Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm very sorry for the long silence. My fiancé is now safely moved from Louisiana to California and is settling back into life after the Hurricane. Please let me know if there is still any interest in this story. If there are still people who want to see how it ends I will continue it. Please do let me know! Thank you and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera

Of Love and Hatred

Don Juan Triumphant was brilliant. There was no other word for it. It was, however, ahead of its time. The cast was having difficulties grasping certain musical concepts present in the opera. Johannes Brahms—a relatively new face in the musical scene, with somewhat controversial aesthetic principles—was experimenting with similar syncopation, but without much success. Erik's use of it was stunning, but I did not feel it would be really appreciated for several decades at least.

There was also a strong use of discord rather than harmony throughout the work. I felt it was artistically done, and it emphasized the point of the piece (although I was not sure if Erik recognized it as the point) quite well: namely the triumph of lust.

I think I examined all the technical aspects of Don Juan so carefully because I could not bear to think of its emotional meaning. It was a glorious testament to overwhelming passion. I knew it was Christine that fueled the drive of the composer, and this wounded me.

I knew it was silly. I knew that I was nothing but a friend to Erik (sometimes not even that), and I knew that Christine was his paramour. Yet when I was on my own or deep in conversation with Erik I could fool myself. I could spend a blissful hour thinking that I meant something to him: pretending he could love me.

It was impossible to live in my self-constructed fools' paradise while I listened to a brilliant testament of undying devotion and passion to another woman.

It was small of me, but I was pleased when I realized that Christine did not understand the music much better than any of the others. She was more talented, and comparatively she sounded wonderful, but she still missed the point. She could not get past the stylized music any better than the others.

Erik had given general instructions as to the overall look and feel of the opera. This extended to the dancing. After I had played the music for the ballet a couple of times I was able to give my attention to the dance itself. It had a sensuous Spanish feel as suited the music. I wondered if the managers would be accepted in society after the scandal this opera would undoubtedly cause.

I was shocked with myself at the feelings this music could stir in me. As I played for the ballet, I was filled with a kind of longing that I could not explain. As I played Erik's music I felt as I did the night of the masquerade ball when he was so close to me, and yet so very much out of my reach. This was an opera of longing.

One evening, only a few days before the opera was to open, I lay in bed completely unable to sleep. My emotions were in uproar. I had been avoiding Erik for more than a week because I could no longer be sure of my composure in his presence. To this end I had avoided the piano room. The unfortunate consequence of this was that I had cut myself off from the only outlet for my emotions. I now felt as though I was choking on desire and envy.

It was not just my feelings for Erik that were keeping me from sleep, however. I had that day heard from La Scala. They loved my opera and would be pleased to introduce it to the operatic world. When I had read that first part of the letter I had literally jumped out of my chair with joy. It was wonderful, and exactly what I needed to take my mind off of Erik. The next paragraph put an end to my glee.

Apparently, in two weeks time, a representative of the Teatro La Scala would be in Paris on business. I was to meet this man to sign the contracts, and arrange a trip to Milan to participate in the casting.

My spirits were crushed with worry. No one had ever shown the slightest interest in performing my work once they saw I was a woman. Women composers, even those with better connections to the musical world and some success like Clara Schumann, had been denied the chance of operas because of their gender. I felt sure that I would not be able to meet the La Scala representative and still hope to have Lisa and Erast preformed there.

All of these thoughts: Erik, La Scala, and the general unfairness of existence, kept me awake long past my usual hour of retirement.

I turned once more in my bed, the very picture of restlessness. Finally with an exasperated noise that was somewhere between a groan and a quite scream, I threw off the covers, grabbed my robe and a lamp, and made my way down to the piano room. I would exhaust myself playing, and if Erik showed up I would send him away.

I was relieved to find the room in darkness. It was the dead of night. I reasoned that Erik would never expect me at such an hour. Or perhaps he simply had more important things on his mind. It annoyed me beyond reason that this thought made tears sting at the back of my eyes.

I sat down at the piano and began playing the overture to Lisa and Erast. It was a stormy piece. It had its moments of beautiful innocence, but the culmination of the story was betrayal, suicide, and the triumph of avarice and society over love. This darkness was a prominent influence throughout the whole of the work.

As I played, my thoughts shifted from the problem of what to do about the La Scala meeting to the problem of what to do about Erik. I supposed there was nothing to do about Erik. I loved him, I admitted that to myself now, and he did not love me. Because I loved and respected Erik, I would simply have to accept the fact that he was in love with someone else. He had been in love with this someone else long before he even met me, and we could not choose who we fell in love with. The human heart cannot be predicted.

I realized that I was trying to comfort myself. I felt stupid for these rationalizations, but I allowed them to continue; I needed some comfort if I was to carry on as normal. I allowed my thought to linger on Erik, on the dreams I occasionally had of him, and I felt myself start to flush up.

I suddenly realized that I was no longer playing my opera, but his. The Point of No Return; it was the most sensual piece of music I had ever heard, and now, playing in the semi-darkness (I had not bothered to take the shade off the lamp), with remembrances of dreamed heated encounters with Erik running rampant through my mind, I felt that I must surly be engaging in a glorious sin.

I wondered if I could possibly have felt more if it was Erik I caressed, rather than the keys of a piano, if it was Erik that coursed through my very being, rather than his music. In my untutored state, I thought that I could never feel more.

I finally stopped playing, filled with an ache that I could not sooth, with a longing I could never satisfy. I cursed under my breath when I realized that I was more energized now than I was when I was laying restless on my bed.

"How unladylike."

His voice was impossibly soft, but in my hyper-sensitive state his words cut through me and sent shivers down my back.

"But then," he continued, "I suppose, with unladylike talent we must allow for unladylike vocabulary."

His voice was teasing and so very soft. I felt my stomach drop.

"Erik," was all I could say, as any thought of sending him away fled my mind.

"Good evening, Lucette. You have not played here in so long I began to be afraid that you had done something histrionic, like swear off music."

He paused, obviously waiting for me to say something, but there was nothing I could say. His voice was coming from so very close behind me. Since the night of the masquerade ball, he would occasionally enter the room, but more often he would remain behind the wall as before. I wanted nothing more than to turn, and see him standing as close to me as his voice sounded; but I could not bear the disappointment of finding that he was not in the room after all.

"No, I know you would never do anything like that," he continued when I said nothing. "And you…you understand my music."

As he said this he reached from over my shoulder, and, with the lightest touch imaginable, brushed his fingers over my cheek and jaw, finally letting his hand come to rest at the base of my throat. My breath caught as he did this, and my lips parted slightly of their own accord.

He brought his lips to my ear and whispered through my hair, "but then we usually understand each other, don't we?"

His warm breath on my ear was more than I could take. I pulled away from him and stood in one swift movement. I needed distance or I would kiss him, and that would be unforgivable in his eyes and my own.

"Don Juan is worth understanding, and yes I like to think that we do understand each other. We both of us are frustrated musicians, we should start a support society; but with Don Juan being preformed you will be recognized, and if I could convince someone to pretend to be L. Sauvon for a meeting in a fortnight, my music will be too and then a society will be quite unnecessary!"

All this nonsense rushed out in a breathless manner, and the uncertain laugh which escaped my lips at the end of it all made me want to drown myself. I was babbling nervously, trying to distract myself. I had to regain my self control or risk either throwing myself at him or sounding like a complete idiot.

Fortunately, Erik seemed to see through my inane chatter, and latched on to the one piece of news contained in all the drivel.

"You have a meeting in a fortnight?"

"Yes."

"With La Scala? To perform your opera?"

"Yes and yes."

"Lucette, that's wonderful news!"

I looked at him. He sounded honestly happy. I glowed at the thought that my good fortune could break through Erik's customary morose manner. I came crashing back down to reality, however, as I thought of the unlikelihood of my actually having the opera preformed.

"Do not be too glad on my account. When they see me, they will not give another thought to my opera." I realized I sounded bitter and miserable. In the back of my mind, I told myself that it was better than the over-sexed, inexperienced, convent-school girl I was in danger of sounding like earlier.

"Lucette be reasonable. There cannot really be so much prejudice against women as you imply."

"Perhaps not, but Erik: be reasonable, there cannot really be so much prejudice against masked men as you imply."

There was silence between us. I do not think I had ever referenced the mask before, and I felt guilty for doing so now, especially as it honestly did not bother me. I could tell he was fighting back the rage and sorrow that always possessed him when his appearance was brought up in any way. I was sorry for hurting him. I did not adequately reflect before I spoke, but I was tired of him always thinking that others were weak, and their problems simple; while mighty Erik alone had true pathos in his life. His next words shocked me.

"I'm sorry Lucette, I did not mean to make light of something that was really troubling you."

I turned and looked at him. I was still shocked. I could not recall his ever apologizing of his own volition. My puzzlement must have shown in my face and in my silence. Erik continued.

"I do understand the prejudices of mankind. I just have a difficult time imagining that they would ever be turned against someone as lovely as you. In truth, I have generally resented beauty, even as I worship it, because it seems that it can have anything it wants."

This was the farthest I had ever been allowed into Erik's thoughts and feelings. I had never loved him more. I felt I must speak, even if I accidentally betrayed my feelings to him. He had let me see inside of him, I would treat him equal candor.

"I believe most people resent beauty, although I'm not sure how many admit it or even know it. Everyone had some mediocrity, some ugliness in themselves. When they see someone who is beautiful where they are ugly, they exaggerate any ugliness they can find in that person.

"As for prejudice, it's a defense mechanism. We predetermine what qualities we expect to find or not find in different people or things. Rather than learn something new and change out way of thinking, we punish the person who breaks the mold. It's really quite sad how few people avoid those two faults: resentment and prejudice. But, Erik, do not let other people's faults blind you to your own beauty, for I can assure you that you are beautiful!"

Erik looked at me for a long moment. I felt self conscious, but I had wanted him to know that I thought him beautiful in every way that mattered. I suppose he did not really want to hear what I thought. I had only supposed he did because he was so honest with me. His next words proved this supposition wrong.

"You're perfectly right, I think. Not about me (I will not argue it now, though, so please don't pursue it), but about resentment and prejudice. You, at least, avoid both vices admirably."

"I only wish I did," I said with a small laugh, respecting his wish not to discuss himself. "I don't think I'm overly prejudiced, I've been its victim too often to indulge in it; but I am horrifically resentful, I'm afraid."

"You never seem to be. I know what disappointments you must have suffered with your work, but you bear it better than most would, better than I do."

"You do not see what goes on in my mind!"

"True. Well, if you are resentful, you hide it well."

I have to around you, I thought to myself. I was most resentful of Christine because she had everything: a career she could realistically excel in, beauty, innocence, and, above all, Erik. I hated myself for resenting her, because Christine could not help what she had. Moreover, I liked the girl despite all this. I could not let Erik know the object of my resentment, so I let him think what he would.

"Erik," I said, changing the subject, "Don Juan is remarkable, but I have to confess: I'm worried about its reception in certain quarters."

"It is modern and sensual—everything the aristocratic bores who attend the opera are not, or at least will never admit to being. I know. But I do not care what they think of it. Only one matters."

My heart sunk at the thought of Christine's reaction. I could not resist saying: "I think she is having some difficulty understanding it as well."

"Of course she is with that fat idiot Piangi singing opposite her, but I will take care of that."

I was filled with worry at this comment.

"Erik, be careful," was all I said. I knew I would never talk him out of his plans, whatever they were. I had, as soon as it became clear her heart belonged to another, counseled him to let Christine go, because he loved her. I felt that I was disinterested in this advice, even though I had feelings for Erik. In fact, I had tried to help him win her affections in the beginning. I felt that all my well meant advice had fallen on deaf ears. He did not want or heed my advice so I had largely stopped giving it. But I felt that, as a friend, I could at least ask him to be cautious.

Erik ignored my caution, but continued to look at me. He took a step towards me. It looked as though he was going to say something, but he changed his mind.

I looked at him questioningly. He wet his lips as if to say something important, and I found my attention transfixed on his mouth. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he took a step towards me and again touched my cheek. Our eyes caught and I could not look away; I had no desire to. I was surprised when he gruffly dropped his hand, commented on the time, bid me goodnight, and left through the trap door without even telling me to turn away.

I turned back to the piano, but my desire to play had left me. Now that I was again alone, I realized that I was cold and disappointed and just wanted to go back to bed.

Erik's POV

As I effortlessly pulled myself through the trapdoor and made my way back to my home, I berated myself for being an idiot. I had always hated myself. Self-loathing was a way of life for me, but I had never thought of myself as an idiot until recently. Indeed, my intellect was one of the only things about myself that I was unconditionally proud of. I hated lesser minds; that was one of the main reasons I was completely remorseless towards the present opera management: they were imbeciles.

Yet now I saw myself turning into one of those weak, inane people that I took such pains to spurn. Of late, I had caught myself second guessing my decisions, putting off plans that should be done immediately, and I had on several occasions told Lucette things that I would never in my right mind have told anyone. I practically gave away my plan for Don Juan tonight, and Lucette was sharp enough to pick up on it.

I tried to blame Lucette for all of this. Indeed, it was her fault! She was cunning and drew me out. She took up far too much of my time, and yet I could not drop the acquaintance. It was her fault.

Even as I thought all this my mind rebelled. She was one of the least cunning women I had encountered. She was truthful, and not at all sneaky or underhanded; and if I did find that I was unable to stay away from her, it was because I was an idiot: not because she was.

Now you're justifying her! I shouted at myself.

I arrived back at my home, and carelessly threw my cloak over the high back sofa. I reached to take off my jacket as well, when I realized I did not have one on, nor gloves. In my hurry to get to Lucette I had neglected both, merely throwing on a cloak to protect myself from the cold of the caverns. I was uncommonly warm now, so I suppose there was little point in even the cloak.

You see, I said to myself, a bona fide idiot. No, it was only because I heard the strains of my opera being played with the passion it deserved, and had only ever received from me, that I ran so swiftly. I had to hear it in its full, unhindered glory. I would not even allow the hollow wall to separate me from her…I mean from the music.

That was something I hated about Lucette: She was indistinguishable from the music she created. When she played, she was music and the music was her; I could not want to be near one without wanting to be near the other as well. It was infuriating.

I also hated the fact that I could not help sharing in her joy. When something happened that would be good for her, I found myself stupidly happy; happiness was an emotion for weaker men.

Yet I desired happiness. I remembered what Lucette said about ridiculing beauty we don't have. I was not happy—therefore I hated those who were. I scorned happiness as surly as I desired it; but I only desired it from Christine. From any other source it would be distasteful and weak, from Christine it would be bliss. I felt sure of that, so why could I not remember all this with Lucette?

Another thing I hated about Lucette was the fact that she had poisoned my relationship with Christine. Not intentionally, I knew. It had been somewhat endearing at first to see her try to forward my cause with Christine (oh yes, I had overheard several conversations between the two, where Lucette discreetly pleaded my cause), but the result was that she had put a part of herself into my relationship. Things would happen between me and Christine, and I would remember Lucette's advice on how to proceed, although I would never follow it. The result of all this was that Lucette would intrude on my thoughts when I was with Christine.

As I reflected on all this, it dawned on me that I hated a lot about Lucette. In fact, I hated her. That was the only explanation for this passion she aroused in me: I hated her. There could be no other reason.

I hated her because she had seen my face. I know that I had willingly shown it to her, but I still believe I was not in my right mind at the time. I had to prove to her that my sad fate was not my fault, but the fault of my hideous face. I wanted to see the horror and disgust that would come into her eyes, but I had seen only a momentary shock, followed by a brief pity, and then acceptance. She had not thought my face an excuse and I hated her for it! I hated her for never mentioning my face, for never withdrawing from me in disgust. She had to hate me, and I hated her because she did not.

I also hated Lucette because she was beautiful. I hated beautiful people as a rule, except Christine. I worshiped Christine's beauty, but Lucette was glaringly pretty at times. I had a hard time believing that she was as artistically thwarted as I. I had come to see, however, that she was, but at least she was acceptable to society, more than acceptable. I had seen her flirting with that idiotic young man at the ball. I wondered at her tolerance for the fool because she was not an idiot. As much as I wished I could think of her as a fool she was not; that made me hate her more. I felt outraged seeing her in the arms of that man, looking so very beautiful, but nothing could top my outrage at seeing that damn ring hung around Christine's neck. After that I had only seen red until I calmed myself to celebrate with Lucette. There! That damn woman intruding on my thoughts again!

At first, I had felt that I was betraying Christine when I thought of Lucette as beautiful. Then, when that godforsaken Vicomte became a problem I could not ignore, I was glad I had a friend that I could look at with pleasure. If Christine could indulge her visual senses with that idiotic young fop, I could indulge my visual senses with a woman far superior to either of them.

At this last thought I slammed my fist hard into the stone wall. No one was superior to my Christine. It was the worst sort of blaspheme to think so. I looked at the blood starting to form at my knuckles. Good! I deserved it for such unfaithful thoughts towards the one woman in the world that I loved, and I did love her. I loved Christine with an intensity only matched by the intensity with witch I hated Lucette.

Then why did you suddenly want to kiss Lucette not twenty minutes ago? For that is what I wanted to do, that was why I ran. I had wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her until neither of us cared about anything else in the world.

That was my problem: I could never remember that I hated Lucette when I was in her presence. I could not end the acquaintance, I hated my weakness, but I could not stay away. After Don Juan, however, I would have Christine with me always, and Lucette could be regulated back to her proper place. Maybe when Christine and I were married, when I had my living bride, we would invite Lucette for dinner, she was after all Christine's friend too, and that would be enough for me. Until that time, I had to remember that I hated my musical friend.