Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or PotO. Just Adrien and Isabella… how many times must I say that?

Chapter V – The Piano

Isabella's voice broke through the cool dampness of the underground tunnels.

"How do you find your way around down here? Everything looks exactly the same."

She heard Adrien ahead of her; his voice echoed slightly in the gloom.

"I've had about fifteen years to learn to recognize small things people normally don't see," he explained. "This ladder, in particular, is the only one that's started rotting already. There are others, one entrance built as stone steps, one built as a rope ladder, a few with trapdoors, and other things like that."

Isabella figured she would give him the benefit of the doubt; they all looked the same to her, no matter what he said. She was careful to keep close behind him so as not to get lost in this maze.

She didn't know how far they were going, and in any case it was too quiet, so she struck up a small conversation. "Do you play that big piano in the smaller room?"

He hesitated. "Not usually; Erik plays it all the time. He can play amazing things, and I lie in bed and listen to him. He stays up all night sometimes, playing. I think it helps him remember the way things were, at the Opera Populaire. I play sometimes, but only if he's gone out. He keeps all the music he plays in the bench, but some of it is too complicated for me. Do you play?"

"No, I never learned. I sing, though," she added, as if this would make up for it.

"I would love to hear it. I assume Erik told you his stories, about Christine? That's why he brought you with him."

She was startled. "Yes; some of them I didn't really believe to be true." She paused. "Are they all true?"

"Yes, as far as I know," he said quietly. "Usually, if he remembers Christine that much, he'll play and sing to her at night. Listen tonight when you go to bed; his voice, however old and tired it may seem, takes on a life of its own when he sings. It's… like nothing I've heard. It goes back across the years and gives me the feeling that he can do anything. I've wanted to meet her, see what Erik saw in her…" He trailed off, and a sinking feeling came into Isabella's stomach.

He doesn't know… But then, she shouldn't know either… Who was she to tell him this? Should she even tell him? She took a deep breath and said, "Adrien, I'm sorry… Christine is dead."

He spun around. "What?"

She looked into his eyes. "I was at her grave this morning, before I met Erik. And then he told me his stories, and I couldn't believe them, because she was dead."

"Does he know? Was he there as well?"

"Yes, he knows. He left the cemetery when the Vicomte de Chagny arrived. He was her husband, and Erik didn't want to see him."

Adrien walked faster down the hall, flung open a door on their left, and ushered her in. "I just wanted to make sure he, of all people, knew she was gone. Here," he said, handing her a black velvet dressing gown. "Now you need something for daytime." And he was off through racks of trousers and jackets. At the very back of the room, he called to her.

"Isabella, I think I've found something."