Sleep eventually came to me. Only after hours of sobbing into my pillow. I took one of the roses from the vase and pressed its soft petals to my cheek, crushing it. When I finally woke the next morning the petals were scattered about my pillowcase and I found that I had clutched the stem so tightly that the thorns had bruised part of my palm.

I dressed and made my way out of my room. After examining the mantel clock, I noted that Erik was not about. It was late in the morning. I crossed to the main doors and looked out upon the superficial lake shore. The water was glassy smooth and the simple boat remained tethered to our side. I wanted to leave. Not because I didn't want to be here with Erik. I wanted to be with people. Erik seemed determine to be distance even though we lived together.

I pressed my lips together remembering the kiss from last night. I should have withdrawn from him. For weeks he had treaded lightly in my presence. It was different from when he first brought me to his home. He had proclaimed his love for me through his words. But then there was his other particular ways of expressing his affections. Through his power and extortion as the Opera Ghost. I didn't want that sort of love. I didn't want position, power or even lavish gifts.

Not when he could win me over with a kiss.

I went over to the door underneath the stairs; the door to Erik's room. I thought of when he pulled me into his chambers before. I shuddered to think of the coffin he used as his bed. I imagined him sleeping in there alone and in self afflicted solitude. I wanted him out of there.

I knocked three times. "Erik? Erik if you are in there, please come out." I pleaded. I waited by the door for a few moments and heard no movement from the other side. I pulled on the handle and finding it locked I knocked again. "Erik, please come out. I want to talk..." My voice died in my throat and I abandoned my post at the door.

Over the next hour I amused myself in a slow, boring fashion. I took my time making a pot of tea and setting out the simple crockery on a tray. In a small act of hopefulness I set out an extra cup and left it out on the table. I sat at the piano bench and slowly sipped my tea. I nested the warm cup between my hands savoring its heat. My eyes traveled across the room taking stock of the multitude of flowers. I had seen flowers like this in the shops around Paris and in the bouquets left for Genny in her dressing room. A white woven basket filled with white lilies tied with lavender ribbon. Bright arrangements of spring flowers that seemed out of place in November. There were also plenty of roses in different shades.

They all seemed to be saying the same thing. Can you love me?

Erik had my answer. I confessed my feelings for him once and despite my trials they did not change. I lived with a murder. I lived with a man obsessed. I had thought it was nothing more than pity and perhaps it was. But it was a pity so strong that I did not want to leave him.

In a way I was still afraid to leave him. I knew it would drive him into madness. If I dared to leave, he would find me and call me back to him. I would be helpless to resist. Annoyed I folded my hands across the piano and rested my chin on top of the black polished wood. The top of the lid was scattered with sheet music. With an arrant finger I flicked through the pages. Some of them were from folios of printed works. Others were scrawled with red notes along the staff; no doubt these were of Erik's own composition. I sighed deeply and then blew a breath across the pages, scattering them further.

They floated to the ground revealing something underneath the music. It was a small hinged box. Curious I set aside my tea cup and reached to examine it further. It was in the shape of a casket with the image of a gruesome spider etched on its lid. A gulp worked its way up my throat and then back down again as I peered inside.

Expecting the worst, I was relived to see a plain set of black iron keys inside. They were much like the same one Erik had given to me to open the door on the Rue Scribe. Lifting them up by the ring, I watched them dangle before me and wondered why Erik would keep them in such a frightening container.

An idea sized upon me and with keys in hand, I made my way back to Erik's room. Determined to have him come out, I placed one of the keys into the sturdy lock. It didn't fit. I tried another that slide into the lock but did not turn. None of the keys opened the door to Erik's room.

At that point I was ready to row myself across the shore and leave him behind if he was determined to sulk. I was begging for his company and he rejected me. I pressed my hand against the door and then my forehead.

How could I love him if he was afraid to even touch me? Perhaps it was because I had touched him? Nothing seemed straight forward and I wished for just a moment he could be as bold in his affections as Raoul had been.

Raoul.

I shook my head in confusion wondering what had brought Raoul into my thoughts. I quickly dismissed him and turned my back on the door, looking out unto the sea of flowers.

There was another door. When Erik had first guided me through his home, we had passed by that door. He did not mention it and I was too afraid to ask about where it lead to. My fingers curled around the keys as I slowly padded across the room. The door lay just to the left of the organ console. Perhaps it was another secret passage among the hundreds that Erik had access to. Perhaps I was wasting my time calling at his bedroom door. He could have taken this door out of his home and already be wandering around the opera. I had the keys I could walk through the door and find him myself.

My feet carried me to the threshold quickly. It was a strange door cut out of the same polished glass as the wall, but it was a door none the less. I ran my finger over the woodwork of the handle before carefully placing one of the keys into the lock. It turned with ease and opened with a gentle creak.

My fingers wrapped around the door and was surprised to find the other side of the door was made of a smooth material. I peered around the door seeing nothing but pure blackness staring back at me. I would need a candle to see inside. My fingers trailed down the smooth inside of the door in fascination. I turned my head to look for the nearest candle stick.

The door flew out of my hand, slamming against its hinges. I shouted in fear as I pulled my fingers away from the door just before they were crushed inside. A hand pushed hard on my shoulder and I saw its mate pressed against the door.

I was forced to look up into Erik's masked face. His lips were set in a hard frown and he stared at me angry and unblinking.

"What do think you are doing Christine?" he asked in his freighting bitter monotone.

"I thought this was... another way..." I stuttered my fear intensifying as he drilled me to the spot with his gaze.

"Another way out?" he filled in the blank. "Yes I suppose you would like that." He snatched keys out of my hand with lighting speed and I cried out. "Never touch my keys and never try to open this door again! Do you understand?" he shouted.

I quickly nodded and watch him stalk away. Then I found my voice again. "Why?" I asked.

He returned to the piano and dropped the keys into the casket. Then as if he had a second thought, he withdrew them and with a purposeful movement placed them in an inside pocket of his coat.

"Remember the tale of Bluebeard, Christine and consider this your only warning."

My nap was interrupted by pleas of laughter as Genny and Camille burst into the dressing room. My exhaustion and frustration had finally caught up with me so when I arrived in my dressing room; I immediately curled up in the large high back chair and fell promptly to sleep.

"Ah here is our newest prima donna!" Genny exclaimed. "Still wiping the star dust from her eyes it would seem." I brushed the hair out of my eyes and tried to adjust my appearance. Genny was removing her gloves with her teeth as she had a stack of papers pressed against her chest. They both laugh as they shrugged off their coats and had a seat around the table. I stood up.

"What time is it?" I asked groggily.

"Humm…about 3 o clock." Camille replied.

"I'll go get us some tea then." I said starting for the door.

"Don't bother Christine. We've just come back from lunch. Unless you want something for yourself that is." Genny explained. Camille set down a white box and displayed the contents inside. From the inside came an arrangement of patisseries from one of my favorite bakeries near the opera. I sighed with hunger. What I wouldn't do to be back home enjoying one of Michelle's fresh baked rolls.

"I'm surprised to even see you here Christine." Genny remarked in a clipped tone. "You rushed out so quickly last night."

"I was tired if you remember."

"Not so tired as to dart out of your dressing room before the Vicomte could stop for visit, you wicked girl." Camille added with a grin that implied her comment was only half in jest.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask my hand half way between the table and a decadent looking croissant.

Genny cocked an eyebrow at Camille. "Don't tell her that..." she chided. Camille only smiled and looked on the verge of bursting into a giggle. I was starting to worry giving Camille's reputation for gossip.

"What have you two been talking about? What have you been saying about me behind my back?" I asked anxiously.

Camille brushed a dark curl away from her forehead and then put up her hands in a defensive gesture. "You seem upset Christine. You can be assured I've only spoken..."

"What?" I snapped.

"Only that Raoul is hopelessly in love with you!" she confessed, giggling between her breaths. She stuffed an éclair in her mouth.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" I asked and my chest tightened. I had warned Raoul about seeing me unaccompanied at the opera.

"No, it's not funny." Genny corrected before taking a seat. "It's actually very romantic." She sighed removing her hat. "Please don't look so cross Christine. It's not terrible gossip. It's wonderful news and everyone knows about it."

I gulped and my throat felt hard as the liquid passed downwards. "Everybody?"

"Genny told me the story about how you two met as children. And with him coming to the opera all the time, I assumed he was just trying to rekindle an old flame." Camille explained. "I've seen the Vicomte in his box more times in the last show than he had been in all of last season. It was something else besides his sister's performance that kept him coming back."

"There wasn't any old flame. We were children. We were friends. We still are." I protested slamming my hand flat against the table.

"Calm down Christine. You look like you've stuck you hand in a hornet's nest." Genny gripped my wrist with a calm and firm grasp. "Camille didn't do anything malicious and there is nothing wrong. You're acting as if you are embarrassed."

Genny guided me down to the empty chair at the table. "But it is embarrassing." I insisted. If Raoul had been making this declaration to everyone, he forgot to mention them to the most important person...me..."

Camille and Genny both gasped. "You mean he hasn't told you?"

"But surely you've guessed it by now." Genny insisted.

I sighed. "He told me he cares. I know that he has considerate feelings for me...but he has never said he loves me. Not yet..." I thought back to all those times we had been alone in each other company. Perhaps he would have said it if I hadn't stopped him. If I hadn't found a way to stop him...

A blush rose to Genny's cheeks. "He what? Oh well this is embarrassing. But Raoul hasn't really told anyone...we just all assumed. And you asked for him last night." Genny shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "Let not talk about it." she said excitingly grabbing for her stack of papers. "Let's talk about something else."

Camille gave a whining sound. "Besides, we came in to talk about this!" Genny flashed a copy of the paper in front of her face. She riffled through the pages until she came to the section she was looking for. Camille grinned and reached for another éclair.

"Last night, the Opera Garnier treated the privilege persons at its opening night to an array of exceptionally talented ladies." Genny started to read out loud. "While the gentleman did their best and indeed put forth an impeccable performance it was the many voices and characters of the female sex that stole the show. La Carlotta..."

"Would have been better of croaking like a toad." Camille interjected. Genny laughed and even I had to smile at that thought.

"I'll skip over that nonsense and get to the good part." Genny started again. "Filling the lead role of Susanna is Mlle Genevieve de Chagny who recently graced the stage as Diana. This reviewer finds Mlle de Chagny, as always a breath of fresh air. It is a joy to see a young soprano with such talent grace the stage as her singing last night brought both strength and beauty to the role she played. I hope that we will soon see Mlle de Chagny in a principle role as she is destined to mature and become a prima donna in her own right." She smiled. "That is sure to send Carlotta seething"

"Ah someone should tell her that the truth hurts." Camille pointed out.

"In a role that is often overlooked, the audience was treated to an outstanding performance by another young talent in the role of Cherubino. Mlle Christine Daae, an unknown singer made her debut last night in the role of the love struck page boy. She expressed not only the light comedy but also the serious conflict at rest within the character. I could hear and understand every word of her aria for her diction was clear and bold. Daae managed to balance the rapid pace of words and emotions with the tender melodies given to her. In the second act, Daae gave a sublimely beautiful rendition of "Voi, che sapete" that brought the house to its feat. Perhaps because the audience was simply amazed at the power of a voice coming from such a delicate creature. After reviewing opera in Paris for many years, I have never seen such a warm reception of an unknown in a secondary role. Christine Daae has proven her worth in her exceptional performance and I along with many other opera patrons look forward to seeing her progress."

I was stunned. I almost wanted to snatch the paper out of Genny's hands and read it for myself. My anger had faded to be replaced with a blissful sense of accomplishment. My debut had been a success and not just in the opinions of my friends...or Maestro.

"That's not even the best part." Camille exclaimed. She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a small envelope. "Seems you two have not just impressed the critics...but the Opera Ghost as well."

Genny's eyes grew in surprise. "Camille you didn't!"

She nodded slyly. "Straight from Gabriel's desk, when he wasn't looking of course."

I went to snatch the letter from Camille, but Genny was closer and her fingers faster. She torn at the envelope and ripped out the paper inside. I managed to grab one side and read over her shoulder.

M. Gabriel

It would please me very much to make some changes to the casting arrangements. Since Carlotta has once again proven unsuited to her role, you will have Mlle de Chagny promoted to her understudy and being rehearsing her for the role of the Countess. Also in doing so you will have Christine Daae learn the part of Susanna for her eventual promotion to the role. Never mind about La Carlotta. She will soon be ill

Your obedient servant,

O.G.

By the time I was done reading the letter, I had pulled so tightly on my side of the paper I had almost ripped it off. I didn't understand why Erik felt the need to tamper with things already in place. He had trained me for the role of Cherubino. I had done what he asked of me. I glanced up at Genny to judge her reaction. It was the opposite of mine. She looked ecstatic.

"With the Opera Ghost on our side, we can finally rid ourselves of Carlotta for good." she sighed.

"You don't think this is that serious." I asked uncertain. My thoughts had turned dark at the mention that Carlotta would 'soon be ill.'

"And why shouldn't I?" Genny snapped. She looked at me offended. "This is good news Christine. Finally someone is recognizing me for my talent and yours too."

A knock on the door interrupted us. Camille rose to open it. On the other side a stagehand stood with a long black vase bursting with white roses.

"For Mlle. Christine." he announced.

"Well they certainly aren't for me." Camille remarked snidely. I got up and went to take the vase from his hands.

"Thank you." I said softly and placed it down on the corner of the vanity. The room was still full of flowers from last night.

"Who are they from Christine?" Genny asked.

I looked between the blooms and saw a note. "I'll see. There is a note here."

I opened it.

I'm not worthy of you.

It was Erik. It was Erik's handwriting. The same scrawled penmanship that I had seen on his music sheets. The same strokes and letter that were on the note of the Opera Ghost...

Quickly, I crumbled the note in my hand. Thankfully my back was turned so Genny and Camille could not see me stuff it into a fold of my bodice.

"Who are they from?" Genny repeated her question.

"It didn't say."

"Must be a secret admirer." Camille pointed out in a sing song voice. I felt a blush creepy to my cheek.

"They must be from Raoul." Genny added with a smile. I shook my head.

"Christine. You're blushing. And I know that look." Camille peered at me with a calculating glance. "You are in love."

I blinked. I was sure my eyes were wide and my lips trembling. Camille some how stupidly mistaken my look of panic as one of love. Genny stood up.

"Tell us Christine. Are you in love?"

"No." I answered quietly, my eyes on the floor. Genny put her hands on my shoulder and shook me as if we were children.

"Tell me the truth." she whined. "Please?"

"Yes..." I whispered.

"Ah then it Raoul!" she started to bounce up and down behaving even more childish.

"No! It's not Raoul." I hissed. It was enough to frighten her to stop. It was enough to frighten me. She looked at me as if I had burned her. Her angelic face was contoured with a furrowed brow and a gapping mouth.

"But..."

"Genny...I didn't mean for that to..." I started.

"You're in love...but not with Raoul. Not with my brother." she sounded hurt. "But why?"

"I just found out from gossip that Raoul is supposedly in love with me." I said defensive. "I can only assume his actions have lead to that assumption for I have made no advances to him. Yes he's your brother and my friend...but I'm..." My words died on my tongue. I started again. "He's...he is still my good friend. And I'm not even sure about my own feelings."

"Who's is it then?" Genny snapped. I was taken aback by her tone. It was no longer giddy and light. It was viscous.

"I can't tell you." I offered, looking at her in confusion.

"I can't believe you didn't know until now. Are you a fool Christine? You even asked for my brother last night and you left before he could see you." Genny drilled. "Are you dense?"

"Genny..." I begged. "Please don't talk like that." I looked over at Camille who also seemed completely caught off guard by Genny's sudden change in behavior.

Genny backed away, her lips pulled up in a pout. At any moment I was expecting her to burst out laughing and explain it was all an act. A joke. But her face did not change as she gathered up her paper and back away to the door.

Camille glanced from me to her and raised one eyebrow. "So...who are the flowers from?" she asked uncertain.

"Probably from her lover." Genny said with a sneer and stalked out the room

I dared to lean forward in my box as Christine made her entrance onstage. I was normally more cautious. Even the aged box keeper after many years had still not discovered how I made my appearance in an otherwise empty box every night. My hand ventured forth into the light, but my face still remained in shadow as I watched the other players on stage.

Carlotta had nothing better to do but watch and be silent as Christine sang. It was an ideal situation. On opening night without any promoting Christine had held her own against the jeering fools in the crowd. I had no doubt they had been friends of Carlotta who purposefully made such a nuisance. Now she was the one who had been struck dumb and still.

Genevieve de Chagny...for almost a year I had been grooming her to be Carlotta's replacement. She was young and full of spirit, a perfect candidate to be the Paris Opera's prima donna. She believed in the fanciful tales of the Angel of Music and therefore never questioned my strange manifestation to her. She was young, bright and yes very beautiful. But she was not Christine.

I wondered in amazement how Christine could possess such a near perfect instrument without any formal training. I had molded her voice and given her the technique that the public now praised. But she had infused her own passion into the music I gave her. I had wondered if it had been my presence or my teaching that had inspired her. After last night, I knew my answer. Christine's passions came from inside. She injected her spirit into the music.

No, no one was like Christine. And last night she had sung for me. For the briefest of moment our eyes had meet each other as she revealed the glorious musical talent within her.

"Love tender secret, share it with me…" Her voice rang out as clear as a bell and her words burned in my ears. Love…love is something I should have kept a secret from Christine. I should never have confessed it and then we would not be in this situation. Had I been a stronger man I would have turn her away. I would have recognized my feelings earlier and quelled them before they came to the surface. But I could not leave her. I could not leave her simply because I could not leave the opera. It was my home and hers as well. So I stayed and gained her trust, only to break it.

My tongue curled inside my mouth as I recalled the kiss I had given her. She had been so trusting that she did not see what effect her body had on me. I did my best to keep my hands away despite the delicate task. When I saw her standing there, her strong shoulders and chest bound so tightly, I wanted to removed everything and take her then. When I touched her skin, my fingers felt like there were on fire and before I knew it my lips pressed against hers; burning.

The applause brought me to my sense and away from my recollection. Indeed I noticed patrons smiling, pointing and whispering. All of then fascinated by Christine. She was as humble as every and continued with her role without making a disgusting show of bowing like Carlotta did at the end of all her arias. My eyes journeyed from Christine on the stage to across the auditorium. To a box on the opposite side of the grand tier all most directly across from mine. There I saw him, leaning over the side like a school boy still applauding loudly.

My rival. The Vicomte de Chagny.

Christine was no fool and was aware that I followed her closely. Despite her best efforts to deter the boy, I had seen them together. I watched how boldly he behaved towards her, as if there were already engaged, already lovers. And I watched Christine rebuff him. I told myself it was all an act. Attempts to have me think she didn't care for him. Christine was clearly taken with the boy and why shouldn't she be. He was young, vivacious and handsome. Everything I was not.

And then I heard her today in the dressing room. I heard the shock in her voice as she found about the idle gossip about her and vicomte's "relationship." Again she denied it. She was embarrassed to even receive my flowers. The way she had looked at them.

No! It's not Raoul.

You're in love…but not with Raoul.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. I wanted to believe her. But I could not fathom that any woman would ever love me willingly. Certainly not Christine. Not after everything I had done to her. I had only just revealed to her my jealousy towards him. After that I wondered if she only denied him out of fear for me. Or was it something else.

I watched as the act continued without much adoration. Christine had left the stage and my eagerness to pay attention was gone. Whatever way Christine's affections swayed, I knew that if she continued to sing for me, she was mine.

And the young vicomte had made himself a powerful enemy.