded wordlessly, taking me gently by the wrist and pulling me into the approaching shadows of the hallway. We arrived at the door I recognized to be the one that led to the room Erik had deemed my own. Nadir put his hand on the doorknob, but he made no move to open it. Instead he turned to me hesitantly. "Mademoiselle…I must tell you, I know not the condition in which he resides. He was asleep when I left to get the medicine, but that was well before I found you, so…"

I put my hand on his forearm, gripping his sleeve with my fingers. "You were getting medicine?" I hissed. "You…you did not continue on this mission? I am perfectly capable of finding my way down here on my own…" My voice was rising steadily, and Nadir cast a wary look at the closed door. "Erik's time is running out…" I moved my other hand to the lapel of his coat. "Why did you not get his medicine? Why did you desert your task?"

Nadir's expression did not change. He stared at me, unwavering, and twisted the knob. "I was to get him that which would make him well," he murmured, turning back to the door that was open only a crack. "I did just that." He took me by the arm and pulled me into the room.