Though he still considered the scenario highly unlikely, Erik had begun the actual work of readying his home for Christine. It was good to stay busy. It had been some time since he'd felt called to work on Don Juan Triumphant, and he could only spend so much time watching over her and minding the managers. If Erik allowed himself to be idle for too long, his mind began to wander to very dark places that were best forgotten. The guest room was carefully redecorated with her in mind, though he kept his mother's furniture. Christine would probably appreciate the sentimentality; as for himself, he was never sure why he wanted to keep reminders of his mother, only that he did. Now, he was working on collecting clothing and other things she might need. If he did decide that she needed to stay with him, he doubted circumstances would be such that she would be packing beforehand. He knew which colors suited her best - pink gave her pale complexion a rosy glow, blue brought out her eyes, purple did a little of both - but he was no expert on women's clothing. Everything he procured for her on that front was strongly reminiscent of clothing she already owned. He hoped she would appreciate the gesture, if for no other reason than that so much of her own clothing was far from new. She was nowhere near walking around in rags, but she had been wearing most of her clothing since she first came to the Opera. Her underthings were the only items truly beginning to show wear. As he handled one of her new chemises, he pictured her wearing only that; he would push the hem up around her hips, and bury his face between her thighs. Had the Vicomte ever done that to her? Jealousy stabbed at him. No matter what happened to the boy, or between Christine and Erik, he could not imagine that she would ever permit him to touch her in such a way. He would consider himself lucky in the extreme if she ever took his arm. In his best case scenario, he could only hope to gain her companionship. Even if he managed to perfect a mask that would make him look completely normal, he could not think she would want him as he wanted her. Having her near him, and watching her excel under his tutelage would have to be enough.

From a purely technical standpoint, Christine was ready. Her voice would continue to change and grow, but he was confident that she could easily out sing and out act Carlotta. Perhaps if he had approached her much earlier, before the boy had come along, she would have been less distracted. He had started making sure she was thoroughly prepared for every role that suited her in every upcoming production. She did splendidly with Juliette, but had balked at the idea of actually performing.

"What about Carlotta?" she asked with confusion in her eyes, when he brought up the idea.

Why she cared in the slightest about a person who had never shown any concern for her was beyond him. If their roles had been reversed, Carlotta would not have thought twice about stealing a role from Christine - he was sure of it. Erik was glad he was still in the guise of the Angel, because if that barrier had not been between them, he would have lost his temper. He had ended that day by drinking quite a bit more than he usually did. She would never get anywhere in this business if she continued to completely lack self-interest; yet if she suddenly started promoting herself without regard to others, she would no longer be the sweet girl who had captivated him so thoroughly.

Erik did not want to do this to her, but he was moving forward without waiting for her consent. He didn't see where he had a choice. Once she was thrust into the spotlight, she would shine. He wished that her vehicle could have been Faust, but he was not patient enough to wait for another production of it. It was a pity because she would make a magnificent Marguerite. Instead, her new voice would be revealed as Violetta; vocally, it was an excellent role for her, and it would certainly be a testament to her improved acting skills.

She did not know it yet, but Carlotta was going to be ill that evening. Nothing life threatening - that would have upset Christine far too much - just something that would leave her incapable of performing. Erik's plan was as ingenious as it was simple. Cats were easy enough to come by; there were always plenty of strays running around. Not all of them were completely hostile. Carlotta was so sensitive to them that he did not actually have to leave it in the room with her, just let the cat wander around her dressing room, get comfortable for a while and then remove it before she was any the wiser. A note to the managers about Christine, and everything would fall into place.

Erik tried to carry the gray female cat with some dignity, but the normally congenial animal struggled, growling, hissing, and trying to bite when he picked it up. He ended up carrying it by its scruff while it continued to fuss. When he finally reached Carlotta's dressing room, he practically tossed the cat into the floor. The cat rushed at him, swatting his ankles with its claws out. Had a human shown him that level of aggression, there would have been hell to pay; with a cat, he found it mildly amusing. The little beast soon lost interest in attacking Erik, and began to slink around the room, regarding its new location with suspicion and the occasional hiss. Erik left the cat alone to get comfortable, figuring that his presence wasn't helping it to settle down when it had been so eager to attack him only moments ago. When he returned to retrieve the cat, it was hiding under Carlotta's fainting couch. He only managed to extract it after several attempts. His hands were now covered in bite marks and blood dripped down into his sleeve. The cat's temper was no longer amusing him, but since it was doing him a favor, he tolerated it. Besides, the attack barely registered as painful in his mind, and even if it scarred, it couldn't possibly make his skeletal hands any uglier than they already were.

He could have written his note to the managers in his own blood instead of red ink. The cat had certainly drawn enough of it. Maybe that would be a tactic worth considering in the future. There were certain situations where real blood might do a better job of getting his point across. On this particular occasion, it seemed unnecessary. Though Erik viewed all of his advice as helpful, it was rarely appreciated. He had an inkling that this would be different.

He was not disappointed. He stood on the other side of the office wall, listening to them fret.

"How can she do this?" Moncharmin complained, "All because of puffy eyes and a few sneezes!"

"In her defense, she was also coughing," Richard said.

"It was only a little cough! She's fine!"

"She shouldn't sing if she's coughing." Richard was looking at Moncharmin as though he thought him a complete idiot.

Erik usually enjoyed watching them argue, but right now, he wanted them to see the note on the desk.

"That's a very easy thing to say, but what are we supposed to do? This place... If it isn't ghosts that need a salary, it's petty drama from performers."

"It isn't petty drama to not be able to sing when one is sick! What would you have her do? Stand on stage, sneezing and coughing?" Richard defended Carlotta.

"What are we supposed to do about tonight?"

By this point, Erik was considering yelling at them to look at the desk. They continued bickering in the same manner until finally, Richard happened to glance at the desk.

"Oh good God," he groaned, rolling his eyes, "This is just what we need right now." He picked up the note, showing the envelope to Moncharmin.

"We may as well see what he has to say," Moncharmin said. "If we've learned anything, it's that O.G. will be heard, whether we like it or not."

Richard tore open the envelope. "Christine Daaé knows Carlotta's role, blocking and all... Why?"

"Who cares?" Moncharmin replied, "We have a Violetta."

"Her voice is... not terrible, but I don't think she could do the part justice. And she seems far too wide-eyed and innocent for the role," Richard reasoned.

"Who cares? A subpar Violetta is better than none," Moncharmin argued. "At least half the audience isn't there for the music anyway. She's a very pretty girl; I don't think most people will mind looking at her for one night instead of Carlotta."

"I suppose you're right," Richard agreed with a sigh.

Erik wished he could be there to see their faces when they realized how wrong they were. Everything was going exactly as he had planned, only his face was hurting for some reason. He removed his mask with one hand, and explored his face with the other. There was nothing wrong; only a wide smile that had been sustained longer than he was accustomed.

Christine had shut herself in her dressing room. Her face was white and her gaze unfocused.

"You can do this," Erik told her, half-expecting her to start crying, fully expecting her to insist that she could not.

"I can," she agreed, to his surprise. "You will be with me, so I can't possibly fail."

"I will not leave your side."

She smiled radiantly, and though he knew it was inadvertent, looked directly at the place where he stood behind the wall. Had it not been there, she would have been looking up into his eyes.

His heart beat faster, and his hands began to shake slightly. Hers were too, though he knew her reasons were different.

A knock on the door interrupted them, followed by a "Mlle. Daaé?" And she was gone.

He did not have a chance to speak to her again until directly before the performance. She asked to be left alone in her dressing for a moment, and as soon as she perceived that the maid was out of earshot, she called out to him.

"I am right here, my child. I was with you all day," he answered her.

She nodded. "And you will not leave me alone up there?"

"Not for a second." He wished he could hold her and cover her face with kisses. Coming from him, that sort of affection was more likely to cause her to die than to give her any sort of comfort, but he was allowed to dream, wasn't he?

He offered her one final reassurance, and then told her that he would not speak to her again until after the performance, so as not to hurt her concentration. The truth was that his ability to throw his voice did not extend far enough to allow him to whisper in her ear from Box Five. If he'd wanted to shout something at her, he could have, but for obvious reasons, that wouldn't do. It would be all right; her faith in the Angel was keeping her relatively calm.

Did the other performers wonder at Christine's serenity before taking on so large a role without a past precedent in her career? Surely it was nothing compared to their shock when she opened her mouth and sang, when she shed the seemingly constant aura of innocence that hovered around her and became Violetta. The first act ended to thunderous applause. Erik was so proud of her, and so proud of himself for helping her to bring such pure beauty into the world.

From his vantage point inside the hollow column of Box Five, he could not see the occupants of the other boxes. He hoped that the Comte de Chagny was in attendance that night. As much as everything good in Erik's life hinged on the Vicomte's prolonged absence, he wanted the Comte to feel guilty for the pain he'd caused Christine. Erik wanted him to see that his brother was the one wasn't worthy of her, not the other way around.

Note: Thanks again for reading, reviewing, etc. I do appreciate it. If you notice glaring errors, it's probably because this chapter was typed on a tablet, and I have a serious case of beach brain.