Wow. Lots of feedback! I guess we all have strongopinions on Carlotta and Raoul, huh?

A good question was raised…someone mentioned that they understood Christine's reincarnation, as she was related to Christine, but didn't understand how everyone else came back. Reincarnation, in this story, doesn't necessarily happen in the same family line. I'm not planning on delving too deeply into the family lines of Lauren/Meg, Emily/Carlotta or Edwin/Raoul.

Sometimes people just come back! And I promise, it's for a reason.

Mind the rating in this chapter, ok? It's not bad, but still…

-Nico


Christine couldn't sleep. She and Meg had talked late into the night…so late, in fact, that Christine had relented and agreed to stay in Erik's home for one more night.

She didn't see the harm, really. After all, she had barely spoken to Erik since arriving. And knowing that Meg was in the room next to hers made her feel safe and secure within the walls of this strange yet intriguing place.

Christine turned onto her back and flipped the satin covers away from her body, finally giving up on sleep. Too many thoughts were coursing through her mind; too many questions.

Up until recently, Christine's life had been following a fairly predictable course. She had finally found success within the walls of the Paris Opera House, something she had strived for through her intensive training during her childhood. Everything had seemed to be falling into place.

Until he had reappeared.

Erik. The very thought of him sent goose bumps over Christine's body. She hadn't been able to really speak to him…to really understand what his intentions were…what he wanted from her.

Of course, she could assume. After all, she had spurned him; revealed his true identity to an audience of hundreds, which surely compromised his very guarded existence.

Many times after Christine rowed away from Erik and his lair she had thought about him. She had always hid this fact from Raoul, who would balk at the mere mention of their experiences within the walls of the Opera Populaire.

Her marriage to Raoul had been a series of disappointments. Not to say that they weren't generally happy together, but, in hindsight, it seemed that Raoul's premonition that Erik would be haunting their lives together seemed to be true.

The first obstacle Raoul and Christine faced was the fact that they could not conceive a child. More than anything, Raoul had wanted an heir. No matter how they tried, how many doctors they visited, no children came of their union.

The desperation and guilt Christine felt over the situation immediately placed a strain on the relationship. She felt that Raoul blamed her for not being able to have children. Although he denied that this was the truth, his entire demeanor towards Christine had changed. Gone was the doting Raoul who promised to take care of her forever, replaced with a disappointed man who would lash out over nothing at all.

Christine's room at Erik's mansion had a large marble balcony, overlooking the rolling hills of the Paris countryside. It was cold out; a bitter snow was falling again. She wrapped a quilt around herself and padded out onto the icy marble, breathing deeply as the winter air whipped her hair about her shoulders.

"You would think that a professional singer would have more common sense than to freeze to death."

Christine turned around slowly. Erik stood behind her on the balcony, his white shirt open to his waist, tucked haphazardly into form-fitting black leather pants.

The sight of him made her smile despite herself.

"I see you've gone headfirst into the 20th century," she commented, gesturing to the modern pants. Erik looked down at himself briefly and then shrugged.

"I'm not completely adverse to modern fashion," he explained. "I fit the part of the insane musician, do I not?"

Christine laughed. "I suppose," she relented. "It will just take a little getting used to."

Erik smiled, walking a bit closer. "It's a beautiful view," he commented, standing next to her.

Christine nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

They stood together in silence, appreciating the snowy evening. Christine stole a glance at the man at her side, slyly taking in the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lips…his muscular physique.

He suddenly turned to her, causing her to blush and look away.

"I haven't had the opportunity to thank you, Erik," she said softly. "For saving my life."

Erik remained silent.

"If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what…"

"Best not to think about it," Erik interrupted, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I don't even really know what compelled me to go back down there," Christine continued.

Erik looked at her, his eyes intense. "I do," he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

"Erik," Christine said, facing him. "Why did you bring me back here?"

Erik sighed. "You almost died…I wanted to take you somewhere you could recover properly…"

"No," Christine shook her head. "You could have easily brought me to a hospital. Or found someone to take care of me."

"If you haven't noticed, Christine, I'm not exactly a social butterfly," Erik interrupted. "The sight of me…it's too much for most…I'm not accepted…the questions that would arise…I could not…"

"Erik," Christine said softly, noting the pain in his voice. "Times have changed. Many people have scars…disfigurements. Honestly, your…your face…it's not even that bad."

Erik scoffed.

"Truly, Erik," Christine insisted. "There are people out there who have much worse physical problems…"

"And that is supposed to make me feel better?" Erik said, his voice elevated a bit. "Have they lived as long as I, each day revolted by the reflection of themselves?"

Christine swallowed hard. "You may have lived longer, but your disfigurement is nothing to be ashamed of…or to hide…especially when the rest of you is so…"

She stopped, realizing that she was about to utter the word "beautiful."

"So acceptable," she finished, finding the word less suggestive.

"Acceptable," Erik scoffed. "I have never been accepted."

"That isn't true, Erik," Christine protested. "I…I accepted you."

"You denied me," Erik said quickly.

"I didn't deny you because of the way you look, Erik," Christine said. "You murdered…lied to me…deceived me!"

"Inconsequential," Erik replied, waving his hand. "Had I looked more like him…"

"Raoul's appearance had nothing to do with my decision," Christine said coldly.

"And just how did that decision work out for you, Christine?" Erik asked.

Christine looked at him. "Don't do this, Erik."

"I'm curious," he continued. "Did he fulfill all his promises? Did he promise to keep you safe…to love you…"

"Stop it," Christine said, her voice becoming more angry.

"Did he provide your life with the wishes and hopes you shared with me? Did he live up to your expectations?"

"Not another word!" Christine yelled.

Erik smirked. "I suppose I have my answer," Erik replied.

Tears began to form in Christine's eyes. "What if I had chosen you?" She demanded. "What if I had stayed…lived with you…become your wife? What kind of life could we have had? You were a criminal! Forgive me if I was not eager to start an existence in shadows, beside a man who could barely accept himself, let alone another human being!"

"Watch yourself, Christine," Erik growled.

"You hadn't the slightest notion of normalcy," Christine continued. "And while I wept for you…felt for your plight…you continued to be the cause of torment…of pain…not only for myself, but for all of the innocents who died at your hands!"

"Silence!" He roared, moving impossibly close to the woman before her. "Don't speak of torment…don't speak of things you know nothing about!"

Before she could retreat, she was in his arms. His mouth came crashing down upon hers. His hands found her small waist, possessively holding her resisting body against his.

Christine's shriek of protest was cut short as his tongue found hers, dancing and teasing. He twisted her hair around his hand and arm, locking her body against his.

She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away, shocked that such an intimate exchange would occur mere seconds after she was sure he would strike her.

Erik growled, crushing her even closer, exploring her mouth, taking advantage of his strength and her weakness.

For a moment, Christine felt her muscles melt despite herself. She allowed him to explore her body, shivering as his hands moved across one breast, then the other.

He broke the kiss for a moment, smiling wickedly down at her…signaling that he noted her brief lack of resistance.

She took advantage of the opportunity, pulling away with all her might and cracking him hard across the face with an open palm.

He moved back, placing a hand to his stinging cheek.

"I am not the weak, pathetic Christine you fell in love with, Erik," she said breathlessly. "And I will not allow myself to become victim to your seductive manipulation again."

Silently, he stared at her, anger burning in his eyes.

Without a word, he turned from her, leaving her room and slamming the door upon exit.

Christine felt her knees go weak as she landing in a pile of flesh and quilt, sobbing quietly against the pain in her aching heart.