Hi all :)

Thanks everyone for your kind words and reviews! It makes me quite happy to know that everyone's enjoying my story. Lazycat,thank you:) Oh and I'm so sorry about the name, lol. You can use it in your story if you want to! I see no problem. Yes, I have almost 50 chapters up of the story in Spanish.

Enjoy chapter 8, and thanks for your kindness everyone

Lovephantom83

He watched the product of his last night of work with admiration. He had not slept, this was what used to happen to him when an inspiration attack invaded him. He could work during the whole night, without getting perturbed. It seemed like five minutes…but the reality indicated him clearly that it already had dawned.

He put his work in a tube, leaving it over his desk. His small, curious and insolent messenger would arrive in any moment.

Perhaps she thought that what had been done was not going to have any consequences? Oh, of course that has had and is going to have them, much more of which can fit in his thoughts.

With this, he decided to go and get ready. The day was showing up very interesting.

The Phantom of the opera! Yes, they say it's the most horrible person that someone can meet… Poor girl! So young… and facing that… monster!

She had heard those comments so many times…and everything around the opera populaire, that "Phantom of the opera" and a…soprano; it was admirable how the people made the possible to maintain the city entertained with rumours.

Her place of work was closer, and a strange feeling invaded her body… now she didn't know what reactions to be expected from him… and even more after what had happened. Would he continue to punish her? Taking the last steps until arriving, she said to herself that it was best to not know the answer.

She went in, shyly, seeing that no one was there. Nothing had been moved, everything was in its place… only a small tube upon the writing-desk, which was supposed to be taken. She watched towards the armchair in which she had seen him play the violin, and a strange feeling of happiness invaded her, as she began to slightly hum the melody of that song that he had played. She went to the writing-desk, taking the tube that he left there and put it in a big bag that she used occasionally. She was going to leave when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, which recognized immediately.

Her glance moved, slowly, until reaching his hand. -"Good morning, Monsieur… I… I… simply was going to take the things and to ask if you need something, I was leaving immediately "- without realizing it, her voice trembled. A new and inexplicable respect had arisen towards him

One weighs laughter, very slight, was heard. With his two hands he turned her to have her in front. It cost her to watch his eyes again; in fact, it was scary to watch the eyes... too much force in them.

" Yesterday you did not speak to me like that" - the average smile still stayed in his lips

Immediately she raised her glance to his, pardon was described in the small eyes of the girl "With respect of yesterday, I... want to apologize, I… I… didn't mean to…"

Surprising, she noticed his finger put in her lips. He retired it a few seconds later- "You are not the one that has to apologize… My temperament sometimes is too strong, I don't control what I do or say -by the surprised reaction of Angie, he knew that he was gaining it- Accept my excuses. And... I believe that the title of "Monsieur" is too formal for the months that you have been working for me. Erik is sufficient."

But, what did this mean? She had behaved like an intruder, she had entered his most intimate room, in which he kept his more appraised things... and nevertheless, nothing but kind words flew from his lips... What did this kind contradiction came for? Why was he treating her suddenly like a an authentic lady? She did not want to think, she limited herself to let it be.

Without a reaction, she agreeded.- O…kay- a small smile came from her lips- Erik… fine".

With this, she was going to turn around, but Erik stopped her, deposited a small note in her hand.

"Just some small orders, if you don't mind…"

She agreed, turning around again… she headed to the door. But his voice stopped her again before opening the door to leave.

"By the way…I'm glad that you liked the piece I played".

Her glance froze for a second. ¿Did he hear her?

The afternoon had come to an end. Christine left all the utensils. She entered her room. Tired. Frustrated… knowing that she came here voluntarily, to this hell.

She leaned at the door breathing strongly. They had insulted her, they had made her clean until the last corner... and the only consolation that was in her mind, the only thing that had maintained her alert, alive, after the death of Raoul…was more and more distant. She watched her hands, now red, scratched and tired.

Why? Didn't he realize that she was screaming for help?

This made her enter a frustration state. She hit the wall with one of her hands, leaning her head too. She closed her eyes. She had to confront it. He was dead...he won't return.

What reason existed to keep standing there!

With a sad, drowned sigh, she stayed there…trying to assimilate that she wouldn't see him any more. And that she had never confessed him her true feelings.