The swirls of exquisite costumes and the vibrant colors of the performers' make-up, made Rose dizzy as she walked among the many actors and dancers, as they ready themselves for the opera Il Muto. Finding Meg, she hurried over to the small ballerina, only to discover her busy with turning her already milky skin into a snowy white complexion. "Rose can you please help me tie my corset? Maman was in such a rush she did a horrible job." She ached to join her friend on the stage to perform, to sing in front of Paris's elite, but the doctor recommended she take the night off after strangely fainting at rehearsal earlier that day. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a ray of sunshine." Rose gave a reassuring smile as she finished the last strings on the costume. "You look beautiful Meg," Meg beamed at the compliment. Her friend was indeed beautiful. Her blonde hair always shimmered under the lights on stage along with those large brown eyes and had the body of perfection from the years of tedious training.

"Meg on stage in five minutes. Rose you should really go lay down, you'll be no good to any of us if you become even more sick." Madame Giry called out as she tried to ready her troop of ballerinas.

"Well break a leg," She hugged her friend.

"Are you going to sit with your grandmother?"

"You must be joking. I may have fainted, but I'm not ill in the head." They both laughed before parting ways. Rose slipped once again among the busy crowd. As she tried to escape the havoc that always happened before a show, she saw his white mask next to a costume designers' mannequin. She was to follow. It was a maze of hallways and stairs, as she climbed higher and higher, not exactly sure where he was leading her. A small feeling of being followed by another was felt, but was quickly brushed aside when she reached a door that she had never seen before in all her years of exploring the opera house. After closing the door behind her, his familiar silky voice demanded she lock it, before continuing on down another hallway. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, but he did not reply. Finally she reached another door that opened to a small room with a window. Rose looked out the window to see that it did not look out to some part of Paris, but to the stage and audience. She could see the distant body of Meg and the other chorus members along with Carlotta in her ridiculous wig.

"A seat that is more appealing than sitting with your grandmother, I'm sure." She did not need to turn around to know he was standing there. She could already imagine his muscular body swathed in a cape, black as night, matched with the same color trousers that sculpted his delicious, muscular thighs. How could he do this to her? How could just the image of a man make her burn? Finally when she found the strength to turn around he was gone. A door that was not noticed before was slightly open, but when she tried to open it, it was firmly shut closed. "Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty," Erik suddenly boomed. It made Rose jump and her eyes widen. What was he doing out there? She speculated. Hurrying over to the window once more she could barely see his tall figure looming over like the Phantom he was. He was surely loosing his mind.

Suddenly the door opened causing Rose to give a small gasp. "Did I scare you Miss Porter?" The small twisted smile played on his lips. Her brows furrowed. She never liked him seeing her weak.

"Nothing you do could scare me Monsieur Phantom." She gave a saucy smile. He wanted her, but he had more things to do. Later, he thought. He began walking away. "Leaving so soon?" She was a true siren.

"Yes and you will be too."

"But why? I was enjoying the wonderful view and your own little performance."

"They'll be looking for me up here Rose. You need to leave too. Come to me later after the performance."

"Yes Erik."

'It shouldn't have taken this long', she thought. Had she made the wrong turn? She then heard the sounds of footsteps. "Erik?" She cried out. Nothing. "Erik is that you?" There was still no answer.

"He left you behind didn't he Miss Porter." She instantly recognized the drunken voice. "He doesn't care what his little slut does as long as she warms his bed when he wants her to, doesn't he?" Joseph Buquet appeared from around a corner. Those grotesque eyes redden by alcohol and the baggy eyelids that droop underneath them. As usual he hadn't shaved that morning or had the decency to put on fresh clothes.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Rose lifted her nose to the air in her aristocratic fashion. He knows, oh he knows, but how? Had he caught them in one of their more careless lovemakings? He was the one that I have been sensing. Trying to keep distance between them, she backed into the wall. The gap between them was filling. He was coming closer like an animal catching his prey.

"Oh you know exactly what I am talking about. So tell me how much does he pay you to keep quiet and keep his bed warm when he needs you too? Well I guess you don't necessarily warm his bed since I've found him thrusting himself inside you like the common whore you are, backstage, quite a few times." She could smell his foul breath.

"Pig." She spat at him.

"I love how you're always feisty with me." He grabbed her breast roughly causing her to yelp in pain, pinning her to the wall. She slapped him, but his grasp on her breast was still tight.

"Let go of me," She screamed, but he forced his mouth on hers. Yanking her head to the side she screamed again. Kicking him in between the legs, caused his grasp on her to loosen, but as Rose tried to escape he caught a hold of her dress sending her flying to the ground. Her knees had scraped the floor causing a small pain, but the terror of what he could do to her kept her going. Trying to get up, Buquet grasped her ankle yanking her once again to the ground. He loomed over her, ready to go in for the kill. A furious blaze of lust and rage were in those drunken red eyes that frighten her down to the bone. "Erik," she cried out, but knew he was not there. He would have saved her by now. "My angel oh my sweet angel. Where are you?"

"My angel. Oh my sweet angel," He whispered. He had done it. She would be the star of the show as it was intended to be. There she stood confused, shielded from the audience by the curtain. No one knew what was going on. Oh but he did. It was his doing. She would forgive him after she had sung in front of the crowd. "My beautiful angel, oh my sweet Christine…"

Oh God please save me, oh God please give me the strength to find safety. It was all Rose could think of after finding the force to punch Buquet square in the nose. Her dress was ripped in shreds along with her bodice but it did not matter. She had escaped. She had escaped right before he…. She would not dare think of it. The sound of people forced her to continue. He won't attack in public. He was smart enough to stay out of the open. As she turned the corner it was as if God had sent her himself, Madame Giry. "Madame Giry," she could barely speak. It had been barely a whisper, but she had heard it. And when she turned to find Rose standing there, crying, and her dress in shreds, her heart sank. He couldn't have, she thought.

"Rose what…"

"Madame Giry, you mustn't tell Erik," She sobbed. "He'll kill him. I'm sure he will. Oh please Madame Giry just help me back to my rooms."

He was on his way to box five to finally settle once in for all the Vicomte de Chagny when he heard the sobs of someone not far off to his right. At first he thought it was Carlotta's dramatic fits, but knew it would have been quite louder. Finding Rose in her scraps of her dress, his heart sunk. Carelessly he hit a table that wobbled, tilting over a vase of flowers. The terror in her eyes was a blow to the face. Only one man would dare to attack her. Only Buquet…

She had never seen such madness in his eyes before. He was almost not human from the wild look that his eyes possessed. Before she could utter a word he was gone. She tried going after him, but a firm hand held her back. Turning to Madame Giry the silent 'no' kept her from resisting. There will be blood on his hands tonight she thought.

Sitting alone in her room the distant sound of screams echoed to her door. It was done. He had killed him like she predicted.