AN: Thanks for da reviews! The music used to inspire the Masquarade dance scene is Beethoven's 2nd movement of his 7th symphony. The allegretto. One of my favs. The four-count dance step they perform is based off of the foxtrot, originated in 1914 by Vaudeville actor Harry Fox. But it is a style style I can see Erik creating and letting spread slowly across the world, completely uninterested in the truth of its origin. So while not strictly historically accurate, it technically COULD have happened.

~o~

Ah! Be carefree - for wine and song with laughter, embellish the night. The new day breaking will find us still in this happy paradise. - La Traviata, Verdi

~o~

Chapter 8

The next morning had no rehearsal as the Palais Garnier was devoted to preparing for the masquerade ball. Decorations were put up, the entire grand hall looking somehow even more elegant than its normal impressive state. The dormitories, of course, were just as frantic, filled with bustling girls all preparing for the gala. The collective hope high for all of them this evening.

Christine's hair was particularly wild today, a fact that irked Christine to no end. The more important the event, the more unruly and embarrassing her curls would get. Meg did her best with helping her tame it, but they could only trap so much hair into the fashionable updo. As it was a costume ball, they could get away with half of her hair falling down to her her elbows.

The dress was every bit as beautiful as she last remembered. Properly corseted, the dress clung to her skin and fell in attractive red waves of bunched fabric. Red gloves, red shoes, red fan. She found some red theatre jewels and pinned them into her hair. She applied just the lightest amount of theatre makeup, rouging her cheeks to give them color and reddening her lips in a way that still looked natural and flushed.

When the conservatory girls arrived at the ball, the grand hall was already filled with masked men and women, trying to impress each other with their finery. Enemies and friends alike would convalesce and try to outdo one another with outrageous (or outrageously expensive) costumes.

Truth be told, The Opera Ghost loved nights like this and would be taking the preparation seriously for this evening. People were visiting his theatre and he wanted everything to be perfect. That afternoon, the rumors had already started among the workers that the Ghost was extra busy today-tampering with nearly everything, making the theatre just how he wanted it.

Christine was impressed with the gala - everything was brilliant and sparkling and perfect, like a fairytale. The music and ambiance were carefully curated, fitting her tastes exactly. It almost seemed as if the hall was decorated just for her, so fitting were they to her costume.

A waiter flew by, practically making a champagne flute magically appear in her hands. She was grateful and finished the drink within minutes, looking for another immediately after to calm her nerves.

Below, the shadow fixed his cufflinks. The Opera Ghost had worked hard to make this gala absolute perfection, so of course he would attend the affair himself!

His figure emerged from the shadows fully dressed, using the passageway in box five to make his entrance. He was dressed elegantly, wearing an ornate costume of red velvet. It was as elegant as it was opulent, fitting his form perfectly, creating a handsome silhouette. Shadowed by a swooping wide brim hat, the mask he wore was not the traditional skull as often seen in Red Death costumes, but was a polished white half mask that revealed part of a handsomely masculine face. The side of his face which was left uncovered revealed sharp angles and plump lips. His eyes glowed an unusual gold as they swept the crowd. With bodies instinctively moving out of his way, he descended the grand staircase, looking for his muse.

Christine felt lost. She had found Meg and allowed herself to be pulled from one group of patrons to another, leaving her dizzy and overwhelmed. She was asked to dance by multiple men, but after spending a waltz with them, she could tell they were not her secret patron and shyly scooted back to Meg.

He saw her standing there; those wide, doe like eyes behind her mask, searching the room with unease. A dance was ending, a new one sure to begin. He positioned himself so she would be able to see his red visage descending the stairs. When he was certain she had seen him, he would make his way towards her; a stirring in his heart, a tightness of nerves in his stomach. So often he had been behind walls, peering through mirrors. Not anymore. Not tonight.

Christine had lost Meg. She began to panic a bit, not knowing what nor how to act without her fearless friend to hide behind. Grabbing another champagne flute from a passing waiter, she downed the contents as discreetly as possible.

A soulful, almost mourning piece of music began playing by the small orchestra nestled in the corner. She did not recognize the piece, but the dancers in the middle of the floor seemed familiar with it.

A man had approached her and shoved another glass of alcohol into her hand, which she gratefully accepted, although uninterested in the man himself with the plain suit and the plain domino mask. Blacks, whites, silvers and golds blurred around her as she scanned the room for some sign that her admirer would be there.

But he did not show himself.

It was right as the music crescendoed and right as Christine made up her mind to sneak out the back to return home to her solitude that the dancing couples parted in just a way to reveal a tall figure across the room regally traveling down the grand staircase. He was draped in the finest of red cloth, the hue matching hers completely.

Christine watch him approach like a frozen deer. The music grew as he began to walk slowly and intentionally across the dance floor. The dancers naturally gave way to him, parting like the red seas.

He stopped in front of her - A hair's breadth too close to be expected for a stranger. The music drizzled softly around her, a calm breeze.

The man in front of her took Christine's breath away.

Behind the mask, the Ghost's eyes sparkled like amber. Beethoven's 7th. A perennial favorite of his. Allegretto. It felt like a dance, or a dirge; sometimes both. Oddly, it was marked Allegretto; a little lively. Set in the key of A minor, he couldn't help the strings with their pizzicato and staccato notes encouraging a strange courtship between the woman in red who was his counterpart, his muse; his obsession.

Finally, their eyes met and for that moment, they were the only beings in this world.

The music swelled and crescendoed around them, intensity building as he stepped closer to her. Each step felt like an eternity, and that eternity comprised solely of her. He saw her eyes behind the mask, those eyes which were so beautiful, so doe like, wide with wonder and life.

"Mlle. Daae, is it not?" he asked in a smooth voice, offering her his hand. Behind the mask, she could tell that he was older than her, though he wore his age with dignity and grace, capable and refined.

She felt lightheaded, staring into his depthless yellow eyes. She nodded softly and passed her empty champagne flute to the closest gentleman without even glancing away from the man in front of her.

The music turned again, shifting to be a lilting and graceful variation on the theme. After what seemed a lifetime of waiting, he extended his hand.

"Honor me with this dance?"

Christine could swear that the voice was familiar, yet for the life of her, she could not place it. It was lilting just enough to sound foreign, yet the accent was unidentifiable.

She felt her breath rapidly pushing against her corset, raising her cleavage to push pleasantly from her dress. She slowly lifted her hand and placed her crimson-gloved fingers into his palm. He kissed her hand in a slow, languid, and utterly sensual manner. She nodded, breathless, and let him guide her onto the floor, sweeping her into a strange four-count waltz. Christine had never seen anything like it, but his skill in leading her allowed her to follow his steps with ease. She wanted to ask what this dance was, but found she couldn't speak at all.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Meg with her mouth wide open and next to her, the persistent Viscount clenching his fists. She even saw Madame Giry with her pallid face whiter than usual. But Christine retained none of this as her attention could not be diverted from this man's gaze.

"You are beautiful."

Oh, his voice was velvet! Like nothing she had ever heard before. As ethereal as her teachers but yet so different. Sensual. Personal.

She allowed him to spin her gracefully before pulling her in tight with one hand pressing against the others over their heads, allowing them to get even closer. They turned slowly and she once again attempted to speak but could only manage biting her lip.

Yellow eyes lowered to watch Christine worrying her lip. His mind raced as he drank in her beauty. This woman was everything he could imagine a woman to be; and the dance felt like sin made human. For someone as debased and wretched as he to dance with an angel such as her; well, it was a Faustian deal to be sure.

His lips twitched into a half smile at that thought.

Middance, he finally spoke: "Miss Daae; it is finally good to make your acquaintance."

She nearly choked when he offered one of the most beautiful smiles she had ever seen. This man was achingly gorgeous, at least the part bare to the world.

She was lost.

A lifetime could have passed, but Christine was beyond time. When he spoke again, she allowed the dance to slow until she was standing still.

"It is you, isn't it?" She asked softly. "You've been sending me gifts."

He nodded. "It is. I trust they have not been too forward? The dress, it was a bold first step, I know," he murmured, almost apologetically.

"But how do you know me at all? I have never been on the stage at all!" Christine asked.

"You've been around the Palais for nearly a year. Studying, yes?" he asked, guiding her off the stage, near the wall to an empty pair of seats."I've seen you, admired your work and dedication."

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "You are a patron of the opera. You...watch the school as well... most only concern themselves with the productions." She paused, realizing that she was coming across rather accusatory. "Pardon me, Monsieur. I am merely...surprised to have someone take notice of me. I have little experience in... anything," she laughed self-deprecatingly.

He watched her and smiled slightly. "You've been blossoming since you came here. Your name is on the lips of everyone in this room," he said with a gentle smile, leaning against the table. "I have heard you are now a young artist in the opera company. Is that true?"

God. She had trouble even thinking with his predatory eyes on her. She swallowed and licked her lips before responding, "I have been afforded a supranumerary role in Faust. My first time stepping onto this grand stage!" she blushed and ducked her head, "Hardly anything to brag about, but being on stage! My God!" She moaned quite unladylike. Catching herself, she covered her mouth with her hand, mortified.

"I have been very liberal with you tonight. I must apologize," she gushed, " I must seem very uncouth and with all that you have done for me... Please, let me start again," She looked up to meet his eyes again with a pleading look. She tensed, ready to bolt.

With that he squeezed her hand a bit more firmly. "Stay. Relax. You are fine."

She laughed lightly. "Of course. I am nervous, which is causing my tongue to talk on its own...Thank you... for the presents. It actually kept me from having to leave the conservatoire."

His gaze narrowed sharply. "Truly? I would have believed those gifts would be in line with a list of admirers. Why would you have had to leave?"

At that his gaze would catch the gaze of a glaring viscount, watching from across the dance floor.

The Vicomte would take that gaze as a challenge and began walking toward them.

Christine however saw none of this. "Hardly, monsieur. I am but a ballet rat with... " Oh dear, she was talking of such things! "- little experience with patrons..." God, her stomach was plummeting to the darkest of the Opera's basements.

Raoul was only steps away, about to intercede. "If you will excuse me," he announced grandly.

The man in red stood, his broad cloak swooping into a red flourish behind him. "Vicomte De Chagny. May I assist you?"

Raoul drew himself up, standing to attention, "Monsieur, Good evening. I wish to address the Lady Daae."

"By all means, she is yours.," he replied, swooping to the side. His cape seemed to shimmer for a second. When they would look for him, he would seem to have disappeared completely, only to reappear a moment later leaning against a pillar behind Raoul, his gaze locked on Christine.

She was dazed; drunk on her admirer's charm. Suddenly, there was a hand in front of her. She accepted it and let herself be dragged onto the dance floor again.

The scent was different. The warmth of the gloved hand was new and the smell of the breath was more acidic. She looked up into brown, assertive eyes and was disappointed.

The Opera Ghost watched as the Vicomte turned Christine at a bit stiltedly, less graceful and harder to follow than himself. "Miss Daaé; you came to the ball, but not in my arms," Raoul said, chiding her in a condescending tone.

She blinked a bit. "I'm not sure what to say to that, Monsieur. I hardly know you."

"Perhaps you would have if you had given me more time the other night," he spun her roughly once more.

Erik's patience wore thin and he stepped in to break up the dance. "M. le Vicomte. I'm sure Mlle. Daaé has enjoyed her dance with you."

Christine automatically leaned into the newly approached form, but had no power to exert one way or the other, tossed between two strong men.

Raoul roughly pulled her to him and she could do nothing but spread her hand onto his chest to keep from toppling over.

At that point, the Ghost made the full power of his presence known, stepping directly in front of Christine, his hands about her waist. "I will take her, Vicomte." He said sharply. There was something about his voice; a hollowness, a haunting quality that would command the other man to step away almost against his will.

In a moment, the Viscount released her clutching his temple. He staggered back, allowing Christine to be swooped into the arms of her mystery suitor.

She was in heaven. She had no control over who or what was pushing her body into motion. Was she drugged? Or was it just the beauty of this strange man's voice? She did not even spare a thought for the Viscount - She flew around the dance floor completely beholden.

The masked man finished the dance, taking her off to the side once more, this time ascending the grand staircase to the second level.

It was her first time on the grand staircase- cast and crew members were encouraged to use the back way. It was like a dream. The cool leather of her admirer's gloves caressed her skin.

She stopped them once they reached the second level. "Who are you?" She asked in wonder.

"I am someone who has taken quite an interest in you," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Do you have a name?"

"Baron Erik du Valance" he replied, leading her towards a table set back in one of the many alcoves.

"Baron.." she mouthed as his back was turned, eyes wide.

She accepted his assistance to her chair and sat with a stiff formality, suddenly no longer sure of how to conduct herself. She had never been around nobility outside of the pushy viscount.

"Does the title set you ill at ease? Honorifics are for society, nothing more," he said simply to her. "You do not need to act differently from how you normally would around me."

She tilted her lips in humor. "I have just met you, Monsieur. I don't know how I normally act around you. "

He nodded, smiling. "Nor I you, I confess. I find you to be as engaging as I had heard you were, and your beauty radiates more brightly up close than from far away."

She flushed and fought a demure smile. "Thank you, Baron. You are very kind."

A waiter sped by with more champagne and Christine motioned for another drink.

The Baron motioned as well for a glass of champagne. "Tell me more about yourself. What brought you to the conservatoire?"

After taking a sip of champagne, Christine responded with an informal shrug, "My father passed away two years ago. I had nowhere to go and Madame Giry helped me get a position here."

"Madame Giry has an eye for talent. She was not mistaken in recruiting you," he said warmly. "And since then you have studied ballet, making your supernumerary debut tomorrow night? When did you learn that you could sing like that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your voice. Everyone has heard of how wonderful it is. After all, that is why you are a young artist now. Where did you learn to sing?"

She was taken aback. Hardly anyone knew about her singing. She had yet to join the chorus and she was not one to gossip much.

He narrowed his golden, predatory gaze on her. "Word travels fast, and that bodes well for you. I would not be surprised if you found yourself in very high places soon."

Not knowing what to say to that, she laughed. "You flatter me too much, sir!

He shook his head. "Nonsense."

The conversation would wind on, Erik finding her to be as witty and clever as she promised to be in her lessons. Then there was her beauty, such grace and refinement. It was refreshing.

It wasn't until later that she realized just how skillfully he had steered the conversation away from his personal life. By the end of the evening, she did not know him anymore than before the ball!

But at the moment, she could hardly think at all. They stayed for the rest of the evening, trying to elongate their time together. When they were forced to depart by exhausted waitstaff, she paused on the cobblestone of the entrance. "Thank you, Baron...Erik... for everything. For this night."

"And you, Mlle. Daaé. Thank you for your fascinating company." He found himself reaching to take her hand, not wanting to part with her; a small smile gracing his features. When he spoke, his voice was low, tender and sincere.

"Would you like it if I called on you again?"

Her heart fluttered. "I would," she whispered.

He nodded to her, smiling softly beneath his mask. "I will call again, then; if it would please you."

His hand tightened in hers, their gaze locked.

Erik paused, not wanting to end this night with her; desperate to cling to her by any means. "May I walk you home? I know it is only a few blocks, but it is late."

She frowned. "How do you know where I live?"

He dropped his gaze, hiding his worry that he might have known too much,

"I...just assumed that you resided near the Palais, being in the conservatoire."

She accepted that answer reluctantly. "I would like that,"

"Simply lead the way." He murmured, offering her his arm, to escort her.

She walked slowly as she lead him to her unimpressive dormitory. Outside of the plain door, she hesitated, turning to look up at him. "Good night, Sir Baron."

"Erik."

"...Erik." She smiled.

"Good night, Mlle. Daaé. It was a memorable evening for me." He murmured; meeting her gaze as he turned her gently to face him.

She wanted to lean in to him. To place her lips on his. The urge was so great that she had to force herself to lean away and turn toward the door. With a couple more "good nights" Christine was able to tear herself away from him and close the door.

The next morning she awoke with a huge grin on her face. It only grew when she realized it was the morning of her first performance!