"So lost, so helpless..."

She asked the driver to leave her by the main gates of the house which had been her home all through those months. As soon as she got down the carriage, it disappeared round the corner, waiting for Christine to finish the business which had brought her there.

Christine ran towards the back door. She wanted to be seen by no one and entered her former house trying to make as little noise as possible. However, it was useless because one of her servants crossed in her way. His eyes stared at her in surprise.

'Madame la Vicomtesse!' Christine pressed a finger to her lips urging him to keep the volume of his voice down. "Everyone has been looking for you since yesterday… Are you all right?"

François was more of a friend than a servant. The good boy had been very kind since the day she had stepped into that house. She was glad that at least it was him that was the one to find her there.

She nodded. 'I am okay,' she said in a low voice. '…but,' she made a pause, nearing him and leaning a hand on his shoulder, 'I need your help now as my friend, François.'

He looked at her with undisguised apprehension. 'Of course, just tell me…What can I do for you?'

'I only need you to assist me in taking my belongings out of here in the most discreet way possible.'

The boy came closer and lowered the tone of his words, too. 'So…you are leaving…'

Christine sighed. 'I am afraid I am. I've found a quiet, nice place far from here and the memories this house brings to me.'

François nodded, his expression sad but understanding. 'I see… Please, come with me. We should not stay around here too long if we don't want to attract the attention.'

After this, they both came through a narrow passage which they knew would led them to her chambers.

She had just finished cleaning and tidying up one of the rooms, what she had been doing for the last couple of months. Maeghan had kindly given her a job as a maid, taking care of the cleansing and running errands for her boss. Or Erik, but he preferred that she didn't address him by his given name. The reason? That was one of the many enigmas that surrounded him…

Being there, she remembered the warning he had given her the first day she started working for him. 'You can use the house as you please but,' he pointed the door which led to a small room behind him, 'that room,' his voice sounded completely calmed and yet threatening. 'It will remain closed and unattended.' The dark man came nearer, his eyes burning into hers, echoing his message and stating the consequences of the disobedience of his rules. 'Is that clear, Angie?'

And now, in front of that forbidden door, leaving it closed as he had ordered, seemed impossible. Curiosity came over her…

What was inside which her mysterious boss kept hidden so carefully?

She looked around her, as if she tried to make sure that he was not in the flat and could not take her by surprise red-handed. Angie put her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it…

The door closed behind him. He left his cloak and his fedora. Raoul dead…the little, coward and dearest Vicomte of Christine's. He saw clearly the reason of her flight, but, where was she leading? Obviously, she would return to the Opéra Populaire. To look for him, perhaps? How dared she… how dared she to come back after all? Did she think HE would be still there torturing himself with memories of her? Did she really believe he was so weak-minded?

His eyes filled with rage. If she had abandoned him for the Viscount it would have to be forever, not to try to come back to him in search of another guide. Turning on the last resort, Christine? No. He had more dignity than that, much more dignity than showing her the Hell she had put him through when she had left. A Hell where he had not been able to play or compose another piece of music. So his piano and violin, the only things he had saved from his past life, had fallen silent permanently. Because of her. Because of her damned memory. He admitted that, under the frost which had frozen his heart, there was still that inextinguishable love for her and he hated it. He hated the feeling. Why? Why did he have to love someone who had broken him apart?

A sound pulled him out of his musings. Ah, the girl. Yes, he tended to forget she was around most of the time, helping to keep his home from falling into total chaos. It was so often that he forgot her presence. In fact, many times he surprised himself when she appeared before him with a cup of coffee or something to eat. Her copper-coloured mane tied up in a bun, as if trying to conceal her natural rebellious and messy appearance.

She found herself before a whole world of strange objects, faded with dust and yellowed with time. Her curious bright eyes observed every corner of that room. The thought that she was doing something highly and expressively forbidden was enough to make her pulse rate start to race anxiously.

Something caught her attention in the furthest corner of the room. She came nearer step by step and her mouth and eyes opened simultaneously in surprise. A beautiful music box decorated with the figure of a monkey, which looked like a masterful piece of art to her. Next to it, there were many portraits of a lovely young girl and loads of scores…

It was then that she regained her composure and sense of duty, realizing that she had no right to invade another person's privacy. But it was too late. A powerful hand enclosed her wrist.

'Poking around where you shouldn't be, Angie?'. His words, slow and irate, sounded like a roar in the small room.