A/N: You ask, I deliver. :) Another speedy update... perhaps in return you would be so kind as to leave me a little itsy bitsy review? By the way, thank you again so much to those of you who commented...

Disclaimer: Wait... No, there is no disclaimer. I AM Gaston Leroux. (Only not...)

I paced the narrow, cramped hallway behind her dressing room mirror, my hands clasped tightly at the small of my back. Tiny streams of sweat trickled down my face and back; the mask seemed unusually stifling that night, capturing and retaining the moisture of my mangled flesh. My breath came at rapid intervals, and for the life of me I could not slow it.

Any moment now, she would burst through that door, followed by the ecstatic cries of the elite. The party would begin outside, but my brilliant student knew the rules...

What seemed an eternity later, the door handle jiggled, and my elegant, radiant Christine entered just as I had expected. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of all the flowers, but fixated on the single red rose that lay on her vanity, bound with my signature black ribbon. Madame Giry watched from the door with one eyebrow arched in an unreadable expression.

"You did very well, my dear. He is pleased with you," she announced as Christine fingered the rose. My breath caught in my throat, and I pressed myself against the mirror, longing to go to her without further delay. Giry closed the door behind her- yet again, I could have sworn she looked directly at me with a condescending glare, as if she knew what I was planning. I cared not, for nothing and no one mattered but Christine...

I cleared my throat quietly, preparing to open my mouth to sing when that damned vicomte opened the door. Christine didn't notice at first; her eyes were glued to my rose. I was not blind nor stupid; I knew why he had come. My chest swelled in defiance- let him try and woo her! Her soul belonged to me...

"Little Lotte let her mind wander," the boy's sickeningly charming voice rang out, startling Christine from her reverie. "Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?'"

I growled in the back of my throat- an inhuman sound, so possessive and bitterly jealous that I surprised even myself. With a flick of my cloak, I turned sharply on my heel and raced down the corridor, through six trap doors, down another winding passage, and two flights of stairs. I ended breathlessly at the outside of Christine's dressing room, where Madame Giry stood pressed against the wall, twirling a key around her index finger. She raised her eyebrows at me and clucked disapprovingly at my breathless state, then rolled her tart blue eyes and tossed the keys to me.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Erik," she whispered, glancing worriedly at the door. "That child trusts you with her life."

"And I intend to take good care of it," I assured her with a look so earnest that she dropped her guard and offered me one of her rare smiles. Her eyes snapped suddenly to the door as the handle turned, but I had already leapt into shadow. She pressed herself against the wall so that the door opened in front of her, shielding her from the rowdy vicomte's view. As the boy trounced off, calling for his groom, I shut the door with an echoing click, and locked it securely before tossing the keys back to Giry with a grateful wink. She sighed, throwing her hands up in a gesture that stated clearly that she wanted nothing further to do with it, and followed briskly after the vicomte.

Spying a shortcut that I had forgotten about before, I knocked quickly on a hollow brick to the left of Christine's door, chastising myself for having forgotten it in my haste, and slipped through the wall as it rotated on a hinge. Still seething from my pupil's misdemeanor, I belted out angrily:

Insolent boy, this slave of fashion

Basking in your glory!

Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor

Sharing in MY triumph!

I reached the mirror once more and peered in at Christine. She stood paralyzed with fear, unaccustomed to my harsh tone. Her chin trembled slightly as she looked around the room with wide eyes.

Angel, I hear you;

Speak, I listen!

Stay by my side,

Guide me!

Angel, my soul was weak,

Forgive me-

Enter at last, Master!

Her sweet, innocent song melted the wall of ice around my heart instantaneously, and I suddenly loathed myself for frightening her. It was not her fault that the boy couldn't tear his eyes from her... and she could not help past acquaintances.

No, the sins did not belong to my faultless, perfect Christine, but to that arrogant, hotheaded Raoul de Chagny. I would deal with him soon enough.

Barely breathing, I smiled.

Flattering child, you shall know me

See why in shadow I hide

Look at your face in the mirror

I am there inside!

With a deft flick of the wrist, I flipped the lever to a contraption which I had invented earlier in the year. The lights in the otherwise dark hallway blared to life, and a sliding panel behind the mirror slid open, allowing her to lay eyes on me for the first time.

I stared at her, and she at me. Her full pink lips fell open in wonder, curling at the tips in the shadow of a smile. My heart hammered mercilessly in my chest as she drew nearer and nearer. My gloved hand stretched outward of its own accord, for I no longer had any control over my bodily functions. Her eyes remained glued to mine- brown to blue- as I sang to her, beckoned to her...

I am your Angel of Music,

Come to me, Angel of Music...

And she did. Finally, she was close... so close... and she reached up that slender, pale hand, and laid it gently in mine. Her hand was warm, and sent a wave of electricity shooting up my arm. A smile of tender disbelief parted her lips, and spread to mine. I realized then that I had been as surreal to her as she to me... and now we were united, we who had melded our music, been each others' sole companions and inspirations, were now tangible beings as well.

I nearly drowned in her eyes as we began our descent into the realm of the music of the night.