Good mornin!

Thanks for the reviews...you guys are awful sweet! I've been reading through a few of your profiles...mostly, you're all Americans! Shocking! ;)

Enjoy! Look for another update shortly.

Nico

Erik's body went rigid, the anger that had been threatening to overwhelm him suddenly oozing back down into the darkest recesses of his soul.

She was staring at him, expecting a response.

He could barely stand the site of her reddened cheeks and nose, the silver rivulets of tears that had begun to leave their tracks across her face, her parted lips that were quivering just slightly.

When he spoke, he barely recognized his own voice.

"I am no angel," he said bitterly.

Christine's forehead crinkled in confusion. "But that voice…"

"You forget, Christine," he said, calling her by her name for the first time, " you've already realized that my voice is deceptive."

She remained silent, conflicted by her impression of the man before her.

Erik took a haggard breath. "I cannot live up to the expectations you have of the man you created in your mind."

"You don't even know what my expectations are," Christine replied quietly.

Erik scoffed. "Don't insult my intelligence by suggesting that this," he gestured aggressively to the mask on his face, "was what you envisioned as you slept."

Christine winced at the mention of his disfigurement.

Erik did not miss the reaction.

It broke his already shattered heart.

"No, it wasn't," Christine admitted quietly.

"Then perhaps it is my expectations of you that are impossible to force into reality," he replied, suddenly angry again. His eyes blazed behind the mask as he struggled to regain control of his once again destroyed ego. "I owe you an apology, Mademoiselle," he said, his voice dark. "I should never have come to you in the first place."

He turned, his cape flaring as he headed back up the cobblestones towards the Opera Populaire.

Christine watched him go, her entire being shaking with the sudden need to call him back, to tell him not to leave her…to impress upon him just how much his nighttime companionship had touched her…moved her into thinking that there just might be someone out there who would love her as much as her father did.

But instead, she let him go, falling to her knees in the darkness he left her in.

The Opera Populaire was buzzing with excitement.

It had been common knowledge for some time that the opulence and frivolous spending nature of the managers had begun to affect the ledgers, forcing budgetary restraints that ultimately compromised performances. To the trained eye, such cuts were visible in the cheapened fabrics used for costumes, the less-than-perfect lighting quality and the fact that three of the violinists in the orchestra were dangerously close to breaking the last of the new strings installed on their instruments.

In order to live up to its lavish reputation, the Opera Populaire was forced to seek refuge in the arms of a new patron…

A patron who was scheduled to arrive at the Opera at any moment.

Christine stretched her long limbs gracefully backstage, barely paying attention to the flitter of excitement coursing all around her.

"I hope he's young," Meg was saying, fiddling with the ribbons in her hair. "The last two patrons were dreadfully old." She looked up to her taller friend. "Christine, are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" Christine asked, her eyes slightly glazed.

Meg snapped up from lacing one of her ballet slippers. "What is wrong with you?" She asked. Then, remembering suddenly, she smiled. "Ohhh," she said knowingly, lowering her voice. "I suppose my mind would be preoccupied with terrible, sinful thoughts too if I were you!"

"Oh Meg," Christine said, about to admonish her friend for such a positively wicked insinuation.

But she didn't have a chance.

The new patron had arrived.

Christine didn't know if she followed or was pushed by the throng of ballerinas that gathered at the edge of the backstage curtains, straining to get a glimpse of the man of the hour.

For several moments, her vision was obscured by Mary Dupont's extravagant hairstyle, which Meg referred to as the "poodle."

Then suddenly, she caught full site of the new Patron.

"Raoul…" She breathed, completely in shock at her recognition of the tall, handsome man who was now shaking hands with Piangi.

Meg looked up at her. "Christine, do you know him?"

Christine nodded, her eyes hazy once more. "I do," she replied softly. "Lord help me, I do."