Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Leroux, Webber and Kay. No profit is sought.

A/N: I LOVE MY READERS SOOO MUCH!!!!! Thank yoouuuuu!!!!!!!!

Sorry for the long wait. I had a horrid week with mid-term exams at school. But now that it's over, I can write at long last. Not too much Erik in this chapter, sorry.

But Raoul gets abused. A lot. Muaha.

In addition, Nadir appears in this installment. For those unfamiliar with him, he's rather self-explanatory in this chapter. Too bad Webber left him out of the musical.

I also just finished Susan Kay's 'Phantom'. Wonderful book and a very pleasant surprise! It's quick and easy, but also a MUST READ for people who want to know all about poor, tortured Erik's angsty past.

And on to the chapter. It's a bit long, but I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. Again, thank you thank you thank you!!

Chapter 3

Following that first secret excursion to the opera, I continued my outings with the arts circle in a manner that bordered on the obsessive. I was usually the first to alert my fellow ladies to the emergence of a new work or artist in the city, and always the one who diligently organized such outings with the kind hand of Madame Penous to aid me. Eventually I almost felt a sense of kinship with many of the other ladies who indulged in my enthusiasm that so often prompted them to attend artistic events.

One morning I sat with the artistic circle, chatting idly with Adelle as we perused journals for entertainment. It was at this time that I remembered the present Erik had given me and realized that the opera was set for the following weekend. I knew there was no way that I could force Raoul to accompany me, and so I turned to Adelle and began to whisper into her ear so the other ladies would not hear.

"Adelle, would you like to come with me to the Cardinal next week?"

She looked at me, startled with the unexpected request. "Isn't there a new production opening?"

I nodded.

"You know that Tiffanie has been trying to get us tickets to that for the past month or so!" Adelle frowned and lounged back against the couch. "It was sold out the first night after Antissa. The composer seems to have become the height of popularity overnight. It's nearly impossible to get into one of his productions now! We were lucky to even see Antissa." Adelle played with a ribbon on her dress, "I wonder what he's like. I hear he's a recluse, but brilliant." She blushed suddenly, "Not that it really interests me all that much…"

I allowed myself a private smile, amused by the thought that Erik had lovely, young female admirers such as Adelle.

"I have tickets," I told her calmly.

"You what?" Adelle giggled. "How on earth did you come by them?"

I batted my eyes innocently, "It's a secret."

Adelle rolled her eyes.

I put a hand on her arm and tilted my head, "So will you come with me? It has to be a secret because I only have two."

"I'd be crazy to decline," Adelle's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I simply can't wait for it!"

"Can't wait for what, my dear?" A silky, curious voice interrupted our conversation. I glanced up and met the cold demeanor of Madame Renois, whose eyes examined me with the distasteful glance one might give to an insect.

"Oh…our, um, trip to England," Adelle rapidly recovered herself.

I have said that I was slowly being accepted into the society of Madame Penous and her ladies. The sole exception from this bond was Karine Renois. She alone continued to regard me with dislike and something that seemed to border on suspicion from time to time. I suppose it came from the fact that in a way I had stepped into her place as Madame Penous' right-hand woman, as it were, in our social outings. With my increased immersion in society, I was rapidly becoming more and more popular as people recognized my face whenever I ventured out.

Even Raoul seemed to have recalled something of the warmth of our old days. Now when I saw him, he always had either a smile or a flirtatious comment for me. In the nights he even visited our bed more and more, and I was not ashamed to admit that I felt a sudden surge of happiness. After we made love, he would always lie back and stroke my hair fondly. Once he murmured how proud of me he was that I had finally begun to integrate into society after years of alienation. I briefly wondered whether or not I should have been offended by such a comment, but in the end the loving caresses he bestowed upon me deterred me from anger or irritation.

Yet I could not help but feel guilty. I could not find it in me to tell him of my encounter with Erik in the opera that night. In the first place, Raoul would probably have been furious to find out that I had slipped out against his orders to a forbidden place. And secondly, I would not have put it beyond him to stalk out brandishing his pistols and shouting for Erik's blood, if I by chance told him. What would the point of it have been anyway? It was not as if I had betrayed Raoul in any way by simply speaking with Erik. What Raoul did not know could hurt neither him nor me.

The look in Erik's eyes when I told him I was happy with Raoul had set me in my determination to actually make it a truth. I wanted him to know that his sacrifices had not been for nothing, and above all, I wanted to make myself believe the same thing. Then, at least I could deceive myself into believing that I had not betrayed two men.

"Christine?"

I realized that Adelle and Madame Renois were both staring at me with puzzled expressions. It seemed that someone had asked a question, and that my thoughts had once again led me astray down winding paths.

"Yes?"

Madame Renois gave me a mocking glance, but she refrained from comment.

"I asked if you would like to accompany us to England." Adelle tugged on my sleeve, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you all right, Christine?"

I gaped at her like an idiot. "England?"

She smiled, "Tiffanie has acquaintances there and we always visit them in the winter."

"English society is quite delightful," Madame Penous put in. "Not nearly as constrictive as here in the city."

"Do I have to bring Raoul?"

I couldn't help it. It had just slipped out from between my treacherous lips. Still, to my great surprise no one seemed shocked or taken aback. Rather, Tiffanie smiled kindly, "You may if you like, but this is usually a trip that we girls like to take together alone."

The offer certainly sounded tempting, but I wondered how I would ever get Raoul to agree. He was terribly possessive and distrustful of me, even though he was less than faithful himself. On the other hand, I had never been to England and I felt much in need of a distraction. In addition, it would probably help my status in society if I became known as the sociable type who would travel across Europe to indulge her friends.

Nevertheless, I thanked them all politely and remarked that I would think about it.

That night I found myself unable to sleep, disturbed by the blizzard that raged outside in the dainty Parisian streets. The wind buffeted against the glass-paneled doors that led to the balcony of our room, banging on the shutters rhythmically in a manner that reminded me of a marching, ghostly army. Beside me, Raoul snored softly, deeply and obliviously immersed in sleep. He had gone to sleep long ago with scarcely a word tonight. I had wondered if something was wrong, but had possessed neither the courage nor the energy to pry into his affairs.

Finally, the incessant banging gnawed on my nerves enough for me to rise and tiptoe out of bed and to the balcony. I hastily drew a silken robe around my bare shoulders, shivering in the fireless cold as I moved. Grunting, I pried open the heavy glass doors and dove for the bolts that had loosened in the blizzard. Snow had already piled thickly around the balcony, and it took nearly all my efforts not to be whisked away in that abominable wind. Eventually I pulled the doors shut and leaned against the closed panels, breathing heavily with the effort. In the back of my mind, I made a small mental note to attempt to get more exercise in the future.

I eased back into bed and shifted closer to Raoul, seeking warmth from his body. Here I found myself unable to attain a comfortable position, for the first time noting how angular and sharp his thin frame was. Curious, I poked my finger gently in his stomach and shook my head at how slight he was. No matter how strategically I placed myself, a part of me remained cold, completely unshielded by him. If the winters continued to be so miserable, and if my husband did not gain some muscle and bulk soon, I knew that I would probably have to invest in a bear-skin rug to keep me warm at night.

When I shifted for the hundredth time that night, Raoul finally woke up with a sleepy reprimand. "Christine, what are you doing?" He blinked heavy eyelids, looking up at me with a mixture of exhaustion and rebuke. There was also something else in his gaze…something which I could not quite place.

I settled into the sheets with a sheepish look. "I'm cold and I can't sleep," I told him honestly.

Raoul sighed and much to my surprise, slipped his arms about my bare waist and pulled me close. I smiled faintly as I leaned against his thin presence, comforted deeply.

"Better?" He inquired this of me with a soft murmur to my ear. One hand gently stroked my middle until I felt him tense suddenly.

I twisted to regard him, "Raoul, what is it?"

He frowned at me and sat up, laying a hand across my forehead. "You're burning up, Christine. Are you ill?"

I shook my head, "No! Well…I don't know…" I looked up at him shyly. "I haven't been feeling well lately." I did not dare to say that my illness was probably due to the fact that I had lately taken to walking to the Opera Cardinal on foot and through dense snowfalls.

"I'm sorry," Raoul whispered suddenly.

I frowned into the darkness, taken aback by his unexpected words. "What?"

"I'm sorry for neglecting you so much, Christine," he nuzzled my neck and pulled me closer. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Raoul…what's wrong?" I held him off at the shoulders, peering into his face. "What's the matter?"

Raoul did not look at me. "Today, Edmond…he lost his wife."

I sat up briskly, a hand at my mouth. Edmond was one of Raoul's closest friends, and the only one that I approved of anymore. He alone struck me as an honest man, and I remembered that I had always rather liked his wife Sandrine. She had been a slip of a thing, pale, golden-haired and a delicate creature, but overall intelligent and pleasing in company. It was a pity that we had never enjoyed the opportunity to become closer.

"How…how did she die?"

Raoul bit his lip and murmured, "It was so sudden. No one knows what happened. She was not truly ill, but she took a sudden chill. No one thought much of it at the time, but it seems that it was enough to kill her."

I rested my forehead against Raoul's smooth cheek. "I'm still here, Raoul," I whispered softly, "There's nothing to fear."

"What if I turn around one day to find you simply gone?"

It seemed that the death of Sandrine had sparked something in Raoul. He almost gazed upon me with the look of our old love. At the same time, it saddened me to realize that it had taken a death to make me more appreciated in the eyes of Raoul. For some reason, I could not shake off the feeling that somewhere in his mind, the Count still thought of me as no more than a rare prize.

"Christine?"

"Yes?" I propped my head up on an elbow, resting beside him.

He leaned forward and kissed me, "I promise I won't neglect you so much any more." Then his hands were tangling in my hair and suddenly he was back on top of me, pinning me into the silken coverlets with his weight.

I giggled and swatted at him teasingly, "Raoul! Stop being so silly!" I felt the onset of a good mood, and despite my laughing protestations, I responded to him eagerly. It was rare that Raoul ever made any concessions to me, and I knew that true nights of passion were rare things for us now.

Raoul breathed heavily against my neck, slowly tracing the curves of my body with his fingers. "Stay with me, Christine," he growled into my ear, "Love me forever."

I clutched his body against my pale skin desperately, as if fearing he would disappear at any moment. Then, blue eyes became a deep green tinged with flecks of gold, and all I could do was swear my heart away to them, "Yes, this time I will stay. I will love you forever, Erik. I truly will."

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"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye -."

"No! Stop, stop! I cannot listen to any more of this!"

I closed my mouth obediently and drew back in fear from the organ. Erik rose and began to pace about the lair, furiously shredding pages of music in his hands and leaving a trail of tender parchment fluttering in his wake. Eventually he stopped cursing and turned back to me, his green eyes rimmed with irritation.

"Music is a lady, Christine. Your task is to treat her with worship and be mindful of her elegance, not drag her through the mud tied to the back of your carriage!" He paused to snatch up a quill and fresh parchment, scribbling notes frantically.

"I'm sorry, Erik," I acknowledged humbly, clasping my hands together at the front of my gown with my head bowed in submission.

He merely glared at me more piercingly and stalked towards me, "Music has to come from the soul, Christine, not the mind. You may know the notes and sing them with perfect pitch and harmony, but they are also empty and devoid of meaning when you do not draw on the spirit."

"I'm sorry," I repeated quietly. My shoulders began to tremble and I fought to still my shaking body, knowing that it would only anger him further if he knew that I was frightened.

"Stop apologizing!" He snarled, slamming down a hand on the headboard of the organ. He pinned some new music to it and added additional notes. "I grow weary of listening to you recite arias as if you were nothing more than an automaton!" Then he sighed and resumed his place before the organ again, "I have no more patience to waste on you today. Leave me."

With those words, he immersed himself in his work and shut me out of his world completely. He continued to scratch long lines of notes into the parchment, once again composing a symphony that only he could hear. Occasionally he trilled several notes on the instrument, frowning and adjusting melodies until they flowed together with their harmonies perfectly, as if fated to be together by some divine power.

I began to walk to the room he had given me, pausing only at a shelf replete with books to select an amusement to pass the time. Erik continued to work, oblivious to my presence and everything but his music. Lord, but that music was truly a distraction. I could never find peace of mind whenever he played, often entirely suffocated by the overwhelming emotion of the melodies that he wrote.

I abruptly realized that I had been staring at the same shelf for several minutes, my attention elsewhere. I wondered if I would ever be able to create power like that with my voice, and suddenly I felt extremely saddened by the fact that I had displeased Erik. I had not meant to be dull at the lesson today, but my attention was constantly wandering due to the sudden return of Raoul into my life. It was all I could do not to think of my childhood sweetheart's dimpled face and laughing blue eyes…God forbid Erik ever found out.

As I perused the shelf, my eyes caught sight of a snatch of parchment shoved behind the books. Curious, I reached for the leather folder holding the sheet and its fellows, obviously a composition that seemed to have been discarded in a moment of anger. I flipped through the contents and immediately frowned, feeling strangely discomfited. The melodies were unlike anything I had ever heard before, unheard-of in this modern age. Hesitantly, I hummed a section of the music, knowing that this was something ahead of its time that ought not be heard by any human ears.

"What do you think you are doing?" A strong hand closed around the frail bones in my wrist, crushing the flesh until my hand turned white.

In my stupor, I had not noticed that the music had stopped.

I began to pant with pain and my hand limply released the pages I held. They tumbled to the floor, scattering in an hopeless disarray of ethereal music. But for the moment, all I could think about was the pain. "Erik," I breathed harshly, my eyes tearing, "You're hurting me. Please…let me go."

Instead, he twirled me around and roughly pushed me against the wall. I cried out, unable to avert my gaze as he twisted my hands above my head, a look of pure rage and hatred chiseled across the unhidden half of his face. I had not seen him so angry since the night I had torn the mask from his face.

"You have no right…no right at all! How dare you pry into my personal affairs!" Erik's look was wild as he held me there, my strength rapidly failing. "I ought to kill you now," he hissed, tightening his grip.

"Forgive me! Please, forgive me!" I piteously begged him to release me, feeling my knees begin to weaken from my leaden weight. "I meant no harm!"

"You women with your insatiable curiosity! Is it not enough that I give you my music?" Erik finally flung me away from himself in disgust, allowing me to crumple to the ground in a shameful heap. He turned away and began to gather up the parchment that I had dropped in my pain, deftly sliding the sheets into place with the tender touch that a parent gives a child. All anger abruptly dissipated from his strained form, until he seemed so very weary.

Eventually my sobs subsided and I wiped at my nose noisily. I knew that if I did not escape his presence soon, my sniveling would only irritate him further, and Erik's temper was one of the things that I feared most in the world. Ever since he had given up his charade as the Angel of Music, he allowed himself to lose it often with me.

When at last I stood up, he straightened and walked to a small enameled chest. With a golden key, he opened the box and slid the parchment inside, locking it away beneath my fearful gaze. Although I knew that I should have made myself as scarce as possible, somehow my feet refused to move. I could not take my eyes away from him as he slouched over the table, gazing at the locked chest.

Very suddenly, I saw him tense and lean his full weight against the table. When he put a hand to his forehead and began to gasp for breath, I understood that something was terribly wrong. I rushed to his side, my fear forgotten in my concern and put a hand around his middle, supporting him as best I could. I saw that his eyes had rolled back into his head and that he was fighting to breathe. Only once before had I seen him like this, that first night when a seizure had taken him.

I forced him to lie down on the couch and kneeled worriedly on the floor by his side, waiting anxiously for the fit to pass. When at last his eyes fluttered open, they were dim and unfocused, and they stared at me with no recognition. I waited patiently, clasping his hand in mine and trying not to lose my wits.

Presently, he blinked several times as if awakening from a deep dream. "Christine," he said simply.

I breathed with relief, "Yes. I'm here."

He closed his eyes again, sighing deeply. I released his hand and rose, moving to fetch a pot of herbal tea. I was no nurse, but he often treated me with this whenever I fell ill, and I had confidence in its healing properties. When I brought the steaming cup back to him, he averted his face like a child and muttered something uncomplimentary.

"Erik, please drink it," I urged him, sinking back to the floor.

"No," he told me firmly as if that would end the debate.

I frowned at him, "You always make me drink it whenever I'm ill."

"I am not ill," he snapped at me, giving the mug a contemptuous look.

"Yes, you are," I gazed at him stubbornly, hesitant to push him too far. After a time, I opened my mouth again, "It's the morphine. You're killing yourself."

Erik coughed several times, but was no less adamant in his refusal, "You know nothing, foolish child. Leave me be."

"I know enough," I snapped in return, surprising even myself. "I know that you send me away whenever the fits become too severe, but I am not blind." Here I set the drink aside on the rug and rolled up the frilled sleeve of his laced shirt, revealing the needle marks that tracked a sickly pattern on his skin. "Why do you do this? Why?"

"Give me the tea and do shut up," was all he said, his tone sour.

Although small, it was a victory with my stern teacher. When he had drained half the cup and remarked on the vulgarity of the taste, I stood up and prepared to retire to my room, sure that he wanted only to be alone at the moment. I had no wish to be punished for my insolence later.

I was greatly surprised when his soft voice stopped me, intoning steadily, "Stay, Christine. Please."

It was the first time he had ever truly asked anything of me. I turned, startled. His face was as expressionless as ever, but in his eyes I saw a pleading quality that I had never noticed before. They were the terrified eyes of a child, begging for love and comfort, but too afraid to ask for it directly. It was the glance of an abandoned soul, unused to human kindness and so fully expecting the request to be brushed away.

I had hesitated for too long and he shut his eyes, directing his attention to the ceiling. "Never mind. Just bring me a book before you retire, will you?"

He looked startled when I sat down beside him and easily pulled his head into my lap. I began to brush at his disheveled ebony hair, running soothing fingertips over the counters of the part of his face not hidden by the mask. At first he stared at me, wide-eyed, and then he gradually relaxed beneath my touch. I could feel the tension seep out of his powerful limbs as he relaxed completely.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, eyes still closed.

I stilled my hand and murmured inquisitively, "For what?"

"For losing my temper."

I shook my head, "The fault was mine." Truly, I knew that I should have either felt angry or terrified, but all of those feelings had been replaced by simple concern for the man who was my tutor. I realized very suddenly that I loved him, although I was still unsure of how. He had once been a parent to me and rescued me from my loneliness when father died. Yet he had also been my angel, and above all my only friend when I had had no one.

"What you saw…" he whispered, shifting in my arms, "That was the true music of the night, Christine. It is every laugh that has tinkled; every blow that has been dealt... every tear that has fallen and every emotion that the human race has ever known. Someday, you will sing it for me…someday you will understand."

I smiled, "I only hope I can do it justice. What do you call it?"

His lips curved in a sardonic manner, "Don Juan Triumphant. Ironic, is it not?"

Erik shuddered, but I did not know whether it was from cold, illness, or some other emotion. I drew a quilt around him and continued to hold him in my lap, as if comforting an infant.

His thoughts seemed to run along the same course and he opened his eyes once again. Erik was growing more sleepy by the moment, and when he spoke, his words were less guarded than before. "My mother never did anything as simple as this," he informed me, coughing again. "She would give me no comfort when I was ill and never once kissed me." He frowned, "How can you bear to touch me when you have seen what lies beneath the mask?"

He would never have told me such things, had he not been in a weakened state. I decided to allow him to continue speaking, thinking that perhaps it might help him in the end.

Erik continued to muse aloud, until he looked up and allowed our eyes to meet. "Would you stay with me, Christine?" He asked this so very suddenly, but at first I missed his full meaning.

"I'm here now," I reminded him firmly.

"Would you stay with me forever if I asked you?"

"Erik, go to sleep," I ordered quietly, convinced that he might begin to rave soon.

He sighed and settled back against me with an unceremonious yawn. I wondered if there were sedatives in that tea. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, the lucidity disappearing from his eyes. He appeared to have forgotten his plea of a moment ago, "I am awfully tired."

I do not know what impulse seized me, but I found myself bending down to place a sweet kiss on his forehead, leaning my cheek against his just for a moment. A small smile spread across his face and he murmured, "…a pleasant dream this is."

If he believed he dreamed, then it was better to leave it that way. "Recall those days, look back on all those times…think of the things we'll never do," I began to sing softly, watching as that rare smile lingered upon his full lips. "There will never be a day when I don't think of you."

Afterward, we never spoke of that night again, and I eventually knew that he had dismissed everything as an illusion of his lonely mind.

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"What did you call me?!"

Raoul had gone entirely still as all color drained from his face.

"I…"

"You said…you said his name!" Raoul disentangled himself from me and sat back in stunned silence.

"I didn't!" Why was I even bothering to protest? I knew I had.

Raoul clenched his hands into fists and stared determinedly away from me, "How can you, Christine? How can you still think about that monster, that thing after all these years? After what he put you through and everything I've done for you!" He suddenly slid out of bed and began to pace about the room, naked, "How dare you say his name while I make love to you?"

"Raoul, please calm down!" His movement had begun to worry me; his anger now even rivaled Erik's temper at its worst.

Raoul stopped moving and slammed two hands down on the mantle over the fireplace. "I don't even know what to say to you, Christine!"

"It's not like you have been entirely faithful to me," I mumbled, rising to fetch my robe once again.

"I grow tired of you, Christine!" Raoul shouted defensively. "You have not even given me an heir, yet I have said nothing in protest!"

I nearly ripped the laces of my robe in half, so great was my anger as I tied them with shaking hands. "Go back to your mistresses," I commented coldly. "I'm sure that more than one of them would be happy enough to provide where I am lacking."

"And will you go back to him?" His tone scathed, but I ignored him as I walked to my bureau where I lit a candle. There, I shuffled through drawers rapidly, knowing that I had to leave the room as fast as possible with a few valuable possessions.

I was not aware of Raoul's presence until I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. I shrugged my shoulders as if to flick away a particularly annoying fly that had begun to hover over my shoulder.

Raoul, however, was not to be ignored. "What's this? Where are you going, my dearest wife?" He snatched up a porcelain washbasin from the bureau and dashed it against the floor, where it shattered into many sharpened shards at my feet. "Answer me, Christine!"

I stepped away from the broken fragments and brushed past him, my motions frantic. Where was it? Where could I have possibly hidden it? Ornate pins and gold hair pieces all fell to the floor as I worked, hands shaking uncontrollably. Finally I came upon the last drawer, and there I found it, buried beneath a messy pile of corsets that I had long abandoned. It was Erik's handkerchief from the night of Antissa, and in it I had hidden a simple but precious golden band.

Somehow, I had never been able to throw away the ring that Erik had once given me.

When Raoul saw the ring, he recognized it instantly. "How can you still love him? Have you been seeing him all these years?"

I hunted for my slippers, evading Raoul as he resumed his pacing. "I haven't seen Erik in years. I would never betray you with anything as low as an affair," I informed him, speaking only a half-truth.

"Christine, stop!" Raoul tried to catch my wrists as I scuttled about the room, gathering up my things. "Stop!" He hissed more urgently.

I pried my arm away from his grasp, but found myself shoved against the balcony doors by Raoul's oppressive weight. He seized me at the shoulders and shook me roughly. "Wake up, Christine! Even after everything that happened, you're still in love with a dream! An illusion, do you understand?"

"Go away, Raoul!" I pushed him away with both hands until he stumbled backward and ran a distressed hand through his hair. For a time, I leaned against the glass doors, recovering myself. I had to get past him and to the door somehow.

Raoul turned around and jabbed a finger back in my direction, "Have you heard a word I've said to you? I know you'll return to him somehow. I've always known it."

"You don't understand a thing." Carefully, I slipped the handkerchief and ring into the pocket of my robe.

A look of desperation dawned across Raoul's face and he waved his hands emphatically, "He's a killer, Christine; a sinner who deserves so much more than hell could ever provide for him."

"The men at the opera -," I began, only to be silenced once again.

"The murdered men at the opera were nothing!" Raoul planted a fist into the mahogany frame of the bed. "Why do you love someone who has killed hundreds?"

"Don't be stupid, Raoul." I despised listening to his hateful words.

Raoul stopped and stared at me, "It's you who understand nothing, Christine. He killed people for pleasure in Persia, you know."

"Pleasure…?" I echoed hollowly, unsure of what his words meant.

"His brilliance, his genius, he used it all for pain. It was his job to devise the slow and innovative methods of torture for the court." Raoul's voice was low and harsh, "I hear that is how he made his fortune."

"You're lying," I put a hand against my chest to steady my breathing.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, Christine!" Raoul's eyes glinted dangerously in the candlelight. You don't know what that means, do you! Poor, naïve fool!"

It was enough to send me beyond my own limits. "You filthy beast!" I screamed the words and snatched up my heavily-enameled whalebone hairbrush. With my small strength, I flung the object straight at the head of my dear husband. My aim was off and I missed him completely, but in turn he began to stride toward me, wheezing in his wrath.

The look in his eyes made me as afraid of him as I had never been before. I edged backward until I was once again up against the glass balcony doors. My palms met the door knobs and I was seized by an unexpected idea. The moment Raoul lunged for me, I twisted the knob and flung my weight against the door to open it. Raoul stumbled through the empty space where I should have been, and out on to the balcony.

I do not know from where I found my strength, but I managed to dart forward and pull the doors closed. Raoul instantly began pounding from the other side of the glass, screaming obscenities that were carried away by the raging winds of the blizzard outside. I stood there, arms crossed smugly as I watched him dance naked outside on the balcony, obviously more than a little bit cold.

Just to make sure he would not somehow pry them open again, I pushed my heavy bureau in front of the doors, my anger leaving my limbs worn and loose. Raoul continued to beat his fists against the glass, pure and untainted rage in every inch of his nude, frostbitten profile.

"For God's sake, Christine, let me back in! He'll kill you too, how can you not realize that!"

"Find your own way back!" I screamed in return, lifting up the candle. I ignored his shouting and spent the rest of the night in a guest room that was as far away from our bedroom as possible. The next morning when I saw Madame Penous, I informed her that I would be more than happy to accompany her to England.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Tonight I had decided to walk to the opera on foot, with my cloak fastened securely about my shoulders and the hood drawn up. It was the evening of the opera and also my last night before the departure for England. Already I had begun to feel the rise of excited anticipation surge through my blood. I knew that I desperately needed to get away from Paris for a while and most especially Raoul.

For the past several days, I had been met with odd stares and whispers whenever I ventured outside. I often caught snatches of hushed conversation from painted ladies who hurried past me on the snow-clad streets.

"That's her," some would say with a smile, giggling as I turned my face away.

Yet I did not turn in shame. I would never forget that look on Raoul's face as long as I lived. Adelle continuously pressed me for details, but I never betrayed anything to the ladies of the art circle, beyond the fact that Raoul and I were currently experiencing slight differences.

At the same time, another part of me understood that the situation was indeed serious. Raoul and I had truly fallen out of love – but no, how could one fall out of love? The only other explanation was that we had never truly been in love in the first place, and this was indeed a disturbing thought. Somewhere inside, I knew that what we had once shared had been infatuation… simple, safe infatuation. I had turned to it, because I had feared the implications of love in its purest and truest form.

Yes, I knew and understood that Erik had been obsessed with me. But I also understood that it had just been his nature. Society had taught him cruel ways and as a result he had never been given cause to love much in his time. Erik had always desired beautiful things, and whenever he found one, he always wished to master and possess it completely. It had been so with architecture and again with music. Love had just been one more beautiful conquest for him, and so his desire to encompass it entirely had turned into an obsession.

Some men were just driven beyond all human standards. I understood now that every single thing that Erik had done…every little action that had frightened me into believing he was an obsessed madman, had been done purely out of the love that had all but consumed him in the end.

As I walked through the Parisian streets, I reminisced fondly about the days at the Opera Populaire. Once, Raoul had labeled them a nightmare, and I as a blind puppy had been forced to agree. Now I looked back upon them with sudden longing and a wish for the past to come back to me. What was the true nightmare in the whole story?

I had been happy until Raoul came back into my life. He should have remained in my past; a childhood sweetheart to me and no more than a pleasant but distant memory. Erik had been my present and future, rescuing me from my pitiful existence as an orphaned chorus girl. He alone had seen my potential and my desperate need for a friend. When we met, we had both needed each other, but in the end I acquired too lofty a head and betrayed him for the sake of silken gowns and 'fine horses'.

This slave of fashion…

"And what are you smiling about?"

I stumbled in my step and met the interested gaze of Adelle. My brisk walk had brought me here more quickly than I had anticipated, and I now stood on the small plaza before the opera house. "Oh, nothing in particular," I lowered my hood and brushed away a few stray snowflakes from my forehead.

Adelle glanced behind me, "You didn't walk all the way here, did you?"

"I did."

"You're completely mad," she informed me, taking me back into the opera house once more. "Where are we sitting anyway?"

I wasn't sure as I had not had a chance to glance at the tickets again. I drew them out from my pocket and examined the bold lettering, nearly giggling aloud; the tickets read Box Five. My phantom certainly had not lost his sense of humor.

"Christine? Are you all right?"

"What?" I looked at Adelle, startled out of my musings.

"You have a very strange look on your face," Adelle informed me, poking a finger in my direction.

"Oh…I…" I couldn't possibly explain the reasons for my idiotic look. In fact, a part of me even wondered why I was smiling exactly. Then I cleared my throat and did my best to look sane, "We're in box five."

Adelle gaped, "How did you come by these? Those must be amazing places in the house!"

Knowing this was Erik, they were probably the best seats in the entire theater.

Sure enough, when we reached our places, we found ourselves commanding an impressive view of the stage. The box was largely empty, save several plumed ladies, their escorts, and an additional man who slumped in his seat with his nose buried in a playbill. My seat was next to this man and I realized that I knew him.

Luckily for me, at this point Adelle rose and announced that she had to visit the powder room to adjust a faulty hair piece. It seemed that she expected me to go with her, but I was once again too much engrossed in my past and trying not to stare at the man who sat beside me. He ignored me steadily and soon enough, Adelle gave up on me and rushed off on her own, muttering something that was probably unflattering to my person.

As soon as she was gone, the man immediately folded up his playbill and turned keen dark eyes on me. "Comtesse," he greeted me formally.

I smiled and opted to address him informally in contrast, "Nadir."

His exotic features were turned in curiosity as his eyes roved over my face and figure. "I did not think you would come," he remarked.

I shifted in my petticoats uncomfortably, "I saw Erik a month ago…"

"Yes, yes, I know," the Persian interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "He told me all about it."

"Did he send you to see if I would come? Where is he? Is he here?" A flood of questions spilled from my lips. "Nadir, I must see him. Please."

Nadir stared at me impartially, arms crossed over his chest. "No, Erik did not send me. We usually attend these things together, but he's out of town right now."

"Out of town?"

"Out of country, actually." Nadir flipped a page of his playbill, "He said he needed some time away from France."

"When did he leave?" I demanded harshly, leaning towards Nadir urgently. "Do you know where he went?"

"He left shortly before that dreadful rumor about the Count de Chagny began to circulate." Nadir grinned, "Tell me, Christine, is it true that you locked Raoul out of the house wearing absolutely nothing?"

I bit my cheek, "I don't really want to discuss it. Can you tell me where Erik is?"

"I do not think he would want me to tell you."

"So you know?"

Nadir stared ahead at the curtained stage. "Of course I know. Erik only confides in me because I can keep a secret."

"Nadir -."

"Comtesse, I advise you to listen to me." The Persian looked at me intently to make sure he had my attention. "You would do best to go back home and fix matters with your husband. Erik has not spoken of you in years and has only just begun to truly forget. It would be better to just leave things as they are; you cannot have your every desire in this world, and I am not quite convinced that even you know what you want."

My fight with Raoul had cemented my belief that I did not belong here in the midst of high Parisian society. At the same time, Nadir's words showed that I no longer had a place in Erik's world either. If that was the case, then where could I go from here?

Nadir rose gracefully as only a Persian could and gathered up his cloak and hat. "I fear I do not have the proper mood to enjoy an opera tonight." He gave me a slight bow and turned to leave.

I rose rapidly, my skirts swishing against the wooden seats. "Wait, one last thing…" I stretched a hand out to touch his sleeve.

He paused and nodded for me to continue.

"You knew Erik in Persia." It was a simple statement, and I waited for him to either affirm or contradict it.

"Yes, I brought him there for the shah's mother, the khanum." Nadir frowned, "Why are you so curious all of a sudden?"

I looked aside, "I need to know why she wanted him."

He smiled, "Surely you know his skills as a magician are unrivaled in this world. The khanum was in need of new entertainment and so she sent me to Russia to fetch this infamous boy from the traveling fairs."

I released a breath I had held for some time and felt relieved. "I suppose he pulled rabbits out of top hats and turned scarves into birds?"

Nadir softly amended, "No, the khanum's tastes were slightly more macabre. Cadavers would dance merry jigs and statues cried the blood of her victims." He paused, allowing me to absorb his words. "Now, Comtesse, I must take my leave."

Adelle appeared by the bound curtain at the entrance of the box. Her attention flicked back and forth between me and Nadir, but she said nothing, as any well-bred lady of her class would have done. In turn, Nadir inclined his head to both of us and bid us good evening.

When he was gone, Adelle crept to where I stood wringing my gloves and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Christine, who was that? You look as though you've heard something dreadful."

Truly, I did not know what I felt or what I desired at this moment. Everything in the present was so muddled, that all I could do was sink wearily into my seat and rest my forehead against my palm. For now, all I wanted to do was escape life; escape Raoul, Erik, and everything that Paris had ever meant to me.