Hello everyone! I just introduced my group of friends to POTO and some really liked it! Hooray, yes, I have now officially obsessed Yami Wah with it. Some others, however, didn't like it, which is alright because it's not everyone's cup of tea but you DO NOT mock POTO songs in front of ME! They all groaned whenever the singing began again. They didn't seem to notice that that is normally what happens in musicals. You know, singing? Anyhoo…

Emmanuelle Lisselle Grey: I know! The Phantom does not immediately accept Christine back after she left him for the fop! He's traumatized and paranoid after her! Yes, we shall see Raoul's reaction to Christine's outburst of weeping and beating on his chest with her fists thing! Indeed, we shall also see Erik's reaction to the meeting! Thanks for reviewing!

Phantom's girl: Aww, thanks for the compliments! But once again, a fan is sadly mistaken, Gerard, or at least, the Gerard being the Phantom Gerard, is already mine, complete with all his outfits, except for his cloak, which I have taken for my own. What? I like his cloak. It's cool.

Faust: It does remind me of Fear Factor. "Will Raoul survive and get the money or will we be sued for killing him if the lever's faulty?" Besides, without Raoul, the triple duet in the lair wouldn't have happened, which is one of my favourite parts of the musical. Yeah, I know, the critics were a bit harsh on his singing and I think he did well too. But you have to admit the king of 'Music of the Night' is Michael Crawford. My favourite song for Gerard is 'The Point of No Return'. You needed the sexuality and youth to be able to do that song, something which a middle-aged cast couldn't achieve.

SuniMoon: Oh, thank you! I'm glad someone likes my descriptions and thinks I word things with beauty! I'd hug you but…well, you know. Global website, fragile laptop. A five star rating? Wow, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying reading it! I love getting reviews like this, people who my work actually means something to. Thank you again!

gurli214: Oh, hello, Butler's Lassie! Very subtle disguise there! Bitch slapping Raoul is one of my life goals! But I don't think Christine has the will, or the fire, to do that yet. Maybe later on…Anyway, enjoy the chappie!

Solana: Ok, I am updating for you! Ah yes, the inevitable dumping of Raoul by Christine! It will happen, I assure you. But you must remember this is an eventual E/C. The plot shall carry us there sooner or later. BTW, always nice having new reviewers! Thank you for reviewing!

Terry- Crazy Italian: Why thank you! Always nice to see enthusiasm from a new reviewer! Now are you actually crazy? As in, like, my psychosis? Or is it just a figure of speech? Ahem…I don't actually have psychosis of course… (Eye twitch)

THANK YOU, EVERYONE! YOUR REVIEWS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED!

And now, the title of this story which I am currently writing:

Masked Rose

Disclaimer: Strangely enough, you will find that I do not own POTO any more than I did for the last 3 chapters. You'll probably find I won't own it next chapter either. Oh well! I do so love telling you over and over again! I'll probably need therapy soon. (Plays the Overture to comfort herself very loudly on a very conviently-placed organ) DAAAA DA DA DA DA DDDAAAAAA! The talent, the talent! Wrings fists at sky

Chapter 4: Solitude

Antoinette stood in the doorway of the abandoned room, watching Christine shake in the arms of her puzzled husband, Christine's accusing cry still ringing in her ears. She held the candle up further, illuminating the still open piano, its bright flame mirroring the dying blaze of the candle mounted on its surface. A breath of air swirled about the little group and she shivered slightly. It had not been difficult to put two and two together when she had been woken by Raoul.

Her former student curled sobbing on the ground, the music she had heard for the past few months silenced as the inevitable meeting of student and teacher occurred. Music had always acted as Erik's balm, his defense against the world and it had slowly grown again after his imprisonment, soft and fleeting. She wondered what sort of music their meeting would induce after the shock of seeing the source of his obsession again wore off.

'Vicomte, I think it would be easier on everyone if we took Christine back to her room to recover.'

The crisp tone whipped up the young man's head. He looked pale and confused, Christine's delicate fists still beating his chest even as she took comfort in his closeness, head bowed into his shoulder.

'Er, yes, indeed Madame Giry. I do not understand, this has never happened before. What is she doing here at this time of night? What has…?'

Again she cut off his words. 'I'm sure the matter shall be cleaned up soon. In the meantime I believe your wife needs rest.'

Raoul nodded, looking relieved by her determination and command of the situation. He supported his wife as he raised her from the floor, murmuring soothing words to her as they traveled though the maze of corridors back to their rooms. As they paused outside Christine's room, Christine unexpectedly raised a hand, oddly calm and pale now, and announced she needed no further assistance. She swept into her room, white fabric floating behind her. The door snapped shut in Raoul's face. Antoinette felt a twinge of pity for the young man, whose hurt registered plainly on his face, too young and innocent to conceal his feelings and passions from the world. 'I shall talk to her, monsieur. Do not be worried by her state.'

He nodded, albeit doubtfully and looked sadly at the door before moving off to his room, brushing past a puffy-eyed Meg, who clutched a cloak around her neck and watched him pass in surprise. 'Mama, what is wrong?' The questioning tone from her sleepy daughter made Antoinette turn fondly to her, remembering the time when she had only been a small girl, clutching a doll nearly as large as she was, full of curiosity and bubbling with laughter, so different to the young woman before her now.

'Just a small matter with the Ghost, my dear. Go back to bed.' Her daughter paled slightly before her eyes, eyes darting to Christine's door and back again in a silent inquiry, mindful of Raoul's proximity. Antoinette nodded once and then dismissed her only child with a swift hand movement. Obediently, Meg moved off down the hall, her mind whirling in concern for her friend.

Christine turned slightly where she lay curled on her bed, tears leaking down her pale face, hanging like spangled dew from her curls to watch her old ballet mistress enter the room. Her face was lined with understanding and she sat on the bed, watching the child with wise eyes. Christine sat, huddled and silent, staring blankly at the wall before sobbing and throwing herself into Antoinette's arms. 'Why does he hate me so much?' she gasped. Antoinette sighed and murmured soothing words to the broken creature in her arms, unable to neither answer her tearful questions nor heal the ache in her heart that Erik had left.

'Erik doesn't hate you, he never has and he never will. I believe he still…'Antoinette paused, not daring to say too much more. Telling a married woman that another man loved her was not an acceptable thing to do and what if she was placing words into Erik's mouth? What if he truly didn't love her any more?

She was interrupted from her musings by a tearstained, hopeful face. 'Erik?' Christine asked in a whisper. 'Didn't you know his name?' Antoinette asked, surprised. 'He never told me…and I never thought to ask. He was always Angel to me.' Christine appeared to have calmed down dramatically and she managed to give her old ballet mistress a brave smile. 'Thank you for your kindness, Madame Giry. I am unworthy of it, of course. I shall let you return to your rest.' Once again she was the Comtesse de Chagny, distant and formal. Antoinette bowed her head and left Christine's room, starting down the corridor, her footsteps growing more purposeful as she moved off through the Opera.

Antoinette descended the stairs, eyeing the old flapping tapestries of ancient operas on the walls. Letting herself into the Phantom's lair, she walked into the main area facing the rippling underground lake. Candles floated on the water like the torches of the dead and the strict woman, normally so unruffled by the strange events that made up her life in the Opera Populaire, shuddered at the silence and the loneliness. She had not come down here for years, half-afraid of what she might find, preferring to remember the little boy he had once been whom she had saved from the cruelty of humankind.

A crackling fire roared suddenly in the fireplace behind her, illuminating a tall chair in which was seated a dark figure, twisted in a cloak that furled around his frame like the wings of a bat. He turned his head slightly and Antoinette glimpsed the flash of a bright eye and the white sheen of the porcelain mask. 'Madame,' came his slow, rich voice, which never failed to send shivers rippling up her spine. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?' A mocking edge sharpened the edge of his words and, from what she could see of Erik, he was rigid in his chair. She recognised the signs of his anger almost as immediately as her own and he was more than angry tonight. He was enraged. There was no doubt he and Christine had met in the abandoned music room.

Antoinette paused before answering. The poor, simple Opera, concerned with its own doings, its own coming and goings, with the tantrums of prima donnas, the disappearances of chorus girls and the circling of gossip, unaware of the fierce, passionate and tyrannical will of Erik, whose shadow fell across every corridor, who was present in every swirl of music, who had only to stretch out his hand to fell the Opera for ever with all the glory of Paris inside. 'You met Christine.' It was not a question, nor an accusation, merely a statement.

With a fluid movement, Erik was up from his chair, turning to the severe woman with the shadows flickering across his sharp features like the blades of swords, masking his expression. For a moment, Antoinette waited for his wave of anger, half-flinching in anticipation. Erik smiled savagely but his voice was calm and soft, betraying nothing of his feelings. 'On the contrary, Madame Giry, it was Christine who met me.' He paced, fierce eyes never leaving her, like a hunting animal. 'I was not aware the Vicomte and his bride were in Paris. Maybe I would have been more….cautious of where I stepped.'

Madame Giry smiled coldly. 'I heard your music. You did not think it would lure her?' He whirled on her, blue eyes spitting sparks. 'You did not inform me of their presence!'

Erik turned away again, but his eyes remained burned in her memory. 'Besides, did you think if I had the slightest bit of desire for Madame de Chagny, that the fop who calls himself her husband would still be alive?' A dark echo tinged his words and in her mind's eye, Antoinette watched the flaming chandelier fall again and heard the terrible screams.

Silence fell between them, until the soft splashing of the cold lake against the stone of the lair could be heard. Surprisingly, it was Erik who spoke first. This was the most words he had spoken to her since he had returned to his Opera. 'Goodnight Madame.' His tone suggested that further talk would be useless. His eyes blazed at her in the firelight. A breath of air curled about the lair, carrying with it the happy laugh of a young boy, beaming up at her with those same curious eyes. Then she turned and left the lair, her expression shuttered in ice that none who saw her pass in the corridors dared to break.

Deep below the Opera, Erik finally stirred from his chair, moving with silent grace to a box next to his organ, a box he had not touched for so long…He drew out the violin softly, running his fingers down the polished wood, trying to remember the last time he had played it. Before Christine turned from an orphan to a young woman with the voice of an angel. Before his kindly tutorage had turned to something bordering on obsession.

The strings still wrung notes of pure sorrow from his hands and filled his lair with a music seldom heard on this earth. The water swirled gently under the gentle notes and the cellars themselves seemed to tremble.

Far above, Christine stirred in her sleep, turning slightly and allowing the faint music to invade her restless dreams. A smile curved on her lips, regardless of the tears that still marked her cheeks. And then, just as she opened her dark eyes, already listening for the otherworldly notes, they stopped. Far below, Erik lowered the violin from his shoulder, listening to the fading echoes of the notes. The violin could not play now. It was too late for that. He replaced the violin in its velvet bed and closed the lid of the mahogany box, one hand resting there for a minute, as though wordlessly asking for it to sleep once more in his mind, be at peace silent in the darkness. Something akin to sadness whirled across his blue eyes for a moment before he turned and walked deliberately away, one hand grabbing his cloak in passing. Some time away from his Opera would do him well.

Far above, Christine felt a tug of pain at the loss of the notes she had heard so clearly in her dreams and did not bother to wipe away the tears that fell anew onto her cold pillow. From her window, she could see the stars, as could the cloaked man who quickly stepped onto the street and began to walk away. But both turned their backs on the celestial dance, blinded by their own mortal problems.

A slightly shorter chapter this time. A sort of chapter-between-chapters, where…not much happened actually. But I've been trying to finish this particular chapter for ages and decided to let our characters cool off after their meeting.

Please review!

Until next time,

Taluliaka