A/N: Next one is "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. I'm going to use 2004 Gerik for this one, considering he knew Christine for years as opposed to three months. Ever lie in bed at night thinking about the first time that Christine received a rose? Well, those things go way back…

Artist: Snow Patrol

Chasing Cars

By: xSweet Allure

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet it the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill thy envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art more fair than she."

Young Christine sighed and disappeared behind the side curtain.

Madame Giry tightened the grip around her ebony staff and strolled over to the child.

"My dear?" she asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Never mind that Christine wasn't dancing, her face clearly looked distraught.

"I'm sorry, Madame. I just…I'm not feeling very…dance-ish this morning." Hands folded themselves daintily on Christine's lap. She averted Giry's gaze, for it might have been murderous; she didn't dare to look. Marie never allowed her ballerinas to rest unless they were near death or dying.

Christine chewed on her lower lip. Her lack of performance had now become increasingly noticeable to her fellow students.

Little Meg Giry twirled around on her heel and then swiftly stopped, "Christine's not dancing, Mama…"

There was a short silence.

The instructor then cracked her cane against the stage; Meg jumped, slid her way back in line with the others, and commented no more.

"Continue practicing, girls. Your unison is far from perfected!"

Everyone winced.

'How does she do it?', Christine thought to herself. How could Madame Giry's voice sound so intimidating; yet so kind at the same instant? She turned her head to the opposite side and listened to the billowing sound of a black dress as it spread over the occupied stage. Madame Giry had taken a seat beside her.

"Is something troubling you, Christine?"

The young girl shook her head all too quickly.

Such a reaction had rightfully caused the widow to be a bit skeptical. She raised her eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Christine played with her fingers, poking them shyly at the folds in her lavish 'Romeo and Juliet' costume.

"I don't feel well, Madame," she assured, voice wavering a bit. Christine inhaled a deep breath and continued to convince her just that. She didn't feel well.

"I just need a moment. I'll be up in a minute."

Madame Giry nodded, realizing that Christine didn't wish to elaborate and then stood up and brushed herself off. "We'll be waiting for you, my dear."

After some alone time and finding herself in deep admiration for Romeo, as he climbed the balcony to place a gentle kiss on Juliet's lips, Christine tore her eyesight from the two lovers and went back to rehearsal. Meg briefly halted in her steps, making sure her mother wasn't looking, and then chanced a glance at her best friend.

"Christine!" Meg whispered excitedly, "Did you know today is—"

"Meg Giry!" A ringing voice cried across the stage, "Just what do you think you are doing? Keep in line, no talking!"

"Yes Mama." Meg bent back down and touched her toes, a very good stretch, and held back an exasperated sigh.

Little Jammes edged carefully towards Meg as Madame Giry looked away. "Oh, yes, it's Valen -"

Madame Giry's staff hit the floor with a booming, resounding bang. The actor studying his lines for the young Montague nearly fell off the catwalk.

Little Jammes gulped and decided what she had to say was not that important, anyway

The moment Meg saw her mother concentrating on someone else, she murmured hastily, "I'll tell you later!"

Little Jammes nodded enthusiastically, and Christine sighed.

She tried to focus on her dancing, but her mind kept wondering. Several times she was reprimanded by Madame Giry, but it was still a struggle to focus on the dance steps.

One-Two-Step. One-Two-Three-Step, Two-Three-Step.

Too late, Christine caught her mistake, and was rewarded by another shout from Madame Giry. The woman had obviously forgotten that Christine did not feel well.

"Christine! Try to focus!" Meg whispered quickly as her steps brought herself toward her friend. "Mother is getting impatient, and our last rehearsal is tomorrow!"

"I know." Christine said as she tripped over her feet again. Ever since her father had died, she had lost that sparkle in her eyes, a sparkle recently regained, but duller nonetheless. She preferred to think of other things instead of what was really happening, especially today, of all days.

It had been years since that horrible event, and yet every time she tried to live in a real life, the pain came back. She just couldn't focus.

At long last, the rehearsal was over.

Meg suddenly pulled her aside, gesturing for the other girls to join them.

"Guess what! Did you hear!" she retorted excitedly.

Christine raised her hand out in front of her face. "Meg, if it's another story about the "Opera Ghost," I'm really not in the mood."

Meg blinked in surprise.

She gave her a small, half-hearted smile and turned on her heel to leave. Looking over her shoulder and back at her friends, Christine answered Meg's speechless expression with a, "I'm just tired, Meg. If you need me, I shall be in my dressing room."

What had happened? Thinking back, her past had been much happier, and right now, she needed comfort. Christine walked to her dressing room door-not even sure how she got there- and turned the knob. She took one step inside, looked around and then softly shut the entrance behind her. Christine glided over to the bed, bounced onto it and then collapsed, closing her eyes for a bit.

"Angel, please hear me. I wish to speak with you…" Christine felt like smacking her forehead with her palm. You simply can't summon an Angel! Angels have far better things to do than consol depressing, little 15-year-old girls. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, gazing at her reflection in the body length mirror on the wall. Ha, she looked so blank!

Unknown to Christine, a pair of turquoise eyes were staring back at her.

Erik had watched her depart from rehearsals and was waiting for her arrival when she returned. Christine seemed more lonely today, if that were possible, and he figured that he might as well be prepared if she wanted to talk about it. And of course, he had been right.

"Christine? What is wrong, my dear?"

At the sound of his alluring, heavenly voice, Christine perked up immediately and broke into a wide smile. There was a small, flattering dimple on her right cheek; it seemed to brighten up her face. Her brown, beautiful locks hung over her shoulder, like a long, breath-taking waterfall. She was growing older, so much more different than that little girl Madame Giry had brought to the Opera. How could the years go so quickly?

Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed and sighed. "Angel, did you know it's Valentine's Day today?"

Erik felt a lump in his throat, making it almost impossible for him to swallow. There was a loud gulping sound radiating from behind the mirror.

Christine didn't seem to notice and pressed on.

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own.

"Meg was trying to tell me that today was Valentines Day- is Valentines Day." Christine paused sourly. She grimaced. "I never really given much thought to the holiday except that it seems ridiculously pointless." Christine suddenly felt a surge of curiosity flow through her veins as she asked, "Do Angels celebrate Valentines Day?" The question sounded childish, even to her, but she couldn't help asking. That similar hotness spread across her cheeks when talking to him.

Erik was shocked so severely by Christine's question that it caused him to step back a foot. He had to collect his thoughts. When he didn't answer right away, Christine automatically assumed she had done something wrong.

"Angel," she cried. "Are you there?"

"Yes, Christine. I am here, and I've heard you," Erik responded with mild irritation.

Christine blinked in surprise at his tone but nodded slowly.

Erik's fists were clutched so tight into fists that his knuckles started to turn white. He was trembling, not out of anger but sadness. Pity for himself.

"Angels are often so busy with their pupils, ma cherie… It's almost impossible for them to find…companionship. Love. Our entire existence is to educate our students." 'There', Erik thought, 'that gives her a good explanation on things.'

Christine crossed her arms over her stomach. It hurt when he called her a student. She wished she could be so much more than that. It felt like there was a burning whole starting to fester inside herself. Christine tried her best to sound normal. "I see…well…" She gnawed at her bottom lip. Curse it, her words sounded emotionless. "I'm sorry."

Worry lines made creases in Erik's forehead. He had taken note of Christine's changing mood.

But then she laughed, not a happy laugh- a hard one. "Father used to give me roses each Valentines Day. He told me that the other flowers all envied the rose because of its exceptional beauty." Christine pointed a finger in the air, "Father always gave me a red one. Red means love." She giggled again- happier this time. "Those days by the sea, I used to have an old childhood friend- that gave me yellow roses…yellow's for friendship, you know. And no matter what color or what meaning, I always loved the rose. So much that…" Christine hoisted herself off the bed and made her way over to the dresser where she quickly flew open the upper left-hand draw. Underneath her stockings and such (which made her blush considerably deeper), Christine grabbed a small mahogany box from inside the corner's edge. She placed it on the dresser and flung open the lid. Erik couldn't see very well.

Christine reached into the box carefully and ran her hand along the insides before delicately holding out a couple of dried up rose petals. "I save them. They just smell so pretty." Christine sniffed the two tiny red teardrops in her palm and frown. "Of course, even preserved, they lose their smell sometime or another." And they floated gracefully back into their container.

Erik stood there behind the glass in uncomfortable silence.

"Unfortunately, the man who used to give me there is…" No! Christine would not allow herself to cry in front of her Angel!

Erik wanted more than anything for him to comfort her. Such thoughts were sinful…

Christine inhaled a whoosh of breath. "But like I said, the whole holiday is idiotic…"

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

Idiotic, humm? Well, when a woman said something was idiotic, they usually meant the exact opposite. Ladies were complicated like that. Erik turned the corner of his mouth up in a lop-sided smile.

"Christine…why don't we practice one of your most recent pieces? Please get out the Romeo and Juliet script that I have placed conveniently on your nightstand."

Christine gasped delightedly. Her Angel has been in her room? Sure enough, there was a thick stack of papers right where they sound be. Why hadn't she noticed them before?

Erik felt a strange stirring inside as Christine pranced over to pick up her script. He loved seeing her beaming like this…

"Turn to Act II, Scene ii…"

Christine obeyed without thought and then skimmed the page. "Juliet…" she murmured, "how I envy thee…"

If possible, this made Erik grow (exceedingly) pale.

-----

The dainty little tune trickled into his consciousness, abstractly melodic, each note separate and echoing within itself against the silence of his sleep. And that recurring chime, ping – ping – ping, with the evenness of a coin rolling down a staircase.

Erik opened his eyes. He was lying deep in a luxurious nest of cushions, in a bed with elegantly carved sides that curved up around him like a cradle. He sat up and tiredly rubbed his right eye. At the foot of the coffin was the music box, a cunning contraption surmounted with a little monkey in Persian robes. It must have been clockwork, for as the inscrutable little tune tinkled on, it brought the silver cymbals it held in its paws together with a tiny chime, ping – ping – ping.

Erik scowled and fell back onto the cushions. He was beginning to develop bruise-like circles under his eyes. He needed to get a peaceful sleep soon. Even an "opera ghost" needed his fair share of rest.

Ping- ping-ping…

"Would you please be QUIET, all ready?" Erik shouted. Talking to an inanimate object as if it were a person really did make him uneasy. Perhaps he was a bit insane. As he heard his booming voice echo off the cellar's walls, he became increasingly aware that he was alone. It was painful. Erik sighed as the monkey's tune seemed to wind down to a faint 'hum.'

Alone.

Erik stared at the ceiling and winced. The world is a cruel place. The world shunned him the moment he was born. The world didn't care about his loneliness.

He WAS a ghost.

And these were not happy thoughts to have in the middle of the night.

Erik produced another deep sigh, trying to concentrate on the inside of his eyelids. Well, at least Valentines Day was over with. Curse the fool who had the ingenuous idea to celebrate people's love for one another. He laughed bitterly to himself.

Inside his cold mind, Erik began to see Christine. She had her arm extended outward, waiting for him to clasp her hand. A curly chocolate lock of hair, hung past her shoulder as she leaned forward in the darkness to smile at him. Her smile reached to the corners of her mouth, causing that flattering dimple to come out of hiding.

Erik's eyes snapped back open as he felt a unfamiliar heat rush through his body. What was this girl doing to him? This was not the first time he saw Christine in his dreams.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Erik shivered, not because of the cold but because of what might be happening to him. The coffin suddenly felt a bit tight, so he swiftly maneuvered out of it and to his pipe organ. Music would surely calm him down. His long, graceful fingers span over the keys. He softly pressed down onto them, causing a low, melancholy sound to escape from the pipes. Erik stared back at the music box, his fingers levitating above the ivory rectangles. Madame Giry had given that to him on Valentines Day. But that seemed ages ago. . .

"And no matter what color or what meaning, I always loved the rose. . ."

There was a loud, glass-shattering sound as Erik pounded his fist onto the organ. He sprung from his bench and when to get his cloak and hat. The hat tilted slightly upward on the right side; its brim came down half-way over his left eye. He liked it because it created a feeling of mystery. Nobody would be able to recognize him in the dark. The shadow of the hat helped to reduce the gleaming of his white half-mask. He smirked and walked along, listening to the billowing of his cloak as it rustled across the stone floor behind him.

-----

"Romeo's so impulsive, don't you think? I mean, to kill Paris like that—"

"I think Paris was a threat to Romeo!"

"But does it matter? Juliet's dead!"

"Meg… Juliet is not dead, simply in a death-appearing sleep that would last a mere 42 hours until she can wake up again."

Meg raised her eyebrows.

"What?" Christine said defensively, "I like the story."

"He's a murderer, Christine; there is nothing you can say to justify that." She pointed out. A ha! Christine was silent, which proved that Meg won the debate. The little blonde ballerina stopped at Christine's dressing room door and followed her in.

Meg pushed herself up on to her tip-toes and kicked her leg into the air. "So," she said, concentrating on her dance move, "are you feeling better from yesterday?"

Christine shrugged.

"Oh, come on!" Meg whined, "Tell me what's gong on!"

"Nothing's going on," Christine assured, "it's just…" She made a face, "I miss my father, that's all."

Meg dropped several levels in happiness. "Oh," she realized, "Oh Christine, I'm so sorry! I didn't know-"

Christine patted the air in front of her with her hands. "Relax Meg. You can't be thinking about me all the time." She laughed hopelessly, "Don't look so upset."

Meg walked over to Christine and patted the back of her head. "Did your father and you do anything special for Valentines-"

Christine shuddered.

Meg chewed the inside of her mouth, "Christine! I did it again, didn't I? Talking about something like this. . . I just don't have a brain, anymore!"

"You certainly get yourself very jittery, Giry." Christine joked, watching Meg get nervous again. "My father used to give me roses."

"Really?" Meg squealed. "How pretty!"

"Yes," Christine agreed, going over to the dresser to show her friend the rose petal collection. She froze in mid-step.

On her dresser . . . was a yellow rose? A yellow rose tied with a black, velvet ribbon!

She picked it up and pulled the ribbon toward her, making a smaller-sized bow. Christine stared at it speechlessly, until Meg's voice made her jump.

"There's a note on there too," she informed.

Christine turned to look over her shoulder.

"Looks like someone has a secret admirer!" Meg skipped over to Christine's side.

"I. . .I . . Who? Did you?" She made a sharp twirl towards Meg.

"Don't look at me!" Meg smirked.

Christine gawked at the rose for a long while.

How much time had passed was uncertain.

"I think I'll leave you to your letter…" There was a click of a lock, a light breeze from the hallway and then Christine was alone.

She wasted no time in shuffling the note into her hand, ripping open the wax seal and reading the blood-red ink.


I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Dearest Christine,

I feel it is my duty to apologize. If I had known about your love of flowers, I would have given you this rose on its appropriate day. . . However, I was thinking of you. That you can be certain of. It makes me happy to think that my rose will not go to waste. Save its petals, and I will not be able to wipe this smile off my face.

Happy Belated Valentines Day

-Your Angel

PTO- Romeo is quite the dashing man. . .

Christine finished with a small chuckle and then looked back at the rose. It was yellow.

Yellow. . .

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

And the dagger shot through her chest. She went to get a handkerchief to blot her silent tears. Tears. . . tears. . .

Her heart skipped a beat. "I need to get this in water!'"

-----

Erik grinned as he placed the twelve butterscotch-colored roses into a vase. Last night he had come up with the idea-not only to buy Christine one rose, but a dozen! Of course, she had to earn them, first. He liked to think of the flowers as a reward for her progressing career. Perhaps he would leave Christine another after her performance of "Romeo and Juliet". Who said the Prima Donna needed all the attention? Gluttony was not very appealing.

Erik walked over to the lake shore, got in the gondola and began his journey up to the surface, gripping a long, dark-green stem between his fingers. He rested the rose down on the inside of the boat, only to grasp onto the gondola pole and push off.

Christine was already in her room by the time Erik got there. He was panting lightly under his breath. For some reason, Erik felt he was late and the thought of Christine being let down displeased him. She always expected him to be waiting for her after a performance.

Of course, the conversation started out as it always did- Erik acknowledging Christine on her part, telling her that she will soar to great heights and that she made her fellow chorus girls want to hang their heads in shame. Christine blushed shyly and asked her angel not to flatter her so, but Erik declared that she must get used to the compliments, if she wanted to be a praised Prima Donna.

Christine glowed at the thought and went to get undressed for the night. Erik turned away, his gentleman instincts getting the better of him, and when Christine appeared from behind the changing curtain, his pounding heart slowed down a couple of beats.

"Oh, and thank you for…" Erik heard faintly, blinking a couple of times. It seemed to help him in trying to regain his focus.

"What was that, my dear?" Erik fought the urge to press his ear up against the glass for a better listen.

"It's beautiful." Christine repeated, pointing her finger to the rose he had given her.

Erik's eyes darted from Christine to the blossom. "It is."

"A stunning yellow rose," Christine said after a moment, putting a mild emphasis on the word 'yellow'.

Erik looked back at her and nodded slowly- a pointless movement for someone who is not to be seen.

Christine came closer to her bed and gazed down at it steadily. She yawned into her hand and pulled back the covers. After positioning herself up against her pillow, she said tiredly, "Angel, would you mind if I asked you something? I know I most likely irritate you will all these questions, but I thought there'd be no harm in asking."

Erik watched her dreamily as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. "You may ask me what ever you like."

She seemed reluctant to continue. "I don't know how to put this, but…" Christine looked so innocent as she cuddled further into the bedding. The blankets draped over her body, showing the soft outline of her toes and she curled them up and down. "Were you always an angel?"

When Erik did not answer, Christine restated, "Were you born an angel, or were you once human? I know it's a silly question to ask—"

"No question is silly, Christine."

A puzzled frown hovered over Christine's face. She looked uncertain. "I'm sure, if you were a man . . . you must have had a lot of lovers in your life." Her voice dropped several octaves, until it was nothing but a whisper, "Every woman must have been mad about you. . ."

"I couldn't say.. ."

She turned her head slowly in the direction of his voice, alarmed. "Oh! Angel! Have I made you upset?"

Erik laughed, despite himself. "No, my child, I'm fine. However, it disappoints me to tell you that I cannot answer your question." Erik mentally cursed himself, a lie already forming onto his lips, "Any memories I've had of my life are only those of an Angel. I cannot say that I was once a man, for I do not know. Do you understand, Christine?"

"I do..." she sad sadly, disappointment etched strongly in her features.

"Now get some sleep, we have a busy day of practice, tomorrow."

"Wait," she cried, afraid that he would leave her, "could you sing me a song before you go? I'm so overly-tired, I don't think I'll be able to—"

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

"It'd be my pleasure, Christine."

And Erik rocked her on the sweet tide of his music until she slept soundly in her bed.

A muffled snoring came from her side of the room, proving this fact. Erik made a swift turn of the mirror pivot and stepped mechanically inside. Never had he permitted himself to walk in on Christine's domain- but he refused to go back now.

He glided over to her side, his gloved clad hand stroking the air that brushed her cheek, but then lowered it in quick haste. He sat on the bed with his back facing her. Something seemed to be gnawing at his thoughts.

His kingdom lied in eternal darkness, many feet below the Parisian streets outside. Darkness and solitude had been his companions since the day he chose to turn his back on the world of men and create an empire that was solely his. Since birth, everyone had despised him, for it was clear- Erik's destiny was to be spent alone. He was a monster in every way possible.

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

And yet, as he swept around to gaze at Christine (she had repositioned herself on her side), his curiosity overwhelmed him. By this girl's pure mind, she was ironically able to warp a demon into what she believed was an angel. This girl was living in a fantasy world in which she could not afford to wake up.

Erik's heart ached. Christine was the only woman who looked upon him in admiration, and to know that this whole thing was one big charade, it didn't make things any better.

Erik daringly withdrew the sheets from Christine's body and cradled her in his lap before she even had time to shiver. She continued to sleep in his embrace as though she had never been moved, and then, for a long time he simply held her. She was so light and fragile!


Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

The yellow rose petals glowed in the darkness. They stood out around the pitch black night that surrounded them. The rose itself was already beginning to wilt. Erik glared at it sourly and then looked down at Christine. "What has brought you to me?" he whispered.

He waited, but no response was heard.

"Well, that's my idea of a foolish question!" But no, the answer is what he feared.

Erik was frightened with the desire to hold Christine for all eternity, but the passage of time would forbid it, and her slight weight was gradually becoming intolerable. However, every muscle in his body wanted to scream out in protest. Erik laid her tenderly back onto the bed and tucked her in. Automatically, Christine molded back into her spot on the mattress. How he envied that bed, those blankets that were able to envelope her body. He was wickedly jealous.

Erik wanted Christine, all of her.

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

But oh, cruel world- it would not allow him to have her! And besides, this newfound lust he was feeling, lust was more forbidden than love. Lust was not love. Love was a profoundly amorous, passionate affection for another person. Lust . . . lust was lust.

Erik brushed a stray hair out of Christine's face and stood up. "I will remember tonight as it was, and think not of tomorrow."

Erik escaped behind the mirror.

------

Christine was now 17. By some miraculous phenomenon, two years had passed by without Erik even realizing it. He kept a calendar, but was still skeptical when he checked the days.

In two years, Erik had accomplished constructing a life-size mannequin of Christine, creating an art gallery dedicated to Christine and setting up a miniature model of the opera house, complete with mini Christine figurine and friends.

The key word here is being 'Christine.'

But no, he was NOT in love.

-------

"The Opera Ghost really doesn't like Carlotta, does he?" Meg laughed, still playing back the previous occurrences in her head. The new managers, the fallen backdrop, the angry Spanish diva storming out and demanding her doggie. . . Ah, the Opera Populaire was filled with some good, thrilling chaos!

"Meg. . . I don't know if I can do this!"

Meg scurried over to Christine, who looked as though she would faint if something was not done soon.

"What if . . . what if they don't like me? All those people . . . they're expecting greatness!"

"Do you seriously believe that Carlotta, the tone deaf Spaniard, is any better than you?" Meg howled at the thought. "You're perfect, Christine, that's why you have this part."

Christine allowed herself a chuckle, "I owe it all to my Angel!"

Meg nodded and asked, "Is he the one who sends you all those flowers? The yellow ones?"

Christine smiled.

"I see." She observed. "It feels late, I should leave you to get ready." The ballerina wished her friend luck, grabbed a chocolate from the box she'd been eating out of, popped it into her mouth and left.

"You know, those chocolates are mine!" Christine laughed into her hand.

"I'll buy you another box!" Meg called from down the hallway. Christine hurried to catch a glimpse of her before she disappeared down another passageway, shook her head playfully and closed the door.

"Where does that Giry child store it all?"

Christine jumped.

"I didn't mean to startle you, my dear. . . Maybe I should come back later."

His intoxicating voice made Christine want to groan.

"No! I mean. . . of course I want you to come back, later. I want to know if I've done well tonight. But please, stay?"

Erik cleared his throat. "But surely you need to get changed?"

"That's what a changing curtain's for." Christine blushed.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

"I. . .Well . . . If you really want me to—"

Christine grinned inwardly. So, she had a little power over him, too, eh? Excellent. "I want you to." She seemed to dance on air as she folded the elegant dress over her arm and pranced out of view. Erik could feel his cheeks grow hot as he watched articles of clothing being draped over the top of the curtain. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as Christine took her time getting dressed. Erik decided to take a seat on the floor, placing a hand over his exploding heart. How much could one man take? How far could he be pushed before he stormed in and pushed Christine up against a wall and kiss her? To please his burning passion?

"You know…" Christine's voice snapped Erik out of his mental meditation. "I had this dream once; I think I was 15 . . . have I ever told you about it?" Christine peeked out, as if she were expecting to see him. When she didn't, Christine sighed and went to fasten up her gown.

"I don't believe so. . ."

Christine had somehow ended up at her dresser. She was combing out her hair, smiling softly to herself. "I had this dream that there was this man in my room. He was holding me in his arms. I know I should have been scared, having a stranger in my room, but his touch just felt so right. . ." Christine stopped combing for a moment and looked into the body length mirror to examine herself. Unknown to her, Erik was staring back at her with wide eyes.

"I couldn't see his face very well, but from what I remember, half of it was beautiful." For some odd reason Christine couldn't explain, she felt the overpowering need to look down at her feet.

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

"And the other half. . .?" Erik's voice sounded bitter.

"I don't know. It was covered by something." Christine pouted. "I just wish it hadn't ended so quickly. The next morning I found myself crying into my pillow. I was distraught all day, and your uncharacterized absence from me didn't make it any better."

Her voice sounded annoyed. This amused Erik beyond belief.

"Why are you laughing?" Christine hissed. "That dream was very special to me!"

"I'm sorry Christine. Forgive me. I'm not quite sure why I'm laughing."

'Maybe because of self-pity? Relief? Madness?', he thought.

"I thought I was seeing you!" Christine shouted.

Erik went silent.

"Wha…what?"

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

Christine looked into the mirror with pleading, sad eyes- eyes that threatened to spill water.

"Why won't you let me see you? Haven't I earned that much?" The following worlds she spoke made Erik want to die of heart ache, "Don't you trust me?"

Erik pressed his fingertips against the mirror, the only thing that prevented him from touching her. It was his barrier, and curse it! "It is not you I do not trust, Christine . . ."

Wet streak marks were leaving stains on her cheeks. Her vision was blurred as she blinked tears out of her lashes.

"Please, Christine. If you care about me at all, you won't ask me that. You can't see me just yet." 'Christine, don't kill me like this. I can't stand to see you hurt. . .'

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

"But why?" she persisted.

"You will understand soon enough. . . "

Silence.

"Now, the performance is near, and you need to finish getting ready."

"You'll come back later . . .?" Christine blotted her eyes.

"Yes."

And despite everything, she smiled.

--------

"Miss Daae! Miss Daae! Wonderful performance!"

Christine thanked them all generously and pushed her way through the crowd. Piles of bouquets were being thrown onto her arms, stacked so high, she was lucky to see where she was going. Madame Giry grabbed the top of her arm and led her safely to her dressing room.

"No! I'm sorry; Miss Daae isn't taking any interviews!" A reporter begged to get a word in, but Marie curtly closed the doors behind her. She looked exhausted.

"Here, let me take those for you," she insisted, taking the flowers from Christine and adding them to the thousands that already had swallowed up her room.

"You did very well, my dear. We are pleased with you." She placed the flowers into a vacant vase and went to arrange them nicely. The vibrant colors of the flora made everything seem alive and cheerful. Christine sat down on the bench in front of her vanity.

"I'd worked so hard, Madame."

The ballet instructor's hands froze in mid air, levitating over the flowers. She directed her attention to Christine and knelt down in front of her. "Clearly. You couldn't have done any better. Your singing made the angels weep, tonight."

Christine concentrated on her lap.

"You should be proud," Madame Giry reassured, cupping Christine's right cheek with her hand. "He is."

Christine sat, uncomprehending, "He?"

Madame Giry nodded and went to exit out into the jungle of the Opera House. "Look on your dresser, my dear." And she left. The shouting and hollering became duller as the door clicked shut again.

Christine stalked stubbornly over to the bed. She knew what was waiting for her.

But she couldn't help but look.

She gasped.

It was a rose.

A beautiful RED rose.

The note was short but powerful.

"For you-

Always for you.

-Your Angel."

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?'

FIN

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A/N: Haha. I practically died on this site, haven't I? Did you miss me?

Anyway, three things-

One- I know the ending was pretty much predictable, but I couldn't resist. I have this thing with flower meanings, though I can't figure out what a pink rose stands for…

Two- I know Romeo and Juliet is not an opera, therefore it has no vocal parts, but hey, humor me.

And Three- I'm really hoping the French celebrate Valentines Day. But, why wouldn't they?

I worked super hard to get out on my dreaded writer's block, and the thought of getting no reviews discourages me. I miss my overflowing review box. Review and I'll give you Howard McGillin's autograph (The Phantom on Broadway (squee))

Always open to requests! And please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. I'm just way too lazy to proof read right now!