Author's note: This is a random innocent shorty inspired by the musical...let's all imagine the musical as it flows along, stopping for a night of reflection right after the masquerade. Here I take my creative license and give you a God's eye view of the characters inner turmoils...

Who Are You

He watched from his dark vantage point as the Vicomte ordered a carriage. He had managed to elude the boy this evening and eavesdrop on their pathetic plans to take down the phantom. All of it was quite illuminating and he itched to let them know he was privy to their secrets, but knowledge was power in this game they all played. If only things had gone more smoothly with Christine.

He was ashamed of his wrathful behaviour and needed to make amends with his student. After six long months of staying away from her, he realized that she was not as happy as he thought she should be. Her face was pale and there were shadows under her once vibrant eyes. She looked dull overall and the dress did nothing for her either. Too poofy and too pink, he was certain that boy had picked it out for her. He watched her for most of the evening, couldn't help it. She was his favourite narcotic and he had held off for six exhausting, endless months. Tonight, he had his fill of staring at his student, studying the change in her with interest. She seemed thinner than he remembered, pale, slow, weakened. With worry clawing at his throat, he'd known then, he would approach her at some point during the masquerade to determine if she was ill. Just as he now knew he must go and apologize to her for brutally taking the ring.

First he needed to make sure that the Vicomte was well and truly gone from the building. He wanted no interruptions when he spoke to Christine. If he could only find the courage to actually do it...

Raoul felt his masculinity right down to his toes as he rode home from the lengthy masquerade evening. It had started wonderfully with Christine in her theatrical costume, plenty of dancing and drinking, with a wide variety of gaily costumed ladies. His future fiance was the toast of Paris and he couldn't help the swell of pride, that he had always known the rare beauty of her voice. Ever since the first time he heard it rise to join her father's violin, he knew it was a treasure. It was too bad they had lost touch for so long, but he was back in her life now, by some divine intervention, and would see that she was cared for. She no longer had to be alone. No one else in his spoiled rich boy's life had managed to touch him in the same manner as Gustave and Christine Daae. There was just a joyful energy to them, especially when they made music, that sucked you into their world with them. When Christine finally opened up to him and spoke of her father's death so many years ago, the pain was shared between them, and Raoul saw his path, suddenly glaringly obvious. Christine Daae had the power to move him, and so he gave her grandmother's ring. Then that fiend in his fancy red costume interrupted a lovely evening celebrating and stole the damn ring.

Raoul was furious, and to make matters worse for him, Christine didn't seem to care. She was in a fog after that moment, left early to go lay down, which was fine with him. Perhaps seeing the phantom had terrified her, but he didn't have time to determine what feminine frivolity had her trapped in her mind. He had business to take care of.

The ring would be returned or taken back by force. The rag-tag conference had gone long into the night, the opera managers still in costume, and the gendarmes and Raoul creating a plan to end this phantom fellow. He regretted that Christine would be acting as bait as they readied Don Juan Triumphant, but it would ensure the fiend's capture.

Then he would marry his Christine and for the rest of his life have her precious voice ringing in his ears. He wouldn't think of how distant she was tonight, or that she technically hadn't said yes yet. Minor details to clean up on another day.

As Raoul rode home, Christine sat with her head in her hands, tears slowing ceasing as she contemplated the tangled knots of her life. How could she be in this position? Her father had always warned her to follow where the heart goes, it was how she lived, how papa taught her to be. Nothing else in life truly mattered except for that feeling in your heart, but somehow she herself had wandered too far from her own heart. She took a shuddering breath and stared at her reflection. Who was that strange girl in the mirror?

She wet a cloth and scrubbed the make-up off her face, still wanting to cry. This mad situation just wasn't fair. Actions and reactions, too hasty to be true, too frivolous to notice the depth, too fuelled by anger. Just like that first and last time she met her angel.

She closed her eyes to better remember the beauty of that night so many months ago when her angel became a real man and took her down below into his magical realm. They sang to one another, touched each others souls, and although she became overwhelmed, she thought he meant to marry her. His song about creating night music and his life size doll...

But then one little unmasking and he returned her above with no further contact and abandoned her. As if his face even mattered, it was his soul she had fallen in love with. And now he thought she was engaged to Raoul by her own choice.

In retrospect, saying yes to even one of Raoul's invitations was the wrong thing to do. But she had been angry, so angry that the rumours of the phantom being a cur were true. He successfully played an angel, led her along, won her over, seduced her, then killed a man and abandoned her, and so in defense, in retribution, she had accepted Raoul's invitations out with relish. She was mad at her Ange, not only for deceiving her and being no better than a murderer, but for forging emotion within her heart towards a heartless man.

Now that she had laid eyes on him again, after months of thinking him a fantastic dream, it was clear that he was real and in no way had abandoned her in his passionate heart. His eyes had burned with warmth behind his skull shaped mask, and Christine felt her heart accelerate with longing. She floated toward him as his eyes absorbed the sight before him, cradling her in his concern.

She looked happy to see him when he thought it could not be possible for anyone to find joy in his presence. A silly smile wanted to curl his lips as she stopped directly in front of him, smiling with a foreign emotion in her eyes. It almost looked like relief.

He meant to speak to her, he meant to explain his long disappearance and how he had missed her. He wanted to steal a dance with her, touch her like he did the last time, pretend that he was just a patron out for an evening of fun, although that dream would be a tad difficult after the overly dramatic delivery of his opera. Unfortunately, he noticed the ring before a single word could be spoken.

She rubbed the sore spot at the back of her neck where the necklace broke from force. Everything he sang was true, and she wasn't mad that he took the ring. Mad that he had the wrong impression of its presence around her neck, but she was glad it was gone. Its unwanted weight had begun to feel overwhelming.

She cared for Raoul, as a brother, as a friend, and only her anger at Ange had led her down this stray path. When Raoul got down on his knee and gave his pledge, reality had smacked her in the face. She had been playing with fire, hoping her outlandish behaviour would have Ange sweeping her back under his wing. Wasn't he supposed to save her from making illogical decisions? He had done so for so much of her life that she felt unloved without his protective presence. How many times did he advise her on her life's path? And to suddenly have no input from her angel she felt lost.

How many times did she pound on the large mirror in her dressing room for Ange, phantom, whatever his name was, to come back. Please come back and make sense of her life again. Please come back and prove she wasn't insane.

Now she knew he truly lived, that night wasn't a dream, as Raoul had convinced her. His voice wasn't just a manifestation of her grief. The phantom was real and the phantom was her angel.

She stared at the mirror and wished he would come so she could explain. That ridiculous ring was only around her neck because she said no and Raoul wanted her to think on it. She was going to give it back to him soon, just long enough that he would think she had thought about marrying him, when in reality there was only one changeling she had imagined marrying. First he was an angel, then a phantom, then a murderer...he already had a dress for her...

Little did she know that her angel was indeed present behind the mirror, watching her for a few long minutes while he gathered his humble bravery around him. He may not have her heart, but her voice, that beautiful sound of homecoming that wrapped him in velvet tones. He could gain sustenance just from listening to her sing. He had to wage a battle for her voice, it was the angle he would play when he finally roused the courage to gain her attention. He would remain her teacher.

Please allow the lowly creature to remain your tutor...

A noise at the mirror startled her and she realized it was a knock, two quick raps much like a conductor would give his stand to get the orchestra's attention. She scrambled up from her seat, checking her hair and fixing her dressing gown before she said, "Come in."

The mirror slid away and his hand held it open, giving a marvelous view of his magnificent stature in the opulent costume. The skull mask had been replaced with the regular white one and he seemed to be waiting for another invitation now that there was no question who was knocking. Christine was slightly tongue tied at his splendour, but managed to repeat her invitation with a nervous wave of her hand. "Please, come in."

He stayed silent as he glided into the dressing room, and she held her breath waiting to hear his voice.

She loved his voice, wished so many nights that it was attached to a man instead of an angel. Wished the voice would hold her, cherish her, resonate within her. Why did it never occur to her that her angel and the phantom were one and the same? She could see why Meg thought she was dense. Ange was always so polite and proper and wonderful, why would she ever think the elusive phantom of the opera was masquerading as an angel. But he was and he did, and apparently he still was playing the phantom, even though no one had seen him for six long months while he attempted to distract himself from wanting to see Christine.

There were so many questions they both had for each other, but where to start, and frankly she wanted him to talk first. She had waited so long to hear his angelic voice again.

"You looked lovely tonight, Christine."

Compliments were always a good place to start, and her cheeks heated.

"Thank you, Ange."

His expression tightened from what she could see, and she wanted to swallow her tongue. Who was this man who stood before her? How could she so easily call him angel when she knew he was a deceiver, a phantom, a murderer...

"I have come to offer an apology for my behaviour tonight, and every other night of our acquaintance. There is much to atone for but please, do not allow my actions to cause you to turn from your teacher. You still require a great deal of instruction, especially with the difficult key changes in my opera."

When the mystery man spoke, she only saw her angel before her, even though she knew her angel had never existed. This man had the voice. He was the one who had spoken to her, taught her, comforted her, counselled her, never asked for anything in return and even propelled her onto the stage where she could garner larger wages and perhaps even make a name for herself...

"I know there was a time that I was a beacon of light for you, I gave you hope and beauty as an angel. Now the truth is revealed. I am only made of darkness and death."

He was looking down at his clawed hands as he reminded her of the death he caused. There must have been a good reason for her angel to kill that man. She felt a pang that she never gave him a chance to explain before. She went straight to the roof and foolishly sang with...

"Can you truly forgive your angel? Is that why you still call me Ange and allow my distorted presence before you?"

She was quite enthralled with everything about him, his arrogance, his height, his posture, his polite poetic apology, even the grace and agility of those death dealing hands. Christine nodded as she pondered what to say exactly. She couldn't make sense of any of his strange behaviours towards her, let alone her own feelings towards him. Everything was too intense, too spellbinding. Her heart, even now, was racing just to have him before her. How could she possibly dissect why he would take her below, but bring her back up and suddenly leave her after teaching her for years, and then abandon her completely? Yet here he was apologizing, trying to mend things between them and continue tutoring her. She wanted to smile as hope filled her, before she remembered she had her own things to apologize for. He only abandoned her after Buquet's death and that silly, stupid farce on the roof...

The man in the red death costume reached into a cleverly concealed pocket and delicately removed the ring and chain, now separated and newly mended, sparkling serenely on her powder table, as his black fingers withdrew, her eyes darted back to his masked face, where his intent gaze held her captive.

"You are," he paused briefly. "Of course, permitted to marry whomever you choose. Please forgive me for overstepping. My temper...is deplorable..." He trailed off painfully and Christine's heart was in her throat. "I fixed your chain, I know it is the one from your father. Forgive me for that as well..." His burning eyes were assessing the expression on Christine's upturned face, trying to determine why she had yet to say a word. "Did I hurt your neck?"

"No." Her hand darted to unconsciously touch the area in question. "Well...a little. But it will be fine." She quickly brushed off his concern and he pressed.

"Let me see the damage I have caused." His voice ordered and she didn't want to comply but had no choice. She turned and gathered her hair so he could see the angry red line on the back of her neck, but she quickly turned back and met his troubled eyes again. "Please forgive me." He whispered as if it was hard to breath and Christine lifted one dainty hand to briefly cup his masked cheek, showing that she fully forgave the act.

"Thank you for taking it off of me. The weight of it was becoming unbearable."

The man's eyes were wide and a bit wild, and Christine hoped he didn't think she was going to unmask him. She had promised herself to never do that again without his permission.

"It is not heavy in the slightest." Was the only rational retort he could think to say with Christine's hand on his jaw, and her smile faded, as she removed her touch.

"An intolerable burden when it's unwanted. Raoul hoped I would change my mind, but the ring never sat on my finger. He is more a brother to me...I was planning to give it back to him soon..." She trailed off because her angel was not looking at her anymore, and after the serious eye contact she couldn't accept him looking at the ground. She itched to remove his mask to better assess his thoughts, which were frantically trying to catch up with what she was telling him. The ring was only a misunderstanding? She was not engaged to the fop. "Besides, I thought I was already spoken for..." Her soft words brought his head and eyes back up and on her. The intensity of his regard stole her breath away and she waited for him to make his move.

His eyes boiled with unspoken words behind the uncompromising mask and after waiting breathlessly for long enough she looked away to the table to pick up her chain. With very deliberate movements she lifted one of his gloved hands and slowly curled the chain in his palm, before closing his fingers over it and squeezing lightly. Her face was serene and happy and he glowered down at his fist.

"What is this?" He barked softly, the close quarters lending to a softer tone.

"My chain." She whispered with a dry throat. "My chains are yours, just as you said." He stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending, the face in the mask looking distinctly blank.

"Did you drink the punch?" He asked randomly while searching her face.

"No." She laughed with a flutter of lashes as she realized he thought her drunk.

"Then why did you give...why are you holding my...Why...are you doing this?"

"Because I want to. Because you want me to. Because I want you to believe me."

"Believe what?"

She plucked the ring off the table and tossed it in the trash bin, where it pinged once and then fell silent. "That ring means nothing to me."

His stupor rendered him immobile, and she pressed her advantage.

"Do you know how hard the last few months have been for me? Not knowing if you are alright, not knowing if you are even still in this building, or if I just imagined you. Not one word, not one note, Ange. I have been worried sick. What happened? Why did you abandon me? Was it because I saw your face? Or because of Buquet? You must know that none of that matters to me." She paused to allow him a moment to absorb it all.

"But up on the roof..."

"Do you realize how unfair you have been to me?" She cut him off because she knew of one time on the roof he could refer to and shame rolled over her. Immediately after Buquet's hanging, she'd run off, full of terror, playing out a scene on the roof with Raoul worthy of the games they played as children. Brave Knight Raoul would save Princess Christine from the monster. She chalked it up to shock and anger, but was horrified that Ange knew about that roof top fiasco. Her own mistakes had her crossing her arms angrily. "You show me your magical realm, let me wallow in the splendour and then snatch it away, no contact, no lessons, no music, no nothing from you since you brought me back up to a world impossibly grey and barren after visiting sweet music's throne. And I'm left wondering if I didn't just dream it all up, so much so that I feel half crazed by the memories of your voice, and only ever want to go to sleep so my dream would finally continue and I could make sweet music with you for the rest...of...time..."

His eyes were aflame with Christine's rapid, desperate, heartfelt words and his mouth opened and closed as he swallowed hard. He couldn't help noticing that Christine looked well suddenly, much better than she had all night. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes clear and radiant, her lips moistened just now by her tongue. She watched his long neck pulse with his nervousness and then she gazed serenely into his turbulent eyes. They were the only visible part of his face to discern his thoughts from so she stared, trying to read his intentions in the depths of those liquid eyes.

"What do you wish me to do with this?" He twirled his hand into the air between them, draping the necklace around his fingers and making it dance, as his voice danced in her ears. He was looking to gain a moment to figure out what had just physically happened to him when Christine gazed into his soul like that. He'd wanted to taste the lips that spoke such sweet sincerity, but was too terrified to ever try. Talking was easier. "Your father gave you this necklace on your ninth birthday, the last gift you ever received from him, it used to have a charm, in the shape of a heart, which you lost the night you and Meg tumbled down the stairs in the sewing room. I am sure Harriet found it before I had a chance to look. Probably sold it for whatever she could gain. But the question I have, is why you would give the last remaining piece of your father in your possession to me?"

"I want you to wear it." His heart beat down the center of his being, drowning out everything else, and when she offered to put it on him, he submitted, still in shock, reaching up to touch the thin metal with a gloved finger. He was having trouble understanding this change in their relationship. She was offering her voice to him? Giving him her chain which symbolized her father's dream to have her sing?

He never imagined this would be the outcome to paying her a visit. After repairing the necklace from her father he knew he must return it and apologize. His reaction to seeing the ring had been pure rage. Upon reflection he realized he had made no promise to her, she had no reason to think he would return, and therefore had every right to accept other offers. But her reactions this evening, both at the masquerade and here in her private quarters, have left him at a disadvantage. How does one cope with acceptance and love? Has he ever been gifted with acceptance before?

"I was so happy when our eyes met across the room tonight." She spoke softly, a conspirators whisper. "To know it was you, that you hadn't left Paris, and left me, that you truly were standing before me, and not a delusion." Their bodies seemed to drift closer as the spell was cast.

"I wanted to speak with you." His cherished voice held her as his arms came up around Christine and hers rose to touch his chest.

"Your costume is superb." She fingered the velvet and then realized she was shockingly groping his chest, trying to feel how solid he was beneath the fabric.

"One of many things that has kept me from you for far too long."

"If only you had come to visit sooner we could have cleared up our misunderstandings."

"There seem to be many."

"I am so sorry, Ange."

"I came here hoping only to keep you as a student and somehow I have you in my arms. How is this possible?"

"It's where I want to be." She said simply as she rested her head upon his chest with a happy sigh. "I have missed you so much."

"I've missed you, Christine." He pulled her close and she could hear and feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was the most beautiful sound in the world to the girl who held the phantom. Her hands yearned for the feel of him and they wandered up and down his back, arms, shoulders and chest while he felt paralysed in place, experiencing his first, and by no means innocent, embrace.

"I don't want to stay here anymore, Ange. Can we leave?"

"Do you wish to come below with me?" He couldn't believe such a dream was happening, and Christine lifted her head to meet his eye with a smile.

"That would be wonderful for now, but I meant leave the opera house forever."

He disengaged from her arms and stared at her, unbelieving, until he asked for clarification. "What?"

"I've made a mess of things here. Everyone thinks I'm crazy, and Raoul wants to marry me and I've realized something else too." Her face was earnestness in its purest form. "Singing only feels right when I know you are listening."

A tiny smile tugged on the phantom's lips, but he reminded himself that the delicate gold chain around his neck was a sign of Christine's commitment to him, not a collar and leash for her to tug. He must make decisions based on reason and fact, not on his student's whims.

"Life beyond these walls would be an unknown equation for us. Here in the opera house we know our roles." He spoke authoritatively, but then remembered the trap the vicomte intended to lay. "Although, the management was planning to use you as bait to catch and kill me..."

Her face registered her shock, but she sprang into action. "All the more reason to leave immediately. I knew they would all over react to your entrance tonight." She began organizing some belongings on the bed while the phantom stood calculating options in his head. Where to go? What to bring? Who to inform? How they would travel? And then he thought of the ring he had down below. How he wanted to put it on her finger. Wanted to make her his wife. Possess her completely. Would she accept?

He let out a shuddery breath and tried to change his torrid train of thought, but his student looked over and halted what she was doing with a peculiar light in her eyes.

"Are you willing to leave this place with me? Here I am packing, but you haven't said a word." He shook himself slightly as if coming out of a trance.

"Forgive me. There is much to think on. I didn't write an opera only to surrender it to incompetent hands."

"Don Juan Triumphant." She emphasized the words exactly as her tutor had earlier in the evening and then sent him a radiant smile. "You could just take it back, sneak into the office."

"We have much to speak on. Let us go below and discuss these matters." He opened the mirror under her watchful eyes and they passed into the realm of music. Sounds echoed magically in the tunnel and Christine was happy to be experiencing the phenomenon again as her angel turned phantom began to sing.

"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair..."

She couldn't help laughing at his strange description of his home. "Dungeon of despair?" Her laugh choked off as her own guilt for having caused him despair threatened to drown her. "Ange?" She reached out to stop their forward progress and he turned with the lantern held high. The white mask gleamed and the red death velvet looked like blood. "I am so sorry for leaving that night and not giving us a chance to talk."

It took a moment for him to register what she spoke of, and he turned slowly with a nod of acceptance and took Christine's hand to continue walking.

"That's it?" She was glad to be holding his hand. But couldn't believe he forgave her so easily.

"I have spent many hours dwelling on the events of that night, torturing myself with not only my sin but the memory of your love song, to keep me from coming to see you." Her heart wrenched in her chest at his admission and tears pricked her eyes.

"I am so sorry for singing with Raoul. We used to play it as children...the same sort of storyline...rescuing the damsel...our own little opera..."

"You do not need to explain. Your voice is your own."

She pulled at his arm so he would pay attention. "But none of that song was true to my heart! I was scared and confused by my own feelings."

His step slowed slightly at her confession and then he stopped suddenly and turned to capture Christine's chin in one long hand, searching her face, under the light of the lantern. "Staying away from you was the single most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. It was the last thing I desired to do, but I managed to because I thought it was what you wanted. When I finally saw you tonight, you did not appear happy, and I wanted to sweep in, scoop you up, and leave this place forever."

"What are we waiting for?" She grasped his clothing for emphasis. There was a breathless moment where they both wondered if one would ever have the courage to kiss the other, but the moment passed and Christine spoke again. "What is there to discuss if you want to leave as well? Let us go now. No delay."

"Patience, Christine." He pinched her cheek gently and she tried to smile as they carried on, holding hands like old friends.

Once they were sitting by a fire with tea and biscuits, neither wanted to speak of important business.

"What is Don Juan about?" She asked excitedly.

"Love and revenge." His eyes held heat and Christine tried not to notice his unwavering adoration behind the white mask.

"Are there many love scenes?"

"Enough."

"And fight scenes?"

"Naturally."

"Tell me about the music." She leaned forward eagerly and instead he began to sing to her, a challenging light in his eye.

"You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge...in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent...silent." The back of his hand brushed her cheek with reverence as he sang louder. "I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge, in your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses completely succumbed to mmphft..."

A dainty hand cut off his song, but he didn't mind since having her touch him of her own accord was a glorious thing. "Very passionate music. How long have you been working on it?"

"Many years." His eyes were asking questions of her innocent soul and she remembered singing to Raoul that night so long ago. The night she started down the path away from her true heart. Tonight she was setting everything to rights. She stared into the questioning eyes of a man that could touch her soul with music. She wanted him to know it, he needed to know it, so she told him in the language they shared, song.

"Your voice fills my spirit with a strange sweet sound, that one night there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to soar. And I lived as I've never lived before."

"How could you think it was only a dream?" His own thoughts spewed nightmarish memories of his own face, revealed to her accompanied by angry shouts, shoving, crying and cowering.

"You disappeared." Her eyes cast themselves down as she remembered the shame and scorn she felt from everyone above. "The longer you stayed away the easier it was to convince myself that I had imagined the whole thing. And I thought it a fitting punishment that my angel be taken away for betraying my own heart."

He could barely comprehend that Christine was sitting here with him, sipping tea, nibbling cookies and confessing a heart that beat with his. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions but she spoke of things that resided within him as well, and the long days of resisting the love he felt for her, melted away. He slid off the chair to his knees across from her and her lips turned up.

"I apologize for staying away. In a sense, I betrayed my heart as well. We belong together, but..." He killed a man. It was only good sense for her to seek refuge from him. His shoulders dropped down as he knew he was not worthy of Christine.

"We do belong together." She loudly declared with confidence, and then glanced at the man on his knees before her. "Red Death would not kneel."

"I am not Red Death." He was almost angry as he pulled at the flamboyant cravat. "Nor am I the angel of music. I am not a ghost, ghoul or goblin. No monster or demon. Even the phantom of the opera is not what I am. All that I am is, grossly deformed." His eyes begged her from behind the mask as he slowly removed the white covering from his face. She stared into his malformed face as if it looked normal to her, and perhaps her previous viewing had something to do with her benign reaction, but he liked to think that he did look normal to her. They smiled at each other, and his confidence grew in his chest. "My name is Erik, and I want you for my wife, Christine Daae."

Her grin split her lips apart. "I knew that dress was for me."