I have no life but this—

To lead it here—

Nor any Death—but lest

Dispelled from there—

Nor tie to Earths to come—

Nor Action new—

Except through this extent—

The Realm of you—

-"I have no Life but this" by Emily Dickinson

""""

The next day found me using the carriage Raoul had given me to drive to the cemetery. I was always drawn back here when I felt lost; it comforted me to know my father existed, to have the proof of him before my eyes when I'd started to lose his face in my mind. Here I could talk to him, pray for him and myself. When the cemetery gates loomed above me I told the driver to wait for me there.

"But, Mademoiselle, le Vicomte told me I am to always escort you while in the city." He jumped down from the carriage after me.

"Whatever for?"

"To keep you safe."

I gave him an exasperated sigh. "I have come to this cemetery alone for years, Leroy."

He put his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, Mademoiselle, but that was before there was a madman on the loose."

The breath left my body in a surprised huff. It made sense that Raoul would be cautious with the phantom at large, but really. He let me go; surely if he was going to harm me or kidnap me he would have done it already, or he would have stuck to his word when he he had Raoul at ransom. My mind flashed to the shadow outside my window, but I waved it away. I didn't believe my teacher would harm me and considering it had been days without any appearance, my heart had begun to accept that he was gone, his music and mysteries with him. That thought should have brought me gladness, but he'd been part of my life for so long. I'd lost my father, and even though the phantom was no angel, he'd still brought me much comfort during a time when I'd never felt more alone.

"Leroy, you can see the grave from here." I pointed to the tomb named 'Daae.' "Just there. I would really appreciate some privacy."

I could almost see the decision warring in his mind as Leroy shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes on the tomb that held the only family I'd ever known. "Alright, mademoiselle. Just… take mercy on me and don't be too long."

"You have my word."

The ground was soft with snow, muffling my steps among the lonesome gravestones. I never saw other visitors here during the winter and idly wondered whether mourning was meant to stop with the cold. Mine never did. My father's tomb loomed above me and I crossed myself in its shadow. A shiver stole over me as I remembered the last time I was here. I shook my head and let my eyes wander over the tomb. "Hello, father. I'm sorry it's been so long since I've visited. Of course, you'll know why… Papa I feel… I feel so lost sometimes. Whenever I think I'm doing the right thing, it turns out to be wrong. Or doesn't feel right, anyway. I so wish you could talk to me. I need you." I stood there in the cold snow until the weight of loss threatened to crush me and the tears left frozen tracks on my face. In one moment I thought I'd heard music on the air, but it was gone the second I tried to focus on it. My chest ached with longing and as I tried with all my might to remember the exact shade of my father's eyes, another pair of eyes, so filled with the same pain and the same longing that I felt, swam to the forefront of my mind. That night had been the hardest of my life, knowing I caused that pain.

""""

Raoul clambered into the phantom's boat, nearly tipping into the water in his desperate haste. Once steady, he turned back to me, his arms stretched out to pull me in with him, but I hesitated, shaking my head.

"No, I can't leave it like this." I heard my voice shake and could feel my eyes go wide with determination.

Panic set into Raoul's face, draining his handsome features of color. "Christine, come into the boat!" he pleaded.

I took a step back. "I won't be long." My back turned on the man I'd chosen and spun again when I heard the splash of the boat behind me as it rocked with Raoul's leap to the shore. He caught my shoulders in his hands.

"Christine, it's not safe! We barely escaped from that lunatic, that demon! My love, I'm begging you…"

I pressed a hand to his smooth cheek. "I will return to you, Raoul, I promise I will. But it can't end this way. Wait for me here."

""""

"Christine! Thank goodness, I was beginning to worry. We waited." Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry were seated around the table, glasses full but plates untouched. I rushed into the room, handing my coat to Neville with a smile.

"You needn't have waited! I'm sorry, I didn't think I would be so late." I held my hand out to Raoul, who kissed it. "Please, get started, I'll just go up and change and be right back."

Raoul held tight to my hand, keeping me there. His voice lowered as he leaned into me and murmured, "Was everything alright?"

I gave him a reassuring smile and I prayed it touched my eyes. "Leroy kept me quite safe, I promise."

I'd gone to the cemetery to find solace, but found myself feeling worse than before. I couldn't maintain a smile during dinner, nor during tea in the parlor. I sat there observing the conversation, but never taking part. Raoul and Meg watched me with concern, but kept up a conversation between themselves, naturally cheerful souls that they were. Madame Giry, however, watched me with suspicion, tinged with… was it desperation? After our talk in the garden, she seemed to look at me like I was a branch damaged in a storm- hanging on by a thread, ready to fall. It was unbearable, mostly because it mirrored how I already felt.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I excused myself with a quick curtsy and a mumbled excuse about the cold air taking my energy, and hurried to my room before Raoul could even stand. I caught the hurt in his eyes as I passed his chair and felt it in my heart. Would I never stop hurting him? Since that night he'd almost forced himself on me, things had been different between us. Our interactions weren't easy, they were careful. He walked as if the floor were made of thin glass that might shatter if he took a misstep, and I felt more than ever that I was trespassing in his home.

Once I heard Raoul's and Meg's conversation start again, my steps slowed on the stairs. I was glad I'd gone to my father's grave, but my heart was still heavy. It didn't take me long to discover that what I was feeling was disappointment. The last time I'd gone to the cemetery, the phantom had been there, singing to me, luring me with music. I drove my fist against my forehead, urging myself to think rationally. What was wrong with me? That was the question I spent all night pondering. By morning, I didn't have an answer. What I did have was an unshakable belief: I had to see the phantom again.

My life could never move forward without knowing… just knowing. My mind was once again making myth out of the man who loved me, terrified me, and taught me, and it was consuming my every thought. I had to meet him again, even though the idea brought every conflicting emotion roiling to the surface. The only question was how. Where would he go? Was he still in Paris? I haven't heard even a whisper of his whereabouts since that night on my balcony. I knew Raoul still got reports from the police about the status of their investigation, but he always emerged from those meetings frustrated and angry. I'd asked him once to leave the phantom alone, that he wouldn't bother us anymore, but he only kissed me on the forehead and locked himself in his study without a word. I never mentioned it after that. I knew the phantom must be very rich, that he got a large monthly allowance from whoever was managing the Populaire over the years. Has he left the country? Any sensible man on the run would, I thought. Then again, I never really knew what he was going to do, could never predict how he would handle anything. All I know is that when I left with Raoul that night, he was a man broken. Would he even have the strength to travel?

I had to start somewhere, and I knew that it had to be the last place I saw him. Even if he wasn't there, which was more than likely, I could at least face some demons of my own. By the time I went to bed that night, I'd formulated a plan for the next day.

""""

"Christine, you'll love it here. I know it's not as grand as the Populaire, but the girls are much worse dancers, so you and I will get all the best spots in the ballet," Meg chattered across from me in the carriage, Madame Giry beside her. Meg's mother came to all her practices, she claimed it was to get out of the house, but I think it was to make sure Meg put effort into practicing.

I sighed. "Meg, I told you that I would come watch your practice, I don't know that I want to join the ballet again."

"But you must! My dear, you look so sad and wan lately, you need something to do."

"Meg, it would be inappropriate for the future Vicomtess to dance in the ballet."

"I suppose you're right, maman. So, Christine, you think you may sing?"

I shrugged and smiled at her. "Maybe. Honestly, I just want to ease myself back into things. Look around the theater if I can. The manager, what was his name?"

"Michele."

"Right, Michele. He told me when I was with Raoul that I could come and see behind scenes whenever I wished."

Madame Giry scoffed. "Hoping to secure Raoul as a patron, no doubt."

I lowered my eyes. "Still, it was very nice."

""""

"As you can see, Madame le Vicomtesse, we have a very professional operation here!" Michele gestured to the practicing ballet onstage, the director shouting corrections at this or that girl, never Meg. I didn't bother to correct his assumption that Raoul and I were married.

"Yes, Monsieur, I can see." His smug smile grew and I knew he was hoping I would run home to tell my husband to throw money at this place immediately.

"Not as big as the Populaire, true, but more intimate, certainly. You could even say it was more elite, since we sell fewer tickets! Why, our base of attendees is mostly noble…"

I tuned him out as best I could, trying to focus on my plan. It didn't take me long to realize that subtlety was far beyond this man's understanding and I wondered whether all managers were this ridiculous. Mine certainly had been. "Monsieur," I finally interrupted, "I wonder if I may have time to speak to some of your performers? I know I'd like to reacquaint myself with the opera that way, and I know le Vicomte would greatly appreciate it." I gave him a wide smile as if we were in league together, and he winked at me.

"Of course, of course, Madame. Please, don't hesitate to find me in my office, there. The dressing rooms are just behind you." With a bow, he retreated into his office, eager to grant my wish. I knew exactly where the dressing rooms were, I'd insisted on a tour when we walked in the door and Meg had run off to the dancer's quarters. Madame Giry had taken a seat in front of the stage to watch the practice, so I was left alone. I turned on my heel, walked through the hallway that held the singers' dressing rooms, and strode right out of the rear door into the street behind the Opera House. I took a deep breath and without a backward glance, hailed a passing cab. My heart started to pound the closer we came to the charred bones of the Populaire. I only had four hours before Meg's practice ended, but it was foolish to think that no one would notice my absence before then. I had to be quick.

Raoul had told me the story he'd heard from Madame Giry; the story about her rescue of the young, tortured boy who had become the Opera Ghost. It was a horrifying tale, but as the cab pulled up in front of the ruins, only one part of the story was on my mind. The part about the hidden entrance from the side alley, the one made to look like another sewer. I crept down the side alley, avoiding the eye of any passerby, hoping that my black cloak helped camouflage my form into the dark stones and blackened wood surrounding me. The stone foundation of the opera house was still standing and I ran my hand along it, darkening my fingers and grimacing with unease. What if it had collapsed? What if I wouldn't be able to find it in the construction? There were places where the wreckage blocked the foundation despite obvious efforts to clean up the area. However, I was determined. My time was running out and I couldn't afford to lose hope. Finally, I spied a couple iron bars, burned black, sunken into the foundation. It was mercifully free of timber debris, and I bent to lift the latch. To my great surprise, the grate opened easily. Rather than relief, disappointment flooded me. If the phantom were still here, he would surely have locked what must be the only remaining entrance to his lair. Still, I'd come too far to turn back.

I had to crawl on hands and knees to get through the entrance, but it soon opened up into a cavern and I recognized the place he'd taken me. I pulled out the small lantern I'd stashed in my cloak, lit it, and followed the dark tunnel down into the depths of the opera house. My feet were sure as I turned and twisted through the underground. I'd only been down this path twice, but I would never forget it. The biggest challenge appeared in the form of the tiny canal which led to the lake. I'd only ever been here by boat, and there was no boat in sight. I searched every corner of the cavern and finally found a stick shoved into the angle of the wall and floor. My pale hands, smudged with black, ran up and down the stick, examining it. It looked to be the pole that the phantom used to propel the boat. I looked back to the water. I had a stick, but it wasn't much good without a boat. I stood on the edge and lowered the stick into the water, testing the depth. It was probably waist height, too deep to wade through in this cold. My breath left me in a frustrated huff. Just when I'd decided to turn back, I noticed the ledge running along the top of the water. I tested the width with my foot, and it was barely large enough to hold my shoe. But, if I braced my weight against the pole, one end holding me up and the other in the water, I could shuffle along the edge. The lantern swung as I made my slow progress along the canal, and my arms were burning with the effort, but I was moving. I didn't let myself think about how foolish this was or how long it was taking, I was too committed. Luckily, it wasn't too long before the shadows from my lantern lengthened and the canal opened up into the lake. I stepped off the ledge and onto the shore, lifting my lantern high into the air.

The place was in ruin. The mob had carried off whatever small souvenirs they could hold, leaving empty spaces conspicuously among the debris of papers and broken things. My lantern cast shadows on the walls and the occasional glitter off shattered glass. I strode to the mirrors and brought my hand up to a point of impact. This mirror… a memory shoved into my mind and I could see my frightened face looking back at me, the phantom's face over my shoulder. He should be right where my fingers rested and I knew that it had been he who broke this mirror. He'd shattered it right where his ruined face reflected.

A low voice hit my ears. "Vicomtesse, it is truly an honor."