A/N: This chapter has some mild sexual encounters...

ToyMonkey-ching: Thank you so much for reviewing! And I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing at times with who's perspective I'm using. This story is only going to be changing from Meg's POV to Christine's POV, and I was hoping I was making it obvious without titling it at the beginning of each chapter. And yes, I am paraphrazing the movie/play/book at times but I'm also trying to put in some of my own ideas so its not too horribly boring :) . Thanks again and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

She was surrounded by almost complete darkness, save for a solitary candle which gave little illumination. In fact, the room was so dark that it looked as though the candle was floating in mid-air. Mesmerized by the flickering flame, Christine walked over to it and stopped in front of the little table it was placed on. Now, she could make out the shadowy form of a single red rose tied with a black satin ribbon next to it. Reaching for it, she caressed the soft petals with the tips of her fingers before stroking it gently against her cheek and lips. As she closed her eyes, Christine imagined another kissing her.

"Christine…" a deep voice whispered tenderly.

She felt a warmth surge through her body and the sound of her name. She knew this voice. It was soothing, sensual, and hypnotic. It was there in her waking and there in her dreams.

"Angel?" Christine asked quietly.

"Come to me, Christine..."

She placed the rose delicately back on the table and looked about her.

"I don't know where you are." She replied.

There was an aching in her heart. She wanted to be close to him, to feel him.

"I am here..."

Christine turned around and a dark figure emerged from the blackness into the candlelight. He was tall and broad in stature. His dark hair was slicked back and his eyes shown like blazing green fires in the light. Had it not been for the white leather mask on the right side of his face, she would have considered him as any other man. But she knew him…her angel was the Phantom.

A gloved hand was extended to her and she took it, her gaze never leaving his. He brought her into his arms and turned her around, facing her away from him. Christine sighed as he pressed her against him, his breath warm against her skin, causing the hairs to rise on the back of her neck.

"I have waited so long for you, Christine." He breathed.

With one hand pressing gently on her stomach, he moved the other up the length of her body cupping her clothed breast, massaging it gently. She exhaled a soft moan and entwined her fingers with his other hand, moving it upward to do the same. Tilting her head to the side a bit, he placed hot kisses along the length of her neck before gently nipping her ear.

Christine placed an encouraging hand against the side of his head, running her fingers through what she found as a perfectly, thick head of dark hair. She moaned again as one of his hands began a more insistent journey further down her body. He lovingly caressed her hip before partially lifting the flimsy white chemise that covered her body. She heard a satisfactory moan escape his lips when he made contact with her bare thigh.

"Oh, Christine…"

Despite the little clothing she wore, she was becoming extremely overheated when she felt his hardened manhood pushing into her backside. She turned in his arms and pushed the heavy dress coat from his shoulders and began the task of undoing his shirt. Christine felt her heart racing beneath her breast. She was being guided by pure instinct for she had never done such things with a man before. When she had successfully unbuttoned his shirt she ran her hands along his hard muscled form, watching as his eyes closed in pleasure.

"Kiss me," she pleaded, bringing her hand up to cup his unmasked cheek.

His eyes flew open at her request and Christine could see the fear and uncertainty written in them. His hands pressed her hips further into his and he leaned down to brush her lips lightly with his. She felt the cool leather of his mask against her upper lip and she frowned.

Pulling back for a moment, she looked into his eyes and said, "Without this."

She moved her hands to his masked cheek.

"Christine, don't…" he whispered nervously.

But before he could stop her, she pulled the mask from his face…

Christine awoke with a start, her heart thudding franticly in her chest. She looked about her and let out a content sigh when she realized she was in the ballet dormitories. She knew that the unmasking event would forever play in her mind, no matter how hard she prayed to forget.

But was it really him she was afraid of? For a large portion of her life, he had been her protector. Angel or not, he helped her progress in her talent and took pride in her glory. Yes, his disfigurement was a curious and a bit of a strange site, but that was not what had frightened her. His unbelievably violent rage that proceeded the unmasking had alarmed her so terribly that she thought he might physically harm her.

She had cowered on the floor, tears pouring from her eyes, and prayed silently for mercy. She had not meant to upset him so; she only wanted to see him. After he had screamed and raged at her, a calm, silent anger seemed to envelope him. Christine couldn't determine if he would be more harmful to her this way or before. She didn't dare disobey him when he said it was time to leave. When he told her that they must continue her lessons if she expected greatness, she agreed only because out fear of what he would do if she refused.

This was a dangerous man and she did not doubt that he would stop at nothing in order to get what he desired.

Christine felt tears well up in her eyes again. There was no Angel of Music. Her father had broken his promise, and now she truly was alone. She sobbed harder at the aching in her heart.

There was a creaking sound as someone opened the door to the dormitories, and she looked up to see Madame Giry walk in, carrying some towels and a bathrobe.

"My dear child, what's wrong?" she asked, haphazardly laying the clothing on a nearby bed and making her way to Christine.

Before she could sit down on the bed, Christine had flung her arms around her and cried, "I don't want to be alone anymore! There is no Angel of Music!"

Christine felt herself being enveloped in Madame Giry's tender embrace. She calmly stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort. This was the only motherly figure Christine had ever known. Had it not been for her, Christine could only imagine the horrors she would have endured living in an orphanage or on the street.

She was also grateful that Madame Giry had not questioned her about her dreams or the night before. Retelling them at the moment was just too painful.

"Come, my dear. I have a bath ready for you, and then I will bring you something to eat."

Christine silently obeyed her adopted mother and climbed out from the covers. She needed to occupy herself. She just wanted to forget…

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