I stood outside her door with my arms folded tightly across my chest in an attempt to confine my beating heart. My body felt stiff from hours of slaving before the instrument of my soul, and in my weariness—for I was no longer young—the cold began to nip at my flesh like mold eats away at the stone. For several long minutes I was afraid Christine had taken to barricading herself inside her room before I heard the relieving sound of rushing bath water. There the decision to wait for her eventual exit was made for me.

In the quiet dampness of the room I thought back to the previous night, and my stomach lurched with an unwelcome panic. When she had come towards me, her face red with the lasting impression of tears and a great relief reflecting in the shining color of her eyes, I had expected nothing more than a nod at best. But then she did something extraordinary (although not unthinkable, for I had dreamt of it many times). She touched me.

The feeling of her slender, smooth skin brushing against mine with full willingness and consciousness was the nearest I had ever come to bliss. It was an alien feeling to me, the silk of skin. But oh, this climax to a lifetime of detachment! I was bewildered, and in her eyes I saw the mirror of my own reaction.

But then she tensed, and her fingers trembled as she wretched them away. I stood still, alarmed and overwhelmed with confusion. "Forgive me!" I had cried out. But her figure, a blur of soft colors and curls, did not stop nor turn. I could not have been more hurt by the harsh slamming of her door than if she had shut it in my face.

"Christine…" It was a barely audible whisper. I stared down at the unhealthy, dirty pallor of my hands, and grimaced. They seemed to grow in hideousness, and I was plagued with an intense urge to cut them until I could see nothing but the encrimsoned features. And yet, I felt I could not do away with what held for me the dearest memory of my life.

For a second, and only one, heavenly second, she had loved me more than any being ever had. It was her own choice to press such delicate flesh against mine, to caress the sore muscles in my hand with a gentle brush. And had she not been the one to return regretless to my side? Hadn't she comforted me, sweet spirit that she was, in the hours when we shared a profoundly mournful intimacy?

Then, perhaps… Oh, even a little… had she cared for me? Truly, deeply cared for me?

Leaning against her door, I breathed out in a ragged breath, and took in the air as though I was happily drowning in the perfume that was distinctly Christine. The light chink of the

bathroom door as she closed it behind her startled me out of my tense reverie, and I retreated to the soothing, encompassing shadows.

Christine fell from the ill-lit light of her room and stepped cautiously outside, her bare feet pattering against floor. She looked around with a nervous expression, biting down slightly on her perfectly formed bottom lip. Her eyes found the shadows, and I dared to believe she could see me.

"Erik?" It was a quiet, shaky question, and one I was afraid to answer. In a tone full of falsely mustered bravery, she continued. "I know you're there, Erik. Please come out."

"Is there something you need, my dear?" I asked from my ebony shelter. My tone was flat, emotionless. Christine took a small step back in surprise. Then, glancing to the floor, she breathed out soothingly and took her hands away from the folds of her dress (she had been twisting the material rather distractingly).

"I behaved…terribly, last night," she admitted. "I do not know what came over me…" She paused, glancing cautiously in my direction before continuing. "But you did act rather harshly towards me, and you should have expected that I would be angry as well." Her latter sentence was not accusing; she was merely trying to justify herself.

"Yes, I was angry," I said softly. "And for that I ask your forgiveness." Silence dropped over us and I sighed, stepping from my place of darkness to stare sadly at her. "I do not mean to hurt you, Christine. You must know that." If only the angel understood my jealousy. But it was an emotion she had rarely, if ever, dealt with, and I knew she could not grasp the reason for my inexcusable behavior.

"Yes, I know that, Erik," she said, her lips turning barely upward. "Thank you." She glanced down, then back up at me. Her hands twisted in the folds of her dress again. "And—and you should know that I never mean to hurt you, either."

"I know," I whispered. We stayed like that for a long minute, eyes locked while we contemplated our understanding. Then, afraid the temptation to brush against her feeble smile was too much, I cleared my throat. "Are you hungry, my dear?" I asked.

"A little," she said, and so I nodded and led her into the dining room.

Our morning meal was unusually pleasant. The atmosphere was not so tense as I thought it would be. Although Christine mostly kept her eyes averted to her plate, I could sense that she was in better spirits, and I was glad for it.

"Rehearsals are today," I commented lightly.

"Yes," she acknowledged.

"We have," I continued, pausing thoughtfully, "roughly four hours of free time. Would you like to warm up?" A smiled flickered on her lips, and she nodded.

"I would," she said, and scooted in her chair before joining me at the side of the organ.

I played something genuinely peacefully at first, my hands plummeting gently to the ivory keys. It was a reverent tune, one of the many I harbored to please my beloved. And yet, I myself found solace in the music, and gradually shut my eyes to breathe in the notes. When I looked back up I noticed Christine had been staring almost wide-eyed and rather intently at my hands.

"You play so beautifully," she said quietly. "As though you were born for no other purpose." The corners of her lips began to perk, but I could only nod grimly.

"Perhaps I was born for only this purpose," I said with equal placidity.

"Oh, no—" Christine began quickly, "I didn't mean it like that! I just meant—you play so innately, Erik…"

"I do, don't I?" I smiled slightly up at her. "Well, thank you, my dear."

Christine seemed easier after that. She breathed out, positioning herself in the necessary stance I had taught her in our earlier sessions. "Scales?" I asked.

She nodded, and we began our work.

Rehearsals for Orfeo ed Euridice continued to be grueling. It was, for the most part, a beautiful production in which my part was sadly neglected. I had but one solo, and for the past two days I hadn't been in any of the rehearsed scenes. Off the side of stage, the only thing that kept me awake was the constant watch I felt I needed to have over incoming audience members. Although I had yet to see Raoul, I wanted to know when he came, if ever he did. I listened to the haunting music that played to my right, and began unconciously swaying to the lyrics of Orfeo's aria.

Farewell, my sighs,
my desires give me hope:
for her I will suffer all things
and brave any pain or danger.
From the dark shores I shall
set sail on the Stygian flow
and the dread Tartarus'
Furies shall I overcome.
For her I shall dare all
and challenge all comers.

Tears began to well up along the brim of my eyes. Erik had sung this once and I had watched his solemn figure in the dark, crying even then over the brilliant emotions only his soul could produce. The acclaimed man who sung it now seemed unfit for the role, his voice somehow lacking in both intensity and talent. Looking up from my silent remembrance, I saw familiar boyish locks falling over the face of the man jogging down the isle. Quickly wiping away my tears, I stood and began walking around to the end of the stage.

"Hello, Raoul," I said quietly, hoping that the other performers would not take notice of my reprehensive chatter.

"Lottie," he breathed, smiling up at me. "How are you?"

"I'm doing alright," I responded honestly. "It's good to see you again."

"It's always good to see you," he agreed. "Might I come up there? I brought something for you." His smile was so disarmingly sweet that I could hardly refuse him. I motioned for him to jump up, and after glancing up at me in mock embarrassment he made the leap onto the stage.

I folded my arms, smiling curiously at him. "You said you have something for me?" Raoul grinned mischievously in return.

"I do, Little Lottie." From inside his pocket he produced a long velvet box, the kind I instantly recognized as a case for expensive jewelry. He opened it slowly, watching my expression with anticipation. Inside, its chain stretched across from side to side, was a golden necklace. The pendant that weighed down the middle was a small violin; a match for the instrument my father used to play.

"Oh," I whispered, my brow furrowing softly as I admired the object. "Oh, Raoul." I glanced up at him, tears stinging in my eyes. "It's beautiful."

"I was hoping you'd like it. I had it specially made for you, as a token to remember your father by." He took it out of its case before glancing hesitantly at me. "May I?"

I nodded, leaning my head to the side as I tried to disguise my burning cheeks and falling tears. The kindness behind the sentiment was almost too much. How could I hurt him by rectifying a wall between us, all for the sake of sparing Erik? Raoul was really such a good friend.

I let my hair fall back against my back, and looked up at him, grinning. "You are so kind, Raoul," I said sincerely, "thank you."

"It is enough to see you smile." I blushed, and he held out his arm in response. "Will you walk with me? I want to speak with you."

I glanced behind me at the stage still filled with unhappy managers and stressed performers. I bit my lip briefly before turning back to Raoul. "Of course," I said. After all, how much could I miss in the next few minutes? Once we were out in the hallways, I asked:

"What did you want to speak of?"

"As you know, I was planning on going on the expedition to the north at the end of the month. But I was wondering, if I didn't go—I thought you might—" He paused, drawing in a breath as he looked to the ground. "I love you, Christine—"

"Raoul!" I cut in.

"I know, I know. I promised not to tell you, but how can I not? I'll wait for you, Christine. I'll do all you ask of me. Just tell me what you want of me! I swear to do it!" His voice grew in passionate vehemence until he was breathing heavily, eyes locked on my hesitant expression.

"I simply can't, Raoul," I said slowly, shutting my eyes briefly as though to dull the pain. "You must know how much I care for you, but this isn't permitted. I shouldn't even be seeing you!"

"Then why are you?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer.

"Because you love me, too! You want to be with me, I know you do!"

My eyes shot dangerously in his direction. "Do not say such things!" I demanded. "You know very little of my heart!"

"I know enough for now. I know all you've let me see, Christine." His voice grew in softness, his eyes narrowing pleadingly. "I can take you away, my love. We can leave right now, and whomever it is that is holding you away from me won't dare to come near us. I'll protect you, I swear it. We can get married, Christine! I'll marry you today, if you wish!"

I began to cry at his words, so much that I had to bury my face in my hands. "Do not torment me!" I pleaded. "Please…"

He shook me gently, both hands on my shoulders. "Look at me," he demanded. I did as he wished, slowly lowering my hands. "Marry me," he repeated softly.

I shook my head fervently and tore myself from his grasp. I fled down the hall, not carrying about the people I passed or man who shouted my name from behind. I had to be alone, and the last place I was safe to cry was in my dressing room. Erik would find me, and he would be furious, again.

But where else could I seek solitude? I wanted so badly to see my mother; to visit my father at Perros. Only one person could grant me those visits, but the thought of seeing him now, of facing him after what I was sure he had just witness between Raoul and I, was notion that turned my stomach to rot. True, Erik had given me permission to speak with the vicomte, but the conversation we had just had I thought would surely be the breaking point.

I could think only of the quarters of the corpse de ballet as safe place, not simply because none of the members would be there, but because it had been my home for many years. As I walked down the hallway my eyes fluttered briefly in all directions. Was Erik above me even now, following on foot through the overhead rafters? I shuddered at the thought.

The door to the rooms wasn't locked. I remembered that it rarely was. My hand closed around the handle and I quickly closed the door shut, breathing out in more of a shudder as I slunk down against the wall. I shut my eyes, contemplating the last few moments.

Raoul wanted to marry me. Sweet, charming, handsome Raoul wanted to marry me. He was every girls dream, truly. I had seen the way members of the cast—the younger girls, anyway—looked at me when he came to see me, and I understood then how lucky I was to have him. Surely my friend was a rarity. And I did love him; very much, in fact. But it was a strange sort of love—a caring feeling, kind and sisterly. It hadn't always been that sort of love, but now it had to be, because of Erik.

My poor, unhappy Erik. How could I abandon him to flee with Raoul? It would break his heart, and I would not be the cause of so much unhappiness, not for someone who deserves so much more. I cared for Erik, too much to let him suffer at my hands. I decided then that I would just have to stay with my angel, until our opera season was finished, at least. And then I would come back to see him, whenever he wished! Just as I had given him my word to return before, I would swear to return to him time and again.

I shut my eyes and breathed in deeply. "I'll do it," I whispered. A voice echoed my words, so sudden and unexpected that my eyes shot open and my body jerked forward.

"Christine…"

"Erik?" I whispered. I stood quickly. One hand grasped the side of my skirt, while the other clasped around my newly acquired necklace. "Where are you?" I asked, and my voice dropped considerably. I felt as though the candles around the room were dimming, and the air from the cold corridor was seeping in. I shivered from those supposed changes.

"Go back to your dressing room, Christine," he commanded me in a voice so frighteningly calm that I was afraid to speak further. "I will meet you there."

"But, rehearsals…" I began lamely.

"Are finished," he said. There was a silent pause, then: "Go, Christine."

I nodded feebly, my hand shaking as it rested on the door handle. I turned behind only once, my eyes flickering to the opposite wall and ceiling. Then my gaze fell, and I walked back out into the hallway. It took me only a moment to walk to my dressing room, but longer to decide to actually enter. Erik's wrath had terrified me the night before, and I was afraid of a replay.

I did enter, though, and stood facing the mirror by the safety of the door. "Are you angry with me, Erik?" I asked him.

"I am never angry with you, Christine," he said, and his voice was no longer emotionless. His tone was sad, almost tired.

"Do you want me to come with you, then?" I asked. The mirror opened in response, revealing Erik's tall, poised form. He looked at me blankly. I supposed that was a good enough gesture for me to follow him, and so I did as told.

We walked, side by side, passed the initial dark and into the dimly lit hallway. I could not ignore Erik's eyes and their quick darts to the top of my chest. He seemed aggravated by the pendant that lay there. Sick of his jealous glances, I finally said: "Erik, it is only a gift. I accepted nothing but his token of friendship."

He whirled so quickly that I caught my breath, stepped back only to press against the wall, and brought my curled fingers against my chest. "Accepted only a token of his friendship?" he mimicked mockingly. "As if that thing was really a token of friendship!"

"Erik, you're scaring me…" I whispered.

"Am I?" He laughed coldly, an attribute that had become more apparent during his now frequent rages. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear."

"You said this morning that you would never purposefully hurt me, Erik. You said…"

"Did you not make the same promise?" he accused. Then, breathing out heavily, his next remark was little more than a whisper: "You hurt me still, Christine. So badly…"

There were tears in my eyes now, but they stopped short when he spoke again. "And that is why I must do this. You can never leave me again, Christine. I can't… I can't sit by and watch you marry him. I won't!" His body was rigid, but his eyes flared with a deep sadness and regret. Yet for all his threats he did not dare to touch me, or even move.

"Never?" I breathed. "Erik, you wouldn't—"

"For you, I would!" he cried, his fists clenched and body shaking with barely restrained desperation. I cowered from him, backing up against the wall. But he relaxed his hands a little, and took up his right arm. His gloved fingertips neared my face, and I stared up at him with frightened features. "Do not fear me, Christine," he said. "Even if I give you reason to, please…"

He looked at me regretfully, and I slowly fell to my building sadness. A feeling of bare compassion urged me to reach out for his hand, but I neglected it. I was still afraid, and Erik knew that; my expression did not change as he studied me. "I have never tried to escape you, Erik," I whispered.

"No, no, you haven't," he agreed. "And you won't…" He continued to stare at me, although he had dropped his hand. I could hear his quiet breathing, the only sound between us in the darkness. Then, he turned away, almost nervously. I titled my head, wondering at his sudden behavior.

"I am sorry, Christine," he amended. "I will not confine you to this misery."

Relief flowed through me, although I had not been so alarmed by his threat as by his anger. I took a step towards him and peered up at his shoulder as I spoke. "I have told you before that I do not mind being down here with you, Erik," I reminded him.

He looked at me strangely and I felt the weight of his bemusement, so much that I shifted my gaze to the ground. Then he nodded, accepting my words with a simple gesture. We began walking again, side by side, and I realized as we strolled through the dimly lit hallway just what had been averted.

Erik had made me a promise, never to completely confine me without my consent. At first, the reverse of that promise had not seemed so unbearable. After all, I had lived with him for over two weeks, in a house devoid of sunlight or other company, and in that time I had never regretted knowing Erik and had even come to accept his way of life. But now, with space to think, I understood what a severe fate it would be. How could I stand to be cut off from everything familiar, forced to spend eternity with the source of my pain? The arrangement would hurt us both.

And yet, as I watched Erik from the corner of my eye, I could not quench the dreadful feeling that he had been far too serious; that even his promise would not hinder him if he believed he had no other choice.

I continued walking, thinking that maybe, next time, I would not be so lucky.