He stormed back to his lair – and at that moment, it was a lair and not a home. A phrase he remembered reading from Shakespeare came to mind to describe the way he felt at that moment, "hard, stockish and full of rage."

Damn that pretty boy! Who knew he would break down the door to the dressing room and rush in, thinking his childhood sweetheart was in danger. Damn! Christine had swooned into the boy's arms, and he, like the ghost he was, had watched as love blossomed between the two of them. Oh, Christine still spoke reverently of her angel, but now, she would never speak lovingly of the man who nurtured her God-given gift of music.

He threw his cape aside and struck out in blind rage, knocking over candelabras, kicking stools and sweeping books and papers from his tables onto the floor. He slammed his fists into the keys of the organ, pounding it over and over, relishing in the way the discordant noise shouted out what he could not.

He raised his head and howled, his voice rough and raw from his pain. Christine's lips had touched another man's lips, not his. Her hands had clung to the boy's collar, brushing the skin of his neck with her fingertips. His own skin burned in the same place. No one knew what is cost him in courage to attempt to reveal himself to his adored girl. And now, all that effort, all those years, all the hope…all for nothing.

His shoulders shook, but he refused to let the tears fall. He was doomed to be alone. Damn!

He looked up from the abused keys of his organ, glancing around at the mess he had created. His eyes went wide as he was taken by surprise by what he had forgotten.

The girl was there, silently starting to pick up the books and scattered papers. She caught his gaze and looked at him levelly. He felt his heart sink into his stomach. She had heard his anguish, witnessed his pain. He had inadvertently revealed his weakness to her. For a long moment, they both remained still, her gaze calmly measuring his tortured one.

"You disobeyed me," he said finally, grasping at the only straw of dignity that remained to him.

To his utter shock, the girl simply rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"I gave you an order, and I expect to be obeyed," he thundered, both relieved and ashamed at taking out his anger on something that could hurt as much as he did.

But the girl seemed unmoved by his wrath. In fact, she made a face at him and silently mouthed his words back to him with exaggerated mocking.

He jumped up and was before her in an instant. He felt tall and terrible, towering over her. And yet still, she refused to be frightened by him. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to throw her across the floor. But nothing prepared him for what happened next.

The girl's gaze softened into an expression of intense sympathy and sadness, and she took her hand and placed it over his heart. She then took her hand and placed it over her heart and nodded her head.

"You cannot possibly understand," he growled, trying to ignore the shivers that ran through his body from her touch, her proximity.

He watched in amazement as tears sprung to her eyes, and she nodded more vehemently. She then held up her hands and showed him all ten fingers.

"Your heart was broken 10 days ago?" he scoffed, taking the offensive with the offensive to keep his discomfort at bay. "What, your fellow urchin took up with another slut?"

He knew his words deserved a slap. He didn't expect her to crash her fist into his jaw. He staggered back from sheer surprise, but quickly lunged back at her and caught her to him, imprisoning her against him.

His heart felt tight and painful from the tumult of his emotions as he clasped the girl in his arms. She was shaking with silent sobs, but unlike him, her tears fell down her bruised cheeks. Her body seemed so fragile to him, and he felt a great wave of remorse roll through his soul.

"Hush," he whispered into the top of her head. "I am…sorry. I should not have said that."

The girl's frame shook harder, and he felt her nestle against him, as if expecting him to comfort her. What a preposterous presumption! He was the one with a broken heart, a broken dream, a broken life.

She lifted her face to him, and he looked into her pale eyes. And he realized…so was she. Ten days ago, she had her heart broken and her tongue cut out. The world was cruel, indeed.

The gesture was still strange and unfamiliar to him, but he held her tightly. He even dared to rest his good cheek against the top of her pale, blonde head. When her arms snaked out to wind around his neck, he thought his heart might stop beating.

Someone…someone was actually embracing him. Voluntarily.

He found himself crooning softly to her, a spontaneous lullaby, the song he had wanted to sing to Christine. The girl touched the red mark on his jaw where she had hit him, and he couldn't help but smile at the look of contrition in her eyes.

"What is your name?" he asked shakily, his fingers trembling as they stroked her hair.

An intense look of concentration crossed her face, then she took his hand and traced a few letters on his palm.

"Lily," he whispered, and the girl nodded.

"Lily," he repeated as she rested her head against his chest, as if to listen to the beat of his heart.

"Lily," he said one more time, and he found that he liked the sound of her name.

A/N: Well, I've decided to part from movie-verse. And don't get too comfortable thinking that things are going well for Lily and Erik. They may be, they may not be. You'll have to wait til the next chapter to find out for sure.

And once again, merci mille fois to all my reviewers. Your comments always make my day and encourage me to work on my next chapter.

Kate September