Neither Christine nor her ghostly guide spoke further as they continued to make their way deeper down the stairs of stone. At least it didn't get darker every few steps; yet Christine couldn't help but notice the shadows the torches cast underneath them, like black arms reaching out to try and make her trip and fall. In an attempt to put her mind elsewhere, she focused on wondering where it really was that the two of them were going, and how it annoyed her that this troublesome man wouldn't tell her. Apparently he preferred to keep himself wrapped in his cloak of mystery – literally, it might as well be, as he already was wearing one.

In any event, while she had warmed up to him surprisingly quickly – given how he'd simply appeared out of nowhere, and the fact that she still knew neither his name nor his likeness – for those same reasons, Christine still didn't entirely trust him. She'd heard of a sideshow trick called mesmerism, a kind of hypnosis that was accomplished by the user performing magnetic passes with their hands around another person's head. Once the user had them in their mental grasp, they could get them to say and do almost anything, and the person could only return to their right mind by the user performing the passes backwards.

While Christine didn't think the mysterious man had done that specifically to her, that didn't mean he couldn't have other trance-inducing tools at his disposal; not to mention her distrust of stage magicians and illusionists in general. Even so, something within her compelled her to keep walking with him.

Christine then began to wonder when they were going to reach the bottom of the series of steps, since they seemed to be going further down than any other staircase she'd ascended and/or descended. Yet no sooner had she started thinking so than it appeared that they'd finally made it to the bottom, in front of an archway that seemed to have been carved from the same stone as the walls of the stairs.

The man in black stopped and waited for her to finish the last two steps. Even now though, he didn't let go of her hand. "Come…" he then said, directing his lantern toward the open archway. Without waiting for a response, he slowly walked them under the black stone arch, and it felt to Christine like emerging from a church alcove. Such a thought then caused the question that had remained on her mind from the beginning to return. Was this a man of flesh and bone or pure spirit?

Once they were past the entryway though, they found themselves on what appeared to be a large, rectangular stone platform. Christine felt her eyes widen – for perhaps the umpteenth time this evening – at the scene upon which they'd arrived. It looked as though the world of the light and the world of the dark had combined to create a sight more breathtaking than any she'd seen in a long time.

Silvery white mist – like that she'd seen before in the mirror – floated like earthbound clouds just above what appeared to be an underground lake. But the more Christine looked around, the more she could see that this looked nothing like the sewer she imagined lying underneath the Opera House. Indeed, it much more resembled an elaborate crypt that had been flooded – the thought immediately making her hope this didn't house thousands of bones and skulls like the fabled Catacombs of Paris.

Redirecting her thoughts elsewhere, she saw rows of arches – much like one would find in a crypt – made of blueish-black…stones or bricks? She couldn't tell. But she did marvel at how high the arches seemed to stretch, perhaps a whole story. The ceiling appeared to be another story above them, with countless drops of water holding to it giving the illusion of a star-filled night. And when Christine looked lower again, she could see why. Every few yards there sat a lit torch in a sconce, much like the ones that lit the way down the stone staircase. The flames seemed to dance merrily, and even more so when she saw them reflected in the water, which otherwise looked as black as to be a sea of ink…one which she could not determine the depth of.

"Lovely, is it not…?" a familiar voice suddenly spoke, making Christine flinch. She looked toward the end of the platform on her right and realized it was the masked man who'd guided her here, smiling his small smile.

Though Christine didn't want to admit it, she nonetheless nodded. "Indeed," she breathed. "I didn't think such a place could look so beautiful."

"Oh but there's far more to see…" The man then directed his hand to his right, and Christine had to step closer to see what he was gesturing towards.

She gasped lightly in surprise when she saw that it was a small gondola, like those she'd seen in photographs and paintings of the Italian city of Venice. It appeared to be made of ebony and had gilded gold decorating the edges. She also noticed that her guide had hung his lantern from the front end. And now, it appeared that he was inviting her to join him.

But rather than say she'd never ridden in such a boat before, Christine shook her head as she said, "Oh no, I…I couldn't impose."

The man gave her an oddly suspicious look. "Would you prefer to swim instead…?" he asked. Christine knew immediately that it was a rhetorical question, given that the ink-black water now looked even more unimaginably deep than when she first saw it, if such a thing were possible. While she had gone swimming on plenty of occasions in her life, such had been years ago during her summer visits with Raoul and his family. And she wouldn't be surprised if she'd forgotten how to tread water since then.

Christine shook her head again. "No," she replied, chuckling nervously. "I suppose I will take the boat." She stepped forward, but the man held up a hand for her to stop. And she quickly saw why.

Being the gentleman he was – thus far – he stepped into the boat first, and with balanced ease, as though he'd done this many times already. For a moment, Christine could only stare at the vessel. While it didn't look so small as to be uncomfortable, it didn't look all that large either. She was beginning to wonder if she'd have as much fortune keeping herself balanced, when she noticed the man in the cape was holding an open hand out toward her.

Well, she'd already gone down and ominous looking hallway and then descended a stone staircase with no rails. With that thought in mind, Christine stepped forward; and for the second time that night, though she hesitated a bit more this time, she took the man's gloved hand.

"Sit, in front of me…" he instructed her. Biting her lip again, Christine took up her skirts in her other hand and then quickly put one foot, followed by the other, into the boat. It bobbed upon her entry, and she held tightly onto the man's hand as she sat down in haste. Only when she found a comfortable position and felt steady enough did she let go, and breathe a sigh of relief.

For a second, she thought she heard the man standing behind her chuckle. "You'll get used to it, in time…" he assured her. Christine started wondering what he meant, when a force that felt like a cold wind seemed to flow past her, and even into her, as she hugged herself and began to shiver.

She straightened immediately upon feeling the touch of the man's hand on her shoulder. "Mademoiselle, are you cold…?" he asked, genuine concern seeming to lace his words.

"Only…only a little," Christine replied. "I'm fine." But it became clear to both her and he that her chattering teeth were saying otherwise.

Christine was beginning to hope she wouldn't shiver enough to make the boat bob more to and fro, when she suddenly felt a rather warm cloak being wrapped around her. She recognized it in an instant, but she still looked behind, and saw that the masked man had indeed given her his cape.

"Thank…you," Christine said as she took the cape with both hands, trying to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering. "But…what about you? Won't you…be cold?"

"Oh, no worry…" the man shook his head at her. "Indeed, I'm accustomed to environments far colder than this…" Struck with curiosity, Christine wanted to ask what he meant. But before she could, he took up the long pole on his left. She turned around where she sat; and right as she did, the man in black began to row them forward into the dimly lit yet hauntingly beautiful labyrinth that awaited them.

Though it felt quite unnerving at first, Christine began to relax again the further they traveled. While twiddling with the stout, messy braid that hung over her shoulder certainly helped, so too did the knowledge that she wasn't alone, even if her companion did appear to be of a ghostly nature. That theory though gradually dwindled as she remembered how she'd held his hand twice, when in all other such stories she'd heard, trying to touch a ghost was like trying to touch empty air. Moreover, she smiled softly at the warmth his cape generously provided. It felt soothing and comforting…much as his voice had…

Although they hadn't spoken since they'd departed about five minutes ago, Christine shifted slightly in her seat. While she wasn't fully facing him, she only wanted to make sure he heard her voice more clearly. "Pardon me, but I must know…" Christine trailed off, feeling strangely shy at what she wanted to ask. Still, she forced the words out of her mouth. "That was you, wasn't it…? That night, just over a week ago? And then yesterday evening, when I was trying to sing? That voice was yours, wasn't it?"

A moment of silence passed between them before the man – while continuing the row the boat – replied, "Indeed, it was I, Mademoiselle… I have no shame out of which I must hide it…"

"But…why?" Christine asked. "Why comfort me like that – and not just once but twice – when we hadn't met each other before tonight?"

Another moment of silence before another reply. "What sort of decent man would lack so much honor so as to not come to the aid of a lady in distress…?"

Upon hearing those words, Christine looked away slightly as she felt the instantaneous and immense heat of a blush dust her cheeks. She wasn't used to being spoken to in such a way by such a man. And yet, somehow, it felt rather…nice.

But right before her eyes could close, she opened them again, as she now had something else to ask him. "What of last night though? Why did you sing along with me, when it was rather clear to myself that I was doing horribly?"

"I was singing your praises," her companion explained, "because you were trying… That you would still try even after ten years tells me you're not quite ready to yield up your voice just yet…"

Christine let out a small sigh as she took in the words that touched her even more than the previous ones. Why would a complete stranger be so moved as to do what he could to help her get her voice back…? She shook her head the moment she realized she was letting her emotions drift. Clearly, she was treading on dangerous ground. Only as long as she gripped her feelings tightly to her could she be sure that this man she still knew next to nothing of was not taking advantage of her.

Even so, wanting to be entirely sure that this man was telling the truth, Christine spoke slightly more sternly, "Prove it to me then. Would you be willing to do at least that much?"

Though she half-expected him not to, she was still a bit surprised when the man still rowing the boat replied, "As you wish, Mademoiselle…"

Christine shifted back fully to the front again and clutched the ends of the cape a bit more tightly around her. She steeled herself against any possible seduction as she focused her sight straight ahead at a faint glow in the distance, which much resembled that of the torches she saw upon entering that hallway through her mirror in the beginning. The man behind her continued to row them toward it…and began to sing.

"Won't you wait patiently for me…?

I have not forgotten you…

Whether in daylight or darkness

I'll always be true…"

In spite any mental preparations she could've taken, Christine could not deny in any way just how pleasant his voice sounded to her ears. Indeed, had she not heard for herself, she would not have believed it was possible for a human being to sound so…ethereal. And as one would suppose, the harder she tried to keep herself from admiring this man's otherworldly singing, the more she found herself captivated by it.

"Let me embrace

You in your sorrow…

You aren't alone at all…"

"Truly, your face

Will smile tomorrow…

I will not let you fall…"

Both the words and how he sang them seemed to touch something deep within Christine as she continued to listen. Though she might have fiercely clung to her reservations before, she found herself truly wanting to believe what she did initially when she first stepped through her mirror and saw this man up close for the first time. She wanted to believe his soul was of the noble sort. But what could she know for certain of this man who seemed to so easily dodge her efforts at deduction left and right?

He continued to sing, and she continued to relax. His voice was so gentle and so comforting that, though she kept sitting up, Christine felt her eyelids start to droop – and behind them she could still see and feel the faint yet warm glow of the lantern hanging at the front of the boat. She'd been trying so hard to keep her senses together at this point that her head actually began to hurt. She sighed and put her hand to her forehead in an effort to soothe it, even as she kept listening to the man's spiritual sounding voice. Indeed, she was beginning to wonder if angels really could do better than he…

The next thing Christine knew, she felt a hand touching her shoulder and heard someone softly speak her name. Suddenly filled with new strength, she blinked her eyes open, though it took a bit longer than usual to bring her vision into focus. She was still in the gondola, and still in the haunting darkness of the labyrinth. But she was in a different area than she last remembered being in. She was in a smaller, darker tunnel, being rowed closer to a brighter glowing light than the last one she recalled, this one also hiding beyond a corridor on the right rather than the left. It wasn't until then though that the girl remembered she wasn't alone.

"Wha-?" Christine strained. "Where…?" She rubbed one eye, then the other, and then cleared her throat. "H-how long have we been traveling through here?"

"Around fifteen minutes…" the male voice behind her replied. She then thought she heard him chuckle. "Patience, Mademoiselle… We're almost there…"

Christine was about to ask him where they almost were, when they began to turn the corridor. Her already open mouth widened more – along with her eyes – in awe at the first sight that greeted them.

From the ceiling that towered at least two stories overheard hung four small elaborate chandeliers – taking the shape of a square – with an even larger and grander chandelier in the very center. All of them – especially the great one in the middle – looked as though they were made of sparkling silver and gold crystal. The candles that lit them certainly made such an appearance seem all the more convincing. Indeed, their combined radiance was so strong that for a moment, Christine had to put her hand in front of her eyes until they finally started to adjust after so much darkness and dim light. It was as if the sun had somehow descended from the sky and made its home in this labyrinth, as though this place was its abode every night between dusk and dawn.

"Beautiful…" Christine breathed when they passed under them. She even turned around a bit in her seat so she could continue to gaze at how dazzling they were.

"Is it not…?" the man still rowing the boat asked her. Christine looked to him, and for a brief second, she thought that the light from the chandeliers made his small smile look a little bit brighter. "But look ahead… We're about to arrive…"

Christine shifted back around to the front, and her eyebrows raised when she saw what appeared to be a large metal portcullis, much like one a person would see at a centuries-old castle. Though she couldn't see too well what caused the new glow that lay beyond it, she nervously anticipated whatever it could be.

The man halted the boat a few feet from the gate. Christine was wondering how he was going to get it open, since she couldn't see any latches or levers or keyholes. But mere seconds after they stopped, as if simply obeying a silent command, the portcullis began to rise from the water until it was fully lifted, allowing them access inside.

Christine's thoughts flew fast through her mind as she tried to think of a reasonable solution, until she remembered how crewmen in the Opera House had pulled off similar feats of stage magic in past shows, with trapdoors and gunpowder and the like. More than likely there was probably some sort of switch in the water beneath them that the man simply touched with his rowing pole.

Whatever the case, once they passed underneath the raised gate, Christine's focus had landed solely on what the man in the mask was now rowing them toward.

This part of the labyrinth was different from the rest she'd already seen. While the architecture was much the same – with the blueish-black walls of either brick or stone – that was where the similarity ended. Rather than just another tunnel or series of tunnels, this looked like a rather large room, and one that appeared lived in at that. On either side of Christine and her guide were a pair of large gilded-silver candelabras, stretching tall out of the water in a way that made them resemble human hands. The collective glow from their candles provided only just enough illumination to the room to help Christine gaze all around it. The only other source of light was that of what was most likely the moon, shining through a small, circular, stained-glass window sitting just underneath the ceiling, which stretched at least one story high.

From the black water, Christine could see emerging steps that led to a large platform much like the one she and the man behind her had departed from; only the steps and the platform itself seemed to be made of worn marble rather than stone. Moreover, rather than being rectangular, this platform encompassed the opposite side of the room in either a half oval or circle shape, appearing to resemble a sort of dais. On both the far left and far right were dark corridors, though Christine could only guess where they led. And in the very center of the room, flanked on either side by a tall gilded-silver candle-stand and a couple of small stacks of wooden crates that stretched about half as high, sat what she supposed was a sort of keyboard instrument. Although, the shadows obscured much of it from her view.

Nonetheless, Christine could scarcely believe her eyes. It looked very much like the sort of place one would read about in a Gothic novel. So eerie, yet so lovely. Never did she think that such a place could actually exist; and yet here she was, right in the midst of it.

So fixated was she on the beauty of this chamber, that she flinched slightly when an open hand suddenly reached her field of vision. Christine quickly realized whose hand it was though, and took hold of it with hers. Only when she was halfway to her feet though did she remember she was still in the boat, as it quickly began to rock underneath her weight. Indeed, had the man in the handsome black suit not hastily grasped her other hand, she might very well have fallen into the water; the thought sent a chill through her.

Even so, once she regained her balance, the man allowed her to lift her skirts just high enough, and then proceeded to help her out of the boat and up the steps to the platform. Once they were on the same level, Christine turned slightly and realized she'd left in the boat his cape which he'd given her earlier. But when she looked back at him again, he either didn't seem to notice or didn't mind.

In any event, in keeping with his gentleman persona, the masked man bowed gracefully before her and said, "I bid you welcome to my humble abode, Mademoiselle Daaé…"

Christine looked briefly around the room again. Though she'd already guessed it was so when they arrived, still she couldn't help but ask, "This…is where you live?"

"Indeed…" the man replied, smiling softly once more at her. "I am assuming by the way you're taking it all in that I've made a good first impression…? If I am correct, then I am pleased to have done so…"

Christine nodded. "It is most unusual, but…most beautiful, too…" In the back of her mind, she was warning herself once again about being too drawn into a possible seduction. But no matter how much she might have guarded herself, she could not deny how ominously dreamlike this labyrinth chamber was. Even then though, one question remained to be answered. "I must ask, though. Why live in such a place as this?"

"I believed you would think it unorthodox…" the man nodded in agreement at her. But then, he seemed to frown almost sadly as he replied further, "In truth, this is the only possible dwelling place for one such as I… This is the only possible place for me to erect my shrine to my mistress that is music…"

Though Christine was curious about what he meant by his first answer, she was even more eager to know what he meant by his second. "You make music here?" she asked.

The man's smile seemed to return, but only barely. "But of course…" he replied. "What fellow sings who does not know how to enjoy music…?" Christine then watched as he strode over to the shadowed keyboard instrument. He took up what she quickly learned was a match, as he struck it against the wall and summoned a small flame at the tip. The man then reached and lit the first candle-stand on the left, after which he walked over and did the same to the one on the right.

At last, Christine could finally see what the instrument in the middle looked like. And her face seemed to light up along with the candle-stands in wonder. Never had she seen such a grand upright piano. It appeared strongly built, yet Christine was hesitant to even get near it out of fear of breaking it. The dark mahogany wood looked both old and young at the same time as it reflected the glow of the lit candle-stands. And of course, she could only guess how the instrument sounded when someone was playing it. Someone in particular, like the man in black still before her.

"I put it together myself, you know…" he explained as he stroked the piano like one would a beloved pet. "I prefer to have my instruments be built a certain way, so that they will sound a certain way when I use them…"

Christine only nodded again, as she was at this point running out of words to put her wonder and awe into at everything she was seeing. Except perhaps for one thing.

She pointed at the wooden boxes stacked on either side of the piano and asked, "What about those? The crates, I mean. What are they for?"

The man softly smiled at her once again. "Well, I must have places of storage in which to house all my compositions, mustn't I…?" Though Christine had an idea that that was their purpose, she still couldn't help but silently ask another question, which the masked man was pleased to answer. "This is but a small fraction of my collection of self-made compositions… The ones I currently keep here are the most recent… The rest are stored away in the room that the tunnel behind me leads to…"

Christine looked over his shoulder at what he was talking about, and as much as she wondered how many compositions he had stored in only one room, there was another more pressing issue on her mind. "Would you then be so kind as to play your piano, Monsieur? Just so I know that your word is the truth?"

She thought she saw the corners of the man's mouth turn upward even more, but only slightly. "It would be my pleasure, Mademoiselle…" he nodded deeply. "May my humble attempt please you…" He then walked over and took the seat in front of the piano. Christine patiently anticipated what she was already preparing her ears to hear while the master of the house removed his black leather gloves, until he finally put his hands to the keys…

The affect on her was much the same as it was when he'd sung to her while they were in the boat. It felt as though something warm were being poured into her, and it made every muscle in her body relax upon hearing the first few notes. Yet Christine also watched as the man played. With skill, precision, and obvious love of his craft, the man's hands appeared to glide effortlessly across the keyboard. Not once did he ever miss a note, nor did his hands ever stumble while he played the melody that seemed to have found a way into her soul. Indeed, if she didn't know any better, she'd say this man's talent was like that of other previous musical masters rolled into one. Playing the piano in such a way seemed to have come as naturally to him as it did to Mozart, yet there was also the gentle yet very much evident passion that often accompanied the works of Beethoven.

The melody continued to captivate her with ease, the notes sounding like raindrops echoing around the chamber, until the man at last ceased playing and turned around in his seat to face her. "Mademoiselle…?"

Christine had to shake her head briefly to take back at least some control of her senses. Realizing that the man in front of her had spoken to her, asking her opinion, she couldn't say much other than the words that unconsciously left her lips. "That was…oh, that was simply…splendid…beautiful…" And with those words came the curiosity of what it would sound like if he were singing and playing at the same time…

Just then, Christine gasped as she finally realized what was happening to her, what her mind had been warning her about this whole time, yet she'd ignored it. She was falling under this mysterious man's spell, and no wonder, given how stunning this room appeared, and how he seemed to almost entrance her with his voice and then his music on the piano. She needed to get a hold of herself. She needed to remind herself of whom…or what…she was dealing with. Anything less would be giving in, which was entirely unacceptable.

"Mademoiselle…?" the man then asked, the concern in his voice sounding true. "Is something wrong…?" Christine turned to face him again. She now knew she had to get away from here – and from him – as soon as possible. But how?

The answer came to her surprisingly fast when she let out a genuine yawn. "Pardon me," she sighed. "I fear I'm getting rather tired." Fortunately, the man nodded as he accepted her issue, or at least appeared to.

Against her wishes though, he stood from his seat and walked toward her. Christine hoped mightily that he didn't feel the slight shiver that traveled through her when she felt the masked man's bare hand on her shoulder.

"Forgive my ill manners…" he apologized, much as he had earlier when they first met. "Truly, I didn't intend for the journey down here to last so long…" Christine gave him a confused look, when he added, "Now, this may seem a bit forward, but it's the least I can do…" He then gestured toward the alcove opposite the one that led to his storage room. "Would you mind taking my bed, Mademoiselle…?"

As he'd must have expected, Christine's eyes – though getting sleepier by the minute – widened like brown saucers at his suggestion, and the implications usually associated with such an offer. "I promise you," the ghostly yet gentlemanly man attested, "I have no intention of sharing it with you… In any event, I do most of my sleeping during the day anyway…" When he got no immediate response from her, he attempted to placate her further by saying, "I am afraid the only other option is the marble floor…"

Well, unfortunately, he did have a point in that, Christine admitted. And she really was beginning to feel her strength and energy leave her, rapidly. She wasn't often up this late; although, ever since she stepped through the mirror she'd quite forgotten to measure time. For all she knew, a whole other day could have passed while she was down here.

Even so, Christine knew such a scenario was unlikely. But she knew also that her body was aching for rest. While certainly repulsed at first by the man's offer, she had to be fair and remind herself that she had thought much the same of the man himself when she first saw him earlier. Yet the entire time he was with her, he'd treated her like nothing less than a lady.

Hoping things would once again turn out to be in her favor, Christine nodded. "I suppose I will take your bed…" She yawned again, but then looked directly and sternly at her host. "But only for tonight. We're agreed?"

"Of course we are agreed…" he nodded. He then offered his hand – his now bare hand – and asked, "May I then, Mademoiselle…?" As she did before when he offered his hand from inside her mirror, Christine hesitated. Not just because of where he intended to take her this time, but also the fact that there would now be nothing to keep her skin from touching his. She still didn't know all that much about him…or his nature…

Yet whatever the case might have been, Christine told herself that there was only one way to find out. Biting her lip again in her usual nervous habit, she eventually did put her hand in his…

Once she did, she knew this certainly was the strongest piece of evidence so far against his being a ghost. How strangely it made her feel to have his warm skin – his touchable, human skin – next to hers. While they were only holding hands, something even small children did, it felt oddly intimate to Christine. Indeed, rather than being alarmingly inappropriate, it felt not just nice but natural even.

But she was brought back to freely moving time again when the man gently tugged her hand. "Come," he persuaded her. Taking a deep breath, Christine nodded, and allowed her mysterious guide to once again lead her to their destination – this time through the alcove.

Once they were both enveloped in pitch black shadow, the man still holding her hand took out another match and struck it from the wall. He then reached up and lit a small torch in a sconce just above him. With new light to show them away, they proceeded through the tunnel, Christine all the while trying to ignore how her heart was now beating like mad – and for more than one reason.

Barely half a minute passed before they found themselves in complete darkness once more. Just as he did only a moment earlier, the man lit another match and used it to light another torch before he blew it out. Even before they stepped through the bare doorway, Christine was starting to see something resembling a room. One much like hers, in fact, when the man then lit two more small torches in sconces, one on the left and one on the right.

"I do not usually have company here…" the man explained before chuckling slightly, and somewhat bitterly. "But I hope it is at least to your liking…" Christine nodded, but truly, she wasn't paying much attention. She was too busy gazing about the room as she had when they first arrived in his labyrinthine home.

With perhaps the exception of the walls and floor that appeared to be made of rock or more marble – and the rather luxurious Persian rug in the center of the floor – this chamber did indeed resemble hers. Not only was there a bed in the center. There was also a chest of drawers on the left, and a sort of dresser with a water jug and basin on her right. It all looked rather organized and neat than what Christine had once imagined a bachelor's lodgings must otherwise look like – especially those of one who seemed to dwell in a cave.

At this point though, while the state of the bed did appear rather decent, Christine didn't feel the need to ask permission, but simply walked over and sighed as she finally sat down on the mattress. She was starting to get so tired, she would've taken just about any bed that looked inviting. She hoped the rest of the bed felt as nice as the mattress initially did.

Suddenly, she was jolted awake again when she felt the pressure of someone sitting on the bed beside her. Her alarm returned fully when she saw it was the man who'd guided her here. Indeed, she found her hands almost itched to hit him, when he quickly held up his hand at her. "I told you," he reassured her, "I do not intend to go any farther than this…" His grayish-green eyes – so full of heart and soul – looked directly at her as he added, "I only wished to know if you had anything else you'd like to say to me…"

Christine wanted to give him a rather snarky remark, joke about how he was treading thin ice whatever his intentions were. And yet, she somehow couldn't… Instead, she wanted to tell him wholeheartedly what her feelings were… His eyes seemed to awaken a longing in her to reveal to him all her struggles and troubles… When she finally managed to pull herself back in at the last second.

"Indeed, I do," she breathed. "And I'll be brief." Choosing her words carefully, lest he get the wrong sort of idea, she continued, "I may not know who you are, I may still not know fully what to make of you, but, considering everything that's happened lately, I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and generosity." The corners of the man's mouth turned up again in that way that Christine was beginning to find charming.

"But there is one more thing I must know here and now," she added before he could say anything. Looking him straight in the eyes like she wanted to see if he was truly made of opaque flesh, she felt her voice quiver, yet still asked, "Are you a ghost…or…no…?"

His smile seemed to falter. Still, he sounded somewhat delighted to answer. "I suppose it depends on what definition of the word you're using…" Christine thought about that for a moment, before he added, "If we're going by the strict definition of the word, I can assure you that I am most certainly a living, breathing man…"

Even then, Christine wasn't entirely sure about that. But it was at least an acceptable answer. Yet she decided to make her opinion known. "Still, you don't seem fully a man either," she shook her head. "At least, not with a voice such as yours…" Christine trailed off when she realized she'd landed on a far more satisfactory explanation. Looking right back at the man sitting on the end of the bed, she asked, "An angel then?"

The man tipped his head slightly to one side like a dog attempting to understand. Indeed, for a moment he looked as confused as she. Before long, however, he seemed to like the term, as evidenced by his small smile returning. "An angel then…" he echoed her words.

Then that is what I shall call you, Christine thought, Angel… She opened her mouth to speak the sentiment, when her breath was suddenly captured by another yawn, and a much bigger one than before. "Pardon me…" she strained.

"Oh no, not at all…" the man shook his head at her. Then, slightly more awkwardly, he added, "I was actually going to ask…if you would want me to sing one more time…if it would help you sleep, of course…"

As much as she'd been wanting to keep herself from being charmed, Christine couldn't resist the temptation to hear his voice again in her sleep. "Believe it or not," she replied softly, "I'd be delighted…" She trailed off again as she let out another, smaller yawn. She could ignore her tired state no longer, and so thus allowed herself to stretch out on the bed on her side.

The next thing Christine knew, a gentle – and now familiar – voice was filling her ears once again, while an even gentler hand lightly stroked her hair. Even if this man was still largely unknown and a stranger to her, he'd made her feel more comforted, more special, than she had in such a long time. Despite her opposition to be drawn in by anything about him, she couldn't deny he'd been very much the gentleman. And while he'd come closer to her than she would otherwise allow any man who wasn't her father, a relative, or a husband, she found herself wanting to bask in his presence forever. His voice sounded as though it found a way to express the beauty of night through sound. It touched something within her deeply. Something she hadn't realized existed. Something that made her want to leave this complicated world for the land of dreams that eventually welcomed her…

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