Author's notes: Well, here we go again! Down once more! I listened to the song again and decided it would be anti-climactic if I wouldn't do this…

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Chapter XXXV

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Christine went to the opera house right the next day and excused herself formally for an undefined period of time, claiming her relatives in Rome were not well and she needed to visit them. It was partially true, after all – she hadn't mentioned it to Erik yet, seeing as she knew that asking him to come make peace with his mother was evidently more than a little daring, but she knew that if their life together was to be at least partially normal, it had to include no shadows of the past that could haunt them, if they could prevent it. Of course Persia was a part of their lives that neither could erase, but she hoped that time would heal what had happened there.

She met Raoul on the stairs. He was, most surprisingly alone. As usual, he was dressed in the latest fashion, every inch a young gentleman who made ladies swoon just by his mere presence. Many women in the city would kill for the smallest sign of affection from him. Erik's words rang through her mind. If you wished for a wonderful fantasy, you should have stayed with that boy…

"Good morning, Christine. You look radiant, as always." He said, with just enough gentleness to keep his tone polite and friendly. "And you're early. I thought you were the deep sleeper, Little Lotte."

"I have a lot to do today."

Automatically, she extended her hand for him to kiss. The ring on her finger had come to be so natural that she had forgotten completely that it could seem unusual to anyone. Especially her childhood friend. But Raoul spotted it, the plain golden band, and a thoughtful crease was formed between his eyebrows. "You seem to be wasting no time." He merely brought the hand to his lips instead of actually kissing it, as he had done before. Almost immediately, he let go, but kept frowning at the ring. "Do tell me who I might congratulate."

Christine finally noticed what had brought the change in him. To her, it seemed almost surreal that Raoul had, many weeks ago, offered her marriage. Should she tell him? After all, he was her friend… yet he knew of Erik, at least knew that he existed, and perhaps he would think she had been lying to him during their stay in the Orient.

"I- Raoul, I would have told you, but…" How could she ever explain that the man she loved was a beast in the eyes of the world but a broken man who needed her as she needed him in hers? "I have known him before we met again at Il Muto. He, he was an apprentice of my uncle when… when my cousin died. I'm not certain I've told you of that before, but it was a difficult time for me…"

Raoul nodded sympathetically and made a move as if to embrace her, but stopped and stepped back. He remembered that friend or no, Christine belonged to another. To whom? Who had managed to capture his Little Lotte´s heart? Christine was too shy to ever open her heart to one she didn't know well. But he had always assumed that if he hadn't saved her scarf from the sea, she wouldn't have even spoken with him. She was way too shy and now even more so, after the death of her father.

"May I meet him?" he asked, hoping she would say yes. He wished that Christine would have said yes to his own proposal, but even though she refused to become his wife, he felt a responsibility for her. "So that I may be certain that my Little Lotte is safe and happy?"

Christine paled. That was out of the question. But the mentioning of Little Lotte reminded her of the tale her father had told her. She smiled, but her white face made it seem like the smile of a wraith. It unnerved Raoul for a moment, but he saw that her eyes shined with some happiness he couldn't touch. "Little Lotte has been visited by the Angel of Music, Raoul." She whispered, still with that strange happiness.

Raoul attempted to return the expression, but was still concerned. Why was she frightened? "Ah, so he is a musician? From the opera house?"

"No, I'm afraid not. And I can tell you with certainty that while I would introduce you, he wouldn't be overjoyed and would probably be a bit cold." Very cold. "He is a very… private person. But he would do anything for me, don't doubt that for a moment. As for the music, it is his talent, but not his occupation at the moment. He is an aspiring architect."

"May I at least know his name?" Raoul asked softly, so that he wouldn't frighten her even more.

Yet Christine grew pale again and shook her head fervently. "I'm sorry, Raoul, I must go."

"But Christine, surely…"

"No!" she interrupted, "I must leave, he is waiting for me, I cannot let him wait! Goodbye, Raoul!" Before he could interrupt, she slipped past him like a wraith and, gathering up her skirts, ran out of the opera house as if the devil was chasing her.

The young Vicomte frowned. There was something deeply disturbing about this entire conversation. He respected the fact that the man may be private and not wish to be disturbed, but to refuse meeting someone close enough to be family was bordering on rudeness. And Christine had been so frightened! Even revealing the name of her fiancé, the very thought of it, seemed to terrify her. The nature of her exit was also strange. Raoul simply couldn't imagine gentle and kind Christine to be so frantic, almost hysterical, and frightened by simple requests.

He didn't hesitate. What if Christine was in danger, he thought, and believed she wasn't able to trust anyone, let alone confide in them? Turning, Raoul swiftly followed her and went straight to his carriage. As he climbed in, the driver asked the usual: "Where to, Monsieur?"

Without a second thought, Raoul automatically said Christine's address.

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Erik sat alone in Christine's apartment. The city he had seen from all sides, it seemed, and he decided to use the only outlet for his emotions he currently had – music. There was a small piano in Christine's temporary home. Not nearly enough to satisfy his needs, but he would have to content himself with that for the time being.

Blank sheet music was on the table nearby along with a quill with fresh ink on top of it, so he decided to put it to good use. However, he was feeling very frustrated. As he had told Nadir long ago, he had neglected music for very long. He had for too long kept his emotions within him and now, it seemed as if his skull was threatening to burst.

Though perhaps that would be an improvement. he thought dryly to himself, wiping a whispy strand of black hair away from his face.

Christine had said that he didn't need to wear the mask around her anymore, since she was to be his wife, but he could at times see the instinctual repulsion flash through her eyes, even though, God bless her, she tried her best to hide it and destroy it. No one had ever done that much for him, and for now, it was enough. Eventually, perhaps, he would oblige. For now, it was enough that Christine could love him knowing what lay beneath the mask – which was far more than he had hoped for.

In a sudden wave of anger, he ripped the paper in his hands in half. It wasn't right, it simply wasn't! Whenever he attempted to capture lust, passion, he found himself thinking of her.

He had tried composing for her voice, but his thoughts were too dark and the words he was imagining coming from her sweet mouth darker still. The music was meant to be sung by her, he knew, but at the same time, he thought it too wicked to taint her angelic voice with the darkness that sprang from his mind. So he had tried composing instrumental music or music for different types of voice. Eventually, however, he saw that all the compositions seemed to fit together, like a puzzle, and all were equally filled with his hopes, his desires, his fears. One could hardly separate them.

He called it Don Juan Triumphant.

If it would ever be performed, he knew that many would find it vulgar, repulsive. He could almost envision Christine with a shocked face as she would read the score and realize that all of it was true and that in this opera, for an opera it was, he revealed his whole soul. He couldn't torture her with this revelation. This pain was meant for his ears alone, reminding him that he might have earned the love of an angel, but his heart didn't match hers, not in purity.

The familiar sound of footsteps caught his attention. For a moment, his hand automatically rested on the concealed Punjab lasso he carried with him at all times – another part of him he wished Christine had never seen and would make sure she would never see again – but then, sensing the quickness and lightness of the steps, he relaxed. He knew it was her.

Predictably, it was Christine who entered the apartment, the only person with the keys. He had no use for keys, plainly because there was no lock that could withstand him for longer than thirty seconds. But it confirmed to him what he knew long before she stepped into the room – she was in a hurry and probably nervous.

She seemed to lighten up considerably when she saw him, giving him a smile that he would otherwise treasure, but he saw a degree of fear in her eyes. He stood up and went to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, as if to steady her. "You seem distressed, Christine." He didn't need to ask.

Christine shook her head determinedly, but couldn't conceal the truth from him. For now, however, he decided to refrain from asking. "The carriage is ready downstairs, if you have all you need, we can leave in a few minutes." She said, looking away.

"Go gather your things, then, my precious." He said, still examining her face, as if searching for guilt. He found only fear and a brave attempt to hide it. Something had happened to her, but she didn't want him worrying. "And we can leave, if you truly desire this."

With a nod, Christine withdrew and went to her bedchamber to gather the few belongings she thought she would need for the journey. Erik watched her as she disappeared and stared at the door for a moment before turning to the unfinished score on the table and the torn paper at his feet. She had shown yet another emotion and a melody was already playing in his mind, sung by her voice, backed by soft strings…

Erik sighed as he collected the sheet music and unceremoniously burned a few papers in the fireplace. Some of the rest would need work, but it would do. If anything, this journey would certainly give him many possible melodies that would float through his mind before he would even realize it.

He wasn't looking forward to it, however.

Meeting his mother. Now that would be interesting. He had always known that one day, he would return there, but he never expected to find her in their own house. In her place, he probably wouldn't have stayed, either. She had probably gone away with that doctor of hers, Étienne Barye. Erik remembered him. The man had saved his life in a moment when he wished to die! There was so much he could blame Étienne Barye for, taking away his mother being one of those faults. Her meeting him had begun a series of events that could have been avoided. Before that, he had only his mother's hatred. Afterwards, he had nothing.

All they would find now would be an empty house, too full of memory to remain standing.

Christine emerged from her room and he quickly hid the few papers he had left in his pocket. He was now dressed like a young aristocrat himself, having taken enough gold from Persia to pay his extravagant demands. However, contrary to the usual fashion, he preferred dark colors that suited him more yet gave him a truly ghostly appearance, most of all the black, which he wore at all times. Christine, now dressed in a royal purple traveling dress, smiled with far more conviction when he offered her his arm and they left the apartment, carefully locking it afterwards.

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The wait was agonizing. Raoul knew Christine had entered the house, he had asked the landlord that lived on the ground floor. And there were candles lit in the apartment, clearly. But how much time had passed since that moment? An hour? More? No, it had to be less. But he wasn't willing to give up without making sure that Christine was safe.

Finally, the sound of a pair of footsteps came from the entrance. His carriage was safely out of sight, for Raoul knew Christine would probably disapprove of him following her. In time, she would understand that he was doing this because he cared about her well-being. The Vicomte stood in the shadows, so that he could see the entrance, but unless anyone at the entrance would look directly where he was standing, they wouldn't see him.

Two people emerged – a lady in a finely cut purple dress that he immediately recognized as Christine. She was no longer pale, but still seemed timid. Nevertheless, she smiled at the man at her side. The man was tall and thin, probably almost skeletal when one would come close, but moved with a feline grace that made up for everything. He was dressed equally well as Christine, but Raoul saw no face. Then the Vicomte realized that there was no face to be seen – the man wore a mask! A black mask that his almost all of his face, revealing only his gleaming eyes, part of his lips and lower jaw. Raoul could see that he was saying something to Christine and she nodded before climbing into the nearby carriage, her smile faltering for the briefest moment.

The Vicomte suddenly realized where he had seen the man before. It had been that strange advisor of the shah in Persia. Erik, that had been his name! What was the man doing with Christine? Frowning, he considered the possibility that this was her mystery fiancé. But why hadn't Christine mentioned that she knew him when she had the chance? Where were they going?

The mystery of the whole thing was far too overwhelming. Raoul didn't have answers, save one – the man was dangerous. He had seen and heard enough in Persia. Christine wasn't safe with him, no matter what she may think. And her fear… fear of him, the Vicomte realized, perhaps he was holding her against her will!

In a minute, Raoul was back in his carriage. Fortunately, his driver was skilled enough at serving aristocrats to follow all demands effectively and not ask too much. Thus when the Vicomte ordered him to follow that precise carriage but not get himself noticed, he was fully able to oblige.