Yes, Christine would not have seen the lake, etc until she woke up. So why did I have her saying all that crap? Well, because I fucked up. Sometimes I get too caught up with the story to pay attention to consistency. My apologies.

Ha. Oh well. I think it worked anyway. Let's just pretend she had seen the scenery in her dreams.

In this chapter, we're also going to pretend that ether has a smell. In actuality, I don't think it does.

Anywhoozle, enjoy!

Nico

Christine had managed to avoid her escort's eyes all the way back to her room, where he deposited her and then left just as quickly.

No, she had not made eye contact at all.

So why was she now sobbing on her bed, wishing that she could gaze into them once more?

Christine was a naïve, having never known the intimacies that transpired between a man and woman, but she was fully aware of the dangerous emotions and sensations now racking her body, making her feel physically ill.

Her mind was flooded with images of her abductor…the sleek muscles of his body moving gracefully as he had rowed across the icy lake…his long fingertips gently depressing the piano's keys…

And finally the horrific image of his face, a sight Christine feared she would never be able to erase.

She had only seen it for a second, but the gnarled flesh that covered nearly an entire side of his face blared in her memory, provoking questions she was unable to answer on her own.

He had said she was looking into the face of hell…

But how could such beauty in the form of an angelic voice reside in the body of the devil himself?

She flopped on her back, wiping her eyes angrily with the back of her hands. Her senses were now alert, thanks to the deep sleep she had woken from.

A deep sleep brought on by a poison that had been administered to her by that man…

She had recognized the smell of ether almost as soon as she had snapped out of her dreamlike state…remembering how her father used the powerful sedative to sleep through the pain in his final days of illness.

Now she realized that her captor was not only mysterious…but dangerous.

Yet he had brought her back immediately upon demand…and had not harmed her in any way, save the fright his mere presence instilled in her.

Christine did not easily sort through such contradictions.

Suddenly, her door flung open, Meg Giry standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and her face twisted into an expression of worry and anger.

"Where have you been?" She asked, her voice slightly shrill.

Christine sat up in bed, trying to feign confusion. "What are you talking about? We had the day off…"

"And since when do you spend your days off without me?" Meg countered, sounding hurt.

Christine felt immediately ashamed, as if she was harboring a great secret from her dearest friend.

Then she realized she was.

"I'm sorry, Meg," Christine said helplessly. "I had some…things to attend to…"

"What things?" Meg persisted.

Christine looked at her friend with dark eyes.

What would the harm be in telling her?

"Meg, I've met someone," she said softly.

This caught the other girl's attention. "Who?" She asked, completely intrigued.

Christine suddenly wished she had remained silent. She looked around the room, her hands coming to flitter about her neck.

"A man," she replied vaguely.

Meg's eyes went wide. "Christine Daae!" She exclaimed. "Are you telling me that you've been with a man all day and all night?"

Christine bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with Meg. "No…well…not exactly…well…"

Meg sat on the end of Christine's bed, looking positively scandalous.

"Who would have thought that 'Pristine Christine' would take a lover before me!" She mused.

"Meg!" Christine said, horrified by the notion. "It's not like that…it's…it's…"

Meg watched her friend struggle, a smile spreading her face wide.

Christine slapped her arms down at her thighs, completely at loss for words. Meg smiled even wider, coming to hug her friend.

"I'm happy for you," she said into Christine's ear. Then, backing away but keeping her hands on her friend's shoulders, added, "And don't worry, I won't tell mother."

Christine smiled weakly. "Thank you," she said softly.

Meg nodded. "You'd best get some rest," she informed her friend. "You look like you've just been to hell and back."

As Meg left through the oak doors, Christine could not help but wonder if Meg knew just how accurate her last statement was.

Erik smashed the last candelabra that remained standing in his lair to the ground.

He hadn't been this furious with himself in quite some time.

The relationship he had been carefully building with Christine for the past year had been effectively ruined in just a few short hours.

The realization enraged him once more, causing him to roar and shatter the piano bench that had once been one of his most prized possessions.

He sat at the edge of the lake, exhausted from having raged for the last half hour or so. He rested his hands on either side of his head, willing the tight ball of anxiousness to ebb from his insides.

Why had he brought her back? Why had he brought her down here to begin with? Surely she would now reveal the presence of the rumored 'Opera Ghost,' forcing him to seek refuge in some other dank hole in Paris. He had ruined the complacency of his life…

although lately, his life had been anything but complacent.

He sighed, rising to his feet, swooping to pick up the papers he had thrown aside during his confrontation with Christine. Anger threatened to overwhelm him once more as he realized the manuscripts were ruined; the ink having smeared across the pages from the wetness of the floor.

Instead, he sighed, allowing the papers to flutter silently back down to the floor. Perhaps it was best that the melodies he had written while in her presence had been obliterated.

It would be one less thing reminding him of her.

He dragged an older, less impressive piano bench to the piano and sat, mindlessly plunking out a somber tune that would break the hearts of all who heard.

He could still feel her presence…still hear her bell-like voice lilting against the walls. He could smell her in the air…he dared not go to his bed, for fear that the scent of Christine had affixed itself to the silks and satins of the bedclothes. He imagined cascading into a reckless sleep, with only thoughts of her to abandon himself to.

Erik was unable to quell the very primal hunger that hardened him. He rose, embarrassed that his body was so weak that it would react with such sexual force…he had always considered himself above such things. At a very early age it was impressed upon him that no woman would ever love him, let alone give him her body willingly. He had been content to eradicate that portion of his life, counting it as just another thing that made him…different.

But now, as his blood raced and his heart pounded at the thought of her flushed cheeks…her supple body…

he could no longer contain himself.

For the first time in a very long time, Erik felt the need to escape the confines of the Opera House, if only for a few hours.