Christine entered the ballroom and looked around. Men and women floated by, each wearing a more elaborate costume than the next. She envied the couples out on the dance floor. Raoul was supposed to have accompanied her to the masquerade but had been called away on an emergency trip with his brother. Something to do with their investments on the other side of the country. His note had been brief and clearly written in haste.

She'd debated whether to go at all. Six months ago, Erik had informed her that he would be isolating himself so that he could finish his opera, Don Juan. When asked how long he would take, Erik could not say. He refused to put a time limit on himself, instead saying he would be back when his work was complete. When they'd said their goodbyes, Erik had presented her with a simple gold band. He was trusting her to remain loyal and to come back to him when the time came. With mixed feelings she'd accepted it, allowing him to slide it upon her finger.

In Erik's absence, Christine had allowed herself to open her heart to Raoul. His gentle affection had always drawn her to him, even as children. With her newfound freedom she hardly went a day without seeing Raoul. Though much of her time was still devoted to the opera, she made time for him. They would dine together and sometimes take evening strolls through the city. They were happy. But Christine was always aware of the ring on her finger. Of the promise she had made to Erik. Of late, Raoul would try to ask about the significance of the ring but Christine would dodge the question. She did not know how to answer when she herself was unsure what the ring truly meant. Was it really just a promise to return for voice lessons? Or was it more?

She broke from her reverie when she bumped into someone. It was Little Meg, surrounded by a group of the other ballet girls. They all exclaimed in protest and Christine hastily backed away, a soft apology falling from her lips. The episode reminded her of her loneliness and she retreated to a fairly empty corner of the ballroom. She stood against the wall, gazing longingly at the dance floor. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself gliding along beside the other couples. But it was not Raoul she imagined dancing with. She felt her face flush as she pictured Erik's hand around her waist, guiding her through the steps of a waltz. She opened her eyes, half expecting to see Erik standing before her. Embarrassed, she left the ballroom and slipped into one of the back corridors of the opera house. What was she thinking, coming to the masquerade unaccompanied?

Unthinkingly, she found herself in front of her dressing room door. It had been quite some time since she had stepped foot in the room alone. Ever since Erik had shut himself away she could not bring herself to linger in the dressing room for long. She had once considered it a sacred place. It was where she had first begun her lessons with Erik. Now, it only held bittersweet memories.

She opened the door and went inside. Immediately, a sense of calm came over her. She turned the gaslights on low and sat on the small sofa, hoping to collect herself. She could not bring herself to face the full-length mirror that had once served as an entry to Erik's underground home. All at once she was overcome with emotion. With painful clarity, she realized how much she had missed Erik. Not just their music lessons, but their time spent together. No one could touch her soul like he could. Not even sweet Raoul. But Erik had given strict instructions to not be disturbed during his break. Christine felt at a loss without him and was distraught at the idea that he might take another six months to reappear.

She hastily tore her white domino from her face and let her tears flow freely. Her sobs echoed in the empty room and she longed for the days when Erik's watchful eyes would never have let her cry alone. She imagined she heard the soft click of the revolving mirror and cried harder. If only Erik would appear, then she knew all would be right with the world.

A cold hand fell upon her shoulder. "Christine?"

Startled, she looked up and found herself face to face with Erik. She tried to form words but all she could do was stare.

"Christine, what has happened? Are you hurt?" He kneeled in front of her and took one of her hands in his.

"Oh, Erik…" she whispered. She gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him. "Please, don't ever leave me again."

He slid his arms around her and held her close, his breath warm against her neck. Christine shivered and pressed herself even closer, desperate for the contact. She felt his lips brush her skin in a chaste kiss. But she wanted more. She reached up and began to untie his mask. He immediately withdrew from her arms, his dark eyes flashing with fear.

"Please, let me. I do not fear you. I… I love you."

At her words he froze and she wished she had removed his mask before she'd spoken. She slid off the sofa and joined him on the floor. His eyes followed her but he remained silent. "Erik, please. It's true. I… I've missed you terribly and when I realized my feelings for you it felt too late. You told me not to disturb you and I've been so lonely."

He looked away and lowered his head. "You know that is not true. You and the boy have been spending every waking moment together. You cannot possibly love me."

"You've been watching me?"

"I am always watching you, Christine."

"I do love you. How can I prove it to you?"

"A kiss," he said so softly Christine almost missed it.

She smiled. "A kiss? Gladly, Erik."

Christine took his hand in hers. "Where should I kiss you? Your hand?" She pressed a kiss to his palm. "Your cheek?" She leaned close and brushed her lips just beneath the edge of his mask. "Your lips?"

He surprised her by turning his head to meet her lips. She melted into the kiss and her blood thrilled when he deepened the kiss. She broke the kiss and asked for permission again to remove his mask. He hesitated but finally nodded his consent. With shaking fingers, she untied the ribbon that held his mask in place. He caught it in his hand and stared down at it, avoiding her eyes. Christine took in his face, studying it in a way she had never let herself before. Her memories had created a harsher image and she now realized that the horror she had first felt had faded. She brought her hands to his face and cupped it gently in her hands. She brushed one thumb over the collapsed bridge of his nose, tracing the imperfections of his right side.

"Please look at me. I promise, there is no fear, no disgust in my eyes," she said.

Slowly, he turned his face toward her. She saw the awe and adoration in his eyes and hoped she reflected it back at him. He clutched her to him and sobbed against her curls, "My Christine…"