I tapped my knuckles against the study door before opening it. Finding Erik seated placidly behind his desk, reading the theatre reviews, I entered the room. A few quiet steps brought me to his side, where I perched at his shoulder, peering semi-curiously over his shoulder.

He "tsk"-ed, and made a degrading comment about the state of the opera "these days".

"We should go," I said, after a moment. "We have not been since Sonora was young, and with that box rented out every season, I don't see why we let it go to waste like we do."

"And leave Henri to look after Sonora? No..."

I hesitated. "We.. could always bring her along. She is old enough, now, and I know she would like to attend..."

His head tipped back, eyes peering at me from behind the mask. "Do you really think that's wise?"

"I don't see why not."

The head straightened, and the paper was readjusted. Another "tsk" noise was made, before he folded the paper and handed it to me. "You two go," he said as he thrust it towards me. "I have no fascination in indulging in the rubbish they are calling opera these days."

With Sonora's hand clasped tightly in my own, we exited the box. I could feel her squirming with excitement, already eager to discuss the night's opera with me. It was the first time she had seen one, and I knew she was nearly dying to talk to me. The crowds did not permit it, however; Sonora had, as always, insisted that we do things just like everyone else, and thus had we been forced to fight our way through the masses of people.

I had forgotten how convenient attending with Erik could be.

"Christine! Christine, wait!"

A smile was forced onto my lips as I turned my head to look for whatever old acquaintance was calling out to me. I could see a hand, and a piece of a face, as a man dragged his wife and child through the crowds to see me. I glanced down at Sonora, who had already turned her back to them, and was pressing her face against my hip. With one comforting hand resting on her curls, I raised my head again...

...and nearly fainted.

Standing before me was the one face, above all faces, that I had expected never to see again, had hoped never to see again. For one foolish moment, I hoped it was my doctor.

The golden-haired man stood before me, nearly panting with exertion, but smiling brightly nonetheless. Beside him stood a slender—despite her slightly-bulging stomach, which her hand rested so elegantly upon—red-haired woman, with flashing green eyes, and perfect white teeth. Her face bore the signs of fine breeding; obviously, Raoul had found a woman more worthy of his attentions—and at her side stood the perfect image of Raoul, looking around with obvious boredom.

"Christine, it is so lovely to see you!" he cried, reaching forward to snatch up my hands with glee. He was interrupted, however, by catching sight of Sonora. His face paled a little, as his eyes immediately flickered to my left hand. When those eyes raised again, they were full of dread certainty.

Sonora turned her head, and sucked in a breath. "The golden thief!" she cried immediately. I winced; obviously, Erik had taught her that. One hand patted her curls, as I tried to keep my smile faultlessly in place.

At the sound of her voice, Raoul's son had turned to look at us. Already, I could see his face clouding over with the immediate judgment of a child. "Mother," he said loudly, "why is that girl wearing a mask?"

His mother cast me an apologetic look, as she turned to hush the child. I could hear her as she spoke. "Benedict, we do not ask such things! I will tell you later..." Although, I could see her face turning questioningly to Raoul's. He only had eyes for me and my daughter, however.

"So," he said after an awkward pause. "You married him, after all?"

I nodded, as Sonora tightened her grip on my hand. Her temper, proving to be just as volatile as her father's, was rising steadily—I could tell, because I felt as if the bones in my hand were going to break.

"What is her name?" asked Raoul's wife, with a politely interested expression.

I smiled at her thankfully for supplying conversation. "Sonora Angelique."

She made a pleasant face at the lovely name, and moved to comment on it, as Raoul's face blanched.

"Angelique?" he asked, rudely talking over his wife. "Angelic."

I nodded, eyes falling down to my daughter.

"Of angels."

Another nod. Why was he dragging this out?

"...Your Angel."

His wife looked terribly confused; I glanced up at her, and tried to smile again. She did not return it. "What is your name?" I asked after a moment. "As you must have gathered, I am Christine."

I held my hand out, and she took it lightly. "Mari," she said after a moment.

"Pleased to meet you, Madame," I said, with as pleasant a smile as I could muster.

Benedict tugged on her arm, distracting her attention from a reply. "Mama, take me outside. I am bored."

Mari fussed with him about interrupting her, but moved to obey his whim. I watched with a slight frown, as he suddenly planted his feet. "I want that girl to come," he said, pointing at Sonora. My daughter tensed, and clung more tightly to me.

"Don't let me go!" she whispered urgently, and I believe that even if I had been inclined to allow her out of my sight, I would not have—when she grew too upset, that voice could bend me to its will with barely any effort at all.

Had Madeleine suffered this affliction with her own son?

Mari ignored the child, propelling him through the crowds without a backward glance.

"Christine..." Raoul stepped closer to me, and took one of my hands in his own. "Christine, what has happened to you?"

I tried to laugh. "Whatever do you mean, Raoul?"

In answer, he began pulling me through the crowd, guiding me over to a less-used corridor, where mirrors lined the walls. He shoved me up to one, and pointed at my reflection there.

I was lucky for his hand on my back, and for Sonora's rock-wall presence at my other side, for without the two of them, I believe I would have swooned with shock. My eyes had sunken into my skull, my cheeks were gaunt... Large dark smears, looking more like bruises, had swept across the skin beneath my eyes in a hideous display of color. One hand rose to touch against my face, as my lips parted in disbelief.

We did not have mirrors, in our home; the only one I had access to, was the one in my compact. I had never imagined... My skin was sallow; no longer was it of porcelain perfection, but the sickly color that a bedridden old woman would have. My dress hung off of me in a manner that looked somewhat disgusting. I had thought it was good luck; I had thought I had lost a little extra weight. However, I had, apparently, lost necessary weight. I looked like an anorexic—and it really was not much of a surprise. I did not, often, eat. The black smudges beneath my eyes were startling, however; I slept nearly all day long, these days. "I..." My fingers pressed flat against my cheek. "Oh my god..."

"Exactly," said Raoul triumphantly. "Do not worry, Christine—I shall get you free of that man."

I turned to look at him numbly, even as Sonora cried out in shock.

"You would take us away from Papa!"

"Your papa is a bad man," Raoul said with a frown, as he looked down at Sonora. "See what he does to your mama? She used to be a beautiful woman—now she looks as if she is near death."

Sonora shook her head, curls flying. "No! Papa does not hurt—" and she froze, and it was enough. Raoul knew. Sonora knew he knew, and she obviously hated him for it. Thus, in her childlike naïveté, did she move to correct her blunder: "Papa does not mean to hurt Mother..."

I shut my eyes against the expression on Raoul's face, against the image staring back at me from behind the mirror. I did not know that woman who stood there, trembling like a cancer patient. I did not know her—I was not her—I would not allow myself to be her! I was still young, I was still beautiful... Erik and I were still happy...

If I told myself that enough times, perhaps it would be true.

"Come, Sonora," I said suddenly. With a sharp tug on her arm, I started off in the direction of the door. The crowd had thinned; it was much easier to push my way to the exit. I could hear Raoul calling my name, but thought he would leave me alone if I ignored him.

I realized I was wrong—and was clued in by the abrupt disappearance of Sonora's hand in mine. I spun, teeth clenched, to find him holding onto her arm. "You are going to take this child back to—"

"Her father, and my husband," I interrupted, closing my fingers on her other arm. "Let us go, Raoul. You are making a scene."

"I'd think you'd be well accustomed to men who make scenes by now, Christine," he sneered.

My head shook. "Do not play petty games, Raoul. Just let us go."

"I want to see her face."

Numb shock took me, and I watched with neutral expression as his fingers easily ripped the black sashes free of the mask, and pulled it loose. Sonora did not seem to mind, much, as he gave out a little cry, and dropped the mask. She caught it, and clutched it to her chest, as she began walking towards the door again. Realizing that, in his own shock, he had forgotten to hold her, I immediately lifted her in my arms and moved as quickly as I could out of the opera house.

No voice begged for my return, that time.

"Mother?"

"Hm?" I answered, as I tucked the sheets up around her shoulders. Fingers idly plucked at her curls, and smoothed them out.

"Why do I wear a mask?"

I frowned a bit. "Your father.. spoke with you about this, did he not?"

One of her fragile shoulders gave a shrug. "He said that... it was for you, that we wore them. He said that you were ashamed of us, and that if we wore masks, we could be like everybody else, and you would not mind as much, anymore."

My mouth gaped. Erik had truly said that? With teary eyes, I bent over my daughter and kissed her forehead. "Your father did not mean to say that," I told her, with strained vocals. "He was mistaken, in such a thing—I love you both, very much, Sonora, and no mask, and no face beneath it, could ever change that."

"So, then, why…?"

I sniffled. "I suppose, for your own sakes, and for the sakes of those around you. People... are not always accepting of that which they do not understand, Sonora."

"Like the gold—"

"No, ma'am..."

With a huff, she continued, "Like Monsieur le Vicomte?"

I gave a nod. "Yes, like Monsieur le Vicomte. He does not understand why I love you and your father, and therefore seeks to make it seem like a bad thing. He is a foolish man, Sonora, but many men are foolish."

"So.. you would not mind, if I did not wear the mask?"

"No, my darling! I would like it, very much, if you did not."

"Good." With a smile, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Goodnight!"

I laughed, and kissed her forehead again. "Goodnight, angel..."

"Christine!"

I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the world of the living. Groggily, I sat up, curls matted and formed in such distinctively hideous ways that not even in favor of imagery shall I tell you about them. I heard a crash from behind the study door, and with a frown, pushed the covers back and slipped to my feet. I had grown used to being awaked by screams of rage; no longer did I shock into wakefulness, trembling with fright. It was the same as any other manner of waking, now—it was as natural to me as a particularly noisy alarm clock.

"Christine!" came that angry bellow again. With a sigh, and one fist scrubbing my eyes, I reached out to grope for my robe in the darkness. Its silky material was found and draped around my shoulders.

"I'm coming!" I called weakly as my fingers fumbled to tie the sash. Several timorous steps led me to the door of the study. It thrust itself open moments before I touched the knob, nearly knocking me backwards off of my feet. Only a single startled step rescued me from such a fate.

Erik stood in the frame, filling the opening almost completely. His shoulders heaved with angry breaths, and I could hear the pants whistling in his nostrils. "Christine," he snarled. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" I retorted immediately, feeling almost insulted that he would turn an accusing finger on me the moment he misplaced something.

A hand wrapped itself around my wrist and dragged me forwards, into the complete darkness of his study. "Erik, what are you—?"

"Where is it!"

"Where is what!"

"The mask!"

Oh. Well, he certainly had not misplaced that. With a resigned sigh, I moved towards where I knew his desk to be, feeling my way through the shadows carefully. I reached out with one hand to flick on the lamp, but found only empty air. Certain that I had not miscalculated but determined to find the lamp, I continued to carefully grope through the night for several more seconds, before recalling the crash.

With tense muscles and a face already twisted into a preparatory wince, I turned towards where last Erik had been standing.

"Angel?"

Only silence met my ears. My heart's beat quickened as I felt my way desperately towards the door, hand fumbling for the light switch. It flipped on, and warm light flooded the room. I almost did not want to turn around.

The curiosity was killing me.

I turned slowly, to find the room a complete wreck. Only his instruments and their lone corner stood untouched; the rest of the room had been torn to pieces in search of that mask. Erik was standing in the middle of it all, surveying his destruction with quiet contemplation. I moved up behind him, hands resting on his upper arms. I gave him a light tug. "Come to bed, Angel," I crooned. "We shall find the mask in the morning..."

"No," he said, jerking himself from beneath my grasp. "I want to find it now."

"Erik, please, I think—"

"I want to find it now!" With those words, he spun on me, fiery eyes burning into my soul as he looked down on me. I could not help but feel afraid, as he turned that hateful gaze on my form.

"I... Yes, Erik, of course. A-as you wish." I turned sharply on my heel and picked my way across the room, shutting its door firmly behind me. The mask was obviously not in his study, and I had a relatively good idea of where to find it.

Sonora...

I edged along the path to my daughter's bedroom, trying to move as quietly as possible. When I reached her door, my fingers curled around the knob and turned it slowly. The door did not make a peep as I opened it, and yet still, I found her mismatched eyes upon me, when I stepped within. She was seated at her fireplace, where a fire now steadily burned.

"Sonora..." I sniffed, and frowned. "What is that smell?"

In answer, one chubby finger lifted to point at the fire. Dread slowly turned my insides cold, as I stepped towards the fireplace. Atop the logs, I could see two shapeless white masses.

"Dear God, Sonora, what have you done?"

In response to my whispered words, she only smiled, and said, "I have destroyed our prisons."

My hand pressed against my stomach with brutal force. "Sonora... Go downstairs, to Henri's room."

She frowned. "Why?"

I shook my head. "Just go, Sonora." I cut off her attempt at arguing with a rapidly gesturing hand. "Quickly! Go!"

I watched the white-clad little figure as it tumbled down the stairs and rushed across the foyer, on its way to Henri's room. With my lips pressed in a grim line, I sank down onto the edge of her bed, to watch as the two masks—the two prisons—slowly became another smoky existence of oblivion. "Oh, Sonora," I breathed. "Erik will have our heads..."

Judgment day came sooner than I expected—sooner, as in only moments after Sonora had gone downstairs. With a voice devoid of any real interest, he asked, "What is that smell?"

My head turned to see him leaning against the door jamb of the entrance to her room. One hand gestured him forwards, and then patted the bed beside me. He indulged me, slowly settling down beside me and gathering one of my hands in his own. "I am sorry I yelled," he said after a moment. "I did not mean..."

"Shh..." My other hand patted his, and then pointed to the fire. "Your daughter has done something," I said slowly, eyes focused on him. "I think.. perhaps..."

His grip tightened on my hand, as he looked into that fire. "Those... She..."

I nodded. "Please, Erik, do not be mad with her—she thought only to—" He turned to look at me, and the words died on my lips. "Erik?"

"It seems tonight is just full of surprises, Christine."

My jaw dropped. He knew? No... There was no way for him to have known. I tried to pull my face into one of confusion. "What do you mean, Erik?"

He shrugged, and stood, hands drawing me along with him. "I will make new masks in the morning. Now... Let us go to bed."

I nodded, and followed him down the hall and into our own rooms. When I lay down on the bed, I caught his shirt in my fingers, and pulled him down beside me. "Sing for me," I begged, and not a bit of the desperation in my voice was an act. It had been so long since he had sung for me... since I had sung for him...

I stretched out alongside his body, my own skin cooling even as his began to heat. In the beginning, a toneless jumble of notes was all I heard—until I closed my eyes. Then, they began to take shape, take rhythm, and in that tune, I could almost see, hear, feel, two young and happy lovers, sprawled out and entwined with the sheets and each other. It was not us—these two were content—sane—perfect. It was how he wanted us. It was how he would have written us, in an opera. Perfect, innocent, eternal love. We had only two of the three—perhaps even only one, at times—and I believe the missing ingredient was one of the more important, to him. "I'm sorry," I murmured against his chest.

"Shh," he crooned between notes. He continued that song, perhaps not even aware of what vision he was communicating to me. In only moments, he had me struggling to keep my tears silenced. The song's vision shifted, then, and almost immediately, I knew what he wanted.

He saved me the trouble of interrupting him to ask, by pausing, and posing the question on his own. "Will you go with me, to Paris?"

That desire did not frighten me. What did frighten me was that, when he began singing again, it was only a moment before the tune became hauntingly and devastatingly similar to the Dies Irae.