Disclaimer: Still don't own POTO. Only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters of this phic. Nor the song "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt. Thank you again for all of your inspiring, philosophic reviews. I appreciate them very much.

Note I- This is not, by any means, the point at which Christine and Erik fall deeply and deliriously in love with each other. They simply begin to see each other in a different light about this time, not necessarily a romantic one.

Note II- Aetherius, Latin, translates to 'heavenly'.

Thanks for putting up with my ramblings. On to the story, then?

cookies n' hugs

Lee

Aetherius

Nadir

He resisted the urge to call up Richard again and lecture him, as he went into the kitchen. The lure of brewing coffee had been too much, even in his current state.

Christine frowned as he came in, poured him a cup. "What's the matter?" She looked rested, calm. About the exact opposite of what he felt.

Nadir raked a hand through his hair, flustered. "I got a call this morning. Apparently Richard threatened one of the lawyers with bodily harm." Why did he let his temper get the better of him- he should know better! "I'm sorry, Christine. I need to get there before this turns into a complete fiasco."

"It sounds as though it already is." came a melodic voice from the doorway. Erik stood there, coffee in hand. He appeared rather amused.

Nadir huffed. "Thank you for your supportive commentary, Erik."

The man's lips quirked. "I'm sure you'll manage, Nadir. If anyone can salvage this, it's you."

"Assuming there's something left to salvage." Nadir muttered.

Christine

It was later, as she was helping her godfather pack, that she remembered a question she had wanted to ask him. "Uncle Nadir?"

He paused in the middle of putting on his coat. "Yes, Christine?" "You said you went to college with Erik. How exactly- I mean he looks..."

"Younger than I?" Nadir smiled slightly. "Thank you, Christine. As to your question, I went back some years ago to study law."

"Oh."

His face softened as he looked at her. "Take care. I'm going to miss you, Christine."

She hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you too." Christine closed her eyes at the heat that rushed to them. "I wish we could go to the airport with you." she whispered softly, wistfully.

Her godfather smiled at her and squeezed her shoulder. "I do too, Christine. But I couldn't ask that of Erik."

"Does he really hate himself that much?" she asked quietly. "That he's so- wary?" Even... afraid? she thought.

"Life has not dealt gently with Erik, Christine." Nadir said softly, voice meant for her ears alone. "Remember that."

She nodded. "I will, Uncle Nadir." There was no need to tell her that. She recalled the night she had first given him that embrace. The shock, the frozen tensing she had pretended not to notice. His complete lack of response. The wondering, wary look in the blue eyes, the sudden stillness of his face.

How his heart had suddenly sped under her ear.

I'll remember.

Nadir hugged her shoulders. "One more thing. Christine?"

She pulled back to look at him. "Hmm?"

He hesitated. "About Raoul. He... likes to help people, but he can't fix everyone. Sometimes I think he forgets that. Especially after Dawn."

"Dawn?" Christine inquired.

Nadir shook his head. "A girl he once knew. It's enough to say that he lost her. You'd have to ask him, Christine. It's not my story to tell."

Questions raced through her mind, but she could see that Nadir wasn't going to answer them. About the mysterious girl or Raoul's intentions toward Christine herself. Am I just something on his to-do list? Christine felt a flicker of annoyance. What kind of friendship was that!

Was it even a friendship?

She smiled and hugged her godfather, pushing the irritation aside. "Don't worry, Nadir. I don't plan on letting myself become someone's fix-it project." Especially his. She didn't know why, but that he should view her as something broken to be mended, an patient rather than a friend, irked her.

Nadir was still speaking. "...I think he is very- fond- of you, Christine. Just be careful, for me, would you?"

She smiled. "Of course. Don't worry about me."

He tousled her hair, returning her smile. "I always worry about you, Christine." He winked. "Do you know how many grey hairs are your doing?"

"They make you look very distinguished." she told him solemnly.

He laughed, eyes dancing. "So you say."

"You should believe me, then." Christine picked up one of his suitcases. He took the other and they made their way down the hall.

Erik met them by the front door. "Have a good trip, Nadir."

Nadir nodded, smiling. "Try not to tear the apartment apart, both of you."

Erik's mouth curved. "I'm sure we can refrain from doing any permanent damage."

Christine nudged him; he looked down at her in mild surprise. "Especially if some of us have music lessons to distract us."

His eyes lightened. "Indeed." There was a distinct trace of amusement in his voice.

Nadir picked up his luggage. "Well, I'm off. Goodbye, both of you." He hugged Christine one last time, shook Erik's hand firmly.

She went to the window in the kitchen, watched him place his suitcases in the taxi. She tapped the glass. He glanced up and waved. She returned it as he climbed into the car.

She watched him until he was out of sight.

Later that day, she flipped through some of the recordings of her parents. She didn't know why she did it, really, would the sound of their voices bring them back? Would it revive them as more than memories? She did not think so. But still, she listened.

In some way, it was comforting to remember them as they had been. To hear their voices, even if she would never again hear them speak her name.

The breathy, ephemeral voice of her mother filled the room, a violin playing a chord of such sweetness it seemed to touch her soul, behind it. She closed her eyes, joining the ethereal voice with her own. The music traced through her like tender roots questing through earth, water over stone.

"When the dark wood fell before me
and all the paths were overgrown,
when the priests of pride say there is no other way-
I tilled the sorrows of stone."

Christine felt a rise in her throat, a salty, sweet warmth, as she sang with her mother. If she was silent in her mind, so silent that any thought seemed to disturb it like a ripple through a pond, sometimes she could remember. She could remember, faintly and far-off, a voice in the darkness. The scent of honey and clover, a warm hand upon her head. A rocking sensation, as though she were in a cradle.

Perhaps they were only dreams, and not true memories. But Christine didn't think so. She knew differently. It was her mother, before she had passed away, a mother who had rocked her to sleep. Whose voice had lulled her into dreams.

"I did not believe because I could not see,
though you came to me in the night.
When the dawn seemed forever lost,
you showed me your love in the light of the stars."

She had pictures. Pictures of a woman with eyes like a spring grove in bloom, hair like a sunrise over the desert. Pictures of that woman holding a dark-eyed infant, her lost-seeming eyes intent and loving, her hands cradling with tender delicacy, the girl in her arms. Caressing the fine curls, with the trace of a smile curving her lips.

But the pictures could not bridge the distance between them. The closest thing she had to that was to sing with her. Then, for a little while, at least, she could close her eyes and feel the spirit behind the voice at her side. Within her.

Mom.

"Cast your eyes on the ocean.
Cast your soul to the sea.
When the dark night seems endless-
please remember me."

I remember, Mom.

I remember.

She dreamed, sometimes, of herself as a child, barely out of infanthood. A warm summer sun basked her in light, the shrill cries of gulls passed around her, the echoing crash of the ocean a deeper undertone. Her mother and father sat with her between them. She held a smooth, pale shell in her hands, running her hands over the smooth opalescence of it as her feet sifted through the warm sand. Salt air surrounded her, filling her, spreading through her like a healing balm.

Was that only a dream?

"Then the mountain rose before me,
by the deep well of desire.
From the fountain of forgiveness,
beyond the ice and the fire."

She remembered turning to see their hands entwined behind her as they looked over her head, at each other. Into each other, in such a way that it ached to see. To feel the closeness between them at only a single glance. With such love that it made her feel so small, almost alone. How was it possible, a love like that, that seemed to transcend words or touch? That lit such a fire that blazed like an oriflamme for all to see?

That almost seemed to close everything else out?

"Cast your eyes on the ocean.
Cast your soul to the sea.
When the dark night seems endless-
please remember me."

Until they looked down at the child gazing up at them with wide, inquisitive eyes. Then they would gather her to their arms, and her father would speak softly, her favorite stories, of a girl called Little Lotte

Her voice rose, with her mothers, in a wordless, ascending melody. That sent her soul out of herself like the sparks of a fire spiraling into the star-filled sky. She immersed herself in the sensation, the plaintive, lonely promise, as though she called something to herself. Called beyond the physical world, touching something beyond the flat surface, touching an ephemeral something that wound itself around her spirit in answer, filling her with a glowing light. She felt a sting at her eyes, as though she had suddenly looked into the heart of the sun.

"Though we share this humble path, alone,
how fragile is the heart.
Oh, give these clay feet wings to fly,
to touch the face of the stars."

Her mother's voice reached out and caressed her. Christine sang to that voice, the woman who had loved her. The woman of whose body and soul she was born. The woman who had left such a mark of love on her before passing. Had given her such a gift in her voice. Had left so much of herself with her daughter. Her love... and her music.

A music that allowed her to say more than what mere words could tell. Could give those words meaning and flight beyond any mortal speech. That allowed her, briefly, a connection to the mother who was still so much a part of her.

"Breathe life into this feeble heart.
Lift this mortal veil of fear.
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears.
We'll rise above these earthly cares."

The mother who had given her such love, such depthless, endless care, before she had passed into shadow. Who had comforted her as a child still unable to speak, a voice of reassurance in the night, a warm smile in the morning. A mother who had gifted her with a love and a voice with which to give it.

A mother who had managed to hold on, briefly, to life, for love.

"Cast your eyes on the ocean.
Cast your soul to the sea.
When the dark night seems endless-
please remember me...

... please remember me."

Christine ended. The last strains of the violin vibrated through her, fading with their voices, hers and her mothers. Until, at last, there was only the memory. A memory and the fading glow inside of her, like a blaze paling to warm embers. From the remote burning of stars to the reassuring warmth of a fire on a midwinter night.

Erik

He heard her voice winding through the apartment. At first, a wordless melody, than a question, a wish. A remembrance.

He followed the sound of it, drawn inexorably, like a moth to the flame. Her voice vibrated through the air, reaching past the physical body to the spirit it housed. He felt it touch him, brush against his soul, as no other sound, no other music had, save his own. Stirred ripples of strange emotions, a whispering touch like wind through willow trees.

Her eyes were closed, head tilted back as she sang. She seemed completely unaware of anything but the music.

It was strange. He had never seen her look so alive- yet at the same time, so surreal. A rawness and a lucidity to her features, a light that seemed to come from within her skin. She didn't look like the young girl he was so accustomed to seeing. She looked... grown. As old and as yet as ageless as time. A transcendent radiance to her face that surpassed and transformed the innocence and the youth he knew. A vibrance, a sheer, soul-baring emotion that touched him and, like flame, flowered through him in a bright blaze as it did.

"...please remember me."

Her voice echoed faintly, than evanesced into nothingness. There was only the sound of their breathing in the silence.

Her eyes opened, met his. They were wide and dark and endless, a glowing effervescence like sunlight through autumn leaves. Her voice was soft.

"I miss them."

"I know."

Nadir

"...please remember me."

The call of their music echoed through his mind, as he seated himself on the plane. Charles and Catherine. He had been there, one of the nights they performed it. He remembered now, how, under the dim stage lights, her voice, his music, had seemed to touch them all, to set a flame in each of them so that they were like a blaze of stars in the night sky, in the darkness of the concert hall.

He remembered their eyes, as the song ended and they looked at each other.

Endless, loving eyes.