Author's Note: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! I hope you're all still enjoying the story, and that you like this new chapter. Thanks again for reading!

Chapter Eight: The Gala

1. Erik looked frantically around the stage, his gaze alighting on each performer in turn. But it was no good: Christine had gone.

"Where is Miss Daae?" he repeated.

There was a worried muttering among the corps de ballet.

"She was upset," said Meg Giry, in accusatory tones which made her sound, for a moment, very like her mother. "She'll be in our dressing room. I should go and see if she's all right..."

Erik did his best to ignore the scowl on Meg's face, but he knew that his rash actions had upset Christine, and it was suddenly his greatest fear that she would refuse to sing. He tried to smile at Meg.

"Please could you take me to your dressing room? I must speak with her."

Meg nodded, and Erik turned to Reyer. "Rehearse the chorus. I must find Miss Daae."

Reyer gave him a long-suffering look, but agreed, and Erik followed Meg backstage and into the mysterious, uncharted territory of the dressing rooms. Erik had not visited this part of the building for several years, and his first reaction was to be shocked by the narrow, claustrophobic corridors, the peeling paintwork on the walls, and the general air of gloom. In places the passageways were hardly lit, the occasional gas lamp giving off an eerie glow. Erik hurried to keep up with the quick, confident steps of his guide, who seemed to know every inch of this bewildering labyrinth.

"This corridor needs better lighting," Erik remarked, making a mental note to discuss the matter with Leferve at the first opportunity. "I'm surprised you don't get lost back here."

Meg shrugged. "It's fine, we're used to it. Take care, sir, the passage gets a little narrow here."

Erik negotiated his way between two inconveniently placed clothes rails which blocked the passage with a forest of ball gowns, gauze skirts and furs. He pushed his way through the costumes, became entangled with a velvet brocade cloak, panicked for a moment, and finally fought his way out. Meg was waiting for him by a door on the other side of the tunnel, her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle a giggle.

"Are we there yet?" he huffed in irritation.

Meg nodded and gestured towards a plain wooden door. "This is our dressing room."

"Thank you," said Erik. "You've been most helpful."

Perhaps Meg did not interpret Erik's words as a dismissal, or perhaps she was merely stubborn. Either way, she lingered in the passage while Erik knocked upon the door.

"Miss Daae? Are you in there?"

There was complete silence from inside the dressing room.

"Miss Daae?"

Rolling her eyes, Meg opened the door and marched into the room. Erik remained in the passageway, unsure what to do. This was, after all, a ladies' dressing room, and he didn't want to enter without an invitation. But as the director of the Opera House, it was also, technically, his dressing room. Uncertain of the appropriate etiquette, Erik moved into the doorway, which felt like reassuringly neutral territory.

He was met by a heartrending sight. Christine was sat hunched on a chair, her head cradled in her hands, her elbows resting upon a cluttered dressing table. He couldn't see her face, but he could see her shoulders shaking beneath her mass of brown curls. She was weeping, and trying so hard to do it soundlessly. Meg knelt on the floor beside her, murmuring words of comfort.

"Christine, please don't cry. Monsieur Carriere's here to see you."

"Well, I don't want to see him!" Christine sobbed. "Tell him to go away."

Erik drew back; it had not occurred to him that she might be angry. Meg looked at him over her shoulder and gave a helpless little shrug.

"Thank you, Miss Giry," he said. "You may go."

"But…"

Erik held up a hand, silencing Meg's protest. "Please, Miss Giry. I would like to speak with Miss Daae alone."

With a last concerned glance at Christine, Meg nodded and scuttled out of the dressing room. Erik waited until she had vanished into the thicket of costumes, and quietly closed the door.

He stood in silence for a moment, staring at the weeping Christine. His heart ached to comfort her, but he was at a loss for how to do so. He wished he could put his arm around her, like a suitor might, and let her cry into his shoulder. Instead he lingered awkwardly behind her and gave a polite cough in the hope of winning her attention.

"Christine?"

"What are you doing here?" Once again, her anger shocked him, twisting her beautiful voice so it became harsh and unmusical.

"I came to see if you were alright," he said.

Christine finally turned to face him. Her cheeks were frighteningly pale and her eyes were red from crying. "You mean after you humiliated me?"

Erik stared at her. "I don't understand."

"You told the whole company that I was going to replace Carlotta, even when I begged you not to."

"And what of it?"

"I'm not ready to stand in for anyone, least of all Carlotta." She turned away from him, absently running a finger along the surface of the dressing table, leaving a trail in the dust.

Erik stalked around the back of the dressing table so she was forced to look at him.

"Don't you see, Christine? This is the chance we've been waiting for! Why do you think I've been teaching you, if not to prepare you to sing a leading role one day?"

"I didn't want it to happen like this," she said, her voice dropping to a sad whisper, all trace of anger now gone. "I didn't want to replace anyone. How can you just stand there and talk about this as though it's some great opportunity? That poor woman…"

Erik smiled, and instantly regretted it when he saw Christine's accusing glare.

"I wouldn't waste any sympathy on La Carlotta," he said. "She'll be back."

"But you dismissed her."

"From tonight's performance. As for the future…well, I made no promises. She'll beg me to let her back in the company. You'll see. She'll come back of her own accord as soon as she hears how marvellous you are."

Christine looked up at him and suddenly he saw real fear in her eyes.

"Don't," she said, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I'm not ready for this. Not yet. You've only been teaching me for two months."

Erik smiled. "This isn't because you're angry about Carlotta. You're acting like this because you're afraid."

"I am angry about Carlotta," said Christine. "But yes, you're right. I'm terrified."

"What exactly are you afraid of?"

Christine stared intently into the mirror above the dressing table. "I don't know. Failure, I suppose. The audience laughing at me, my voice cracking, missing my cue, forgetting my lines…everything."

"All the normal things which singers fear," said Erik gently.

Christine wiped her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "I'm sorry, Erik. I just don't think I can do this."

"Well, I think you can," he said. "You speak of these last two months as if you've achieved nothing in that time. But your voice has developed so much in the space of those two short months, Christine. I wouldn't have asked you to sing tonight if I didn't believe you were capable of it. Don't you trust me?"

Christine nodded. "Of course I do. But Erik, you've never sung in front of two thousand strangers. How can you possibly understand how I feel?"

Erik was silent for a long moment. He stared down at the uncarpeted floor of the dressing room. He sighed. "I understand only too well."

"What do you mean?" Suddenly Christine's eyes were alight with curiosity. Erik sighed; whenever he was with Christine, he seemed to have an ungovernable urge to confide in her.

He turned away, unable to stand her inquisitive gaze any longer.

"Stage fright is a terrible thing, Christine," he said softly. "I could say that you have nothing to fear, but I would be giving you false assurances, and I can't do that. You're right to be afraid, Christine. The world of music can be cruel as well as beautiful. There'll always be someone waiting for you to make a mistake. There will be people who will laugh at you and criticise you and tell you that you don't deserve to be on that stage."

"Why are you telling me this?" There was a note of panic in Christine's voice, and Erik guiltily whirled about to face her.

"I'm only telling you the truth," he said, and suddenly he was aware of the tears burning his eyes. "But Christine, it is far better to venture onto the stage, aware of the risks, and to take the criticisms and the laughter. It is far, far better to have the opportunity to sing, to share your voice with other people who will appreciate its beauty, than for your talent to be wasted and reviled and forbidden expression upon the stage."

Christine was staring at him, and he realised he was trembling. Why was he telling her this? Surely he was simply portraying himself as a particularly bitter individual, and being no help to her at all.

"You have the chance to sing on a great stage, Christine. You have the chance to do what I never could, what I was never permitted to do. Please don't throw such a chance away," he looked down at the floor, aware that his tears were falling freely now. "It would break my heart."

There was a moment of silence, during which Erik inwardly berated himself for showing such weakness and doubtless frightening her in the process. But then he became aware of a gentle pressure against his palms. He looked down in shock and realised that Christine had taken both his hands in hers.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she said. "I'm being very foolish."

"Forgive me, Christine," he said, making every effort to swallow his tears. "I have frightened you."

"I'm not frightened, and there's nothing to forgive," she said, with a strength which surprised him. "Erik, you have done so much for me these past weeks. I will sing for you tonight."

He looked down at their joined hands and smiled. "Thank you, Christine."

"You'll be there, won't you? Watching?" There was a lingering look of anxiety in her eyes.

Erik nodded. "Of course. I'll be watching from Box Five."

Now she smiled, and it was a lovely smile which made her look more beautiful than ever.

"Thank you, Erik. I really am grateful, you know."

"I know." Erik tried to forget about Christine's smile and the light pressure of her hands in his and focus on the practicalities. "I should return to the rehearsal. I'll ask the wardrobe mistress to show you to the star dressing room."

Christine frowned. "The star dressing room? You mean Carlotta's dressing room?"

"It's your dressing room now." Erik looked at the dusty dressing table and grimaced. "You can't stay here, Christine. You'll need more room and your own dresser, not to mention Elissa's costumes. Don't worry, it need only be for one night. If it bothers you, I'll make sure you get a brand new dressing room, the finest in the building."

Christine's expression softened. "Thank you."

"And now I really must be going." Erik gently removed his hands from Christine's grasp. "I will see you this evening, after your triumph."

"Don't you want me to attend the rehearsal?"

"Only if you wish. You know the role, Christine. No, I would advise you to get some rest and then do some vocal exercises. Don't tire your voice needlessly."

She nodded. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

Erik turned to leave. Looking back at her one last time, he caught the lingering traces of doubt on her face, and gave her his warmest smile.

"You'll be wonderful, Miss Daae."

2. Christine stared at herself in Carlotta's enormous dressing room mirror and wondered when she would start to feel excited, or proud, or joyful; anything except fear, and an odd, lingering sadness.

She was dressed in the most elaborate costume she had ever worn. It was a riot of bright colours, with a bodice of red and green velvet and a full skirt bedecked with strings of beads, tasselled trims and gold braid. Jewels glittered upon her throat and wrists, and an intricate golden headdress inlaid with pieces of coloured glass rested upon her loose hair.

For so many years she had dreamed of this moment, the moment when she would catch her reflection in a gilt-edged looking glass and see a prima donna staring back at her. Instead she saw the face of a stranger, ghostly in stage makeup. Perhaps the real Christine had disappeared backstage amongst the sets and properties, lost in a forest of canvas trees. She felt a cold finger of fear run down her spine, and the strange woman shuddered within the mirror.

There was a knock upon the door, and a young man's voice called out: "Five minutes, Miss Daae."

Christine inhaled deeply. This was it. She wondered what would happen if she decided to go now, slip out of the Opera House and into the crowded streets, leaving a stage deprived of a leading lady. Would the opera be called off, or would there be another understudy ready and waiting to go on in her place? Perhaps Carlotta would be in the house, and she could resume her rightful place on the stage. Christine shook her head, willing the thought away. The very idea that Carlotta might be in the audience, waiting to witness her failure and humiliation, was too horrible to contemplate.

She tried to forget about Carlotta. Instead she forced herself to think about Erik, and their conversation in her former dressing room. He had spoken to her so encouragingly, and with such intensity, that she could not contemplate letting him down. Thinking of Erik lifted her spirits. Recently she had found herself thinking of Erik rather more than was strictly necessary. Sometimes she would look out of her window at night and see the moon, which glowed in the same way as Erik's mask did when it was bathed in the light of a lamp. Or she would hear Piangi sing a piece of music and think how Erik could sing it so much better. And sometimes she would think of the way he moved, so gracefully, across a room. Or the way his beautiful white hands would dance upon the piano keys while she sang. He always wore a ring on the little finger of his right hand: a silver ring with a stone of black onyx.

Looking once again at her reflection, Christine saw that her blush was visible even beneath the layer of stage makeup. A new thought had crept up on her, and it was much more appealing than her thoughts of disaster. Tonight, at the party, she would ask Erik to dance with her, regardless of what anyone might think. Smiling, she left the dressing room in a much more optimistic frame of mind.

She found Meg waiting for her in the wings. The dancer gave her a hug and a reassuring smile. Then Christine took another deep breath, looked straight ahead, and listened for the music which would summon her onto the stage.

There it was. She felt her shoulders straighten and her feet move, guiding her into another world, a world of painted tents and paper palm trees.

Christine stood beneath the white hot spotlight of an African sun, and beckoned her voice forth from her parched throat.

And Elissa came to life.

3. The lights dimmed and a heavy curtain crept across the stage. Christine stood very still, feeling disoriented, staring into the creased red velvet.

Then she heard the audience erupt into applause. Dawn broke once again on the stage of the Paris Opera House, and the curtains opened. Christine found herself looking at a sea of clapping hands and smiling faces. She felt someone take her by the hand. She glanced around and saw Hannibal, or rather Carolus Fonta. The young tenor looked exhausted and his forehead was shiny with sweat, but he was beaming at her. At least half of the applause was for him, of course.

Or was it? Christine watched speechlessly as Carolus took one final bow and strode off into the wings. She started to follow him, but he gestured at her to stay. Christine was alone on the stage. The applause continued. She curtsied. And then two footmen walked on from the wings. In their red velvet coats, white tights and powdered wigs, they looked like cut-outs from a toy theatre, vaguely absurd figures from a Regency opera. With expressions of the utmost seriousness, they each presented her with a bouquet of white and pink roses.

But the bouquets weren't really for her, either. They had been meant for Carlotta.

Christine remained standing on the stage that was not really hers, holding bouquets which were not meant for her, and listening to applause which could not possibly be aimed at her.

And then the audience rose to its feet, and she heard it, a soft chant, growing gradually louder: Daae, Daae, Daae. And in that moment, Christine realised that this really was all for her. The audience was applauding her voice, her performance, her Elissa.

She swayed slightly, feeling faint. She managed to curtsy one last time before the curtains closed. Then she stood perfectly still, waiting to see what would happen next. After such a curtain call, anything seemed possible.

Suddenly, Christine found herself sucked into a whirlpool of white tulle tutus and silk ribbons. She realised, to her delight, that the entire corps de ballet had come to congratulate her. They were laughing and asking questions and paying her compliments.

"Christine, how did you do that?"

"We had no idea you could sing like that!"

"The entire audience got to its feet. I've never seen anything like it."

"Did you see the Vicomte de Chagny? He stood up halfway through Think of Me and started to applaud!"

"Yes! And the Count had to tell him to sit down!"

"Carlotta is going to be mad with jealousy!"

Christine listened to their gossip and laughter, as yet too stunned to respond.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and saw Meg.

"Christine, you were wonderful!" said the dancer, hugging her. She giggled when Christine didn't move to follow her into the wings. "You can leave the stage now."

Christine laughed. "I don't think I want to!"

The other girls were still chatting excitedly and admiring the bouquets, so Christine gave them each a flower. She felt it was the least she could do after they had all been so kind.

"Congratulations, Mademoiselle Daae," said Reyer, appearing behind Meg.

Christine thanked him.

Madame Giry walked onto the stage from the wings.

"There you are," she said, frowning disapprovingly at the dancers, who instantly froze and threw each other worried looks. "Your concentration was abysmal tonight. Too many thoughts of parties. I have a good mind to banish the lot of you to the rehearsal room until morning."

There were murmurs of protest from the girls. Madame Giry caught Meg's eye and winked at her. The young dancer tried to hide a smile as her mother turned to address the appalled ballet girls.

"Yes, there is only one thing to be done. I shall have to order you to stay in the Opera tonight and dance."

The protests grew louder.

Madame Giry's face broke into a grin.

"Yes, dance in the Grand Foyer, to the accompaniment of Monsieur Reyer's splendid string quartet, with several dozen devilishly handsome and highly unsuitable partners, I have no doubt."

Meg gasped, and then started to giggle. "Mother!"

Madame Giry looked at her innocently. "What?"

This was greeted by laughter and sighs of relief from the dancers, who had been momentarily convinced that their mistress was even more of a tyrant than they had often joked.

"Now off you go," said Madame Giry. "Look after each other and behave yourselves. Don't show me up."

The dancers dispersed, giggling and chatting.

Christine watched them go. She had never felt such triumph. And yet it was tinged with sadness: she knew, as the girls of the chorus disappeared into the nooks and crannies of the theatre, that she would never again be one of them.

Madame Giry must have noticed her melancholy expression.

"Come now," she said. "Why do you look so sad?"

Christine looked down at the floor. "I don't really know. It sounds silly, but I suppose I feel alone."

Madame Giry smiled at her: it was a wise smile. She had, after all, worked at the Opera for many years.

"You've just made the transition from chorus girl to soloist, and it is bound to feel strange at first. But just remember this: your friends, the people who really matter, will be pleased for you. Not everyone here is as jealous as Carlotta. And I know at least one person who will be very proud of you."

Christine looked questioningly at the ballet mistress. "Do you mean Monsieur Carriere?"

"Yes."

"You know that he's been teaching me." It was not a question; something in Madame Giry's expression was enough to tell Christine that she knew about the lessons.

"Yes. I know. And I'm so glad. "

"Why?"

"It's just good to see him sharing his music with someone who understands, someone who accepts him for who he is." Madame Giry turned away abruptly, and for a moment, Christine was convinced she had seen tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Miss Daae."

"For what?"

But Madame Giry had already disappeared into the shadows of the wings.