Chapter 25

Let fair joy now return

within our hearts!

-Giulio Cesare

She was not in her practice-room, however. She was already onstage for rehearsal, surrounded by her friends. That was just as he would wish it to be, of course - he was so afraid she would lose her friends as a cause of her engagement to him - but it was impossible to go to her now. He cursed himself for not coming to find her sooner.

He had wanted to tell Christine the news himself, that he had decided to do what she'd wished for, that it had been more successful than even she, with her apparently boundless belief in his genius, could have dreamed. He had to fight an urge to rush onstage and run up to her. But now would have to content himself, as he so often did, with watching from afar.

After seeing that no-one observed him, he climbed to a secluded spot in the scaffolding and perched there out of sight, unable, as always, to take his eyes off her.

Her lovely, gentle, intelligent face was aglow with the same beautiful smile as yesterday. His heart leapt when he saw it. Even from thirty feet away, she was breathtaking.

The group, from what he could gather from the faint snatches of conversation that drifted up to him, were discussing boating, a subject which held no interest for her. He wanted to slap them for being so inconsiderate; he could not understand why everyone did not want to bend over backwards to keep her interested and impressed at all times.

And yet her happy expression did not vary. He had the impression that they could have been talking of botany, or theology, or any number of other somnolent subjects, and her smile would scarcely have faltered. She looked at peace with the world.

But what had changed?

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning: Could he have done that? Could she really be so happy because of him?

Suddenly he felt like the most powerful man in the world. To be able to make a being as perfect as Christine Daae happy, to fill her life with light, that was an accomplishment more grand, than any other. Greater than a symphony or a cathedral. He was the emperor of all he surveyed, capable of enacting anything he pleased, and she was his queen.

What would happen if he launched himself from the the scaffolding, leapt down there, alighted beside her?

He knew already he would not. And yet, why couldn't he? Surely somehow it would all be well. It could not be wrong for two people who loved one another as much as they did to be together. Surely the universe would rearrange itself to make everything all right for them. If he had Christine's love, he could achieve anything he set out to do. In fact, so far, he had.

However, a moment later, something happened to divert his attention.

Below, Christine half-listened to the conversations swirling around her, but her mind was far away. She was happy, but she was burning with impatience to see Erik. Why had he not come to her? Where was he?

Only Meg noticed her distraction. She cast an amused glance in her direction, occasionally elbowing her playfully.

At last she was brought out of her thoughts by Madame Giry's appearance.

"Company, I have a message from the Opera Ghost," she called out.

She had said the two words that could cut through any conversation at the opera house. Everyone's attention was suddenly riveted on her, Christine's in particular. All the noise drained out of the room so suddenly it was eerie.

"The sums that were extorted from the managers have been returned," she said, her voice loud in the sudden silence. "Just this morning. A total of sixty thousand francs, I understand."

Sixty thousand francs! Whispers of astonishment stole through the room at the immense sum.

As it happened, Andre and Firmin had come into the room just then and heard every word.

They had not anticipated this. There was no time for them to think of any excuse or evasion. Their faces showed their undisguised shock, confirming to everyone that it was true.

The silence shattered as the employees broke out into excited conversation.

Christine ran up to Madame Giry, taking her arm eagerly. "Is it certain, Madame? Can this be? Was it really him, do you know?"

Madame Giry smiled weakly. "Yes," she said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Don't tell anyone this, my dear, but I saw the money myself as I was passing by the managers' office. And I spoke with him. He has done the honorable thing."

"Why, I am delighted!" Christine could not stop herself from exclaiming, so loudly that Firmin looked over. "Oh, this is the very best thing that could have happened!"

Firmin strode over to her. "Don't know why you look so thrilled about it, my dear girl," he said. Fury was turning his face an alarming shade of puce. "It's not as though we're giving any of it to you. Your salary is quite comfortable as it is. I don't know what we pay you for at all - any of you fools!"

Christine merely smiled still wider. She couldn't help it. "Just as you say, Monsieur," she replied in a pleasant voice.

This infuriated Firmin still further, and he stalked off in search of some more receptive target for his spleen, shouting something that sounded like "Should never have left the junk business!"

Madame Giry was safe for now.

Christine turned to her. "Does this mean you approve?" she asked quietly.

Madame Giry's face creased with pain. "I am sorry, my dear, but it does not. I had other objections, you will recall."

"But Madame, please-"

"-My dear, let us not quarrel, I entreat you."

Despite this plea from Madame Giry, the tension in the conversation showed no sign of abating. Fortunately, they were interrupted just then.

"Eet eez all a ploy to help Chreestine Daae," came La Carlotta's voice. Though it came from across the stage, Christine could tell it was directed specifically at her.

She turned slowly round.

"This eez all her doing," the diva sneered, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. Attired in a remarkable dress of purple and orange, trimmed with so many bows it could have supplied hair-ribbons for a whole army of ballerinas, she sailed across the stage toward Christine, the crowd parting before her.

Christine raised her eyebrows in mild amusement at this outlandish remark. "Is that so, Signora?"

"How dare you?" Meg shouted at the same time, elbowing her way towards them.

La Carlotta ignored Meg completely, as a creature entirely beneath her notice. "We all know the notes were by you, you leettle toad," she said to Christine. "No-one else eez anxious your career should progress."

"I am!" Meg said. "And so is everyone else except-"

"-No-one else thinks you have any talent," La Carlotta went on, cutting her off. Yes, eet was you who wrote ze letters- you must 'ave stolen ze money too."

"No," Christine said.

"And now zat ze police were about to start breathing down your neck," Carlotta went on, "you lost your nerve and returned eet to keep yourself out of trouble. Do you think eet eez not obvious?"

Meg lunged forward, but Christine gently caught hold of her arm, holding her back.

Carlotta peered down her nose at Christine. "It does not matter. You will never amount to anything," she sneered. "You are merely a jumped-up, overambitious, scrawny little Swiss chorus-girl." And she started to turn away, smiling triumphantly.

"I object, Madame!" Christine said.

Carlotta froze, looking over her shoulder in consternation. The smile faded from her face. Christine had never answered back to her before. (Christine had never thought it worth the trouble.)

"I am a jumped-up, overambitious, scrawny little Swedish chorus-girl," Christine said, stifling a laugh, "And I shall thank you to remember it!" And she ran away laughing, leaving the great diva hopelessly bewildered.

Meg charged after her, catching up to her in a corridor outside the dancers' practice-room. "Christine, what is going on? What is this business with the ghost? What do you know?"

"You shall finally have an answer!" Christine laughed delightedly. She grabbed Meg's hands and spun her around until they both almost fell over. "He will not object to me telling you now - I am sure of it."

"What is going on?" Meg said, laughing in spite of herself.

"Now that it is safe I must tell you!" Christine beamed. "I simply cannot keep it to myself any longer! Oh, how delightful this is!"

"Tell me what? Christine, stop talking in riddles!"

"Forgive me. It is simply that I have so much to acquaint you with." Christine smoothed out her skirt and tried to compose herself. "Where to begin? I hardly know. How much has happened these past few weeks!" She looked around to see that no-one was watching and then began, "Meg, where to begin? I... Well, you see, my instructor, Erik - you see, unfortunately, he is also the Phantom. Or was."

"Oh, I know that," Meg said wryly.

"You knew?"

Meg shrugged.

"How long?"

"I'm not sure. I suspected it for a long time." Meg paused. "And yet you love him anyway?"

"He isn't going to be the Phantom anymore," Christine said. "I begged him not to. He means not to steal and cheat anymore."

"Why would he do that?"

"He loves me, Meg. He has all this time."

"Christine! Good gracious!"

"Yes." Christine shook her head, overwhelmed. "It is all so singular, so peculiar... and so very beautiful." She laid out the whole story, beginning with their reconciliation and going all the way up to his returning the managers' money - though she omitted the details of Erik's proposal, and she did not tell Meg of his condition. She illuminated just enough of his life for Meg to understand why he had turned to blackmailing, and left it at that. "I am so very happy he has given the money back," she finished, wiping tears out of her eyes. "He knew how much I wanted it - for us to be able to remain here, for him to be free. It is the greatest gift he could ever have given me - for him to be safe and us to be happy together."

"Oh, my goodness," Meg said in an awed voice when she had finished her narrative.

"Yes..." Christine shook her head in amazement. "I can hardly believe it myself."

"It is remarkable! It is almost like something out of a novel."

"Yes." Christine smiled, almost in a daze, still not quite able to comprehend that she could be so happy.

"Why... it all makes sense now... Returning the money, and the police no longer looking for him... You think it safe to tell me now."

"Yes," Christine said, impressed with Meg's perception. "Erik said you would make a fine detective, and he is right. I am glad you are on our side."

Meg grinned.

"As a matter of fact, I have been longing to tell you," Christine went on. "But Erik thought it unsafe for you, and perhaps he was right to be cautious."

"I would not have objected if you had told me anyway," Meg said. "I laugh in the face of danger." She smiled wryly. "But I am grateful for his concern all the same. That speaks well of him."

Christine felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from her. "You understand, then, I think."

Meg paused. "Yes, I do," she said at last.

"Thank you. I don't know what I have done to deserve your being so gracious."

"Nonsense." Meg smiled. "As long as he treats you the way he ought, that is all I can ask for."

"Then... When the time comes, will you be my maid of honor?" Christine asked.

Meg grinned. "Ducky, I've been planning my maid-of-honor gown since we were six."

A moment later, they were laughing and embracing.

"To think!" Meg cried. "My little Christine is going to be married!"

"Little, indeed! I am a month older than you."

"Yes, but I practically raised you," Meg said wryly, and they broke down into laughter once more.

Eventually, their mirth drifted away into silence. The music in Christine's mind grew slower, more contemplative, more hesitant. She pulled away and fixed Meg in a serious, steady gaze.

"Meg, do you think me mad?" she asked all at once, taking her hands.

"Mad?" Meg echoed in astonishment. "Why should I think that?"

"Why, because this is all... highly irregular." Christine sighed, overwhelmed. "If you do not understand me, then there isn't a chance that anyone else well."

Meg shrugged. "You are in love," she said simply. "That has been known to happen to even the most intelligent persons - as I have discovered myself," she added with a grin. "I have some idea of what it can do to one."

"Yes," Christine said, though privately she wondered if steady, practical Meg or the Baron - both of them always in a good humor and never troubled by uneasy passions - could really understand the intensity of what had possessed her these past few months.

"Of course you would be willing to go against convention for the sake of that," Meg finished.

Christine smiled, grateful. "Thank you. But... do you think me mad for falling in love with him? For choosing him?"

Meg hesitated. "Well, he has shown he'll be able to look after you," she said practically. "And it seems he means to try to live an honest life from now on. And I do think he truly loves you - though a few weeks ago, I would never have believed I'd ever say that."

"He does, very much indeed." Christine peered at Meg's face. "But?"

"Well..." Meg hesitated.

"Please, tell me," Christine pleaded.

At last Meg went on. "Christine, I can forgive his being the Phantom. "You tell me he had a good reason for it, and your word is good enough for me. But that scheme of deceiving you, pretending to be the angel... Christine, I know I said I didn't mind before, back when you'd first found out, but that was just for lessons! This - getting engaged to the fellow - is another matter."

Christine's heart sank.

"Why did he deceive you for so many years?" Meg went on. "If he wanted to approach you, why did he not do so openly and honestly?"

"I understand your concern," Christine began. She sighed. "But I cannot-"

"-No, no, you don't see what I mean." Meg gently put a hand on her arm.

"Oh?" Christine felt a flicker of hope.

Meg paused, thinking. "How to explain?" she went on at last. "You see, here's my view. You are a sensible girl; I would assume that you would not be trusting him with your life, after he did things like that, unless there was a good explanation for all of it."

Christine felt a flood of immeasurable gratitude. "Yes, precisely. There is."

"Something that you can't tell anyone," Meg said. "Am I right?"

"Yes," Christine said. "Perhaps someday I shall be able to tell you - in fact, I hope I shall - but not yet."

"Very well. That is just what I had hoped to hear," Meg said. "And is it something that, if I knew it, would make me pardon him too? Please tell me it is." Her voice unexpectedly took on a pleading note. "I don't know how I'll be easy if not."

"Yes," Christine said. "There I can reassure you: It would. I feel certain that it would."

Meg nodded, looking relieved. "Very well, then. That's all I can ask."

"Meg, thank you." Christine pulled her into an embrace, tears of gratitude in her eyes. "Is there anything else?" she asked after a few moments, pulling away.

"Yes. Does he treat you well, dear?" Meg asked.

Christine smiled. "There even you could not find anything to object to, I know. He treats me as though I were an empress."

Meg's face brightened. "Good."

"No woman was ever so fortunate, I believe, in her choice of husband," Christine went on happily. "He thinks nothing too good for me."

"Well, that is just as it should be." Meg squeezed her hands, smiling widely. "If he treats you as he ought, and you are happy, that is all I can ask for."

"But he is not an aristocrat," Christine said wryly.

"Oh, pish. You know I don't give a fig about that sort of thing. As long as you are well-taken care of."

Christine hid a smile. "But did you not at one time want me to marry Raoul?"

"Yes, at one time I did," Meg admitted. "He seems the perfect gentleman, you cannot deny it. But I suppose if I am honest with myself, I've seen for awhile that it wasn't quite right."

Christine nodded. "He could never make me happy. And I am convinced I could not make him truly happy either, whatever he may think."

"Though I myself shall never really understand quite what it is you found wanting in him," Meg added.

Christine shrugged. "There is nothing wanting, per se. He is everything that is amiable and worthy. But even if I had not met Erik... there is no true meeting of the minds between me and Monsieur le Vicomte. I cannot find words to explain it, but it is so. He and I would always be at odds. He deserves to marry a lady with whom he can see eye to eye."

"Hm." Meg took this in. "Yes, I suppose you're right." She paused. "Does he know yet?"

"No... not yet." Christine's face fell. "Oh dear. I suppose I must tell him."

"Yes, you must!" Meg said, looking surprised that she had not done it already. "You have not written to him yet?"

"No... In the midst of all this I had forgotten. Oh dear. I do hope he has gotten over this silliness about me," Christine fretted. "I should be sorry indeed if my happiness were to make him unhappy."

"You had better write to him at once," Meg said. "The sooner you get it over with, the better for the both of you."

"But I promised him I would wait until he returned to give him an answer."

Meg winced. "He only wanted you to say that because he was expecting you would answer yes."

Christine swallowed. "Yes, I suppose that is true," she said fretfully.

"Don't keep putting it off. It is cruel to keep him in suspense any longer. Especially when he is off risking his life battling ferocious penguins, or whatever it is people do at the North Pole."

Christine smiled. "Yes. You are quite right. But I should prefer to speak with Erik first. He may still want this to be a secret."

"It is not necessary to tell the Vicomte you are engaged to Erik." Meg smiled. "Simply tell him that you are now sure you do not return his feelings. I assure you Erik will not object to that."

Christine laughed. "Yes. You are right. Very well. I shall write to him this evening. Let us pray the Arctic air has cleared his head."

"Would you like my help?" Meg offered. "I have a great deal of experience in breaking the hearts of my unfortunate admirers."

Christine almost laughed. "I would be very grateful."

"Very well, then," Meg said. "The matter is settled. And to think! Christine, you are to be a bride! Really and truly!" She paused, tilting her head to one side. Suddenly a wistful look came into her hazel eyes. If it had been anyone but Meg, Christine would almost have thought she saw tears there. "Oh, dear, I think I hear Reyer calling," she said suddenly, and the moment was over.

"Yes, me too."

"I suppose we ought to go. They do pay us a salary, after all," Meg observed wryly.

Christine grinned. "Yes, I suppose we must."

"Very well." Meg put her arm through Christine's. "Shall we rejoin the others, my dear Madame?" she said in a pompous voice, striking a showy pose.

Christine gathered her skirt as though it were a priceless silk evening-gown. "Yes, my dear baroness, we sh-"

"Shhh!" Meg whirled around and stuck a warning finger up to her lips, her eyes wide with alarm. "Don't call me that! It's bad luck!"

Christine shrugged. "You might well be married before I am," she said, smiling.

Meg looked away shyly. "He hasn't even asked," she said, as they started walking again.

"I daresay he will before the month is out." Christine smiled. "And our situation is so precarious, even now... You might already have about fourteen children before we ever have our wedding."

Meg shushed her frantically, looking around as though Fate herself were hanging on their every word, ready to come down hard on them for the slightest hint of optimism. But she was giggling all the same.

Suddenly she stopped dead. A smirk played over her face as she tried to hold in a spurt of particularly pointed laughter.

Christine saw that a new idea had come into her head. "What?" she demanded.

Meg peered at her out of the corner of her eye.

"What is it?" Christine cried.

Meg smirked. "This explains all those extra 'music lessons' you suddenly had to have."

"What?" Christine felt herself blush. "Why, Meg...!"

"You weren't doing much singing, were you, ducky?"

Christine blushed more deeply, and cursed her fair complexion, knowing that Meg could see it clearly. "No... No, I suppose we weren't..."

Now that Meg knew, it was as though a weight had been lifted from Christine. No more trying to hide things from her; no more sneaking behind her back and slipping away when she wasn't watching.

In fact, Meg helped her get away unobserved and walked with her back to her practice-room. Christine suggested she might want to stay and speak to Erik, but to her surprise, Meg simply said with a smile that she thought they would want to be alone, and left her there.

It would appear she had been right about his not wanting company, for a few moments after she had gone, he appeared.

With a cry of happiness, Christine threw her arms around him. "We are safe, mon cœur," she said without preamble. Suddenly she felt tears choke her voice. "The managers are going to tell the police the money is found."

"Yes," he said simply, tenderly tracing a finger along her cheek. It was difficult to see behind his mask, but she thought she saw him blinking back tears.

"You shall not have to leave me," she said, still lost in the shock of it. "You shall be here, no longer a ghost, no longer just a wraith who appears and disappears... Can this be real?"

"I believe it to be. I hope it is."

"It is almost too much to believe... I shall be able to sleep again..."

"Indeed, I can scarcely credit it myself," he said. "I never imagined I could give you any kind of normalcy."

"You do yourself a disservice," she said. "I knew it could all be well - that there must be a way. I always knew we could have a happy life together."

"But you were not sure I would not make the process more difficult."

She smiled ruefully, simultaneously admitting it and pointing out that she'd been right to wonder.

He gave a taunting grin. "You ought not to underestimate me."

"Can you forgive me for being angry with you about not publishing your music?"

"There is nothing to forgive. You were right."

"It was you who gave the money back?" she said, though she already knew.

He grinned. "I don't see anyone at the Opéra being possessed by a sudden charitable inclination to deposit a small fortune on the desk of Messieurs Andre and Firmin, charming though they are."

"Yes. That cannot have been easy - sixty thousand francs," she said in awe.

To her surprise, he chuckled. "Their consternation was abundant reward, I assure you."

"Indeed?"

"My sole regret is that you were not present to witness the utter madness of it. It was better than a comic-opera. It was the Phantom's finest hour, my dear. And his last," he added quickly, "you have my word-"

"-You were present?" she said, concerned.

"I was concealed," he said quickly.

"No-one saw you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you doubt my powers? You may have disposed of the Phantom and dispensed with his more malicious tendencies, but not his cunning, I assure you. I do not intend to part with that, thank you."

"Very well. I suppose I can allow that."

"You are very good." He grinned.

"Tell me how you went about it," she said.

Grinning, he related the whole story to her.

Christine laughed so hard she fell over onto the piano keys, sending out a jarring chord of about forty notes at the same time, which made him begin to laugh in turn. She began to slip, and had to catch on to his arm to keep herself from sliding to the floor.

When her laughter had subsided and he'd gently helped her to her feet again - after several false starts - all at once everything suddenly seemed to be quieter.

She met his gaze intently. The world suddenly seemed to grow smaller, to draw in tight around them.

She turned up her face and kissed him blissfully. "How happy you have made me, mon cœur," she murmured, blinking tears from her eyes. "Oh, thank you! Truly, I know it cannot have been easy for you. All of it. The music... everything."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. Though they were cold, a soft warmth radiated through her from the spot, as though she were slowly blossoming.

She took hold of his arm and held it against her with both of hers, as though by doing so she could hold him here, trap him in human form, keep him safe with her forever.

Erik gazed at her silently, drinking in the sight of her. Each time he saw her he feared it might be the last.

He shoved the thought away.

"What made you decide to submit to the competition?" Christine ventured after a moment, bending her head and kissing his knuckles. She was startled by how rough his hands were; she had never really noticed it before. They were worn with work, calloused and sinewed and scarred. How was it he could play with such delicacy, calling forth such beauty, such exquisite impressions and passions and sensations? Upon the violin, the piano - upon her, almost in spite of himself, when he dared to touch her? There was still some softness in him yet. She was beginning to find it - and drawing it out was the most beautiful riddle of her life. "You were so determined to keep your music to yourself."

"Yes." He thought. "I must thank you, Christine," he said at last. "It is owing to you that this change has come about."

"Whatever you success you have had, you owe it all to the splendor of your genius."

He blinked. His whole attitude, his posture, showed he was genuinely taken aback, pleasantly startled, by this lavish praise. "Mon rêve... Thank you, mon rêve. But you see, before I did not have the courage. But now that I have you... You see, the chance to have these months with you, to not be parted from you, that is worth anything. I would have dared a great deal more for that."

She blinked back tears. "Mon cœur..."

"But..." he went on.

"But?"

"I fear the opera house may not be the safest place for us. I still have enemies here."

Christine thought of Buquet. "Yes, I suppose that is so."

He smiled. "But elsewhere, you know... Where shall we go?"

"I should like to go to your home. You cannot say it is unsafe now. There is no reason why I should not be down there with you."

He looked disappointed. Of all the places she could have chosen. "I know what place you are speaking of, but it is not my home. My home shall be with you, soon." He brightened a little at this realization.

"Yes! Why, you know, it is safe now for us to look for a home together - how delightful it is!" She pulled away and took hold of his hands, lacing her fingers through his. "We shall have a little house and go out on Sundays, and play and sing together all the time. Oh! I am so happy I could weep."

"You already are weeping copiously, mon rêve."

She smiled and looked away shyly. "Yes, very well, I admit it - you have made me go quite distracted with happiness, but don't boast."

"I shall try to contain myself."

She kissed him. "Well, shall we go there? I should like to sing something for you."

He hesitated.

"It is better-concealed than up here," she said. "Otherwise I should insist that you come live up here with me." She smiled, but no answering light came into his eyes.

"Do you not wish to go there?" she prompted, when he did not reply.

He seemed to be rousing himself from some depths. "I should not like for you to be trapped in that darkness," he said at last, coming to. He took her hands to show he still wanted her nearby, that he was not trying to get rid of it.

"You think it gloomy, but all the same there is something of the romantic about it," she said, her eyes aglow. "Imagine - a man who lives in a palace underground!" She smiled brightly, taken with the phrase.

He sighed sadly, eyes downcast. "I am afraid the charms of this palace fast wear thin. I cannot go on living like this, like an animal in a burrow. I want to live like everyone else now."

"You will never be quite like everyone else," she said tenderly.

"Oh! Do not say that! I am not a creature of the darkness. Not by choice," he added sadly.

"That is not what I meant. There is more light in you than in anyone I have ever known."

Erik sucked in his breath, too overwhelmed to speak. This time it was his turn to look away.

"Perhaps it would be useful for me to show you the usual route by which I arrive there," he relented after a moment, gathering himself, able to look at her again. In order to keep from making it seem like she'd won, he added petulantly, "I do not want you to always feel the need to be going in and out the Rue Scribe gate."

She smiled, realizing what a concession this was on his part. "You speak as though you have learnt you cannot stop me from going where I wish to. That is wise."

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes." She grinned. "But if you think it safer to go by a different route, then I shall oblige, though it does cost me to be told what to do."

"You will find this way rather taxing, I fear." Though indeed, that was not the real reason. He hated for her to see the grim tunnels he had been banished to for some long.

"I am prepared."

He sighed. "Bring your coat."

She smiled saucily. "Just as you say, Captain."

He peered at her through narrowed eyes, trying to be annoyed with her but finding it, for the time being, impossible.

As she gathered her coat from where she'd tossed it on a chair, he stepped toward the back wall of the room with its enormous mirror.

She watched him in confusion. She couldn't imagine what he could be doing; he hated looking in mirrors, even despite the mask. "What are you doing?"

He made some faint noise in reply; he seemed to be concentrating on something.

After a moment, he reached out and carefully pressed his hand against a corner in the pattern of the paper.

There was a pause, and then suddenly, the mirror shifted in its frame and swung open like a revolving door, revealing a vast expanse of empty blackness beyond.

Christine gasped and started forward. "Good Heavens! It is like Alice in Wonderland."

He smiled. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"How did you come to find this?" She took hold of his arm.

"I found the passage when I first came here. A few years ago I installed the mirror."

A smile spread over her face at this announcement. "Oh?"

He looked at her inquiringly.

"Well," she explained in reply, "If you built it here... Then you had planned to show me your home. You had wanted to be with me, to share your music with me. Your world."

"I do not know. I built this before it became your practice-room. It is a convenient location."

"Oh, I see. Yes, that makes sense." Suddenly she laughed softly.

He smiled in spite of himself. "What is it?"

"Well - I always wondered why they spent the money to put a fine mirror like this in this little closet. Now I understand."

He laughed. "Ah, yes."

"I suppose I always assumed someone at the Opéra must have put it in for a reason. The managers certainly never questioned it, if they even know this room exists."

He smirked. "Even if they do, which I very much doubt, those two will never object to having what is too good for them."

She laughed.

"Well, mon rêve?" Erik stepped forward and carefully held the mirror open with his shoulder. He pivoted so he was facing Christine and extended his hand, beckoning. "Come to me, my Angel of Music."

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you were the Angel."

"If either of us has anything of the divine in us, it is surely you."

Smiling, Christine took his hand and stepped through the mirror.

End of Chapter 25. Thank you so much for reading!