Clothing the girl was proving to be a significant problem.

All the things he brought down from the costume room, the laundry, the various dressing rooms didn't seem to fit the fragile fairy in his home. But he couldn't continue to have her run around in his nightshirt, however long and dress-like it was on her thin frame. The nightshirt seemed to encourage his thoughtful glances at the girl's ankles and shoulders.

Since the night of his failed visit to Christine, he found that he and the girl – no, Lily, since now he knew her name – had settled into a kind of odd domesticity. She was still recovering her strength, but each day saw her doing more around his lair while he worked or fretted over how much she was or was not eating.

He didn't examine his feelings or motives too closely. It was like looking in the mirror for him – a torturous exercise that would only lead to unhappiness. He instinctively felt that perhaps there were times in life when one should simply be grateful and enjoy what happiness one is given.

And he did admit that it was a kind of happiness that he felt, especially when he would play on the organ, stormy composition sessions or bouts of beauty with old favorites. At some point, he would become aware of a quiet nestling next to him, and he'd feel Lily rest her head against his thigh as she sat on a cushion on the floor next to him, listening with closed eyes and a peaceful expression.

"Too big," he growled through gritted teeth, shaking his head in frustration. "Where is all the soup I am feeding you going? For it certainly hasn't put flesh on your bones!"

Lily rolled her eyes and shrugged, though she smiled at him. When had he become so talkative? And why did he feel the need to speak so much with a girl who could not answer? Well, she could answer. She just couldn't speak.

He watched as she wiggled uncomfortably in the oversized gown, trying to get it to fit. He almost laughed as she huffed and threw up her hands in despair.

Suddenly, he saw her expression change, as if she had just had an idea. He wasn't wrong.

Grinning, she gestured quickly, pointing to him, then herself, then upwards.

"Take you with me?" he scoffed, feeling a stab of fear. "No."

She put her hands on her hips and quirked her eyebrows – a move that he was coming to learn meant that she was settling in for the struggle.

"No, it is too…" he started to say, then hesitated. Dangerous? Yes. To him, it was dangerous. To his existence, his mystery. If she made a mistake, his exposure would result.

And then he wondered yet again, as he had in odd moments, why she hadn't questioned him about his strange existence under the opera house, why she hadn't questioned him about the mask. Indeed, when he spoke with her or felt her eyes on him, she seemed to act as if it wasn't there at all – so much so that sometimes, even he would forget.

Lily tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

"You are not well enough," he said, seizing on inspiration.

She responded with a look of utter sarcasm.

"Well you aren't," he said a bit more defensively than he meant to.

She shook her head and stamped her foot.

"No, and that is my final answer," he said severely.

Half an hour later, he was leading her upstairs to the costume room.

They snaked their way through the passages, and he was forced to admit that the girl could move as silently as he did. The observation lead him to wonder about her life before coming to the opera house. Was she trained as a pickpocket? No whore moved so quietly. Perhaps she had been part of a gang. Perhaps they had turned on her, but why?

These thoughts ran through his mind as he automatically followed the route that would bring them to the empty costume room. It was near midnight, so he felt relatively certain that no one would be in there.

They slipped inside like the pair of thieves they were. He turned the gaslight on low, just enough for them to see what they were doing, but not bright enough to spill much light through the cracks in the door.

Immediately, Lily dove into the racks of costumes, but to his dismay, not searching for sensible clothing. No, she zeroed in on every ridiculous headdress, cape and ballet costume she could find. She tried them on all together in the mirrors, grinning to herself with mischievous delight. He found that he couldn't help but laugh, well, at her as she made herself look ridiculous in one of La Carlotta's get-ups.

Shaking his head, but still smiling, he went through the racks and picked out a pale blue gown and a pale yellow dress. He thought to himself that the colors would suit her quite well. But before he could have her try them on, there was a scuffling sound and hushed giggles outside the door.

It only took him a few heartbeats to turn out the light, grab Lily and the gowns, and clasp her to him in a hiding place sandwiched between closely-spaced clothing racks.

He noticed with relief that Lily was able to stand perfectly still and silent – she apparently even knew how to slow her breathing so that it made no sound.

The door opened and a couple spilled into the room. There was the sound of fumbling hands against layers of fabric, little sighs of desire, and the soft brushing of lips on skin.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip imperceptibly on Lily. Of all the situations, of all the damned…oh hell! He hoped she wouldn't feel the stirring of his body as the sounds of the enamored couple suggested unconscious images to him. But Lily didn't move. Her head rested quietly against his chest, her body soft against his.

He tensed as he felt her head jerk up at the sound of the other man's voice making a low moan. He looked down at her, and she glanced up at him, an expression of anguish on her face.

But before he could puzzle it through, he himself froze at the words that came next.

"Oh, Christine, I love you, I adore you, my darling!"

"Raoul, my love, my life!"

A/N: Ha! Bet you didn't see that one coming, LOL! Thank you as always to my reviewers. You are the reason I write these stories! Another chapter will be coming soon!

Kate September