Hey guys! Big thanks to Librarian of the Deep, Leonsalanna, Doomed Delight, and Reading Redhead (Thanks especially for yours, it made me continue, lol) for your reviews. Once again, I do not own Phantom, all that stuff is Copyright Leroux.

Tears streamed down my face as I ran towards my dressing room. My body was shaking tremulously from the impact of the fallen chandelier. I had always wondered what I would think of before I died, and now I knew: Raoul and my angel. One of them was safe, but the other…I shuddered to think he might be hurt.

I burst through the door. "Angel?" I called. "Angel, please, if you are alive, tell me so!" When I received no answer, I slumped to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

"Angel…" I whispered.

My heart jumped at the familiar chords being played on my father's violin. I quickly wiped my eyes, and made an attempt to stand. He is alive! was all my mind could comprehend. I quietly berated myself for my foolish notions—he was an angel, and angels do not die. I shut my eyes as his life giving melody surged through me.

He commanded me, and my head spun at the sound of his voice:

"Come, and believe in me! Those who believe in me will live again!" I stood steadily, my dress swaying beneath me. "Walk! Those who have believed in me cannot die!" I trusted my angel, and I followed.

His hypnotic voice wrapped around me like loving arms, and I was instantly entranced. I stood at the mirror, looking for some sign of him, as though my angel was something I could see and touch.

And then it was dark. My head snapped up, and his comforting voice fell away as though it had never been. I could see nothing but black, and feel nothing but the cold. I screamed—where was my angel?

I felt a bony, icy hand grasp my wrist, and terrifying images ran through my mind. In a moment of sheer panic, I tried to fling away from the creature in the shadows, but it grabbed me. It held me to it, trying to silence me. I wanted to run and scream out for my angel to save me, for surely I had been caught by some demon!

I was so terrified—I could not think clearly! I shook as it picked me up, and could not think of what to do. Would I be killed? I thought absently that the creature had the same build as any man. As he—for I was sure at this point it must be some form of a 'he'—walked with me in his arms, lanterns illuminated us faintly, but it was enough to confirm my assumptions. It was no devil that carried me, but a man! Although I could not see his face—shadows seemed to have covered it—my new knowledge sent my thoughts whirling.

I had obviously fallen into the hands of a madman! I went to scream, to cry out for anyone who would help me, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than a hand flew to my mouth. I felt a wave of nausea as I breathed in. His hand, which shook and caressed all at once, smelled distinctly of death! His death hands were the last things my mind registered before a hazy black overtook me.

When I came to, a cool cloth was being laid on my forehead with such gentle attentiveness that it made me want to cry. When I opened my eyes to see the sweet face of my savior, I was met with the harsh reality of my captor. But I was no longer so afraid, and I asked feebly:

"Who are you?" His only response was a sigh. I saw then that my captor had not only been hidden in shadow, but was truly wearing a mask. It seemed to have been spun from rich velvet in the shade of a moonless night, and fit tightly to his unrecognizable features.

He whistled then, and I tried to shake off my lethargy enough to stand. What on earth was he doing? I thought I was hallucinating as Cesar came trotting up to my side, lowering his head for me stroke. I blinked back my surprise, then eyed the masked man questioningly. He bent over me, placing one of his death hands on my back, slipping the other one underneath my knees and he held me to him. I felt strangely—perhaps inappropriately—safe.

He seated himself behind me on Cesar, and when the horse's trots became harder, I leaned back against him. I thought it strange that the horse knew exactly where to turn, even in the darkness, without any indication.

A heavy fog was rising from the ground, and as I stared I saw that we had stopped before a long, slowly flowing lake. I had heard one ran under the Opera House, but I never thought I would actually see it! Fear slowly returned to me—was he going to drown me? My eyes never left his as he helped me off the horse. No, I concluded, he wasn't going to drown me.

Cesar trotted back up the steps as the man helped me into a gondola, one that had been tied to the wharf. His strokes were graceful, though it seemed he had little concentration for rowing; his eyes never left my face, but I rarely met his. The yellow eyes that glinted in the darkness, so odd and alluring at the same time, seemed to catch and draw my near. I shivered, although my thoughts of being murdered were slowly falling away.

When we reached the shore he took his hand in mine, gently but firmly pulling me along. I saw a door, but before I had time to think on what it was doing there, he pushed it open. I gasped as light flooded my vision. We were in a drawing room! An underground drawing room!

It was elegant, to say the least. Decorated with lavish paintings and clean, wooden furniture that supported Parisian bouquets, it was the epitome of normalcy and elegance. I turned to him questioningly.

"Do not be afraid, Christine," he told me, "You are in no danger." Had the matter of my kidnapping not been so serious, I may have laughed. Not hurt me? Who did man think he was, anyway? Anger bubbled inside me, and I reached out to grab his mask. He dodged it, and the look in his glinting eyes was enough instill terror in me again.

"You are in no danger if you do not touch my mask," he corrected himself. I knew by his sober demeanor he was serious, but I also perceived something else. His voice. As I heard him speak, a dawning thought crept into my mind. He must have noticed the change in me, for he knelt in front of me with strange, humble nature.

My angel and this man were one.

I buried my face in my hands, helplessly crying out all of my frustration. All this time, all these months, I had been tutored by a madman! And I-I was foolish enough to believe in him! I wept for my idiocy, and did not look down at my anguished captor.

"Oh, damn me!" I heard him curse. "I'm a monster, Christine, I know I am. I've tricked you, and I deserve all your harshest words and hate." I did not take comfort in his sincerity. He continued, more gently:

"Christine, I did it for love. I-I love you," he whispered. Had I not been so consumed with my fate, I may have noticed the stabbing pain in my heart when he ushered those words. He sounded so…sad. It was as though he had never said them in his life.

"You were so lonely, Christine. I thought only to help you when I took on the guise of your angel. I beg of you, forgive me!" I noticed that he had begun to weep as well.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness," he said, his face now level with my feet. I quickly stopped myself from pitying him, and instead cried:

"Give me my freedom, or I will only despise you!" And I meant it.

"You may have it," he said simply, standing up while fervently trying to regain his composure. My eyes grew wide at his offer of freedom, but I did not trust him. Before I had time to reply he opened his mouth and let Desdemona's love song flow through him. At first, I blushed, remembering how I had sung it during our lessons together. But soon it calmed me, and I closed my eyes to hear his angelic voice. Perhaps, in some way, he was an angel.

In a mere moment, I knew no more.