She was dreaming. No, how could that be so, for her heart was still pounding in her chest like she was awake and her eyes envisioned the phantom and Raoul before her. She could not be dreaming.

"You try my patience! Choose!"

Tears streamed silently down her face, her brown eyes met his sky blue orbs. How could he be so cruel? She wondered. In her reflection on him she felt drawn to the man, this man with such an abhorrent face that his own mother never loved him. Her thoughts changed, and instead she felt compassion. He had not known a life of happiness. Or what life had he known? She remembered the stage, with his hands wandering over her body. Her face was already a light crimson from anguish now tinted deeper at the thought. She could not let anyone die for her. But then she thought, is this truly a sacrifice? I feel for this man, though I have not yet conceived how deep my affection is. Raoul may leave, with his life but not his heart, but didn't the phantom leave it up to me? This is my choice.

The girl approached the Phantom slowly, her dress drenched with the waters surrounding the night liver's home. She saw his face, his distortion, but did not look away. His face was but a piece of him, and of many pieces of which his puzzle bore. She had decided.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, What kind of life had you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."

With the aria she was in trance of her decision. Hardly thinking, she kissed him. She held on to him, and she knew he gave in. She pulled away and thought for a moment of what she was doing. The tears that the Phantom shed surprised her, but she kissed him again, longing for more, though she knew not why.

With her second kiss to the man that had been so abandoned by love, he pulled back and looked at her, the tears now seemed to be of agony. Perhaps his thoughts were merely about how she could never love him, because he immediately broke out.

"Take her, go with him forget all of this. Promise me you'll never tell of the angel in hell!"

Confused the girl stood. She could see clearly the pain, the suffering in his face. But how could she comfort him? Christine looked on in awe at the music master she had grown to-what? Fear? Lust? Love? She shuddered at the thought. Only the cry of Raoul at the grate disturbed her thought. Like an instinct she released him, and he drew her in for a kiss. Like a hero. Christine Daae thought. But it wasn't so full of life and rich fullness that accompanied the man that was the phantom. No. But she pushed the thoughts deep into the back of her mind.

Turning to leave with Raoul at the lead, she looked back as if to plead with the Phantom. She knew not the reason she wanted to help this man. He had killed, he had tricked her, and he had threatened her fiancée. But he had also showed her the joy of music, showed her love, and brought her to feel compassion for others less fortunate as herself. Her hazel eyes gleamed brightly at him, glassy through tears even in the darkness of this man's home. His reply to her pleading glance was one of pain. He yelled out at her, perhaps to save his lonely heart from the thought that one could love him.

"GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

She realized she could do nothing. He wouldn't be able to accept her love. Was it love? She thought. Or maybe it is lust. The spark I feel when his musical hands caress me. She closed her eyes at the thought of the Don Juan performance. Snapping out of the trance by a yell of Raoul, she stepped into the boat and glided back to the life above the underground.

CHAPTER Two

Days followed, and Christine knew she would never feel the same. In the silent times before she lay to rest, with the room dark as the Phantom's lair and her blanket wrapped around her shoulders she thought of his lips on her own. The lightness of the touch followed by a rich desire that she had never found with Raoul. She was still engaged to him, but her heart was unmoved by his jubilant behavior in the weeks leading up to the day she would become Vicomtess of Changy. She would shudder and every time Raoul caressed her, or made the slightest touch of intimacy, she drew back and would shiver, for it would never be the same. To have felt something like the touch of her angel of music and to know there was nothing like it-she would weep sometimes. Raoul would see her crying, but never calm her, comfort her like the Phantom had when she was in need. She needed to leave this place.

Thinking the unthinkable, she dressed in the middle of the night. Like a deep connection of some unknown force, she somehow knew he would still be there. She reached into the back of her closet. Christine smiled. Past the Point of No Return she sang softly to her self as she slipped her favorite-and most sacred dress. It was the one she wore in Don Juan, and it had the most sensual memory she had every shared woven invisibly into its fine cloth. It really was quite beautiful and she knew he felt the same. To know that he desired her, not just a child's love, no, no. He loved her with the rich burning desire that consumes one in the night. Or where you will die without the other person near by your side. Strangely enough, she felt that way about him. Just a few caresses a few kisses, but the music and his feeling soul was what won her heart right away.

Closing the small bag she carried, she glanced around the room she was never to see again. Penez of Moi, mon ange, Penez of Moi. (1 def)

Creeping down the stairs, she slipped out of the door into the streets of the night, only the lamplights leading her to her love. She knew that only whores and villains walked alone at night. But Christine had no other way to get to the Opera for the Vicomte's driver would tell of her journey to the Phantom's lair. He must never know she thought as she continued on into the night.

She reached the Opera house, and it appeared empty. But she realized that since the fire, the only being that would be there would be him. She calmed herself down. Would she be ready to face him after all that had happened? How would he behave to her coming back into his life? Time would tell.

Christine slowly walked through the familiar passages, ventured past one using his horse, and then, the water. There was no boat, but that didn't stop her. She had waited over a month for this and she was ready. The water was icy, but not freezing, but her heavy rich clothes weighted her down. She discarded the first two layers, leaving her petticoat and a thin layer of cloth of sky blue on. She swam through the water, desperate to see the other side, to see him.

Arriving upon the shore left her stomach churning-she was feeling empty and nervous in anticipation of what was to come. His face she could remember, but was she actually ready to see it once again face to face? She continued on.

Christine came upon the organ, and the very dwelling of the man who she had come to love. It had been trashed, but not burned in the fire. The papers of his wonderful works of art were strewn on the floor, with the organ covered in dust. Her small milky white hand softy brushed along the keys of the organ, dusting the gathering particles onto the floor. She gasped as a figure grabbed her shoulder. Turning to look, she was face to face with the Phantom. They were silent there, as if in a trance. She looked into his eyes she had not seen for so long, and she was met with an unreadable stare.

She couldn't tell if he was glad to see her, or even disgusted. Christine tried to read the man but couldn't. Christine gasped at his touch. It had been so long; she had forgotten the thrill of it. He still wore his mask, she noticed. He cleared his throat and looked at her, as if he wondered if she was really there. Christine answered his silent question with a kiss. The Phantom seemed surprised, but returned it wholeheartedly. She knew she had made the right choice, but still she feared his reaction. He drew back and looked at her with pain once more.