A/N: -blinks- Alright, I have no idea what this chapter is about. My muse (Who now has a name! If you wish to curse her, her name is Kessie) attacked me this morning, shoved me down in my computer chair, and had my fingers flying so fast I'm not even sure what I wrote. So if you all can figure it out, please let me know! LOL. A lot of recap, an internal study of just what IS going on within the Opera Ghost's head at this point in time. –shrugs helplessly- Well, that explains a lot, huh? Just read and go ahead and tell me it's horrible! LOL. It'll get better soon, I promise. Don Juan is coming up! Woo hoo! YAY for Sexy!Erik.

Disclaimer: This chapter is actually highly influenced by Susan Kay's "Phantom," which, by the way, is absolutely phantastic. –whispers- There's an online version which y'all can download if you don't have $85 to spend on it. E-mail or IM me for the link, and thanks to Jenna SO much for sharing the wealth!

A cold, instinctive indifference washed over me as I watched the last of the lake's ripples smooth over into glassy perfection. Christine's shuddering sobs echoed on the cold stones of the underground labyrinth, but for once her cries of distress did not produce a stab of insuppressible protectiveness within me.

She was safe at last from the wretched, abominable beast that dwelled in the sewers of the Opera house.

I sneered down into the sunken blue eyes of the unmasked monster as the grate settled into the murky shallows with one final rusted screech. "Caged once again, Erik?" I asked the loathsome creature menacingly before dashing my abhorrent reflection into turbulent waves. Unbridled fury suddenly seized my trembling form… fury at the injustice of it all, at the loss of the first woman I'd ever loved, since...

My heart pounded as a flood of images closed in from every corner of my mind at the unfinished thought. It had been years, decades since I'd found a reason to plunge over that deadly precipice into the blurred depths of my memory… to a house draped in ivory, and a woman with hatred and repulsion etched into her otherwise striking features.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head as if the action could prevent the onslaught of memories long buried and forgotten that now surfaced with a staggering clarity and wrenching pain. I curled into a tight ball on the stone floor, my forehead buried in my knees, pleading for it to stop, to have mercy, to just go away and leave me alone...

But then, when had anyone or anything ever bothered to show me mercy?

I did not budge at my mother's request to change for my first birthday supper. "Mama?" I said quietly.

"What is it now?" she sighed, grabbing the folded silk napkins from the cupboard near the dining room entrance.

"Will you give me a present too?"

She placed the napkins out on the table without looking up at me.

"Of course," she said, one eyebrow arched in annoyance. "Is there something particular that you want?"

Slowly I inched closer to her, my lips pressed in a thin white line. Indeed, there was something that I craved more than anything in the world… more than any of the lavish, expensive gifts which my deceased father's fortune could supply me. Even more than music. But I did not know how to ask it of her… I hardly knew anything about birthdays at all, but from her explanation I gathered it was something very important in the world outside our home, the cruel world from which Mama came. Perhaps then, just this once, she would grant me my deepest desire.

"May I have anything I want?" I asked haltingly as she laid polished silver forks atop the freshly pressed napkins.

"Within reason."

I bit my lip harder, fearful of her reaction. "May I have two of them?"

"Why should you need two?" she questioned suspiciously, narrowing her beautiful gray eyes.

"So that I can save one for when the other is used up," I explained matter-of-factly.

Mama seemed to relax a bit, the guarded look fleeing from her eyes. She rose to her full height, crossing her arms over her chest and studying my masked face carefully. "What is it you want?" she asked directly.

I met her gaze desperately, willing her to understand without the clumsy distortion of words.

"Erik, I've had quite enough of this silly game now. If you don't tell me what you want straightaway, you will have nothing at all."

Blood trickled from the inside of my lower lip. I jumped at the sudden severity of her tone, twisting the corner of a napkin between my thumb and forefinger.

"I want— I want two ..." I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth, but my vocal chords were frozen in terror.

"For God's sake!" she snapped, slamming her palm down on the table top. "Two what?" I looked back up at her, my eyes filled with tears of anticipation.

"Kisses," I breathed, my voice wavering uncontrollably. "One now and one to save."

Immediately, I regretted asking it of her. Mama's eyes widened in horror as she staggered backwards, her knuckles white on the tabletop. Then, without warning, she collapsed to the floor, sobs wracking her thin form. I felt an anguished cry swell in my own chest, but I was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but stare down at her, horrified...

I clenched my fist and pressed it to my forehead as the image of my mother's horrified face dissolved into the depths of my mind. I was sobbing, I realized… my soul howled at the loss of my mother and my childhood, and I hated myself for it. My mother had never done anything to earn my love or respect. Her hand had been like steel; she had threatened to kill me more times than I could count. She had never caressed me, never cared for my emotions or how many times she broke my young heart. She never loved me. My own mother never loved me… and if she could not find it within her to care for her own flesh and blood, why in God's name would anyone else bother? It was then, on the evening of my fifth birthday, that I finally realized that I was not, and never would be, lovable.

It wasn't until the fateful night nearly twenty five years later that Christine— my beautiful little Christine— had sung a trembling prayer, and stirred within me an emotion I had thought long dead. Her father, her sole companion, provider, protector, and friend, had been wrenched from her by that same cruel fate which seemed to take delight in my torment. She was utterly alone in a cold, merciless world which (like myself) she slowly withdrew herself from, going about her daily routines with a glazed detachment. At night, however, she was an entirely different creature…passionate, desperate, and positively entrancing. Her voice, untrained and immature as it was, belonged to the angels themselves; an odd thought indeed, as I had abandoned all faith in God or heaven before I had reached the age of ten. This one girl, this one small child, defied in one moment everything I had taught myself in my entire lifetime. I had convinced myself that I was better off in solitude, unseen and unheard, lost in the trance which I watched her walk through every day. Humans were evil, all of them, and eventually, no matter what, they would betray me. I had wrapped myself in the protective cocoon of music, secluded from the rest of the world, until that one night which changed everything.

She possessed my every thought from that day on. All other affairs within the Opera House slipped completely from my mind; I cared nothing for the performances except those small snippets in which Christine appeared onstage. But I was greedily obsessed; why should I share the little-known secret of my pupil's astounding talent with the Parisian society which shunned me? No… I taught her instead, instructed her into the late hours of the night, tending to her voice like a gardener huddled over a precious rosebud. During the day, I commanded that she sing quietly, so as not to draw attention to herself. She was a patient and obedient little student, creeping down to the dark chapel every night to receive her lessons after even the longest and most strenuous days of rehearsal. Her eyes lit up whenever my voice rang out from the stone around her; slowly, I came to understand that she enjoyed our lessons, found healing and comfort in music, as much as I did.

But as time went on, a most disturbing and fascinating thought hit me with a harsh tug to the core of my gut.

I loved her.

First, as a teacher loves a student—an innocent love, fragile and tentative. I longed to mold her spirit as well as her song. I took great pride in her accomplishments, and worked resolutely to help her reach her highest potential.

Then, as a father loves a daughter. I was fiercely protective of her, and gradually began to lure her away from the rest of the world, where I could be sure to shelter and guide her without interruption. Of course, I allowed her to continue her friendship with little Meg Giry, merely out of gratitude to her mother for her kindness. Our lessons became longer and more intense; more than once, Christine burst into tears during these stressful sessions (I had been most perturbed, until Madame Giry reminded me patiently that she was, in fact, growing quickly into a young lady, and her emotions would run rampant for awhile). I always soothed her during these outbursts with a lullaby, allowing her to gather her strength before proceeding. She would smile after awhile and apologize, and sing sweetly to me as a gift for my patience. Patience… another virtue which she taught me through our time together; I understood for the first time that not all people learn with the speed and vivacity as myself, and began to modify my instruction to her pace, not my own. Selflessness, humility, passion… her gifts to my soul were endless and equally precious.

But, as all young girls must, I watched in awed reverence as my pretty little Christine blossomed into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman. To my endless annoyance, I was not the only one to notice. Swarms of suitors attempted to court her after watching her sparkle on the stage (damned Lefevre always chose rather revealing costumes for the chorus girls, most of which he slept with… but when he attempted to lure Christine into his office after Carmen, I promptly set his desk on fire, and that was the end of that!). I made sure that she kindly declined each invitation to dine with the dashing young men of wealth and esteem, but as one suitor after the next approached her, a panicked terror gripped my heart. How long would it be before the threat of her Angel's disappointment was not enough to restrain her? How long before she fell head over heels for a charming young duke, abandoning her lessons entirely? How long before she, like everyone else in my life, broke my heart and left me once again in the prison of solitude which I had come to fear and loathe more than anything?

The appearance of the Vicomte de Chagny had been the last straw. I drew her to me with the spell of shared music, soothed her with a lullaby, placed her gently in the bed which I wished to share with her for the rest of my life. My unmasking had shocked and enraged me before I fell prey to despair. Surely she could not bear to be with a hideous monster… loving me was out of the question. Unheard of. I was repulsive, incapable of being loved, especially by this perfect angel.

But still I longed for her. Despite the doubt and self-loathing which had been drilled into me since my birth, some faint drumming within me, untouched by my mother's malice or the gypsy's whip, dared to hope…

When Christine stood on the rooftop and offered to spend the rest of her life with that damned vicomte, confirming my deepest dread and betraying me as everyone else had, I thought the spark hadbeen smothered at last. My spirit was broken. I wanted to die. She was my everything, my one purpose for existence. But, like a whipped dog, I followed her, boldly daring to think that for once, fate would show mercy. MERCY!— to a creature such as I! She drowned out all reason, every lesson I'd learned the hard way, for I could not bring myself to believe that she was like the rest of them. No, not my Christine. Not my angel.

Damn her. I had been just fine; I had sealed the wounds of my past and buried them. But then she had come along, and warped my very existence. To think, I once wanted to mold her to my specifications; how ironic that we had switched roles unknowingly.

I wanted her, and I loathed her. I was her slave and master, her Angel of Music and the Devil's Child. And she: my muse and my tormenter, my inspiration, my joy, my refuge, and my pain. The air still smelled of her faint perfume; I could taste her on my tongue and hear her gasps of pleasure at my gentle caress, feel her mouth against my bruised, heaving chest...

I did not know what to think anymore. Instinct and emotion clashed in a dizzying, churning, chaotic uproar within me. Groping blindly in the darkening lair, I crawled to my one source of comfort, my one unwavering source of solace and refuge since infancy.

My fingers pounded over the ivory keys; I closed my eyes, letting my turbulent array of emotion sweep in an arc from my muddled conscious into the very air around me. I breathed and drank in the music, pouring my soul into the organ and basking in the instrument's ability to so accurately portray it.

I do not know for how long I played. Hours, days, a week… time was of no importance. Music was my fuel; I needed no food nor sleep to sustain me. Such things were for mortals, for weaklings, for creatures of the vile earth. But while my fingers danced over the keys, I was, unmistakably, the Angel of Music, trapped in Hell by a mangled face and bound to burn by the child who reminded me that somewhere within the cage of my human flesh, a heart continued to beat with a resilience incapable of being broken by the crack of a whip or even the refusal of a mother's kiss.

My heart beat solely for that child. And if I lived to see a thousand years on this wretched earth, no amount of music could drown that truth out.

A/N: LOL. Confused? Join the club. –sighs- Ah well, I tried. –throws hands up in the air- No, no, wait, let me guess! "It's awesome!" –shakes head- You guys are incredible.

And I got SO MANY REVIEWS on my last chappie! –does dance- Woo hoo! Glad you liked the E/C sensuality… probably going to wind up writing an E/C phic sometime after I finish this. –happy sigh- Sorry for the slow updates, guys; I'm trying to hold off so I can include "No One Would Listen." Bear with me, and remember how much I love you!

Hriviel: -tackle hug- You were indirectly the inspiration for this chappie, and if it weren't so horrible, I'd dedicate it to you. Sorry cut off your review, and thanks so much for e-mailing the rest to me. What did I ever do to deserve such awesome phriends? I laughed so hard at your review, and blushed a great deal too. Gah, I'm SO glad it turned out okay. No more hot E/C kisses until "Down Once More," unfortunately, but we'll get there, we'll get there!

Venus725: LOL, omg, you guys are too nice! –blushes deeply- Thanks so much… you know how much I adore you. You make me laugh! –takes a bow- Like I said, Sexy!Erik is fun to write, and I plan on doing more in the future. The encouragement was priceless, and my swollen ego thanks you.

Witchy-grrl: -does new reviewer dance- I love seeing Erik's sensual side come out to play, too! Thank you; the best compliment anyone could give me is that I'm still writing Erik in character. He's so COMPLICATED. LOL. Sorry for the confusion at the end… I meant for her to be mad that he didn't continue; I mean, COME ON, if he's gonna seduce her, he better have the decency to go through with it! –snorts- lol

Opal Gimstone: Double-edged sword, indeed! That was the point exactly; I'm glad you got it! "Flamey"— LOL! –adds to vocabulary- Yes, I know, it would have been awesome if Raoul stumbled in, but really, it wouldn't have been realistic. If he knew his way down, he wouldn't have to ask Madame Giry at the end, now, would he? –giggles- "Eep"… er, no, can't see Erik saying "eep," but he might pull a Punjab then and there with a sexy little growl!

Strange Girl: LOL… Gah, you flatter me! –blushes again- Honestly, my cheeks are gonna be permanently pink! –sighs- YES, I know, we all wanted them to continue (well, except a few of us), but it just didn't feel right. It's horrible of me, I know, but writing Angsty!Erik is just so fun. Lots and lots and lots of angst coming up!

Inkie pinkie: I know… -sighs- Next time! I'll write a purely phluffy E/C phic one of these days and let you guys bask in all the sap. Mmk?

Joanieponytail: AUUUGH! I tried to e-mail you, and it didn't woooork! –whines- BELIEVE me, I can come up with plenty more to say about R/C sexual content, and that "Ew" was many, many letters longer, but the stupid site cuts it down to two letters. –sighs- I love you. Haha. No, I do! You're so sweet… and you truly understand what point I'm trying to get at in every chapter. I'm glad you liked it, and I agree that it was good that Erik stopped himself. –nods- Your devotion means everything to me… thank YOU so much!

Shadow Fox Forever: Oh good! I was trying to avoid smut. I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy Christine, but that's not why I wrote this chapter. Glad it didn't appear that way!

LePetiteChristine: -sighs- Chill, child! LOL. I didn't write it to torment you; I wrote it to drive the plot forward and make all the E/C phans happy (seemed to have worked). But hey, if I can torment you in the process, woo hoo! –grins evilly- Yes, you're still ma petite Christine, because you FINALLY sang for me. –does dance-

The Singing Fox Demon: -does new reviewer dance AGAIN- YAYYYY! Ahh, I'm so spoiled! Thank you! –gives you a cookie- Yes, Christine stupid and unreasonable. I loathe her. Haha! Success!

Lady G: Well I'm EXTREMELY glad that you found Erik to be tolerable in this chapter. –smirks- See, he's not all bad! Er, no, Christine didn't try to say no AT ALL, my dear… lol. Not even a little. She wanted him, period (come on, who wouldn't?). That was all him being good and resisting. Happy birthday again… I know it's a little late, but I hope it was a great day!

Sakume: Ah, well, to each his own. I appreciate the honesty! I didn't expect everyone to like the sensuality. –shrugs- But don't worry, you still get a –cookie!- for reviewing. I personally LOVED the tongue prodding part… LOL. –bites lip- Anywho.

The next update should come quicker… again, sorry for the delay. DJT is coming up, along with some Carlotta torture, chaos within the Opera Populaire, the return of Madame Giry, and much more, so stay tuned!