Thank all of you guys for wonderful reviews, you're the ones who keep me writing (so if I start to bore you you know what to do..:))) - kidding! You better say me at once!)

Jamea: sorry to disappoint you but 'it's in her soul that the true intrigue lies':) I hope you'll like it all the same)
vixen519: I had your words in mind while writing this chapter.. Was that soon)
the Mouse in the Opera House: we wouldn't want to return Erik to soon and spoil the fun for Christine, Girys and Co, or would we? As for the length of the chapters.. well for some reason my inspiration insists on 8 Kb of text.. Maybe with time and reviews it'll change its mind?;) (sounds horrible from the biological point of view but sorry I can't do anything about it:)) Ginerva-Ginny-Weasley76: so be it)
moonlit-leaf: that was my goal from the very beginning:))

Sorry for making Christine such a psycho, it must be Robin Hobb influencing me! But her books are impossible to stop reading!

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Mme Giry carefully entered the little chamber as if fearing that something - or someone - can suddenly jump on them from the dark corners. But everything was still. Thick layer of dust covered each open surface, accumulated in the folds of fabric and absorbed sounds. Christine noticed the pieces of the vase she had accidentally swept off the table on that fateful night - they lay exactly as she remembered. It was obvious that the 'curse' of the room had frightened away all uninvited visitors.

Which was definitely a very good thing as the infamous mirror was slightly moved aside revealing a passage behind. Christine tentatively made a step towards it half-expecting to hear the booming warning not to come any closer because 'the disasters beyond her imagination will occur'. And felt strangely disappointed as the room remained silent. One more step closer. And one more...

She almost gave a jump when she suddenly heard a creaking sound behind her back and hit against her dressing table dropping tens of cans and tubes standing on it. Thank God, the sound came from madame Giry locking the door. The old woman however looked alarmed. She pressed her forefinger to her lips and grabbed Christine's arm as if fearing that the girl may run away.

The singer hadn't understood the reason of her panic until she heard voices from behind the door.

'I tell you I heard noise coming from this room!' they heard a girl's thin voice.

'Don't be stupid, Amelie, it's locked. No one lives there.' the girl who replied sounded older.

'How do you know this? They say it's the Phantom's room.' Amelie objected.

'You don't believe in the Phantom of the Opera, do you? Come on, you're a big girl and you know that ghosts don't exist!'
'But someone wrote that opera and arranged that fire, and who sent notes to the managers? I heard ballerinas talk about it!' the voices were closer now, Christine couldn't get rid of the impression that the girls stand right behind her back.Well, in a way they were, if not for the door.

'Listen to them more and they'll tell you that Santa visited them personally on the Christmas Eve! That phantom was just a madman and he died on the night of that fire. He was a monster but there's nothing supernatural in it. Just a common down-to-earth maniac.'

'But I heard something in that room!'

'Amelie, next time you want to make me believe in magic you better hide in a wardrobe and then tell me you saw a faun there.'

Christine heard the steps as the girls were moving away from the door but it was only after the sound of steps completely died away that she ventured to breathe in deeply. She had a feeling that she hasn't breathed for hours. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Madman... monster... a common maniac... Oh God, is that what Erik heard all his life? Is that why he was so possessive of her - because she was the only creature in the world who didn't see him as a cruel joke of nature? Though this wasn't absolutely true... Christine felt a pang of guilt as she remembered their last meeting. 'It's in your soul that the true distortion lies...' She threw her poisonous words into his face not caring about what he felt. She acted no better than he did. And for hundredth time during these long months Christine felt horror and guilt. What have I done, oh my God, what have I done...

'Why do they talk about him like this, Madame?' she asked helplessly. 'They don't know anything, anything at all and they tell such things...'

The old woman stroke her head gently.

'Such is our world, my dear. We fear things we don't know, we fear what we can't understand. These children just repeat what they heard from others.'

'I can't let them!' Christine cried out and choked when Madame Giry shook her up.

'Use your brain, my girl. You don't want unnecessary excitement around his place, do you?'

'I don't,' the girl whispered. She was shaking violently.

Antoinette Giry gave her a sidelong glance.

'We shouldn't go down there while you're in such a terrible state.'

But Christine shook her head stubbornly. 'I need to get to his home. I have to repay the debt.'

The other sighed clearly showing her disapproval but it was obvious that nothing could stop her adopted daughter now. 'I had to give her a huge dose of valerian while I had the opportunity,' Antoinette thought gloomily. 'And now my only chance is waiting until she gets tired. She seems to borrow Erik's blunt stubborness and bloody mood swings.'

Madame Giry carefully approached the mirror and slid it aside. The passage smelled with stagnancy and dampness. The woman lit the candles on one of the candelabra from the Christine's table and turned to the girl.

'Go then if you still want to. But take your old shawl first, it must be in your wardrobe. It's cold down there.'

Christine nodded and took the shawl, then came up to the passage and made a determined step inside. Madame Giry followed.

Hours seem to have passed until they finally reached the underground lake. They had walked through what seemed be hundreds of passages, turning left and right, descending stairs and climbing slippery slopes. At first Christine wondered how Madame Giry could find a road on this labyrinth but soon she started to notice many little details that helped them. For example one of the particularly difficult part of the way they were clearly guided by the row of torches on the walls. While all other passages were badly lit, the ones they had chosen would have been bright enough had the torches been burning. Then stopping at the crossroads Madame Giry was carefully examining the walls around them until she found a little pointer on the ceiling. Christine was puzzled at first why the pointer showed to the direction where they came from but then realized it helped to find a way out.

Guessing Erik's riddles was a hard task though and by the time the two women reached the lake they were absolutely exhausted, both mentally and physically. The darkness was behind and before them, and to the left and right was stone. The candelabra in Madame Giry's hand was the only source of light and the farther they went the weaker it seemed. Though Chritsine understood that it's all is nothing but the figment of her imagination there were moments when the girl was afraid that the candles would blow out and they would be left to roam in the darkness for the rest of their lives. Madame Giry seemed to be struggling with the same fears because she slowed her pace and brought the candelabra so carefully as if it was a crystal vase.

As they came down to the lake Christine started looking for a boat but Madame Giry stopped her and turned a hidden lever in the wall and a stone bridge was thrown across the glassy surface of the water. It was so skillfully hidden under the cave's vault that one would never think this monolyth could be broken.

Christine expected the wave of emotions and remembrances to overwhelm her as she stepped onto the ground that had been the witness of so many special moments... But surprisingly she felt nothing. Well, almost nothing. A feeling of nagging emptiness somewhere inside was inevitably growing stronger. She walked up to the organ and touched its surface. Her fingertips became grey with dust. She went to his table and felt splinters of glass crunch under her feet. Once beautiful velvet curtains were torn off the wall.

Christine's head started aching more and more as if an iron hoop was pressing her forehead and temples. Her ears filled with tingling sound and her throat went dry. And she fainted feeling something close to relief.

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Don't beat me, I told you it's all Robin Hobb! (hiding under the table) but maybe you'll help me to cheer up? You know how...