A/N: I am so touched by all the reviews I got for this story so far. I really appreciate them. I want to thank everyone for taking the time to read and review.

Now on to the story, I am excited of the turn out. I am sorry for the delay in the chapters, exams are coming up for me so I am studying for those.

Disclaimer: Don't own it now, or ever, sadly.

Chapter XI-The Journey Back

The Parisian Opera House stood majestically in the center of the marvelous French capital. It had been the central life of socialization and a major source of entertainment. Designed by the great Charles Garnier himself.

Christine stared up at it with awe, for she had never really noticed its true beauty before. It was now almost sundown and the theatre was insight. If it hadn't been for all the excitement of the moment, she felt secure and comfortable enough to fall asleep in the rider's arms. His rhythmical breathing had calmed her.

She knew who it was, the moment she was lifted on to the horse. She didn't even need to turn around; Christine smelt the rich fragrance of the Persian spices. Her mind became at ease knowing that he was there. She wondered, during the endless silence, how he had come to her rescue, but she knew that he always watched over her like a guardian angel.

No words were exchanged on the way back to the Opera House. Once at the stables, he gracefully leapt off and offered her a gloved hand. Even through the glove material she could feel the icy coolness of it. He led her, hurriedly to her dressing room and through the mirror. They approached the lake with no hesitation and no glance backwards. She got in as she had done countless times before, Erik quickly followed. Christine took up the pole and set it in the water, there was a questioning look in his eyes to her actions, but it soon disappeared when she handed it to him.

He started to pole their way across the lake. Erik stole glimpses of Christine who looked at the water intensely. The girl, his angel was more beautiful than when he first brought her across the lake, many months ago. She seemed surer of herself now, but still had that innocence about her. He could not deny that her presence made him a little unsure of himself. He tried to keep his usual grace and concentrated very hard not give it away by faltering his poling.

Christine, who had been down below enough times for her eyes to accommodate to such darkness, observed Erik as well. His broad frame stood grandly, and his expression betrayed nothing out of the ordinary fixed look. She examined his eyes, and found them only to reveal that he was deep in thought. She didn't dare to interrupt his thoughts by making conversation, so she observed him further.

This journey across the lake has been made hundreds of time, if not thousands. There was just something peaceful about being in the gondola on the lake and gave the pair solitude from the rest of the world.

Soon, they approached the glimmers of light that had reflected on the surface of the lake, from Erik's domain. This utterly puzzled him because he was sure that he had extinguished all fires when he left a couple weeks ago. Christine looked at his astonishment with amusement.

A sudden splash distracted their unspoken conversation. They both whirled their heads around to find the source of it. Someone was swimming towards them. A flash of gold caught their attention of the splashes. Raoul! Christine suddenly drained of warmth and had gone dreadfully pale. Erik with one swift movement handed her his own cloak. She pulled it tightly around her, savoring its scent. She was very faint with fear.

"Christine!" He yelled above the waves with all his might. His tone gave away anger and rage, but also desperation.

Erik started poling once more with accelerating speed as Raoul began to catch up to the boat.

A/N: Sorry just have to end this chapter here. I felt that this would be more appropriate. Anyways now I am going on to write the next chapter. Please read and review this… Like it? Don't like it? Let me know.

Oh I know also this may be a bit shorter than what I usually write.