From that day forward, François watched Christine all the more closely, making sure that she stayed out of trouble. But for quite some time following his confession that he considered her to be family, he didn't really have anything to worry about, as she was working on Genius's Mistake in her lair. She never left after coming to his apartment that one night.

He one day, about a month later, walked into the lair to see her dancing. It was very odd to see Christine making any sort of hurried movement other than walking quickly or running, and this dance was incredibly strange; he'd never seen anything like it. So he stood, silent watching her, rather bemused.

She made a pirouette and caught sight of him, letting out a little yell and falling down rather ungracefully.

Seeing Christine make any kind of movement that was out of character, such as a movement that was hurried or ungraceful, like falling, struck him as incredibly funny. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back.

"Oh, François!"she exclaimed rather irritably, placing a hand on the piano bench to support herself as she stood up. She gave him a look that told him that she didn't find it nearly as funny as he did that she had fallen, but he couldn't help but continue laughing.

"Why on Earth didn't you tell me that you were here?" she then demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know that you're not just dancing because you feel inclined to do so," he said, laughing and wiping away a tear. "What on Earth are you dancing for?"

She let out a huffy sigh, blowing a wisp of her hair out of her face. "It's a dance for Genius's Mistake. In one of the songs the lead male sings, there's a dance that's really quite complex - and he has to do it with others. I'm trying to make sure that I can do it, because if I can't, there's a chance that I can't put it in the show, because Cameron might not be able to do it."

"Still trying to win him back from Emilie Chastain, are you?" he inquired, letting out a soft sigh as he was reminded about how tired he was of his friend hopelessly trying to pursue someone who obviously didn't return her love for him. "Oh, wait - you never had him in the first place."

"Ha," she replied sarcastically. "Have they married?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. They're supposed to marry about two weeks after the New Year."

"Good," she sighed, sitting herself down on the piano bench and running her fingers through her hair. "That means that I'll have some small amount of time to try and dissuade him from being with her."

"Have you finished Genius's Mistake yet?"

"Yes. Now I'm trying to work out the visual effects and choreography, like you just saw." As she then paused for a moment, a thought occured to her, and she suddenly looked up at him. "Oh, I have to prepare my costume! I need to finish it quickly... I haven't even started! Damn!"

Without another word, she rose from her seat once again and made her way into a room that she'd never allowed anyone else in - the room that had been Erik's bedroom when he'd been alive.

She was gone for a few minutes, and when she returned, she was carrying a huge amount of red material that had gold embroidery in some places with what appeared to be quite a bit of difficulty.

His eyes widened. "What is that?"

"My father's old Red Death costume," she replied, placing the costume down on top of the piano and separating the pieces out. Then she stared at them critically for a moment.

"I'm going to have to change it into a dress... or maybe a top and a skirt of sorts," she mumbled thoughtfully to herself. "I can't go out there wearing trousers... yes, I'll make it into a dress."

"How are you going to make all of that into a dress, dear?"

She scratched her head in a thoughtful manner. "I'm not quite sure. Maybe if I do this..."

Her voice trailed off then, and she walked over to the organ and dug through a small box that contained wax figurines that Erik had had of people at the Opera when they were performing on the stage. Then she found the one she wanted - the figurine of her mother when she'd performed Think of Me all those years ago - and took it out of the box.

"The end result should look something like this, but red and much more extravagant-looking, probably," she said thoughtfully. She turned to him and held up the figuring. "What do you think, François? Could I do it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You could probably do anything you want if you set your mind to it. It might be a good challenge - and I'd like to see you make clothes of your own."

"I make my own clothes all the time... or, really, I have several outfits that I've had for years and I alter them whenever they're not the right size any longer. So this shouldn't be too difficult."

After saying this, she sat down, grabbed a spool of red thread, scissors, and a needle, and then started picking up pieces of Erik's Red Death costume and cutting and ripping them apart.

When she became completely absorbed in her work after a moment, not saying another word, François sat down and watched her work silently.

By the time two weeks had passed, Christine was done with the costume and was ready to go to the masquerade.

"I'm done," she said triumphantly to François as she sat in the lair with him one day when these too weeks had passed. "It's complete, and... oh, it looks marvelous, if it doesn't sound conceited to call your own work marvelous."'

She paused for a moment, and then she asked rather shyly, "Would you - would you like to see it?"

He glanced up from the book he'd been reading and raised his eyebrows at her. "On you, you mean?"

She nodded. "And with the eye make-up and mask, along with my hair pinned up."

"Certainly," he replied, smiling

"All right. I'll be back in a few moments," she replied, rising and then disappearing into her bedroom without another word to him.

As he waited for her, he continued reading his book. He wasn't a very fast reader, but she was gone long enough he got through about five chapters before he heard the door to her bedroom open. He was so absorbed in the story, however, that he didn't even look up until she spoke.

"François..."

He looked up from his book and looked at Christine, fully dressed in her Red Death Costume. His jaw actually dropped open in amazement at how she looked.

"My God, Christine... you look... stunning," he breathed.

"Thank you," she replied, bowing her head in a rare gesture of modesty and then turning around so he could get a full view of her. "How does it look? Are there any other alterations that should be made, do you think?"

"No, you don't need any more alterations... it looks wonderful." He pointed to the small black silk gloves that were on her hands. "Those weren't your father's, were they?"

"No, they're mine. My father wore leather, and his hands were, obviously, much bigger than mine. But do you think I look nice?"

"Indeed you do. That outfit itself might win Monsieur Luc over yet. Now you'd better go take it off so that you don't ruin it somehow, though."

She nodded silently in agreement. Then she walked out into her room to change back into her clothes.

When she was redressed, she hung up her costume and looked at it, admiring her own handiwork. Then she looked down at her sword and fingered it. She would be the spitting image of her father; she thoroughly enjoyed the thought of that. He would be proud of her if he were here, she knew.

As she closed her closet door, she remembered - tomorrow would be the anniversary of her father's death! She couldn't believe that she'd forgotten.

Well, no matter that I forgot, she thought to herself, lifting her chin up in a decisive and somewhat haughty gesture. At least I remembered now, and I'll go to visit him at the cemetery tomorrow.