Two weeks after Christine became The Phantom, François came to visit her down in her lair one day.

Christine sat at the organ, scribbling on a piece of new music, when her eyes started drooping. Then, suddenly, they snapped open again.

This process repeated several times before he noticed it.

"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly. "Do you feel all right?"

Her eyes snapped open again, and she glanced over at him. She knew for a fact that her tiredness was a result of the morphine she took, but she chose not to tell him that and replied with a shrug, "Nothing. I suppose I'm just tired from all the times that I wander about at night."

"I'm not surprised," he muttered. "You're hardly ever here any more. What do you do when you are here?"

She shrugged again. "Write music, draw, sleep, eat, and... repeat the process."

And poison myself with morphine, she mentally added.

After they had looked at each other for another moment, she crouched back over her sheet music. He looked at her for a moment, then took notice of something that he hadn't before. There were multiple syringes, containers of clear liquid, and needles scattered about her organ.

He had no clue what those things were, so he looked at the items from his seat for a moment. Then he stood up and walked over to the organ, no longer able to hold in his curiosity.

She noticed that he was now standing by her and looked at what he was staring at - her morphine.

Drawing in her breath sharply, she looked up at him, feeling somewhat fearful as to what his reaction to an inevitable revelation would be. What would he say? What would he do? Would she lose her only friend over her insatiable addiction?

After a moment, though, she decided that she actually didn't care any more; she knew she was far too addicted to morphine now to give it up. It was a crutch for her. So, without saying anything to him, she turned back to her music.

François stared at the mystery items for a moment, and then he finally realized what these things must be - or, at least, what the clear liquid was.

Feeling angered and betrayed that he hadn't known about her addiction earlier, he grabbed a container of morphine roughly and then forced her to turn and face him by grabbing her shoulder and turning her around.

"What is this?" he demanded, waving the container in front of her face.

"Morphine," she said with indifference, freeing her shoulder from his grasp and turning back to her music. She shrugged. "Morphine, François. But, then again, you figured that out a moment ago, didn't you? You didn't need me to tell you that."

He glared at her. "Why are you taking morphine?" he growled. "You must know it's not good for you."

"I do," she sighed dully, not bothering to look at him. "What's your point?"

"Well, for one thing, Christine," he began, "it's dangerous, and it -"

"Will kill me?" she finished, sneering. "Yes, what a horrid loss to the world that would be!"

"Christine -"

"I don't want to hear it," she interrupted. "I know perfectly well that I could die from morphine. Why do you think I'm taking it? I don't want to be here any longer, anyway."

He stared at her, angry, for a moment, in silence before he finally said, "I don't want you taking this any more." He waved the morphine in front of her face once again. "Do you hear me, Christine?"

She drew in her breath sharply, suddenly feeling angry. How dare he! How dare he tell her what to do! Who did he think he was?

She stood up abruptly, whirling around to face him. "Don't order me around in my domain, François!" she shouted at him, her face starting to turn red. "You're not my -"

But then she stopped short, causing him to lean a little closer to her, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm not what?" he asked in a rather taunting tone that he didn't really mean to use. "Your father?"

She stared at him in silence for a moment, clearly stunned that he'd actually said it. She tried to come back with something smart, but all she could do was stare at him in shock, speechless.

Then, suddenly, she felt tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Get out," she managed to choke out. "Get out! Now! Damn you, François, don't make me kill you now! Get out!"

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the lair through another exit that led to the barns in stony silence.

She looked after him, surprised that he'd left. She certainly hadn't expected him to; he was quite stubborn at times. Then a million emotions ran through her at once and, since she wasn't able to take it any more, she sat down on the organ bench and covered her face with her hands, starting to sob.