Thanks for all the reviews! They really do motivate me to write! I am better now, it was one of those nasty 24-hour things. ;)

Note: This chapter deals with some rape themes. I promise not to be graphic, and I will keep the PG-13 rating, but if you absolutely abhor things of that nature, you would do well to avoid Noelle's italicized memories.

Noelle did not back up this time. She simply stared at the man in front of her, reminding herself that this was the Phantom of the Opera. He was dangerous, she realized. But what did he want with her?

"Come again," he asked in his light but deep tenor. The sound of his voice sent shivers up her spine. It was so passionate. It was like every word as it came out of his mouth possessed and took on a special meaning. She could dream to that voice, fall asleep to it and wake to it, hear it every second of every day and never grow tired of it...

"I thought I was dreaming before. Now I see that I am not." She hoped that he would not find her foolish. She could not stand to be thought of as a child... not after all she had gone through.

The Phantom raised his right eyebrow.

"No, you were not. I am very real." Noelle wondered if his words were true. This man... if that was what he was... could very well be a ghost, or so it seemed. She knew that these thoughts were unbecoming and foolish... but she could not help but to wonder. She breathed in and out, releasing all tension. She would obviously have to deal with the Phantom, if she would be seeing him regularly.

"I am here to instruct you in the art of singing," he said comfortably into the silence.

A brief smile was tempted to come over her face as she thought of her childhood teacher, Monsieur Gaston. He had taught her to sing, to dance, and to play the organ, as well as he could before he died. A brief pang of sorrow came as she thought of his passing. It seemed that no matter how much time went by, she would still miss him. She decided to play his word-game and smirked. Noelle would not be a child in the way he treated her. She would show him that there was more to her then a pretty girl who knew a little of the arts.

"I have already had lessons in singing, monsieur."

He nodded and flicked the black cape at her, as if to dispel the words she had just spoken.

"That may be so, but your tutor could have only taught you the... mechanics of vocalizing. I," he stepped gently closer to her, causing the hidden fire in her veins to ignite, "Will teach you passion." She swallowed, having lost all the words that wanted to come out on the tip of her tongue. He gently stroked the line of her jaw. She tensed, not from pain, but from memory. It had been a long time since a man had touched her tenderly. She had not let anyone come close to her after Michael. He stepped back, and she thought with a twisted grin that he was very real. Before he turned away, she saw perhaps a flash of... hurt in the green eyes that possessed and enchanted. But that was impossible. The Phantom of the Opera was surely not offended by her reluctance to feel a man's touch. She realized the inane foolishness of such a thought, and instantly felt ashamed.

"I shall have to blindfold you," he said, almost seeming to warn her. Noelle nodded, her heart pumping. She could not refuse, but only wondered where he was taking her, and what he intended to do to her when he had her there. She had a severe doubt of all men, even one as charming as this... if he was a man. She realized that there would be nothing that she could do if he took her somewhere secluded and assaulted her.

All these fears slipped away as he came closer. He gently slipped a soft, soft blindfold over her eyes. His gentle hands brushed her hair as he tied it and then stepped back. She would now be blindly lead into the layer of the figure that was possibly the most dreaded ghost in France. And she was not afraid.

His voice warned softly, "Stay there." The Phantom's voice seemed if anything, more handsome by the fact that she could not see him. She stood, wondering what he was doing. She then heard the voices of the only two women who had been kind to her since she got to the Opera Populaire. Meg and Christine. She could hear them, although she could not hear what they were saying.

A hand with a cold, most likely black glove on it pulled her somewhere she could not see. She came, unresisting, knowing it was the Phantom's. She heard a whoosh, and then a click behind her. The lighting seemed dimmer here. She could not make out anything from behind the blindfold. She heard Meg and Christine's voices, but also a cold, oppressive silence, broken occasionally by the faint dripping sounds of water. She kept her face carefully blank. No emotion would be good here. She had learned how to shelter herself from the world as soon as she was out on Paris' mean streets. There had been no tears then, and there would be none now.

She asked him briefly about Christine and Meg. He acknowledged her, but his voice took on an odd tone of voice, and she realized that it would not be wise to speak.

The hand still lead her along, safely. Noelle only once tripped, and there were hands that she fell into. She quickly regained her balance. The hands quickly let go as soon as they were sure she had her balance, and then she was being lead again.

After many winding hallways and dripping noises, they were finally there. A door opened, and she was lead in, by the same hand which had lead her before. Gently, the blindfold was removed, and she could see.

What she saw amazed her. It was a large room, with a organ in the middle. Heavenly bright, but not obnoxious lighting came from the many candles that were placed around the room. She noticed a copy of Hannibal on the organ, and she briefly wondered about it before she saw the dance practice floor. She was tempted to cry, or laugh, or something. There was no possible way she could express her gratitude. There was a sturdy wood bar for her to warmup on, and many mirrors, with wood underneath it all. Moreover, there was a leotard and tights of the finest quality she had seen in a while there, hanging on a chair, and a pair of new pointe shoes.

Noelle wanted to faint, but then she could not practice. She decided to do neither at the moment, but instead turned around to face the only reason she had all of this. The Phantom was standing there, with a subtle, almost amused look on his face. She hoped that he didn't think her foolish. This seemed like heaven to her, though. It was amazing. She had seen the ballet practice rooms for chorus girls, and had been disgusted. They were filthy, often falling apart, and barely in better condition then the slums. This, though, this was... incredible.

"It's amazing," Noelle gasped to the Phantom. She knew it was foolish, but did not care. She had to express her awe and gratitude now... she just had to. She felt an odd thrill when he looked down, almost embarrassed. She pressed on, wanting to reach him. She did not care that he was a feared apparition, she simply wanted to acknowledge the fact that she was grateful, very grateful that he brought her here.

"Thank you," she whispered huskily. He looked up above her head, and she saw pleasure, unmistakable pleasure flash in the green orbs she had noticed earlier.

"It is good enough to teach you," he said, almost admonishing her eagerness. She nodded, and collected herself with one breath. She stood by the organ, wondering if he was going to play it. He moved slowly across the room, with dignity in every step. He caught her eyes and held them. She was finally able to look away, and it seemed torture to her. There was a way the Phantom moved, something in the simple way he was, that captured her, held her. Noelle had never felt this way with a man, even though she had flirted with many. It terrified her and warmed her at the same time, she thought, even as the object of her desire sat down and opened the opera that she was to sing from.


Erik raised an eyebrow at her. He did not know what she had said, her first reaction to his coming, and wished to find out.

"Come again, dear?"

Noelle raised her chin, revealing to him the soft, straight curve of her jaw, leading down to her throat to form a picture of classic beauty. She was intoxicating to him.

"I thought I was dreaming before. Now I see that I was not." She whispered this in her clear, melodic voice, but not quiet enough that he could not hear her.

He raised his right eyebrow.

"No, you were not. I am very real."

She nodded and then paused for a moment, to take a calming breath. She was strong, and he admired that.

"I am here to instruct you in the art of music," he said smoothly after the awkward silence they endured.

Noelle smirked, a sarcastic gesture on her soft, angelic lips.

"I have already had lessons in music, monsieur."

Erik nodded with a flourish of his long, black cape.

"That may be so, but your tutor could have only taught you the... mechanics of vocalizing. I," he stepped gently closer to her, "Will teach you passion." He gently stroked the line of her jaw, which abruptly softened, then hardened. He stepped back, hurt. He could not bear even the slightest indication of discomfort that she had showed at one of his actions. It was obvious that he would have to be gentle with her, and treat her softly.

With this in mind, he warned, "I shall have to blindfold you." Noelle nodded briefly. He would do that so she could not come prying later into his chambers. He valued his privacy, and there also were dangers below the opera-house that it would be best for her to stay away from.

He brought out a piece of the softest ruby silk from a pocket. He gently looped it over her forehead to where it touched her softly closed eyelids, tenderly but firmly, so that she could not see anything, but was comfortable. He tied the knot at the end, trying desperately not to shiver at the warm contact with her skin, or the way her soft, sleek blonde hair moved over his hand. Even through the glove, he could feel it.

He warned with sudden tenderness, "Stay there." Erik then crossed the room to the corridor from which he had come. Then, he heard two high, loud, lilting voices that could only belong to Christine Daee and Meg Giry.

"No, he would be proud of you, Christine," Meg said in the near distance. "You are a good singer, and you are happy. The way you describe your father to me, wherever he is, he probably could not be more proud."

Erik opened the drape that was hidden in shadows to reveal a mirror, which he promptly proceeded to open. He then took Noelle's hand, and quickly pulled her into the mirror with him. He then closed the drape and shut the mirror. Fortunately, the girl had remained silent throughout all of this, for which he was grateful. He pulled her into the darkly lit, damp corridor, breathing heavily, his chest moving up and down in the rapid movement of breathing. He looked at her, and there was no reaction of hers that he could observe.

Meg and Christine came into the room, smiling and laughing, then their attitudes becoming more solemn.

"Well, I... will leave you here," Mme. Giry's daughter said uncertainly.

"Thanks, Meg," Christine smiled sadly. "I need to be alone now."

The Phantom, in the nearby passageway, began to move down, with Noelle's hand in a soft, but firm grip that would not mislead her.

"Christine and Meg were in there, and they did not see us." It was not a statement; she was admitting to him that she knew that.

"Yes, my darling." Erik's voice took on an odd tone. He was eager to get out of these corridors, and into the room he had prepared to teach her in. This place was no place for her. Even now, her angelic beauty stood out clearly against the dark, oppressive corridor. She was too beautiful for this place, he realized. Too beautiful for him.

He lead her into a room that he had prepared especially for her. For her voice.

Erik gently slipped the soft blindfold from Noelle's hair and face, gently. She then looked around, marveling in everything. He caught a glimpse of her face, and there were tears in her eyes. She suddenly turned around, and seemed euphoric.

"It's.. amazing!" She gasped to him. "Thank you," she whispered huskily. That was when he first caught a glimpse of her, as she was, with no barriers or walls. Her soul was beautiful and pure, and he secretly reveled in that fact.

He stood without a smile, trying to look unmoved by her awe. Erik remembered the days of preparation this room had taken, precious time away from Don Juan. He had thought of her when he had made this room; her smiling in it as she stretched in the slow, sometimes tortuous movements of ballet adagio; her singing the music he wrote, her being happy. He saw now that she exceeded his expectations. And he could do nothing to show his gratitude, or even happiness.

"It is good enough to teach you." He reminded himself that he had to remain the Phantom for now. No Erik could shine through. It was necessary. She had to learn to trust him, before he could learn to trust her. No one had ever loved him before, ever even learned who he was, or liked him. The closest people that had even come close had been the elder Giry and his mother. He did not blame them. How could they not? He was a monster, a despicable thing.

Noelle nodded and stood expectantly by the organ, some of the many masks she wore over her personality returning. Pity, he thought. She truly was beautiful, and no amount of masks or simple, high-collared brown dresses could cover that up.


Michael slapped her, a large, full one that encompassed her face with his large palm.

"You don't run away from me, whore!" He snarled. She whimpered, trying to get free. He whispered in her ear, as a lover might, "There is no escape now."

Before she knew what was happening, she found her dress pulled up to her waist, him pressed forcefully against her, and abrupt pain everywhere, searing, coming from the place she had never allowed herself to be touched. She screamed then, a loud, shrill sound of terror. She knew what had happened then. She knew what Michael had done to her. His leering, dark face was above her, the face that still haunted her dreams.

Rage came to her then, blinding and angry. This filth had dared assault her, rape her. Even as he ravaged her body, she saw the dagger he had so carelessly dropped beside her. He was busy, and did not notice her. Another wave of pain ripped through her body, and she felt as if she could hardly move. But move she did. Michael grabbed her savagely and ran his hands across her. She would forever feel dirty after that, unclean.

He eased off of her and slapped her again, thinking to be done with her. He turned around, buttoning his pants, obviously intending to just leave her there in the street, lying there, battered. She grabbed the knife then, and ignoring the blood that flowed from below her waist, madly tackled him, adrenalin and rage outweighing common sense. She held the dagger to his throat now, anger filling her whole. She let it spill out in the version of a yell, the pain of the forceful rape and loss of her virginity coming out at once;

"YOU PIG! YOU DON'T TOUCH ME, YOU PIECE OF TRASH! YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME!"

Noelle held the knife at his throat, knowing that she could end his measly life then, that it would be doing the world a service. Her hand tightened around the knife, and—

Lol, I love cliffies when I'm writing them. Sorry! So, liked it hated it? Please review. I am very open to suggestion. This was a very difficult chapter to write (the part about her being raped), and thanks a lot for all the support!