Padme's Author Note: So, here's chapter six. Chapter seven is being revised today as well, so latest is tomorrow night. Otherwise expect it tomorrow. Thank you so much to the reviews, they make our writing better and inspire us. Hope you enjoy.

Christine and the Phantom

Chapter Six: Betrayal

Erik grinned as he skillfully flit his fingers over the ivory keys. Christine stood by the piano, her finished script hanging limply in her hand as she closed her eyes to listen to the masterful execution of the composition. He knew that these past few days alone with her had turned his luck considerably, and now, every time she swayed unconsciously to his music or begged to stay a bit longer in the study, he permitted himself to hope.

True to her promise, Christine had met Erik every day that week, offering her voice up to him as a solemn sacrifice, and in return he coached her till the sound she emitted could make even angels fall on their knees. Erik felt like a child with a new toy, relishing every moment he had with her, but fearing to push her lest he break her voice or, worse, scare her away.

He blinked at that sobering thought, coming back to reality just as the song ended. Behind him, he heard Christine flounce onto a settee and sigh in exhaustion. He turned around, laughing to at his protégé's position. She had one arm draped across her forehead, letting the lace of her dress fall over half her face. The other hand fanned her flushed features dramatically.

Standing, he went to a sideboard where Madame Giry had placed a pitcher of hot water. Deftly, Erik steeped a mixture of herbs designed to naturally relax and soothe the throat. "Tea?" he civilly offered the maiden, interrupting her rest. She nodded to him and rearranged herself so there was room for him on the couch as well. Christine murmured her thanks to him as he sat and handed her the cup, his fingers grazing her own.

The couple conversed quietly while they drank their tea, and Erik took comfort in their budding friendship. They had been in constant company everyday, from the moment they eagerly met to begin practice to the late hours of the night when Erik felt compelled to send her away. When they were not singing, they spent time walking the estate or reading in the library. But what was he supposed to do now? Christine had come to see him as her teacher and even a friend, but how could he make her see him as a man, a lover?

"Erik? We haven't sung this yet, have we?" Christine had traded her empty cup for a thick manuscript that she found untouched on his desk.

He stifled the quick panic, grinning charmingly instead. "That's Don Juan Triumphant. It's not finished."

Erik rose suddenly as the girl flipped innocently through the book, but she remained oblivious to his alarm. "The first three acts are finished. Don't you want me to sing them for you?"

"I can't play it for you." His deep tone warned her not to press the issue.

"Can't or won't?" He grimaced at the childish taunt.

His mouth lifted into a dangerous smile. "I'll play it for you when I'm finished." Erik walked slowly over to her, taking the manuscript gently from her hands and replacing it on the desk. "Please," his voice murmured hypnotically in an attempt to distract her from the opera. He experimentally stroked her face, letting his hand travel down the ivory column of her neck. His eyes traced the motion of her throat as she swallowed nervously.

"Erik..." He did not know whether her moan was a plea for him to pause or proceed, but he couldn't resist touching her, even in this small way.

His hand traced the line of her neck to her shoulders, his fingers catching on a simple gold chain around her neck. He continued to drag his hand along her shoulder, revealing the necklace's buried treasure. He had expected the crucifix, but not the stunning engagement ring that accompanied it. The diamond twinkled brightly, mocking every hope Erik had entertained in the past week. Anger clouded the visible side of his face. He could only think of one reason for the ring's hidden presence: she loved someone else.

Christine's hand flew to her throat in an effort to get the jewelry back from his clutches. "Erik, please!" He made a fist around the ornament and gave a quick yank, breaking the link that fastened the necklace. "I can explain!" She grasped his arm as he turned to leave her.

"Explain what?" His cold eyes pierced her to the very core and he knew that the sheer intensity of his entire demeanor frightened her. "Tell me that you belong to another? Remember, Christine, we have an agreement – " He pulled her close to his face, his arm crushing her body to his form, "You belong to me!" He wanted to scare her, hurt her like she had hurt him. Only his furious eyes revealed the totality of the emotion hidden behind the mask. He released her suddenly and crossed the room, trying to distance himself from the deceiving girl. He stared out a window, but quickly turned away when the glass revealed the mocking reflection of the white mask, reminding him of his cursed existence.

"Why won't you listen to me?" She approached him, turning him towards her, but he would not meet her gaze. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lift a hand to his face. "Erik, please..."

His hand captured her wrist before she could touch him. Finally he met her eyes and said with calculated hatred, "Today's lesson is over. Leave me!" Erik flung her hand away from him. When she didn't move, he yelled at her again. "Get out, you wretched whore!" She blinked at him and a pristine tear curved down her cheek. He refused to dwell on it.

"If that's what you want." Another tear fell, and she turned and left him, slamming the door audibly as she ran into the black-curtained corridor.

Erik ripped the mask from his face and stared at it a moment before flinging it as far away from him as he could. His body sagged against the wall and he felt himself slipping to the ground. He did not moan or cry – he simply held his head in his hands, trying to forget the feel of his scarred and deformed face.

)–/–

The sun's golden glow faded slowly as the moon overtook it, leaving the sky dark and cold. Christine watched the transition gravely, knowing that there was no going back. Erik hated her.

A knock at the door caused her to turn away from the window. "Go away," Christine said, her voice nearly breaking with emotion. She had thought Erik had changed when he became her considerate tutor, but in an instant he had turned, letting her glimpse the monster from her first night.

"Please open the door!" The thick barrier muffled Meg's voice, but Christine could still sense the distress permeating it. "I have dinner!" Meg cried desperately. Christine lay down on the bed and turned away from the door, refusing to answer. The blonde servant would not leave her alone, and Meg finally resorted to using her set of keys to unlock the heavy door.

"Go away." The words hurt coming out of Christine's throat.

Meg touched the girl's arm, the bed dipping as she sat next to her prone friend. "Christine, please talk to me, tell me what's wrong." Christine shrugged Meg's hold off, letting her tears seep into the pillow she clutched. Meg stroked her back and murmured soothing words into her friend's ear until Christine fell into a fitful sleep. Outside, the moon still hung high.

)–/–

The moon had settled halfway between its zenith and the horizon when Christine awoke to the sound of mournful music emanating from, of all places, her wardrobe. She clutched the bedcover tightly, shivering as the playing increased with fervor and intensity.

Christine rose from her bed, approaching the door to the closet tentatively. Her hand reached tremulously for the door handle and gently pulled it open. Pushing through the racks of gowns, she grasped a small lever in the darkness and tugged it, revealing an opening into one of the narrow passageways she knew riddled the castle.

Without a second thought, she followed the sound, even as its insistence changed. It no longer commanded attention, it begged for it. There was no her, no castle, no Erik – only the music that threatened to consume them all. Instinctively she knew that this was his masterpiece, his Don Juan Triumphant.

The passageway ended abruptly and Christine grasped for another lever to exit. Easily, she flung the door open and stepped into the large hall directly outside Erik's study. She had walked this route many times, refusing to question the thick black drapes that effectively concealed the walls.

It angered her, his fantastic illusions – the shrouded hallway, the magical music, Erik's white mask. Christine pulled violently on the heavy black curtains, letting them fall in a magnificent puddle.

Christine stared at herself, reflected hundreds of times in the treacherous truth of the once-hidden mirrors. Her image alarmed her. The falling curtains had created a slight breeze that caused the white chemise she wore to swirl about her frame. The gray pallor of her skin accentuated the dark circles under her eyes, giving her a specter-like quality.

She knew what those mirrors meant; Erik was hiding from himself. The mask was the key to this infuriating puzzle.

Angrily, Christine walked toward the open door of the study and entered prepared to confront him. The shadow of his form, barely illuminated by a lone candelabra, gave her pause. He was not attempting to lure her to this place, he was merely playing with all the agony and despair he possessed.

She wanted to be there beside him, easing his anguish, but she wanted to be there without that small scrap of leather separating him from her. She wanted to see him eye to eye, to be his equal, to know him like he knew her.

In a dreamlike trance, she came softly behind him and reached toward his oblivious form, finally removing the ghostly mask from his face.

Erik's hands faltered on the chords in surprise, ruining the transcendent beauty of the music with a moment of pure ugliness. He turned angrily to face the lovely Pandora who for once recognized the terror she had just unleashed.

Review, please!

Author's Note: Hopefully this is strong enough…I was reading The Fountainhead while I started this, so a lot of the description and twisted, violent love going on are inspired by that. However, Padme caught me before I went overboard and smoothed the story out. -Jazzetry