Christine and Erik froze, both frowning hard at the door.

She recognized the voice of one of the younger ballerinas, little Jammes. Christine was grateful the door was locked, as she could hear the young girl rattling the doorknob, trying to turn it.

"There's no one here, only me, you silly goose," Christine finally settled on saying to her.

The rattling stopped.

"But I heard a man talking," Jammes insisted.

"You are quite mistaken, I'm afraid."

Jammes was quiet for moment.

"Then can I come in?"

Panic flashed across Erik's face as he looked incredulously at Christine.

"No! You can't come in!" her voice sounded a little more worried than it should have been. "I'm- I'm not dressed, you see."

Erik scrambled off of the chair and rushed for the mirror, his heart pounding in his throat. He had been keeping his voice low as he always did, but who knew how long Jammes had been standing there? She could have been pressing her ear against the door for all he knew, not that it truly mattered - he was on the verge of being discovered and that was all that did matter.

"Just- just give me a moment, dear," Christine told her and jumped down from the table.

Erik's hands were shaking as he rolled the mirror back into place, hiding him from view.

Christine stared at the mirror anxiously as she walked to the door and unlocked it. She pulled the door open, revealing little Jammes standing there, peering into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Silly little goose," Christine said again, smiling and trying to calm her racing heart. "I'm the only one in here, you see? But what brings you here? Did you want something, dear?"

Jammes nodded and Christine let her come in, careful not to glance at the mirror lest the girl follow her gaze and look there herself.

"I thought for sure I heard a man's voice..." she said as she walked in slowly, taking her time to look in every corner and peek under the table before looking curiously at Christine.

Finally convinced that they were the only ones in the room, she turned to Christine.

"Sometimes the other girls have men in their dressing rooms," she said seriously.

Christine made a face that something between a grimace and a nervous smile.

"Did you need something, Jammes?" she reminded her.

Jammes sighed and hung her head.

"I messed up my ballet slippers, and I can't ask the ballet mistress for help because she'll get really mad and I can't get new ones because I can't afford them and I don't how to fix them," tears started to form in the corner of her eyes as she pleaded her case to Christine, staring at the carpet.

"Oh, Jammes... It's okay. Where are they? Maybe I can fix them."

Jammes pulled the shoes out of her satchel she had hanging from her shoulder and handed them to Christine.

The ribbons were torn and tattered, the pink silk was stained with mud as grass, and the stitching was coming loose in several places. Christine gasped. Jammes had only recently earned her pointe shoes, and they were the little girl's prized possession.

"Jammes! What on earth did you do to them?"

Jammes finally started to cry, and behind the mirror Erik cringed. He always felt so uncomfortable watching others cry.

"Oh, Jammes, dear, don't cry, it's alright! I can fix them! But really... How did this happen?"

Jammes sniffled a few more times and rubbed the backs of her hands over her red, watery eyes.

"My cousin took me on a picnic, and I wanted to show her my new shoes and how I could stand on my toes in them, and I guess they got muddy from the grass down by the river where we were playing. I didn't know they would get that bad, honest!"

Christine sighed a little and gave the poor girl a hug.

"It's alright, dear. But this will take me a while to fix. Can I hold onto them and give them back to you tomorrow?"

Jammes nodded, and after a few more words of comfort from Christine, she left. Christine watched her walk down the hallway before she closed and locked the door.

It was only once the door had been locked for a few moments that Christine glanced back at the mirror. She walked up close to it, and Erik opened it, putting a finger to his lips to warn her from speaking.

He stretched a gloved hand out to her, unsure of how else to let her know without speaking that he wanted her to follow him into the mirror.

Her eyes flickered from his hand to his eyes, and she reached out to take his hand.

He was certain that his heart skipped a beat when she placed her hand so trustingly in his. He helped her to step up into the hidden recess behind the mirror before sliding it shut.

His hand was cold - or rather, his glove was cold, Christine surely thought his actual hand couldn't be that cold, could it? - and she suppressed a shiver as that very same chill seemed to creep up her wrist and arm as he closed his hand firmly around hers.

It wasn't until she heard the tiny sound of the mirror latching shut that she blinked at her surroundings, almost surprised at where she was.

"She might come back to listen," Erik whispered, and Christine had to suppress another shiver. "We certainly can't do your lesson here, now."

She frowned.

"But I wanted to go over the new songs from the show you were telling me about," she said as quietly as she could.

Erik stared at her for a long moment. He should tell her that they'd wait until another day and use a room that wasn't so likely to be overheard in, but-

Oh, Erik was a wicked man, he knew that. It was a terrible idea, truly - he shouldn't bring it up, not ever, and yet-

"We could do your lesson in my house."

Her eyes widened.

"We could?"

He nodded slowly.

"We could. Do you wish to?"

"Yes," she didn't hesitate in the least.

"Is there anywhere else you're expected to be this afternoon? I only ask because it's a bit of walk there, you see, and will take a fair amount of time to get there and then return."

"No, nowhere," she shook her head eagerly, already excited to see where he lived. Would it make her sad? Would it be dark and dismal, maybe a rat or two? She certainly hoped not, but seeing where he lived felt like a way to get to know him better, and she did so want to get to know him as more than just her tutor.

A little nagging voice in the back of her mind completely surprised her. It was highly improper for her, a single woman, to be visiting the home of an unmarried man all alone. She found herself annoyed at the voice that told her this, though the words did give her pause for only a moment. She was already doing something highly improper by having him in her dressing room with her - something that had slipped her mind long ago and only just now had been remembered when they been in danger of being discovered.

Yet for all the supposed impropriety, there was truly nothing improper going on. It was a shame that no one else would likely see it that way. Her face burned at the thought that innocent little Jammes might accidentally tell someone that Christine had had a man in her room with her, and she supposed if someone mentioned it to her she'd have to go along with that story. But the fact remained that nothing even close to untoward had happened between them (she supposed her attempts at coaxing him into touching her back were the only things that could possibly be considered as bordering on inappropriate, but even then Erik had remained a gentleman about it - perhaps a little too much of a gentleman, in her own secret opinion). It was with that in mind that she decided she could trust him. It would surely be no different than doing their lesson in any of the other rooms in the opera house, she reasoned. Never mind that this room - his "house" - was several stories below the cellars.

House. What a curious term to use, she thought. What on earth could it look like?

"Very well," he looked away from her.

Surely he couldn't be blamed too much for something she wanted to do, could he?

"Is there anything you wish to bring with you? A shawl, perhaps? It does get rather cold, I believe."

She hesitated. She didn't feel like she needed a shawl, but Erik did know the cellars far better than she did.

"Perhaps so, if you think I should," she agreed, and started to turn back to the mirror.

"Ah, no, allow me, my dear."

Erik stepped down from the raised ledge nimbly after pulling back the mirror. He picked up a shawl she had hanging on a hook on the wall, and easily stepped back up into the secret tunnel. He carefully draped the knitted wool across her shoulders, taking care not to touch her as he did, thankful that the dim light hid the slight shake in his hands, his lips pressed firmly together as he crossed the ends together in front of her.

"Thank you, Erik," she looked up at him. "Oh! I should leave the ballet slippers here."

"No need. Take them with us, I have needles and thread and home, you can fix them there if you like."

"Oh. Okay. If you don't mind," she clutched the little shoes to her and prepared to set off into the unknown.

They rounded the corner and Erik stooped to pick up a small lantern, turning the light up a little higher. It wasn't long until Christine realized why it was needed. The pale light that barely filtered through the mirror was quickly left behind, plunging the tunnel into complete darkness if not for the lantern. She pulled the shawl around her a little tighter. Erik eyed the motion.

"Are you cold already, Christine?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Hm."

Erik often felt cold, or nothing at all really - he wasn't the best judge of what would feel cold or not to other people. He knew that the tunnels, so far away from the sun, would be chilly, but was surprised to learn that they were so cold so quickly.

She took a little step closer to him, closer to the lantern, and Erik assumed she had misjudged the distance between them - a mere accident. She was afraid of the dark - a shameful secret to she tried her best to keep to herself - and was also afraid of letting him know. She glanced up at him. What must it be like to live one's life in such darkness? Constantly surrounded by shadows? She shivered a little and his concerned gaze found her once more. Perhaps, he thought to himself, perhaps he should have recommended that she bring her coat instead of a mere shawl.

The path began to twist and turn and there were steep, narrow staircases, some going straight down and some in tight spirals. It all seemed to go on forever, and she marveled that he was able to keep it all straight in his mind.

"You walk this path every time you come up for a lesson with me?" she asked, incredulous. She had had no idea of the effort he had been expending.

He shrugged a little.

"Mostly. There's a few other ways up and down, but none that would be suited for your use," he said, then paused. "We'll have to go across the lake. I doubt you'd be up to going down the rope."

"The rope?!" she squealed.

He nodded absentmindedly.

"Yes, a rope. A very thick rope with strategically placed knots, and a number of ledges in the stonework if one needs a rest - it's like a chimney of sorts, though of course no smoke goes up it. It's a good twenty feet tall, probably."

"Twenty feet?" she parroted. "You go up and down that?"

"Sometimes, when I don't wish to take the extra time to cross the lake."

"Well- well, what happens if you slip and fall?"

He stopped walking, turning to look at her in the light of the lantern. Judging by the look of fear etched into her face, she wasn't looking for an actual answer of what would happen should he fall from twenty feet up.

"That is why I take care not to fall," he said simply, and began to walk again.

They walked on in silence for a while longer, Christine too afraid to ask any more details lest they be too macabre - she hated the thought of that long rope, of how easily it could end in disaster. Who would ever think to look for him, or even know where to look? He could be there for days, with a broken leg - or worse - and no one would ever know or come for him. It was a highly distressing thought. Her teeth worried at her lip. She knew he must have been using that rope on a regular basis for several years at the very least, and nothing bad had happened yet. But still, he was only a human, and humans were prone to error - a slip of a hand or a misstep of the foot, that would be all it took.

"Erik?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Will you show me where the tunnel with the rope is? Where the bottom is, I mean."

Erik hid his look of puzzlement. Why would she want to know that?

"Of course, Christine," he glanced at her, curious. "May I ask why?"

She stuttered and stammered, suddenly flustered for some reason.

"J-just in case, you know," she shrugged.

How could she tell him that she wanted to know where to look should he ever not show up for a lesson?

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Erik knew that for a woman, there was an inherent danger in going to a man's house all alone with him. Even if he knew quite well that he would never pose any kind of threat to her in any way, he was quite aware that her agreeing to go with him involved on her part a great amount of trust (or a great amount of naivety). She trusted him to keep her safe and unharmed, so he only saw fit to likewise trust her with a few of his Ghostly secrets - the locations of his underground entrances and exits being some of them. If she would one day use that knowledge against him, well - there was little he could do about that. He trusted her more than he had ever trusted anyone in his life, except perhaps the Daroga, though he rather resented the man even if he did save Erik's life that one time.

It was as they approached the bank of the underground lake that it all suddenly seemed too real for Erik. He tried to swallow, but found it difficult because his mouth was far too dry.

He knelt down and pulled on the rope that moored the little gondola to the shore, dragging the boat closer. Feeling terribly ungentlemanly, he didn't offer her his hand to help her into the boat, fearing that his icy grip would only make her even colder. But she seemingly didn't even notice, stepping down into the gondola gingerly as soon as it was close enough.

She sat down in the boat, keeping as still as she could as Erik stepped into it and began to untie the rope after affixing the lantern to the hook on the front end. She had been suddenly struck with the fear that she would move and somehow cause the little boat to capsize - Erik would surely never forgive her for that. His mask would probably sink to the bottom, and both of their clothes would be ruined... They'd catch ill because of the cold and the damp, and maybe even the boat would sink, too... Assuming, of course, that they both didn't simply drown on the spot.

He grabbed a long pole that had been on the shore - Christine hadn't even noticed it when they came upon it - and began to use it to push the little boat along the water. The ripple of the water echoed off the stone walls in the most unusual way.

Despite her fear of capsizing them all, Christine began to fidget just a little. She had sat down towards the front of the boat, which meant she was closer to the lantern, but it also meant that Erik was behind her. In the darkness that spread across the lake, everything felt oddly still, and had it not been for the sound of the pole striking the stone bottom of the lake and the ripple of water, she could have almost believed that Erik had disappeared entirely. She dared not look back, not even if she had felt more steady - she feared glancing behind, looking and knowing how much darkness lay behind them, feared fully seeing just how much darkness pressed in on them from every side. She refused to look back, and instead kept her eyes on the lantern, staring at the little flame until the brightness of it made her eyes water and blink.

Erik watched her as he steered the gondola. The path, already so familiar to him, needed very little of his attention, and he found his mind beginning to wander.

Christine was going to be in his house. Christine. In his house.

This was bad, this was bad, this was bad, but still Erik continued to steer them ever closer to his home. He hadn't planned this at all, but once he had blurted the idea out, there was certainly no turning back.

What would Christine look like in his home, he thought giddily. He collected a great many things that he enjoyed, and he wondered what it would be like to have her there in the midst of all his instruments and books and art. Would she fit right in, or would she seem out of place? She was no mere doll, of course - it would not do to forget that. But still. He wondered.

Just when Christine felt she couldn't stand the silence any longer, she caught sight of the end of the lake and breathed a sigh of relief. Another bank was swiftly approaching, and she could almost make out the strangest sight just in the distance from the shoreline - an actual house.