"Do you know what day it is tomorrow?"

The question, though simplistic and mundane, managed to form a frown on Christine's otherwise blank face. She had been daydreaming quite frivolously again, for it was a new habit of hers she had developed in the wake of her unrest. She had been staring at the most recent addition to the room: a large, overbearing, yet entirely delightful clock. Well, there was only so much one could do to occupy one's time underground after all.

Her head had turned lazily at the sound of his lilting tones and she saw him still engrossed at his desk. Quite recently, he had begun working again, in his own unique fashion, sorting through papers and piles of music and Heaven knew what else, going to and from his desk and shelves in a flurry of black.

Resting in the armchair next to the fireplace, Christine had attempted to study his routine for any noticeable patterns—the very thought of being able to predict the movements of the Opera Ghost was particularly thrilling—and though she was being watchful, she was unable to find any such pattern. Resigned to her failure, she had proceeded to stare into the flames—which possessed more predictability right then than her companion ever had—until his voice had captured her attention.

"No, Erik," she droned, irked at how easily he was amused in his attempts to tease her. "How could I possibly know what day it is tomorrow when I do not know what day it is today?"

"My, my," he said, the rustling of his papers now silenced by the oddly light quality to his voice. "Christine does not know what day it is tomorrow! She does not know of its importance! How amusing, how very amusing."

Huffing at his bizarre behaviour, she resisted the urge to scold him for his pestering or even, as a last resort, to hurl the book that was nestled quietly at her side towards him. "Why do you always ramble on so? If you will not tell me what on earth it is that you are talking about, I shall have no excuse but to walk away."

"Ah, but if you do walk away then you will never hope to know my reasoning behind my question!" he retorted unrelentingly.

"Now you are simply avoiding answering," she said, straightening up in her seat and crossing her arms in vexation and very slight amusement.

Erik regarded her briefly before mirroring her movements and bracing himself against the edge of his desk where he stood. "Tomorrow is the celebration of your birth, Christine."

"Oh! I had no idea." Truly, she had not. The days had eventually seemed to blend into a repetitive series of notations and shared words and she had lost herself to the cycle. "How time has flown."

Clearing his throat, Erik then returned to his papers. "Is there anything that you wish for your birthday?"

Rising to her feet, she approached him with determination. "As a matter of fact, there is something."

"What is it, my love?" he asked, his attention never once diverting back to his work. "Name it and I shall get it for you."

Nervously twisting the material of her dress, her fingertips rubbing harshly against the linen, she said, in a strong, clear voice, "I wish to go above ground." Walking briskly towards him until she was positioned directly to his right, Christine gently rested her fingers on top of his, grimacing as he flinched at the sudden contact, but not deterring when he made no move to remove his hand. "I appreciate and cherish every time we visit the streets of Paris, but I think the time has come when small outings are no longer enough for me. I need to breathe the fresh air, Erik, for longer than a few hours at a time. All I am asking is for a long visitation."

"You might be seen. I might be seen," he warned, his eyes darting between her furrowed brow and the imploring expression in her eyes.

"Please," she said, softly squeezing his fingers, searching for a compromise. "We need not visit until night has fallen. I have always wondered what the Seine looks like in the moonlight," she said, offering him a smile.

A few agonising heartbeats later, Erik straightened his back and looked down in wonder at their joined hands. Christine watched with eager intent, awaiting those words of approval that she so longed to hear. "I know that I cannot deny you anything and I am very afraid that you know this as well."

"Is that a yes, then?" she asked hopefully, her fingers once again tightening around his own before he quickly nodded his head.

At his submission, she cried out in gratitude. She bore the grin of a madwoman and it was enough to set Erik's mind into a frenzy as he began to withdraw from her, watching with confusion as she hopped up and down on the spot in sheer glee. Before she could restrain herself, Christine had flung her arms around his neck in abandon and buried her head into his chest, smiling against his cravat idly. The sudden impact, however, was too much of a strain for Erik's legs and, lacking the support, he collapsed onto his desk chair, inadvertently pulling Christine down with him.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" she cried, biting her lip abashedly. "I really must take better care when I..."

Her words were caught in the dryness of her mouth at that moment, her eyes wide and her pulse heavy under her chilled skin as she saw just how close they were to one another. Her arms hung loosely about his frame, one draped over his neck, the other clutching at his upper arm, and she wanted desperately to pull away, but there was something deep in his eyes, something dark and entirely fascinating which rooted her to the spot.

Erik's stiff yet loose fingers gripped the arms of his desk chair tightly. But all too aware of how gently she was leaning against him, he did not dare move from his frozen position, silently enduring the painfully overwhelming scent of her hair and the feeling of her breath on his skin.

Christine's eyes trailed slowly around his face, from his now flaming eyes, to his pale chin and mouth and when her gaze halted there, confusion creased her brow. How thin his mouth looked, unimposing in shape but capable of the most beautiful and terrifying resonance. Then a thought occurred to her, a memory, rippling on the surface of her mind like water under a light breeze—the memory of a single touch, his lips against the skin of her throat. And, quite suddenly, she felt a flush come over her.

"For-forgive my clumsiness," she said as she scrambled to her feet. "It was not intentional."

Turning her back on him, she smoothed out her dress skirts as she attempted to calm her spinning mind. What on earth had possessed her to throw herself at him like that? She had never acted so boldly around him before. An uncomfortable shiver ran through her as she stood, bewildered at the pounding of her own heart.

Erik, meanwhile, remained seated with his arms now suspended in mid-air like a puppet awaiting the comforting and guiding pull on his strings. If he heard her apology, then he gave no indication of having done so, having opted for staying as still as possible. He was unbelievably grateful for this moment of conscientious reflection, away from the heat of her curious eyes—oh, how they burned him!—and could only hope that she did not despise him.

She said his name shakily, not daring to turn around yet. A prolonged silence hung about the air like a deep, shrouding mist until Erik, who was beginning to feel as though he would lose himself in it, cleared his throat. "What is it that you would like to do during your visit?"

Closing her eyes, Christine felt the delicious rush of relief that his question brought and, after quickly regaining her composure, she twirled around to face him, but not to look at him. She could not quite bring herself to do that. "There are so many things. I do not know how I could possibly name them all."

"Try," he muttered distractedly, anxious to regain control over his senses and not succumb to the sweetness in her voice.

"An evening stroll next to the Seine would be lovely. I would also like... Oh, but what shall I wear? I think I am in need of some new dresses. I only have what I took with me from Mamma's home and—I really must visit her again! She worries so and she has not heard from me in such a long time."

She had not intended to ramble, but the beating of her heart forbade her even the ability to form a coherent and complete sentence. When she clasped her hands together in a gesture of surrender, she dared to glance up only once, her fingers tightening their grip as she inhaled sharply. Her heart beat like the the rhythmic bashing of a drum as she saw him looking back at her, his eyes unwavering and undaunted in their gaze. They were so black and appeared so empty at first, but the swirl of emotion which began to gather and soften those dark orbs was not lost to Christine as she continued to watch him.

Like the flame of a dying candle, a smile flickered on her face and she knew she should thank him properly for his agreement. But no words came, not even the want to speak, nor the urge to move closer and lay a gentle hand on his upper arm in gratitude. She most certainly could not do that after the ungodly manner in which she had behaved. She could not bring herself to stray so close to him. Suddenly wanting to flee from his presence, to clear her mind, she nodded her thanks towards him and scurried from the room.

o0o

Somewhere in the realms of sleep, Christine heard the toll of the clock, but had neglected to heed its call and contently fell deeper into her dreams. Upon finally awakening, she smiled to herself and stretched out demurely against the heavenly blankets. Today, she turned one-and-twenty, and even through the first moments of sleep-hazed consciousness, she knew it would be a memorable day.

Pushing a weary hand through her bed ridden hair, she sat up, her eyes taking but a few seconds to adjust before they widened in delightful surprise. Lying so amorously across the chest at the foot of her bed were two rather large boxes, each one finely enveloped and tied with red ribbon. During the night, or sometime in the early hours of the morning, Erik must have come in and placed them there. It unnerved her slightly that he had entered so quietly and stealthily whilst she slept, but her curiosity over what was inside these boxes overrode her unrest.

Running her fingertips over the ribbon, she had the queerest sense of nostalgia, a reminisce of days of roses and unsigned letters. They floated at the back of her mind; all of them distant memories melding with distant faces, like watercolours bleeding together on a canvas. Her hand lingered over the frayed edge of the ribbon before she gave it a gentle tug and lifted the lid, pausing only briefly before doing the same with the other box. Inside each lay a dress, both rich in colour with pristine finishing. Choosing the closest dress first, Christine held it up against her body and walked over to the vanity mirror to look at it properly. A white lace trimming ran along the modest maroon neckline, sleeves and hem—it was pleasant, very pleasant. She then draped it over her chair and returned to the other dress. As she did with the other, she held it up and then carried it to the mirror for closer inspection. This one was even more beautiful than the last. It had a dark blue and black striped bodice with a velvet trim and tails. It was simply divine. She laid this dress out on her bed and then went about getting dressed into something more suitable for morning excursions.

When Christine stepped out of her room, all appeared quiet, perhaps just a little too quiet for her liking. Suspecting Erik may have prepared a surprise for her, though one could never be certain when it came to a man like him, Christine walked with building anticipation until she reached the music room. Yet, as an eerie silence met her, she pressed her palms to the door frame in bewilderment. Where could he be? she thought to herself.

Making her way into the living room, she felt a surge of disappointment when she found it to be empty, but as she turned, something white caught her eye. It was perched against the brilliant blank of the piano lid and she saw that her name had been scribbled hastily across the front. With impatient fingers, she opened it.

'My dearest Christine,

I want to wish you happy regards on this most joyous day. I pray for your forgiveness for my early departure, but it was necessary. You will find your breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.'

After a gurgle from her stomach announced itself rather loudly, she left the vague letter on the seat and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. Sure enough, her breakfast was waiting for her—and what a delicious sight it was! Buns, buttered croissants, fruits—sweet aromas teasing her nose and preparing her anxious taste buds. She hastily sat down and began to nibble and chew her way through the different patisseries, feeling positively giddy at eating such delights she would have only eaten on very special occasions. Cramming as much goodness into her mouth as she could, she decided that treating herself now and then was now a most agreeable prospect.

After she had finished and had wiped the shameful crumbs from her glowing face, she began to hum to herself. When she heard the soft lapping of water in front of her as she made her way through the halls, she found herself smiling again.

"I am glad you have returned," she said, rounding the corner just in time to see the door closing behind him. "Good morning."

Erik pressed his fingertips against the door, more in the unfamiliar comfort of being welcomed home than checking its security. But hearing her kind voice upon his arrival was something he would never tire of, he was certain. "I think you mean good afternoon, Christine," he said with a seldom heard laugh.

"Oh!" She raised her hand to her cheek in mild embarrassment. "I did not think to check the time when I rose. Surely I have not slept half the day already!"

Enjoying her reaction more than he would say, Erik calmly replied, "Yes, it is about a quarter to one now. It would appear that you slept in rather late."

Groaning inwardly, she exclaimed, "Why must my body choose to sleep longer than usual on today of all days? Half the day has gone already and I—"

"You apparently needed the rest," Erik interrupted gently, walking towards her. "Do not blame yourself for that. But I hope your breakfast, or luncheon rather, was to your liking?"

Christine cleared her throat, and laughed at herself. "Yes, very much so, thank you. Oh, and thank you very much for the dresses. I did not expect you to give me anything. They were a lovely surprise."

"You deserve lovely things, Christine," he murmured as he strode past her and across the room, beckoning her to follow.

She trailed behind him happily, but frowned when he came to a halt outside her bedchamber. "Why have you led me here?"

"I have another gift for you," he said, gesturing towards the door. "May I?"

Cautiously, she nodded, pleased that he was seeking permission, and followed him inside. "Another gift?" She peered around him, scouring her room for something she may have missed earlier. "You needn't give me anything else, Erik, the dresses were enough."

"Nonsense." He straightened his back, clasping his hands in front of him in a sophisticated and refined manner. "I like giving you things. I should give you things more often."

"What is my present?" she asked with the spirit of a greedy child, walking to the middle of the room, continuing to look around for a hint, a sign. "Where is my present?"

"If you think I am going to tell you then you are sadly mistaken," he said, gleefully watching her look in all the wrong places.

A rare look of mischief lay in his eyes as she faced him now, her own eyes falling to look at the odd way he was now clutching at his jacket. Before she could ask him what it was that he was hiding, he had gestured to the right of him and asked her to sit. Doing as he said, Christine took a seat at her vanity table and followed the interactions of their reflections in the mirror. She was about to question him again when she saw him place something down in front of her. It was a velvet case of some sort, one that was relatively small and with a rectangular surface. She threw a glance over her shoulder at Erik who was staring intently at her hands as she lifted the lid.

The nerves twitched in her hands and the lid nearly slipped from her grasp. Sparkling incandescently in soft gaslight was a necklace. She dared not look away in fear of it disappearing.

Erik bent down behind her, his mask looming over her shoulder. He alternated his focus between the necklace and Christine's face in the mirror. "Do you like it?" He looked up in time so see an indistinguishable emotion pass over her face. "You do not like it."

"No, no, I do," she reassured him. "I am simply... wondering where you purchased such an item."

"Money is no concern, if that is what is troubling you," he murmured after a brief pause, causing thoughts, some more unsavoury than others, to enter her mind.

"I am not ignorant of the prices of jewellery, Erik," she chided quietly. "Was it truly so expensive?" She was met with silence. "Or did you steal it?" When he still did not reply, despair filled her. "Erik, I am not worth it." Again, he said nothing but leaned his masked head against the top of her chair.

"I... would not steal for your benefit. You would not like it," he began, almost wearily. "Christine, I did not pay for the necklace, that is true, but only because I have been in possession of it for many years." He moved his hand to the other side of the chair so that it lingered closely to her shoulder. "You could call it a family heirloom."

"Oh," she mumbled, ashamed of her previous accusation. "I am sorry, it's just that I'm not used to such lovely gifts. I had to work for the things I wanted in life. I feel strange receiving gifts with no cause for gratification." A small smile broke through the still curve of Erik's mouth. "It sounds silly, doesn't it?"

"Did the Vicomte not present you with the finer things in life?" Erik asked, his fingers curling over the top of the chair as he tried not to focus on the fact that if she moved but an inch, the back of her dress would brush against his fingertips.

Christine bowed her head as a wave of sorrow passed over her at the thought of poor Raoul. She was not ready to admit to herself the thoughts which dwelt in her mind. She was not ready to begin to question her situation all those months ago. Not here. Not now.

And not wanting to ponder on it any longer, Christine raised her head. "I never needed jewellery or even luxury to make me happy, and I certainly do not need them now. I cannot tell you how many times I must have refused Raoul's gifts on those grounds. But this," she said, gesturing to the necklace, "this I will accept, but only because of its meaning."

Beneath the mask Erik frowned, his mind swimming as he pondered her words. He hadn't the good fortune to know many women in his lifetime, but he was beginning to wonder whether they were all as vague and disorientating as Christine. "I do not understand."

Surprisingly, Christine grinned at him. He did not know how much he had changed. Like a child learning to walk, he had unknowingly practised every day, moving forward, growing, constantly learning to be a better man. A good man! Oh, how she hoped! Knowing that he would have found other means of collecting such a gift a year ago, and knowing that he had not succumbed to that temptation now, made her proud. And a strange feeling overcame her, a feeling of belief, of true hope. Perhaps his soul was not as blackened as she once thought. Perhaps her presence really was helping to save him.

Shaking her head, she simply grinned at him, meeting the stern confusion. Not knowing what else to do, he timidly asked, "Would you... like me to help you put it on?"

Joy spread throughout him as she nodded and he stood with ease. His long fingers danced their way through the air and picked up the necklace, unclasping it swiftly and moving behind her once more. He draped the cold chain around her throat and fixed it in place, allowing his fingertips to hover at the base of her neck for a second longer than he intended.

Christine ran a hand over the necklace, feeling the uneven edges and smooth surfaces of the stones and chain. "Beautiful," she whispered.