…for everything that's lovely is

But a brief, dreamy, kind delight…

He that made this knows all the cost,

for he gave all his heart and lost.

-W.B. Yeats

It was becoming too easy. With Madame Giry as my accomplice, we'd been able to make sure that I could spend at least an hour with my teacher every day; and with every day that I spent in the caverns below the ruined Populaire, my heart lifted. The music flowed freely and as soon as I left the sun behind me and stepped into the little boat, I began warming up my voice with soft hums through the scale. It should have been perfect.

""""

We'd been in the sitting room for a few minutes. Meg was dozing lightly in a chair, exhausted from practice, Madame Giry was reading a section of the newspaper that was the brother of the one in Raoul's hands, and I was smiling softly into my tea. My teacher had told me again today that my voice was almost perfect. It was only my concentration that was lacking, but that had always been my problem. I only needed practice. "Raoul?"

"Yes, love?" he said, his eyes still on his newspaper.

"Is the piano in tune?"

"Of course, I always keep it tuned. You know that." Slowly, he lowered the newspaper, as did Madame Giry.

I smiled at him and turned to Madame Giry, "Madame, I wonder if you wouldn't mind playing? I'd like to sing."

Her face might have been carved from stone, but she rose and went to the piano. Meg wiped the tiredness from her eyes and sat up in her chair, her face mirroring the hope and confusion on Raoul's. I almost laughed at the sight. I stood next to the piano and asked Madame Giry to play the first aria from Faust. I'll never forget the look of relief and joy on Raoul's face, and my eyes never left his as the last notes rang through the house and he and Meg rose to their feet, applauding. It should have been perfect, but as soon as I saw the joy in Raoul's eyes, my mind flashed to my teacher, alone and cold.

""""

Days later, music was flooding the cavern as I let myself in. He was seated at the piano, just the same as always, but for the first time, I didn't recognize the music. Something of his own making? It was mesmerizing. His body was moving sensuously along with the dark notes, at times slow and fluid, at times urgent and unnerving. My footsteps were drowned in the music that was making my stomach flutter and my breath shake. My hand reached out of its own accord and my mind whispered that he was so immersed in the music that he couldn't hear me approach. The familiarity of this situation never occurred to me, I was simply entranced. There was no curiosity this time, only admiration. The music washed over me, touching me in a way nothing else ever had or ever could. His music.

I only wanted to be a part of it, of what made those beautiful notes. My fingers brushed his shoulder, but I was brought violently back to reality when the music stopped and he flinched away from me.

"You should have announced yourself!" he snapped.

Filled with shame, I didn't feel the sting of his words. "Angel… I'm sorry." My eyes were trained on the floor and I prayed that he understood. I wasn't apologizing for entering unannounced. He didn't trust me, didn't believe that I wouldn't hurt him. He had every reason to think that I would expose and reject him, I'd done it before. He was quiet for a long time, his fingers resting softly on the piano keys. Finally, he sighed.

"I asked you not to call me that anymore," he murmured.

"Master, I'm so, so sorr—"

"Christine." His voice was so final that my apology caught in my throat. His fingers began playing the scale, but my voice was silent. Many times, it felt as if there had been something just below the music, waiting to be brought to the surface, choking the bond that used to be between us, master and pupil. It was there more strongly than usual now, and I couldn't sing past it. He began the scales again, but again, I didn't sing with them. His jaw clenched and angry eyes met mine. "Have you gone deaf?" I flinched and, ashamedly, my eyes filled with tears. His eyes widened with concern for a moment, but immediately closed, only to reopen filled with anger again. "I asked you a question, Christine."

Without a word, I spun and stomped toward the boat. Frustration welled inside me and I used it to push away the hurt. I heard the piano bench scrape across the stone as he stood, but I didn't stop. "Christine!" I put a hand on the boat and prepared to climb in, but a cold hand closed on my arm. "I did not dismiss you."

I straightened and yanked my arm out of his grasp, tilting my head up to meet his stare. "I dismissed myself. I can't sing like this!"

His eyes, one partially hidden behind the mask, rolled to the ceiling. "Still such a child. Then go, I don't care. You have your voice back, your Vicomte, what else could you possibly need? But know this: if you leave now, don't ever come back. I've given enough." His back turned without another look at me.

My mouth dropped open and I shouted at his back, "Given? What have you ever given me that you didn't demand the world for in return?"

When he spun back toward me, his voice was as angry as I'd ever heard it. "Everything! My entire life, not that it ever mattered much. Everything I had, it was yours to take. And God, you did take it. Still, I would have given you anything you'd asked for, stolen every bit of the world for you."

"You would have imprisoned me away from the world!"

"I'd have made you a star! You wouldn't have been merely a part of that world, you'd have ruled it! And not as a ruler's wife, but a prima donna. Instead, you throw yourself, your talent, my work, away on him." He spat the last word and I was frozen. "Don't you apologize to me when you don't even know what you're apologizing for. Get up to the piano and sing, or leave me alone, but don't presume to think that I do you a favor. I know my sins. That you're blind to your own is no concern of mine, except that it wastes my time."

"If you tell me what I can do—"

"You can sing! Isn't that why you're here? Some dinner party you'd like to entertain for?"

"Of course not!"

"Of course not!" He mocked, cruelly. "Come now, Christine, why are you here? Honestly, there are easier ways to torture me and I wish you would just shoot me and be done with it. How much atonement must I make?" The last part was said to the sky, with his head tilted back and his arms raised. I could just glimpse the marred skin under his mask. With these words, my anger melted away.

"You're wrong," I whispered. With a tired sigh, he dropped his arms and looked down at me. "You're wrong," I said again, stronger. "I do know my sins. I'm not as blind as you think, and I couldn't give you want you wanted from me. I don't want to cause any more pain, but I need the music, just for me. As I said before, everything else aside, you are my teacher." I moved around him and went to the piano, righted the bench, and looked at him, standing frozen next to the boat. "I want to sing."

He stood silent a long time, staring down at the boat. Finally, he turned his head to say, "Then get your shoulders back and stand straight." I watched him walk back to me, his steps sure and calm. When I sang again, that something below the music was heavier than ever. I left the cavern an hour later feeling like an executioner.

""""

His body moved with such grace that it put me into a trance once again. He knew at all times where to place his fingers, which way to turn his head so that he caught the melody just right. He was perfection. Should I tell him? Would it spoil this? I couldn't risk ever losing this sight. God, he was a masterpiece. Hair wild, mask discarded, music flowing, he was mine. My hand looked so small on his shoulder- would we ever get to the point where he wouldn't flinch when I first touched him? His head turned, brown eyes catching the light from the candles as he smiled at me. The music stopped and I was in his arms…

I woke, my body flushed, and brought my knees to my chest. What was happening to me?