I devoted myself to my work; that was all I could think to do to keep my mind off Christine. I moved back to the Opera now that it was spring, to be closer to the epicenter of my passion. I stayed up nights at my pipe organ, and spent days watching the cast practice the newest production, my Don Juan Triumphant.

I tried not to torture myself with the knowledge that all the girls trying out were not anything compared to Christine; vocally or in any other area, really. I simply listened to them sing the parts from the dark shadows of the rafters, watching Madame Giry mark off their names on a long list, trying to remain optimistic. Later I would tell her who I wanted to perform, when I met her and Nadir for dinner.

On a particular day such as this, I was watching Madame Giry teach the new chorus girls/ ballerinas. I was hidden from view up among the high beams, my interest waning, when I overheard something that made me lean forward and strain my ears.

A young woman, defiantly no older than twenty, but certainly older than many of the others, was talking to some of the younger girls while their instructor had her back turned.

"My fiancé knows the man who wrote Don Juan Triumphant, you know. He says it's a fellow who is studying with him at the University. But keep that to yourselves, it's secret."

One younger girl scoffed at this. "You're a liar, Adrianna, no one knows who wrote it. For all we know it could have been a woman."

The girl, apparently Adrianna, was glaring at the younger girl.

"My fiancé will tell you…"

"Oh Adrianna, you don't have a fiancé, do you think we don't know that?"

Another one was looking over the sheet music when she replied to a comment made earlier.

"No, it was a man who wrote it."

Adrianna was still fuming, but managed to laugh.

"How can you tell?"

The younger girl blushed.

"I can tell, by the words….it was a man, and he was very…passionate."

Adrianna grabbed the paper.

"Let me see that…"

She read it over, the expression of her face changing quickly.

"My god, are we really singing this? Its so…"

"Beautiful," the blushing girl said, swooning.

"Not the word I was looking for exactly…more like…sinful…"

However, she too was blushing now.

Madame Giry had overheard them and came storming over.

"Girls, you are supposed to be practicing your dancing, now give me that! You can act like fools and faint away over men you've never met on your own time. Yes, yes Adrianna, I heard all of your foolishness. And I will assure you all that the true composer has not been discovered, and that he most certainly would not want you discussing any of this."

One of the younger girls was braver than most, I decided. Either that or she didn't know Madame Giry very well.

"Madame, do you know the composer?"

The whole group of chorus girls went silent at this. Madame Giry looked angry for a moment, but it disappeared when she spoke.

"You all need to worry less about the composer and focus more on learning to perform his piece. You don't want to disappoint him when he comes to see opening night, do you?"

"He's coming?"

Madame Giry looked up quickly and met my eyes, as if hoping I would somehow telepathically tell her if she should stop talking.

"Yes, I believe he will," she said rather softly.

"If you practice!" She then added sternly, and they all got to work at once.

I was a bit taken aback by the day's events as I made my way down the stone corridors of the labyrinth that led to my old home.

"Perhaps I am turning out to be a regular Don Juan…" I said to myself, shaking my head.

No, this was foolish. Any woman who fell in love with my music or writing would fall out of love with me the minute they saw my face. Besides, even if I could find an interested woman, how could any feelings I had for her compare to the ones I had for Christine? What was the chance that someone would both accept me and meet the high standards I had accidentally set? And she would have to be able to sing. These days that was rare.

It was useless to even think about. I didn't want to, I just wanted to be like other men, and date women almost for fun, having faith that one day I could settle down and be a husband. Instead searching for a mate had always seemed like a hopeless cause to me; and whenever I thought there was even the slightest chance for me with a woman I was attracted to, I latched on and wouldn't let go for anything.

I'd learned my lesson about all that. But still, the search seemed too serious, too desperate, and too unnatural.

If only I could leave the mask on. If only I could have my old one back, the one I had melted to my face like a fool. I suddenly found that I didn't care if it was shallow; I wanted to be with a woman, even if only physically. That was a world that was almost completely a mystery to me, and perhaps, if I could just once feel what it was like, I could find some sort of solace.

I wondered if I could make a mask once more, to look like the man I had been in the one that had caused the infection. Perhaps there was a safe way?

I could hold it on the same way I did with my other masks, simply shaping it perfectly to my face so that it stayed in place. I could even make it realistic, most likely. Still, the fear of it coming off would haunt me constantly. ..

I wanted to take that risk.

I wanted to be there the night of the performance, the night of my success. I wanted to reveal myself as the great composer, I wanted to hear the praise; I wanted to have the women who would no doubt come along with that attention.

More than anything, in the back of my mind, I knew I wanted Christine to have to picture me with other women, the way I had to envision her and her precious vicomte over and over in my mind. In reality I was kidding myself, believing that the rest of the world's praise would mean anything to me now. I wanted Christine to feel remorse. I wanted her to desperately want me again, and beg.

Yes…yes, I would make another mask. And once more, I would be triumphant!

I sat down at my organ, playing wild music that flowed from an unknown source, grinning like a horrible skull, reverting to my confusing, carefree and dangerous, vengeful and lustful emotions that I often displayed when too much stress had built up inside me, and had finally found an outlet.

It could be rage I was feeling; it could be glee. There would be no way an onlooker could tell. That's how I liked things; impossible to classify. I threw back my head, laughing manically.

Oh, how good it suddenly felt to be alive.