Warning: This chapter references some gruesome topics and has some mature language. Just to be safe I used an *. Hope everyone had a great week! Remember, I would love your reviews and critiques. Enjoy!

Chapter 22: A Preposterous Plan

-Erik POV:-

Like a shadow in the night, Erik easily meandered through the dungeon unseen. Normally, he would linger to check on the prisoners, but now practically sprinted to the door. He needed to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

There is so much more to you than this, angel

You're wonderful, a muse in human form.

You're not a monster. You were never a monster.

He slammed the door shut, ignoring the thunderous boom that echoed around him. He stood there, fuming. His entire life, he had been told that he was the devil's child, an angel of death. He was a monster, this much was true. But she thought he was a man. She saw him as something wonderful.

It enraged him. Why was she so kind to him? Did she think that it would benefit her in the end? Was she hoping he would release them or fight against the Shah for them? Though he wanted to find some malicious, cunning reason for her words, her honesty was blatant in the warm gleam in her eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine her like a viperous seductress or sniveling liar. She was so pure, so heavenly that it hurt. How satisfying it felt to cradle her in his arms. The warmth of her soft skin, the beating of her heart against his chest. When he was around her, he felt all of these foreign feelings, emotions he craved and feared. If this was just physical attraction, why did he need her approval? Why did he crumble when she smiled? Could it be that she genuinely thought he was something worthwhile?

How he dreaded the day she realized she was entirely wrong.

"In a good mood, I see."

Erik turned, glaring at the daroga. Nadir stood behind him, standing in the middle of the hall. He wore a clean uniform, standing like a true military man with hands collapsed behind his back.

"You've shaved." Erik observed. His warning tone was completely ignored by the clean shaven man.

The daroga rubbed his chin with a gentle smile. "It aged me. With such wonderful guests I decided I should look my best."

Erik growled, storming past the Daroga who, annoyingly, followed close behind. "I didn't bring them back here for you to flirt."

"I didn't realise only you had that privilege."

Erik snarled, his shoes barely making a sound as he abruptly spun to face his colleague. Had he mentioned how he hated the smug grin that so frequently crept onto Nadir's face?

"You are delusional."

"Really?" Nadir chuckled. "So what do you call taking a young, beautiful woman to your private piano room over a river during the night? I also noticed some trays of food missing, so did you enjoy your picnic as well? I surely hope you brought some wine for your dear companion."

"Silence." Erik snapped. "I gave her food to eat before a rehearsal. That was all."

"Really? How was your rehearsal?"

Erik hesitated. He tried to find the exact words he wanted to say. Something truthful albeit avoiding the fact that they hadn't rehearsed, but the old fool was too smart for his age.

"Unless you didn't rehearse, in which case, I must ask. What were you doing with young Christine in that room? Should we have a father-son conversation on how to appropriately court women? I can assure you that kidnapping is not a requirement."

Erik did his best to ignore the sudden need to strangle the man. "You are not my father nor do I need to explain myself to you!"

Nadir laughed, playfully slapping Erik's tense back. "I jest." He teased. "Though I am surprised you didn't rehearse. You mentioned she needs more supervision before she is ready. The Shah's late arrival is most opportune."

"It is." Erik agreed as he walked to a hall window, staring out at the gardens below. In the reflection, he could see the glint of his mask. He turned away.

"She knows."

Nadir's face hardened, a more serious tone replacing his teasing persona. "That you were the Phantom?"

"That and that I am- was- her angel of music."

"Ah." Nadir sighed. "I see you took my advice then?"

"I did not tell her." Erik turned back to the window, the somewhat normal side of his face facing the glass. "She must have figured it out on her own, or that pestering ballet instructor told her. Regardless, she now knows." He hesitated. "She cried, Nadir. She cried for my forgiveness."

"For your forgiveness?"

"Do you remember that night, at the Opera? The night I… Well I confronted her again after the event. I said some things I shouldn't have, and she has believed that she betrayed me for all these years. It was a rash decision, one based on anger. I regret it, though that does not change that it happened. But I had no idea it affected her so terribly. While she was on her knees begging me to forgive her, I had never felt like such a monster."

"And why is that?"

"Because she never needed my forgiveness. In fact, I am the one who needs hers. But I do not deserve it, nor do I want her to know the extent of my sins. No monster like me should be anywhere near someone as pure as her."

"Speaking the truth is difficult. It hurts our soul to admit our wrongdoings but I promise you it is the right thing to do."

"If it was right then why does it tear me apart? She speaks such sweet words to me and I cannot understand them. She wants to be my friend. She thinks I can be a better man but she is so blind to who I truly am. She sees something in me that doesn't exist, but I wish it could be true. There is nothing more that I desire than to be that angel she used to remember but the reality is I am a freak forced to bring her to her death."

"Erik, that is not true. There is goodness in everyone and it just takes a little push in the right direction for it to burst free."

"You're wrong. At the end of the day, it is the Shah who determines her fate. He is the gasoline that douses them and I am his loyal flame. She is so preoccupied with saving those fools that she doesn't realize the match she has attached herself to. What am I to do if he orders me to slaughter them all? I have to obey, otherwise I would lose everything. We will lose everything. Of course, I can save her, but not everyone else. Will she be able to forgive me after that? Though I have lived so long under the impression she despises me, to hear her say that we are friends with the knowledge of what I must do just… It infuriates me!" He slammed his first into the outer frame of the window. "Why do I feel so conflicted? Why is this so difficult!"

"Love is a powerful thing."

Erik turned abruptly, pointing a finger at Nadir. "This is not love!" He bellowed. "I cannot love. I will not love! I don't have a heart to care!"

"If you didn't care she would be dead on that mountain and you know it." Nadir countered. "When will you overcome this twisted self image and realize you are just as human as the rest of us?"

"If I was human, Nadir, then why do I look like this? Hm? Why am I such a f*cking freak! This notion of love is nothing more than an unattainable dream and there is nothing I can do to stop the inevitable. Even if it was love, which it isn't, no one can help me save this semblance of friendship."

"Trust in God, Erik. It won't make the mountain smaller, but it will make climbing it easier."

"Don't recite your fairy-tale nonsense to me."

"Allah is no fairy tale and neither are your dreams."

The two men glared at each other. Erik turned away from him, raising his hands in defeat. "I wish to be alone." He growled.

Nadir sighed and rubbed his brow. "Should I take them to the hall to rehearse tomorrow morning?"

Erik stopped, refusing to turn to meet his gaze. "Yes. Take them all."

Nadir hesitated, his silence seemingly ringing in Erik's ear. Finally, he muttered a response. "Of course."

Erik hated Nadir's curt replies. They argued often, the old man never ceasing to believe in him. This always puzzled him as Nadir knew what he had done, what he was capable of. He had seen the worst in him yet continued to advocate for him. Erik wondered if Christine would ever treat him as such. He shook his head. That was impossible. Nadir would be the only person who had a kind thought of him when he died, though he was certain the old fool would die beforehand, leaving him utterly alone.

"Nadir." He muttered. The daroga stopped.

"Yes?"

"Please keep your tasteless charms to yourself tomorrow. The last thing I need is my only acquaintance under the control of a deranged ballet instructor."

Erik could just hear the slightest chuckle from his friend who continued to walk away. "I am afraid my irresistible charms are just natural. Though I will do my best."

"You crazy old fool." Erik muttered under his breath. With his hands in his pockets, he slithered back to the piano room.

-Paris:-

The flames of the hearth crackled and flickered in front of Charles de Chagny. He sat, cross-legged in a plush chair, watching the fire while he mulled over their predicament. The telegram from Sergio had preoccupied him the past couple of hours. As he tried to analyse each possible response to their situation, he grew more oblivious to his environment. The large parlour windows were open, allowing the orange sunset to paint the room a dark shade of gold, though Charles barely noticed its beauty. It wasn't until he heard a swift knock at the door that he realized he had been sitting for hours.

"Come in." He called out. The door opened and Charles watched his two sons enter, both of them striding over briskly. Raoul's enraged scowl could be seen from the other side of the parlour, and Charles knew that Philippe had already informed him of their predicament.

As much as it bothered him, his youngest son was the most akin to him and yet the most distant. Both father and son sported curly blonde locks and broad cheekbones. Though Charles had matured with age, he too used to dream of mindless adventure and selfish heroism. His son was brash and stubborn, two qualities that had been labelled to Charles himself since he was a child. Charles was certain his son was far more foolish. He had fallen in love with some low life ballet girl instead of an eligible lady, purposefully ignoring the fundamental customs of being a viscount.

Regardless, Charles would greet his son politely. "Good evening, Raoul."

"Father, please tell me that Philippe is mistaken. The Populaire's caravan has been captured by the Shah of Persia?"

Charles bit back his displeasure by taking a sip of brandy. Had he not taught his son to respectfully greet his elders before making demands?

"I see that Philippe couldn't hold his tongue until we were all together."

"I apologize father but-"

"Stop avoiding my question!" Raoul interrupted. He pointed towards his father. "Christine is with them, father. I must know!"

"Yes." Charles bellowed, silencing his son. "They have been captured by the Shah. Now, regain your composure and let's discuss this like gentlemen, shall we?" He gestured to the sofa across from him. Raoul and Philippe glanced at each other, before begrudgingly sitting. Charles reached over to the small table next to him and poured two glasses of brandy.

Charles's voice returned to its calm, inscrutable tone. It was a tone of voice he used often with his sons when he tried to remain collected while expressing his disapproval. "I received a telegram from Sergio Bianchi this afternoon. It was a message from Monsieur Andre's messenger hawk."

He walked over to his son, offering them the glasses. Philippe accepted, guzzling it down with one gulp while Raoul denied it entirely. Charles set it on the small table next to him.

"What did it say?"

Charles returned to his chair, grabbing the telegram from the table next to him. "We have been betrayed. Someone has informed the Shah of our meeting in Greece. We have been captured. Save us. We have been brought to our deaths."

Raoul gulped. He did not understand the importance of Greece, but the last line of the telegram sent him into a frenzy. They have been brought to their deaths? Did that mean that Christine was in peril?

"There was another note, written in another hand attached to André's. Sergio explained how it was covered in soot but reads: The caravan has been attacked, everything set aflame. We need you urgently. Save us!"

"In another hand? So someone had written that note before or after André?"

"André most likely asked one of the performers to deliver his note to the hawk while he was with the Shah's men. I am sure that by this stage, they were under his watch. The handwriting seemed to belong to a woman, who must have written it in a panic before delivering the message to the hawk." Charles informed flippantly.

Raoul felt sick. A woman? What if it was Christine? His hands balled into fists, wrinkling his black dress trousers as he thought about how terrified she must have been. If the note was covered in soot, did that mean that she was there when the caravan was on fire? Was she burned? Did she survive the flames? What kind of horrors had she been put through? "Why would the Shah do this?" He asked, completely stunned by the entire ordeal.

His father seemed calm, almost too composed for Raoul's liking. "Philippe has been tracking the financial books of the Opera for quite some time. As patrons, we are at liberty to ensure our funds are used appropriately. However, he noticed that some unknown income was funding the manager's lavish parties and lifestyles. Sources that were not in the books."

"You suspect the Shah was paying them? For what? They are just a french opera house. What benefit do they-"

"So many questions and no patience to listen!" Charles angrily quipped. "If you learn to hold your tongue you may actually hear some of the answers you are searching for."

Raoul bit back his fury. He didn't have time to listen to his father ramble on. Christine was in danger and every moment they wasted could be her last. Despite this, he nodded to his father, who continued after a sip of brandy.

"Do you remember the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera?"

Raoul's eyes widened. When he was a boy, strange and peculiar events were always connected to the Phantom, though he struggled to believe them. Raoul would often lose his coat, hat, toys, or whatever else he had brought though he was certain he had left them nearby. For some bizarre reason, everything he set down just seemed to disappear. At first, he was certain that the poorer mothers who worked at the opera house had stolen them for their own children. However, one particular incident with the Phantom would haunt him forever. When he was younger, he ran to a storage closet to fetch a broom to play a game with Christine, but the door somehow locked behind him. He cried for help in the dark for over an hour before a passing stagehand heard him. Though his parents interrogated nearly the entire crew, none had a motive and most a solid alibi. In the end, his father blamed some mysterious trickster, though everyone believed it was the Phantom. Even Christine was certain it was this mysterious opera ghost, though no details ever came of him.

Raoul nodded, doing his best to hide the slight fear in his eyes by sipping some brandy. "I am familiar with the rumours."

"They're not rumours, my son. They are true. There was a man who lived in the belly of the Opera. A masked man who ran the opera from the shadows."

Raoul nearly dropped his glass. He looked at Philippe, who avoided his questioning gaze.

"This is absurd."

"I have read the letters that plagued Firmin and André as well as seen the results of his anger. He is very much a man, one that avoided us for too long."

"Philippe, did you know about this?"

"Not until a couple months ago." His brother murmured, staring down at his glass. He clearly seemed to be lost in thought, which infuriated Raoul. How could he day dream when the people they loved were in the hands of an enemy king and a mad man?

"This man, it turns out, is a loyal servant of the Shah of Persia." Charles continued. "He gave the managers an offer their greedy, pathetic minds could not refuse. For the past 5 years, they have been selling opiates from Persia to gangs in Paris. Travelling caravans brought the goods to the opera house, who hid them in the catacombs, and sold them from there. They each made an additional 30,000 francs per delivery. Their total income varied every year, but it was always enough to nearly triple it. Those fools have been infecting our country with the poison of the east and cared not about its repercussions. When we discovered their treachery, we knew we had to act."

"So this entire time, a man had been living below the Opera house? Why? Who was he?"

Charles waved his hand, clearly annoyed that Raoul was still preoccupied by something insignificant. "No one knows who he is or how he was involved. Regardless, he is a loyal servant of the Shah. That is all we need to know to understand his intentions. Once this came to our attention, we immediately ordered them to cease this operation or we would report them to the authorities."

"Why didn't you do that immediately? If you did, none of this would have happened!"

"Raoul, be reasonable." Philippe interjected. He leaned back on the couch, crossing one leg over his knee. "If the press learned that our opera was being paid to sell opiates from our nation's enemy, we would be labelled just as guilty as the managers themselves."

"Instead we decided to reveal the Shah's underground infiltration while saving the reputation of our family and the Opera. The Shah had ordered the managers to come to Persia to perform for them and to pick up a rather large supply, including weapons and soldiers to bring to France. I have some contacts in Greece who would search the caravan, capture the soldiers and supplies, and reveal to the world the Shah's terrible plan."

"But wouldn't that, in turn, prove that the Populaire was connected?"

"Of course not. The crew is completely oblivious to the manager's betrayal. They themselves would just have to lie and say the Shah forced them into this one time exchange. It would be our word against a mad tyrant."

Raoul lept to his feet, pacing near the fireplace. "I am ashamed of you, father. How could you not see the errors in this plan? This was a suicide mission from the start!"

"Our plan was flawless, except for one loose end."

"Oh really? And what was that?"

"Someone from the Populaire told the Shah of our plan."

Raoul froze. "Who?"

"Joseph Buquet." Charles muttered, throwing a newspaper piece onto the table. Raoul walked over and glanced at it. It was written in an unfamiliar tongue, though the photo of a corpse lying at the side of a river told him all he needed to know. That corpse belonged to Joseph Buquet.

"How did he know?"

Charles set down his glass. "I have theories. Buquet was never smart enough to figure out our plan, but that would not stop someone else from informing him. I believe that someone informed him of our plan and he went to Persia himself to inform the Shah, believing that he would be spared or compensated."

"Was it le Phantom?"

"No. His absence was duly noted these past couple of years, therefore he must have been in Persia. I believe that André and Firmin put their trust in another, someone greedy enough to betray them for more."

"Who?"

Charles shrugged. "Someone who must have been working for the Shah. Whoever this traitor is, they will be long gone, somewhere safe. If we or the Populaire were to discover them, they would know we would hunt them down."

"I have been thinking about this, father." Philippe pondered. "Do you think it is possible this spy went with them to Persia? If they were to be a part of the remaining cast and then we noticed their absence, we would instantly raise suspicion. But if they went with the Populaire, they could still control the situation, possibly receive an award from the Shah, and then act oblivious in Greece. They would blend in and away from our suspicions."

Charles paused, internally determining the possibility of his son's suspicion. "This is plausible."

"Who cares!" Raoul yelled, raising his hands up in frustration. "They are in danger. We have to go after them!"

"Absolutely not." Charles growled. "The Shah is a dangerous man and I will not have you waltzing into that God forsaken country."

"If we don't, they will die!"

"They are probably already dead. That Shah is not known for his mercy."

Raoul couldn't move. It was as if time froze. Though his body tried to deny these claims and rage against his father, Raoul was stunned. Did his father know this, or was this speculation?

"What?" Raoul gasped, his voice barely audible above the flames.

Charles gazed into the hearth. "Many years ago, I travelled to Persia for his coronation. I was a young diplomat then, naive to the savage ways of the east. They're all barbarians, all scum that plague this earth and he is their king. I left Persia disgusted by their customs. But as I waited for our train, another passed by. There was a war going on in the north and this train came through the station. I smelled it before I saw it, a smell that lingered for years. It was filled with corpses, all carelessly crammed into the carriages. They were taken to be burned. Instead of treating his soldiers with dignity and burying them on the battlefield he carelessly tossed them into a train to be paraded around his country before burning them to a crisp. How barbaric, how savage! Now that monster wants to addict our country to opiates. It's a drug that consumes its users instantly, destroying all sense of reason and control. I would rather die than let that apathetic tyrant destroy our kingdom like he destroyed his own!"

Charles turned his glare to his son. "I have no idea if your friend is alive, but you should mourn her. The Populaire's cast is in his clutches. Who knows what he plans to do with them, especially with the Phantom at his side. Consider them gone, Raoul."

"You're wrong, father." Philippe stood. "He has no reason to kill them. We must save them!"

"Don't be a fool, Philippe. You'll never make it into Persia, and he will not hesitate to kill you either."

"We could befriend his son. His son is currently leading a coup against him. If we joined forces we could-"

Charles released a demeaning, mirthless laugh. "So you wish to fund a coup against your country's stance on neutrality? Do you not think of the possible repercussions of your actions? You can't just march into another kingdom and expect them to obey your commands! We should mirror our country's neutrality."

"We are already involved! Why not do the right thing and save them?"

"They're dead!" Charles bellowed. His voice echoed throughout the room. Raoul gasped, his fingers trembling against the back of the sofa. He gripped onto it to stop himself from falling. Christine couldn't be dead. She couldn't be gone. He loved her, he was going to marry her. She had to be alive!

Charles abruptly stood. "I will speak with Minister Carnot tomorrow and we will discuss our plan henceforth. I encourage you both to attend. I know both of your lovers are in that caravan, but there are many willing young women in this city. It's time to act like men and move along."

Charles calmly walked to the door. "No one must know of this." He warned before leaving his sons in a state of shock.

Raoul's vision blurred as he tried to control his breathing. They were left in a deafening silence, on that burned Raoul. After a few moments, Philippe spoke.

"What would you do to save her, in the slim chance she is still alive?"

Raoul's head snapped up, his clarity instantly returning. Philippe stood calmly near the hearth with his hands in his pockets. His earnest gaze fueled his younger brother's courage.

"Anything." Raoul responded.

"Then pack lightly, little brother. Tomorrow morning we leave for Persia."

-Persia, Christine's POV:-

Christine's arrival caused quite the commotion. She was instantly interrogated by Madame Giry, with Reiner, Gabriel, and Carlotta interjecting with questions and accusations. Christine told them all she felt comfortable saying. The Shah wasn't here and tomorrow they would rehearse and have the opportunity to make costumes and props. The adults began to deliberate around her. She felt quite overwhelmed until Sorelli reached for her hand and slowly dragged her away to the back corner of their cell. Christine sat next to Meg, the four of them huddled close.

"He seems quite keen with you." Meg whispered.

Christine stared towards her friend, noticing the questioning gleam in her eye. A new sense of remorse washed over her. Meg had been right. The Phantom was her angel and he was now here with them.

"Meg, you were right." Christine whispered. "He was my angel of music. I am so sorry."

Though Meg suspected as much, she still gasped at the revelation. She pulled her friend into a side hug.

"You don't need to apologise, Christine. I am so sorry. I wish I was wrong."

Christine explained her history with the Phantom, no, Erik to Sorelli and Jammes, though she only referred to him as her angel. At first, she expected them to deny her, but they accepted it easily. After everything they had been through, this was nothing.

"Why did he come to Persia?" Jammes asked.

"I don't know."

"He didn't tell you?"

Christine shook her head. "He said he would tell me after the performance. That's what I need to focus on now."

Sorelli scoffed. "So you're telling me you cried for forgiveness for something minor he exploded over years ago, told him he was still your friend, then didn't demand he tell you everything?"

Christine furrowed her brow. She opened her mouth to answer but Meg jumped to her defense.

"This was emotionally healing, Sorelli! The situation clearly didn't call for an hour long discussion on their history. Besides, there is much else at stake here."

Sorelli rolled her eyes. "You're both so naive. He is a man. You know what that means? It means he is controlling. Christine, what if we don't survive from this performance?"

"Don't say that." Jammes whimpered.

"No. It's a possibility we can't just ignore, Jammes. Christine, how is he going to tell you his past if the Shah kills us? If you're right, and our survival is out of his hands, then there is no guarantee you'll ever know the truth. In fact, he may be banking on that."

"No." Christine snapped. "He's not like that."

Sorelli tutted her tongue. "You barely know him. How do you know? All I've seen is a dangerous man who hides in the shadows. He was like that in Paris and he is like that here."

"He is more than that! He is compassionate and kind. Despite the Shahs orders, he has worked tirelessly to keep us alive and help us survive."

"Well I certainly feel the warmth of his compassion in this dungeon."

"He didn't have much of a choice."

"And neither will he when the Shah orders him to kill us." Sorelli snarled.

Christine was taken aback. She thought of those lean fingers, the ones that played the most hypnotic tune on the piano. Could those hands truly kill? Her throat suddenly ached as she remembered his hands around her throat on the mountain. No. He would save them. There was no way that the man who had held her so tenderly a few hours ago would step aside to their slaughter.

"Christine." Sorelli sighed. "I'm not trying to be cruel. I know he was your childhood friend, and that he is kind to you now. But something about this isn't right. You have to see that. You can't just let him dictate this situation, because all of our lives are at jeopardy. You always talked about how you want to be brave. You've shown us how brave you can be. I wouldn't want the weight on your shoulders. I can't imagine how you feel. But you need to be brave against the people you care for now. He owes you an explanation and owes you a promise. You need to know if he will defend you and all of us when the time comes, or if he is just helping you out of pity."

Christine fidgeted. She looked at Meg, who avoided her gaze.

"You're right." Christine sighed. "I need to have another conversation with him. But I know he will help us. I can't explain it, but I know he will do everything he can."

"And why is that? What motivation does he have?"

"We are friends."

Meg sighed. She took Christine's hand. "We are just being selfish, Christine. He is friends with you. But to us, we are the same people who squandered his opera. He was your angel, but our phantom."

Christine understood. They were apprehensive, and had every right to feel this way. Their lives were also in his hands and they had only seen one side of him.

Sorelli waived her hand. "It's not just that. You are being passive. This man kidnaps us and expects us to just go along with this ploy? Come on, Christine. You are the only one that can squeeze the truth out of him. Grow a backbone and stand up for yourself."

"I don't need to stand up for myself against him. He isn't cruel-"

"All men are cruel. Worse yet, they use naive girls like you."

Christine scowled. She couldn't entirely understand her need to defend him, but Sorelli's last comment sent her over the edge. She wasn't naive anymore.

Sorelli continued. "Let me just remind you that our goal is to survive and his goal is to please the Shah. Otherwise he would have let us escape before we arrived at the palace."

Christine couldn't respond. Sorelli had a good point. Why hadn't he let them go? If he knew who she was when he saw her in the amphitheatre, then why did he capture her? If they were friends, why did he drag her to her here? She squinted her eyes shut, trying to ignore the inner turmoil bubbling in her soul. He was her friend, her oldest friend. There must have been an explanation for all of this, something logical and reasonable. She only opened her eyes when Meg squeezed her hand.

"Christine. I do agree with Sorelli, something about this isn't right. But I know how important he is to you. We know this is a lot to ask, but next time you see him, you should try to learn the truth. It may not be what you want to hear, but if we want to survive this, we need to know who is truly on our side. Is he a friend, or phantom?"

They were silenced by the sudden movement of the adults. They had formulated some sort of plan for tomorrow and had started to move back towards their makeshift beds. Madame Giry glared at them, the four of them immediately crawling to their mats. Though it was silent in the dungeon, Christine still could not sleep. The four girls had put their mats together, all of them cuddling for warmth. She felt Meg's reassuring arm around her, and was grateful for her friend's support. Though her words rung in her mind. Was he a friend or a phantom? What persona was actually his? Who was this mysterious Erik?

She thought about him, about Erik. His name echoed in her mind like a comforting melody. Something inside her knew he could be trusted, but she needed more than just her inner emotions. But for now, she just wanted to sleep. She closed her eyes and imagined the music of the night, the songs he played on the piano. They calmed her raging nerves. She made her decision. Tomorrow, she would confront him and demand to know the truth. She wanted to know everything.

Never again would they go through some type of misunderstanding.

Just a heads up, the next chapter is titled "The Betrayal". Muwhawha.

Phantomgirl24: I am glad you are still enjoying the story! I love how you can see the relationship between Erik and Christine beginning to grow! Thanks!

YinuoTong: Haha I am glad you appreciate my titles. Christine does have a strong personality, which I hope is more obvious now she has grown throughout the story. Thanks for the review!

Lucyole: Thank you for your review! Her speech was really sweet and I think she broke him because he has no idea how to respond haha. Thanks!