Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, the Opera Populaire, or France. I think that if I had my choice of the three, I would choose Erik hands down. At least I own Danielle. I am reasonably proud of that.

A/N: I wanted to reply in this chapter to several comments/questions made by my lovely reviewers. Since I'm not allowed to use specific names (Am I allowed to dedicate chapters to certain reviewers, I wonder?), I decided to have this special section. I hope you all remember what you asked me.

While several writers believe that Erik would be driven, by the loss of Christine, over the brink of insanity, I thought that, since it was his violence and desperation that drove her away, he might become less violent and controlling. You might say that it shocked some sense into him. Especially after that "true distortion" remark in the musical, if you prefer to think of this as based on the musical. There will be some Leroux elements in this story. They will come into play very soon. Never read Kay and, from what I've heard of it, I never will.

Erik hasn't exactly given into his feelings for Danielle…yet. He still hasn't realized how much she means to him, though he sees the potential of loosing his heart. There is also the handicap that he feels so very unworthy of her. For all of his genius, he is quite oblivious to the fact that some women can love a man despite his many faults, physical or otherwise. But fear not! He will come around soon.

Several of you mentioned that my pace was fine. Thank you. I have been rather worried about it. I don't want my Erik to seem fickle, though I did give him three years to let his feelings for Christine diminish, as well as her memory.

Chapter Eight: Persephone in the Underworld

Danielle

The Phantom led Danielle down a twisting path to the lake. She felt as if they were miles below the Opera, which could very well have been true. Everything was so quiet that she could hear the sound of her chilled breath. She tried to stay within the light of the Phantom's torch so she wouldn't get lost as they went farther than she had ever imagined the cellars of the opera could go. Danielle's rather adventurous spirit was itching to strike out on her own and explore this dark and mysterious underground kingdom ruled by a man clothed in legend. She didn't succumb to the temptation because her more rational side told her that it would be very unwise to do so, and because the irrational side of her wanted to stay as close as she could to the ruler of this dark kingdom.

There was a little boat waiting for them at the edge of the lake. Orpheus helped her get in and climbed in behind her. He started to pole the little gondola through the black water and the mist.

This journey was intensely surreal. So this is what Persephone felt like when she was being led to the underworld by Hades. This thought, mingled with the bizarre situation she was in, made Danielle wonder idly if she would ever leave the cellars. She wouldn't have been very surprised if she discovered that she couldn't. It certainly seemed like a possibility in her current surroundings, though the place didn't seem oppressive. In fact, she felt quite free and easy.

Danielle swiveled around to take in all she could. She glanced up at her mysterious teacher, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't spent much time with him in the dark, so she really hadn't expected this new revelation. The Phantom's eyes glowed gold in the dark. Danielle had heard in her youth that a werewolf's eyes glowed yellow on the night of the full moon. She had, on more than one occasion, gotten the distinct impression that there was something lupine about this man's gaze. This golden color his eyes now held only increased this notion.

At long last, they reached a sort of cave, which Danielle's teacher obviously inhabited. She saw an area with a writing desk, an organ, and several closed doors, leading to other rooms. There was also a massive pipe organ surrounded by lit candles. How fitting, Danielle thought. He would certainly choose the most powerful instrument in the world.

"This," he said, helping her out of the boat, "is my home."

"It's beautiful," she said breathlessly, very aware that she was gawking at everything in turn.

It really was beautiful. The light of the candles reflected eerily off the swaying water and seemed to dance over every surface. There were red velvet wall-hangings that expressed their owner's passionate nature far more adequately than the delicate and ornate furniture.

"Would you like anything to drink," he asked politely. "I have wine, tea, milk, water. If you want anything else, I would be happy to procure it."

Danielle stifled a giggle when she wondered how he would go about procuring anything he didn't already have at this time of night, but she supposed she didn't want to know. "I never touch wine," she told him primly. "Water will do, thank you."

Orpheus went through one of the doors, which apparently led to the kitchen. While she waited, Danielle was left with a bit of a dilemma. He hadn't asked her to sit down. Since he was master of this house, it would be impolite to sit without his permission. But then again, it was impolite not to ask his guest to have a seat. She couldn't imagine that he would really mind, so she chose a comfortable seat next to the organ, even if it wasn't the most mannerly thing to do.

The Phantom came back carrying a two glasses, one filled with water, and the other with a dark reddish liquid. She had been staring at the water and didn't notice him at first. He cleared his throat and her head jerked around to face him. She noticed with some surprise that he had a very smug expression on what she could see of his face. He looked like the cat that ate the canary.

"Your water, mademoiselle," he said, handing her a glass.

"If I drink this, will I have to stay here forever," Danielle asked sardonically.

"I don't know. Let's find out," he answered coolly.

A challenge, she thought. She drank it all in one gulp. The Phantom now looked like the cat that ate two canaries.

He sipped his drink thoughtfully, and finally said, "I have something to ask you, Danielle, something that may make you believe that my intentions are not completely honorable, though I assure they are."

"I believe you," she said, surprised to find that she actually meant it. "But what could you ask of me that would make me believe otherwise?"

He walked over to the other side of the organ. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. When they came, his words were gentle, almost tender. "I brought you here to ask you if you would like to live here."

"With you," she exclaimed with surprise.

"Yes, with me," he said a bit drearily, mistaking the surprise in her voice for alarm, or disgust. He went on hurriedly. "You would have your own bedroom and bathroom. I give my word that if you agree to stay, I will never set foot in either as long as you live here and that you would be perfectly safe with me."

Danielle considered her teacher for a moment. He seemed quite nervous. Not the face of a seductive villain, she thought wryly. "For how long?"

"For as long as you like. You would, of course, remain in the employ of the Opera Populaire. It would be easier to continue our lessons down here," he added. "That's why I decided to ask you. I'm never particularly safe in the above-ground levels of the Opera House."

"Before I give you my answer, may I ask you something I've been wondering since I first met you," she ventured.

His nervousness clearly deeper, he said, "You may ask, but I am not bound to give you an answer."

Danielle walked up to him and looked into his fearful blue eyes. She asked softly, "What is your name?"

He was so relieved that he gripped the organ for support. He returned her gaze and said, "Erik. You may call me Erik."

"Is that not your name then," she countered, noting the different phrasing he used.

"I chose a long time ago to leave behind the past that to which my true name belongs," he told her sadly. "My name is now Erik."

Danielle smiled at him warmly and said, "I'll only stay with you if you play something for me, Erik."

She went back to her seat, while Erik sat down at the organ. When Erik began to play, Danielle was introduced to music unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was powerful and haunting, painful and breathtaking. She wasn't sure if the music was a curse or a cure. It seemed to Danielle as if the whole world were crying along with Erik and his organ.

Danielle suddenly understood him, understood why he had brought her to his home, why he had given her lessons. It wasn't really because he wanted a student he could train far away from doors easy to open. It was because he was terribly lonely.

Erik

The song ended on a note of utmost despair. Erik looked up to see her reaction and was alarmed to see her staring at him as if she'd never seen him before, her breathing rapid and her wide-open grey eyes glazed over. Fear gripped him. He expected her to scream, faint, run away, or call him a monster. He watched helplessly as she got up and stepped closer to him, as if in a trance. Erik froze in horror as she lifted her hand toward his face.

This is it, he thought. Just like Christine.

After all, he had known this would happen eventually, although he'd managed to convince himself that Danielle might have been different. He hadn't learned his lesson and now he was going to be stabbed through the heart again.

To his surprise, she simply smoothed back a lock of hair, which had fallen over his face while playing. Erik felt a strange longing as her fingertips brushed lightly against his skin. He hadn't known the touch of another human being in so long; he'd almost forgotten what such warmth felt like. He wanted her to touch his face again, just for a moment, but she sat down again and waited for him to continue.

"Perhaps you will like my next song. I wrote it for you." Erik started to play an enchanting, but rather romantic tune. This one spoke of hope and of a renewed sense of life's beauty. Erik risked a few glances at Danielle throughout the song. She watched and listened with tears in her eyes. He thought he noticed a flash of longing in those green rings as the music swelled, but he knew better than to believe it. It could only have been his imagination, wishful thinking.

Erik knew that he was baring his soul to her and when he stopped, he looked up at her shyly and said, "It's late. Would you like me to show you to your room?"

Danielle

"Yes, please," Danielle said, standing up. She felt oddly weak and needed to lie down.

"This way," Erik told her. He led her to a door near the writing area. "This room is yours. Mine is the door on the other side of the organ."

Danielle opened the door and stepped inside. Erik turned up the gaslights from the doorway, not setting foot in the room as he'd promised. The carpet and walls were a wintry creamy color and the large bed, to her left, had burgundy satin covers. There was a lovely vanity table against the wall on her right, and a door leading to the bathroom on the other side of the bed. There was a large, mahogany wardrobe directly across the room.

Erik slipped something into Danielle's hand, turned to go, and quickly closed the door behind him. She looked down at what he had given her and found that it was a brass key. She didn't lock the door. She knew he would keep his promise; he wouldn't come into her room. She did, however check all the mirrors in her room and bathroom. Just as a precaution. Finding them all to be perfectly normal, she tried on a white nightgown she found in the wardrobe. Danielle tried not to wonder how he had gotten her measurements as she turned off the lights and climbed into bed.

Erik

. Erik was in a state of great agitation. He paced up and down his lair, occasionally stopping to stare at her bedroom door. To think that Danielle D'Artoi, a woman, was right behind that door…in a nightgown! And he hadn't heard the lock click. It was almost impossible to believe. She trusted him. She actually trusted him.

Erik sat down to try to read a book, but no matter how many times he read the same paragraph, he couldn't absorb a word of it. He tried to work on his music, but his thoughts kept straying to Danielle's bedroom. No, he told himself severely. You promised that it was hers and that you would not go there; you cannot let your mind invade her privacy. It isn't right to think of her…of her bedroom…of her sift skin and hair. Dear God in Heaven, why did she have such a hold over his mind?

With a sigh, he opened the door to his bedroom, closed it behind him, and sank onto the little bed. This was going to be a long, sleepless night.

A/N: I am so glad to be able to use Erik's name whenever I focus on Danielle's perceptions. I was getting really tired of interchanging titles like "Orpheus," "The Phantom," and "her teacher." It got a little annoying.

A/N: Did anyone notice the reference to the Princess Bride by William Goldman? I got it the book for Christmas. It is so funny! The reference was the "wintry cream" bit. In the book, Buttercup is described as having skin like wintry cream. I'm not really sure what that would look like, but I thought it was an interesting idea.

A/N: In Greek mythology, Persephone was the goddess of springtime. She was out picking flowers one day when Eros (the Greek version of Cupid) shot Hades, who happened to be near for some strange and random reason, with a love arrow. (I mean, what's the god of the Underworld doing in the world of the living anyway? Enjoying the sunshine?) Hades kidnapped Persephone and took her to the Underworld to be his queen. When they reached the Underworld, Hades offered her a pomegranate to eat. This was a trick because, unbeknownst to Persephone, anyone who eats or drinks something from the Underworld must stay there forever. She only ate half of it, so she was allowed to spend half of the year with her mother, Demeter (goddess of agriculture) and the other half with her husband, Hades. In Roman mythology, she is known as Proserpina, Hades as Pluto, and Demeter as Ceres.