Hello!

If you've been reading my works before, you'll remember that I usually don't update over the weekends. I try to update frequently during the week to make up for it.

That being said, here's the next chapter. You guys prolly won't like this one, but it's necessary for the conflict of the story...

Enjoy, and thank you all so much for the great reviews!

Nico

She hadn't wanted to leave him.

Not after such a powerful experience.

Yet, as the night had worn on, Erik had begun suggesting he return her.

Christine couldn't help feeling slighted. After singing the first aria, Erik had kissed her, and she had not pulled away. True, she was still frightened of him…his very presence set her body on alert, warning her that anything could happen. Reluctantly, he had broken their embrace, moving elegantly back to his piano, playing softly, coaxing pristine notes from Christine's throat.

In the depths of the Opera House, there was no light…no clocks…no discernible measure of time. Christine had no idea if she had been down there for minutes…hours…days…

Not that it mattered. Nothing had mattered to her but the rhythmic music that seemed to possess her body. So much so that when Erik had suggested bringing her back she had nearly cried.

"I don't want to leave," she had whimpered like a child.

"You must," Erik had said matter-of-factly, barely making eye contact with her. "You do not belong down here."

Christine's brows had furrowed, completely taken back by this sudden change of attitude.

And so she now found herself quickly and quietly deposited back in her chambers, with not so much as a good-bye from the man who earlier in the evening had clutched at her with such possessiveness she was sure she would die.

As the mirror slowly closed behind him, Erik leaned against it, closing his eyes against the resulting darkness. His breath was tight in his chest, his usually cold hands sweating beneath leather gloves.

He had seen her eyes, how they had been completely mesmerized by his music.

He was certain it had not been genuine affection.

In his youth, he had traveled with a band of gypsies, using his amazing musical and magical talent to hypnotize nearly everyone who crossed his path. He manipulated his supposed 'managers' into making little to no profit on his performances, instead accumulating an indescribable wealth off of the horror of his face and the beauty of his voice.

The same mystical glaze that had crossed over the faces of the masses who would stare at him, bewitched by the 'living corpse,' had been evident on Christine's face.

The realization had been a painful one to come to.

There had been moments when Erik was convinced she was there of her own will…as if she had sought him out instead of the opposite.

But then, the illusion was shattered as Erik realized she had fallen prey to his nearly unconscious hypnotism.

He could bare the sight of her no longer.

When he had suggested they return, she had looked truly heartbroken. She had told him she did not want to leave…

And the admission had pained Erik's heart, for he did not believe it to be reality.

So he had replaced the passion with which he had played for her…the passion with which he had kissed her…with the same cold indifference that he treated the rest of the human race with.

She had obviously been hurt, but Erik convinced himself that it was better that way…that her pain was justified.

After all, no one could truly wish to remain with him in the darkness.

"But I heard voices, Christine," Raoul ran a hand through his hair, watching as several stage hands repaired her shattered chamber door. "And then you were gone!"

Christine put down her hairbrush and sighed at her reflection in the vanity, trying to feign an air of utter calm. "I told you, Raoul. I was in the chapel…I was distraught over my father…"

Raoul knelt before her, placing a warm hand over hers in her lap. "Your father has been dead for quite some time, Christine," he said softly. "Am I to believe you still mourn him?"

Christine turned to him, her eyes dark. "I will always mourn him," she informed Raoul.

Always the patient philanthropist, Raoul smiled, squeezing her cold hand. "Of course you will," he said comfortingly. "It was stupid of me to assume otherwise."

Christine genuinely smiled back. Raoul had always known just what to say in a tense situation.

He stood, adjusting his already perfectly placed cravat in the mirror. Christine watched him in the reflection.

Raoul was as beautiful as any man could possibly be, she mused. His coloring was light; his dirty blond hair was stylishly kept, his bright blue eyes always seemed to be sparkling with happiness.

"In any event," he was saying, "I am comforted by your return." He chuckled slightly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "To think I had called the police, only to discover that you were beneath our feet the entire time!"

Christine smiled weakly.

He placed the other hand on her opposite shoulder. "I worry about you, Christine." He said earnestly. "You're so pale…so thin…it's as if you've been hollowed by the terrible experience of the death of Charles."

Christine lowered her eyes, hoping to hide any betrayal that might linger there.

In truth, she was mourning her departure from Erik.

She lifted her lashes, smiling warmly at Raoul. "You needn't worry about me," she informed him. "I'm fine."

He gazed at her for long enough to make them both feel uncomfortable. Abruptly, he removed his hands from her shoulders, clearing his throat. "I would still like for you to join me for a meal," he informed her. "I do hope you will be free for a late lunch after your rehearsals with Madame Giry today?"

He posed the statement as a question, his brows raised in anticipation of her answer.

Raoul had been such a dear friend…and there was something terribly comforting about his presence.

And Lord knew she was in need of comforting.

She raised her eyes to him, smiling warmly. "Yes Raoul, I believe I will be free."

Raoul's easy manner and generally happy disposition seemed to ooze into even the most hardened souls. Christine watched as the once stuffy maitre 'd of La Lourne, the premier café in Paris, became a soft ball of clay under Raoul's requests. Their wine glasses were filled moments after being emptied…a never-ending procession of freshly baked breads, fresh fruits and cheeses were brought to the small table Christine and Raoul shared…and eventually, Christine's stomach was full and her heart was lightened by the undeniably bright ray of light Raoul had brought into her life.

Yet there was an underlying darkness to her that must have been noticeable.

As the waiter refilled his glass for the third time with a rich, aged wine, Raoul took a sip, looking over his glass at Christine. "You're quiet," he remarked.

Christine snapped to attention, dragging her thoughts out of the Opera Populaire's depths.

"I'm sorry," she said, forcing a smile. "I suppose I'm just tired."

"Your late night in the chapel must have contributed to that," he noted, taking another sip.

Christine nodded, smiling nervously. "Yes, I lost track of the time."

Raoul nodded, easing back into his chair. "Is anyone courting you, Christine?" He asked suddenly.

She was caught off guard by the question. "Yes," she answered without thinking, and then, noticing his crestfallen face, quickly said, "I mean, no…"

Raoul's brow furrowed. "Well, which is it?" He said, smiling lightly.

Christine blushed. "No," she replied. "No one is courting me."

Raoul smiled. "Then perhaps I should make my intentions clear, before that changes." He reached over, taking her shaking hand in his. "I've missed you, Christine. I've longed for the days of my youth that were filled with your beauty," he rubbed his thumb over the top of her hands. "Your voice."

The mention of her voice startled her. Besides the hours spent singing beside Erik last night, Christine had not sung since her youth, accompanied by her father's violin.

"Have the managers heard your voice?" Raoul pried.

Christine took a sip of her wine, mostly to pull her hands from his grasp. She shook her head. "No," she replied. "I'm solely a dancer at the Opera Populaire."

"That's a shame," Raoul commented. "Perhaps we will have to change that."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked.

Raoul shrugged. "It seems a waste of a formidable talent," he explained. "Surely a soprano as powerful as you would be considered an incredible asset to any theater."

"You've forgotten Carlotta," Christine said, nearly shuddering at the mere mention of the Opera Populaire's most revered…and hated…diva.

"Ah, Carlotta," Raoul said. "Yes, I've heard of her. From what I understand, cotton balls are in short supply when she is singing."

Christine couldn't help but giggle. "That's a perfectly horrible thing to say, Raoul."

Raoul shrugged again. "Sometimes the truth hurts." He took another sip of his wine. "All I'm saying is that the managers should hear you sing," he repeated. "Besides, I hear that you're being courted by someone who has just come into a great deal of power at the Opera Populaire."

Christine looked confused. "But…I told you…No one is court…"

Raoul cut her off bygrasping her hand again, staring into her eyes somberly.

And suddenly, Christineunderstood his meaning.

"Oh," she said, looking at the strong hand covering hers. "Oh…"