"Erik" The pleading calls fell on Raoul's ears in a bitter rain. It wounded his pride to think that she would thrust him away only to summon her "Angel." The ring she tried so hard to refuse was the most magnificent diamond he could find for her; the jeweler assured him that it was flawless. On her hand it would sparkle brilliantly, showcasing the pale skin of her slight fingers. If she would marry him, he would drape her in jewels and clothe her in the finest silks and satins. How could a Swedish born, rural, opera girl not be impressed by those prospects?

But no, she was calling for some invisible teacher who wanted her to parade around on stage as though such behavior were natural and healthy. Raoul sat down and leaned back against her door. At the moment he did not care a fillip that the servants might see him. It was well known that he was courting Christine; it was not so unusual that a suitor should pine outside his ladylove's door. Fresh air from the open windows in her room wafted under her doorjamb and freshened his post. This same breeze would carry their voices to him nicely. Waiting outside Christine's rooms seemed always to be an educational experience; Raoul awaited the Angel's 'appearance' nearly as eagerly as she did.

As was his wont, Erik stood in the mirror-chamber for a moment before announcing his presence. She was standing squarely before him and clutching some small, sparkling object. A few moments' scrutiny revealed the ring for what it was - a finely crafted golden ring with an immense diamond set in it. It was an engagement ring, he realized. Alarm widened his eyes. Willing his voice to remain smooth and serene, he projected it into the room.

"Why do you call me now, Christine. I asked for three days – not such a long time."

Christine made no effort to hide the ring, which reflected the lamplight in a thousand cold sparks. She stepped closer to the mirror, touching its surface with the fingertips of her right hand. He matched her touch, wanting to open the glass and take her in his arms. He could imagine the warm smell of her sachet, the loving look in her eyes, the way she had dared to look directly at him…to touch him…to kiss him…

"Thank goodness you've come. I must talk with you."

Raoul's palm slicked with sweat as he slowly, slowly turned the doorknob. His fear-sensitive ears could hear the mechanism ratcheting but he continued in his sneaky endeavor, his fear of discovery overcome by curiosity – and jealousy. Carefully he inched the door open until he could peer through the crack to see Christine's beautiful silhouette facing the mirror. He could see no man, though he surely heard one. Perhaps this "Angel" of Christine's – but that was preposterous. Time would play out this mystery.

Remaining cool and distant, Erik responded, "You are not hurt? Not ill?"

"No. Nothing like that, but…"

"Then I must return to my work." He turned to leave.

"Raoul proposed to me." Christine waited for Erik's reaction. And waited.

No sound issued from the mirror-chamber; no ghostly voice projected itself into the parlor. The silence pressed in until she feared her Angel had simply left her without a parting word.

"Erik? Angel?"

"The foppish boy proposed to you. Naturally, he wants to marry you. And he's such a fine catch. His manners, his money – his face – are all perfect. And look…there glistens his ring in your little hand." For the second time since she had come to know him as her Angel of Music, Erik's voice was as dull and harsh as granite. It pained her ears and struck a discordant note in her heart. "His ring…" Erik spoke sotto voce in that terrible, dead-dull tone and though Christine could still hear him, Raoul could not. "and of course you have accepted him. My dream is ended, your dream begins…"

"No, Erik…" The words piled up behind the lump filling her throat.

"You will dance in the sunshine. A beautiful young girl like you…will make a comely…Vicomptess. You belong in a mansion," In Erik's mind, Christine laughed gaily amidst a flock of high-born women, shadowing their gaudy prettiness with her holy beauty.

"Please listen…"

But Erik was only just recovering from the pain of his memories. This new shock was more than his wounded spirit could take. "With jewels and silks…servants…all the good and beautiful things you deserve…and I cannot…can never…give. " his voice dropped lower and sounded more and more like a wraith's moan with each phrase.

"I refused him, Erik. Please…" She tapped loudly on the mirror with her fingertips, unable to bear anymore. "Please. I did not accept him. Please, my Angel of Music, I need you." She was very near tears.

What happened next amazed and infuriated the spying Vicompte. The glass of the mirror swung open and a tall, thin man in black opera clothes stepped out.

From…the mirror? Raoul's confused thoughts clanged in his normally placid mind.

This man wore the trademark white mask of the Opera Ghost, but of course no such creature existed. So why was this man masquerading as the Ghost masquerading as Christine's Angel? Raoul gathered himself to jump up and spring into the room but froze, dumbfounded, as Christine took the man into her arms. Willingly, without fear or shame, like some brazen opera coquette. She had never done so with him. And this meant she had lied! She had lied to him about having met her voice teacher!

This man had bewitched her somehow. Maybe he really was a Ghost…or something worse. Had Christine sold her soul to a demon in exchange for that unearthly voice of hers? But that sort of thought was lunacy. Raoul quashed his superstitious thoughts. He would hunker down and let the scene play out, then he would decide his next course of action. No matter what this…thing…was, Raoul was not prepared to battle it. Not yet.

With a little cry of joy, Christine leaned her head against Erik's bony chest and snaked her arms around his waist. He was worrisomely thin; the wiry muscle lay close under his pallid skin. She wondered if he had eaten at all over the last few days. Rising on her tiptoes, so that her mouth approached his ear, Christine whispered, "How could I agree to marry another when the man I love is right here in my arms? Did you not believe me the first time? Did you not promise to allow us this dream?"

Life flickered and then blazed in his deep-set eyes like fire blooming from a tiny spark. His arms floated up to enclose her in a possessive embrace. "You…choose me? How…?"

"Take me home, Erik."

He blinked. She was home, wasn't she?

"Your home. I will not bother you, I promise. I won't even speak to you. Until tomorrow." Erik would have objected, but Christine turned her dark blue eyes up to his and smiled prettily.

"There will be nothing for you to do…" Where has The Phantom gone, Erik? Where's the man who runs the Opera Populaire with an iron fist? Why can't you stand up to a mass of curls and big blue eyes? Tell her no... tell her NO.