authorette's note: Once again, thanks for the shiny-glossy reviews and I hope all you shiny-glossy readers enjoy this chapter, and please review! This chapter is depicated to Stephy - for giving me inspiring thoughts to think through whilst my arms are covered in suds! The 'vestal virgins' later mentioned are lamppost statues outside The Opera Garnier in Paris. Basically, they're green, naked chicks who've managed to cover their 'modesty' with some cloth and carry a lamp on their heads. No wonder Erik chose to reside there….

The Chains Were Broken

1870, December 31st

I had to admit, the festivities were quite impressive, considering the intellectual capacities of those who were planning it. Metallic decorations of the most lavish nature filled the grand foyer, reflected the blinding light of the thousands of candles that were dotted around on solid gold candelabras. The floor was covered with some of the most powerful men in Paris, complete with a trophy wife dressed up like a doll in a laughable frock that were centauries too young for her, on each one's arm. They strolled around mingling and making futile small talk with each other whilst silently praying that their wine glasses would soon be refilled with something more expensive and hopefully much stronger…

I sighed one of my lamenting sighs. Oh, how ironic it was that while I cursed this mask that the world and it's cruel inhabitants constantly forced to wear, these so-called, 'fashionable Parisians' rejoiced in covering their faces for an evening. But then I suppose that they were safe in the knowledge that under their little porcelain covering, lay a perfectly normal expanse of cool, peachy skin; smooth and soft. I dare say that if I had looked at my naked face in the mirror, it would have been cabbage green with envy.

But enough of my foolish day dreams, I had a task that needed to be completed and that was what I must focus my attention on. I tried as hard as I could to spot my Christine and when I did I could have sworn that I felt my repulsive jaw drop. She looked simply exquisite, oh my, I had almost forgotten how utterly divine was. She truly did resemble an angel to a visit to our humble planet. Her long hair was worn in a simple, but elegant style and the natural beauty of her face was aided only by a little, shimmery eye make-up and a dap of pale pink lipstick.

Next came her dress, a sugary pink, satin affair, trimmed with white lace and a few miniature silk roses. The top half had obviously been designed to emphasise her more, how should I say, 'feminine' features, and as a man I could most definitely vouch it's affectivity! It's bottom half was layered and puffed outwards from the waist until it reached the polished marble floor. This pleased me, at least that foolish dandy wouldn't be able to dance to closely to her. But what was that around her gentle neck? Just as I was trying to make out it's shape, one Gaston Pertion, a depressingly wealthy businessman who'd made his vast fortunate out of exploiting poor workers in the coal mines of Calais, went over to talk to Christine, and blocked her out of my direct line of view.

I knew plenty enough about Mousier Pertion for me to just cause to distrust him. He was famous for the variety of women who'd been in his well-worn bed, though why they ever went there is beyond me. He was, as far as I could see, an old, ugly ( though I can hardly comment), lecherous drunk who was not only married, but maintained a hardly discreet mistress, some young, amply busted thing who'd once danced in one of the many brothels of Montmartre. But then of the other hand, none of these things matter when someone is rich enough to keep you in velvet and diamonds for the few weeks that he will display any lustful interests in you.

I could tell by the way he moved that he had only approached my divine angel with the intention of bedding her, as he had most of the other chorus girls, but I knew Christine was too wise to fall for his sweet nothings and soft kisses on her hand. For you see, unlike nearly all of the other Parisian girls involved in any form of entertainment, Christine was a good, sweet, moral creature who would always be faithful to the one she loved, who was, most unfortunately, Raoul du Chagny. But, our dear Gaston wasn't the sort of man who gave up easily and despite being continually being given a polite, but cold shoulder, he began on his usual speech. Being a ghost, I have ears like one. In short, when I put my mind to it, I can hear anything. Even Pertion's predictable lines, "Oh you are as beautiful as those vestal virgins outside the Opera House." "Such an exquisite beauty, such a shame you are appreciated so little." "What a magnificent dress, it only amplifies your exquisite form." Each line, accompanied by a touch on the arm and curled grin.

Yet Christine kept up her calm facade, even though I could tell that she was internally disgusted and felt thoroughly degraded. Although she loved to perform, I knew that she was a shrinking violet that, though she enjoyed praise hated attention and unwanted interactions. She was unused to men paying her so many compliments whilst they allowed their gazes to fall far too low. Christine's almost vestal virtue, something practically extinct at the Opera House, was what made her so special. She didn't allow herself to become an elevated whore, like so many other diva's before her, and yet still those wealthy, influential and lustful beings still chased after her. Perhaps it was her angelic purity that made her so appealing? With so many 'women of the world' around, an intact flower can be a rare thing in Paris. I cursed myself for not being there to protect her for the last three months, hopefully that fop had managed to make himself useful and guard her from these lewd beasts.

It was just as that Pertion was become to 'close' to my Christine for me to be comfortable that, Le Viscount finally arrived in a ridiculous naval suit that made him look like a ten year old at an afternoon birthday party complete with pink jelly and biscuits. He nodded to Pertion and gently lead Christine away to the corner of the hall. I felt my anger rise as he took my angel's hand in his own, I never allowed myself such contact with her, why should he? I noticed neither of the pair had a ring on their finger's, at least there was hope then, I had been afraid that they'd organised a quick marriage and were now legally bound. Not that a small thing like marriage was going to prevent me getting what I wanted.

It was curious, that as Raoul lead her away, Christine looked neither happy nor pleased to see her beau. Just relieved that she no longer had Pertion peering down her gown. The band now began to play a jolly waltz and couples filled the floor, putting my star and the boy out of my sight. This allowed me to clear my mind and carry on with the plan, as I scrambled back to my post, in the rafters, above the staircase.

I had fitted most of my traps, including the one in the Grand Hall that I was currently using, a good many years ago when the opera house was being constructed. It was easy enough to do, after all the only thing I needed to do was alter those blueprints that the chief architects so carelessly left around, and those ignorant labourers did the rest. Architecture is another of my many skills, one that a mastered a good many years ago; but that's a different story.

Charles Garnier was a man that I respected greatly as an intellectual and a man of good character. He made a good job of the opera house, though it was, in my opinion, more than a little arrogant for him to have the place named after himself. The Grand Foyer was perhaps one of his best ideas, the mosaic covered ceiling was so very easy for me to modify it to suit my own uses. A little one way glass here and there allowed me to create a space where I could spy on everyone and see everything without any one seeing me. The perfect trick, and was suspected by no one.

The idea was that at the chosen moment I would release and the trap door and silently fall from the ceiling to the widest step, half way up the stair case. I would then, well I hadn't quite decided what I would do then, I was sure I'd think of something. But it was too late for that, the trap was set and all that remained for me to do was watch and wait.

authorette's note: Yes I know, the opera house wasn't even completed in 1870 but just let me alter this one itsy bitsy detail and the rest will be totally accurate! Promise! One last request: REVIEW!