Okay. You guys are going to hate me. Four chapters. I'm sorry. I swear that the next one will be the last. It's already pretty much written. I just really don't want to rush this story. But I think you'll find this chapter enjoyable, anyway.

Read and Review!!!

Flurries were beginning to drift down from the sky as Christine reluctantly left the warmth of Mamma Valerius' flat. They lightly brushed against her nose and fell into her blonde hair, and she brushed one small flake away as it landed in her eyelash. If she was going to get that note delivered, she had better do it before the snow became worse. A part of her wished to return to the safety of her guardian's bedside, and yet she trudged forward, determined not to stall any longer.

Hugging her arms against her chest for warmth, she finally found another cab and gratefully climbed inside. "Where do you wish to go, Mademoiselle?" enquired the elderly driver, his eyes trailing over her disheveled appearance.

"To the Opera Garnier," she automatically replied. She was somewhat surprised when the words left her mouth. Settling down into the velvety seat, though, Christine decided that the opera house was an ideal place to find someone who would know the de Chagny family. Even the managers were acquainted with Philippe.

She folded her gloved hands together in her lap and attempted to keep from nervously fidgeting, staring out the window at the passing groups of people. Another layer of snow was beginning to accumulate upon the ground, much to the delight of the smiling children outside. She felt a bit distant from all of the holiday merriment, caught up in her own thoughts and worries. A father and his young daughter walked by hand-in-hand, and she was briefly reminded of her own carefree youth.

What would she say to Raoul when she met with him? Would she tell him of all that had occurred within these last several months? Her friend would certainly be both worried and furious. He might even want to fetch the police, although she would quickly quash that idea. His second plan would be to take her far away, to a place where Erik could not reach her, although Christine doubted that such a place even existed. And, honestly, she didn't even know if she was capable of abandoning poor, unhappy Erik. Her heart ached with the thought of him alone in the dark and damp cellars, with his assortment of empty-eyed masks as the closest thing left to company. And once Erik found out…well…she didn't even want to imagine what he might do.

If she didn't tell Raoul the truth, though, she would be doing nothing but feeding him more lies about her recent absences. And what good would that do?

The letter seemed heavier within her pocket.

The ride to the opera house passed quickly, or perhaps it was simply her anxiety that made the minutes go by in a matter of seconds. The Paris Opera House loomed upwards against the grey sky, from the stone pillars that supported the bottom to the golden lyre clasped in Apollo's hands at the very top. Slowly, she climbed down from the carriage and began to make her way to the front doors. Hearing the sound of male voices further down the road, she looked up again. There stood Philippe de Chagny, conversing with a group of three other well-dressed men. He was often there in search of Sorelli; perhaps he had come to take her with him for the holidays. An awaiting carriage stood several meters away from him, the driver waiting up front. A manservant also stood nearby, his arms folded as he leaned against the carriage with a bored expression.

Although Raoul's brother was likely less than fond of her, she could ask one of the servants to deliver the note. Inhaling deeply, she began to walk toward them, feeling an unpleasant sensation begin to grow in the pit of her stomach. Her trembling hand gripped the piece of paper tightly. By the time she arrived at the de Chagny carriage, she could barely speak.

"Can I help you, Mademoiselle?" asked the driver with a tip of his hat. "Are you lost?"

"I…" She paused and looked down at the now crumpled paper in her hand. And she realized that she had never come there to deliver that note. "Do you have the time?"

He looked at his silver pocket watch. "It is just past one."

"Thank you, Monsieur," she murmured, her face flushing. "Have a good afternoon." With the note still in her hand, she abruptly turned around and left. The feeling of dread in her stomach began to dissipate and was replaced by one of uncertainty. Christine made her way up the steps and to the doors of the opera house. Before entering, she took the note into both hands and began tearing it into tiny pieces. Seeing no dustbin, she stuffed the shreds into the pocket of her dress, hiding all evidence that the letter had ever existed.

From the enormous entryway to the narrow halls in back, the entire building was abnormally quiet. One younger female voice called out to her as she rushed down the corridor, likely a dancer, but Christine ignored the girl and continued to her dressing room. She tightly shut and locked the door behind her. If she was alone, then she wished for silence and solitude. If there was a presence behind her mirror, then she certainly didn't want anyone else to come inside.

In those last minutes, she had decided that she wasn't ready to tell Raoul anything. She would either be spouting more lies or putting him in danger. And even if her friend was able to safely escape with her, she wasn't ready to go. She wanted her life at the opera house. And she was not ready to leave her angel.

No. She mustn't think like that any longer. There was no angel, at least not on earth. There was only Erik. She was not ready to leave Erik.

She idly stood in the dressing room for a moment, running a hand through her damp and matted hair. Her heartbeat took on a quicker rhythm as she waited. After a moment, she began to hum one of Marguerite's arias, her voice slowly growing in audibility, calling to him. She focused her eyes upon the mirror, now actively singing some of the words at a quiet volume but with deep focus, just as she had done while receiving lessons from her Angel of Music.

Feeling another's presence, Christine walked toward the glass. "Erik?" she softly asked, touching the mirror with the tips of her fingers. There was a brief period of silence.

"I expected you to have left by now." His voice was quiet. "I had thought the Siren was singing to me."

"The what?" She shook her head. "I did leave for a short while. And then I returned."

"Why?"

"Mamma Valerius was well. She was not as ill as I had imagined. And I thought that you would enjoy some company for the holidays." Christine received no response. She pressed her lips together and looked at the ground. "But if you prefer to be alone, then I will go. You must wish for time to work on your music."

"No," he hoarsely replied. "Do stay, Christine."

She glanced up and nodded. In the mirror, she could see that her mouth was still contorted with worry. Her eyes, though, held a bit more resolve. "You will have to open the mirror, Erik." The glass panel slowly spun around, revealing his formally-suited and painfully thin figure on the other side. He was not wearing his hat and cloak, which made her guess that he had rushed to the upper floors. A small smile formed on her lips as she stepped through and into the shadows. "Someday, you will have to teach me how to turn the glass around."

"And have you gallivanting through the cellars by yourself?" he scoffed as they began to walk forward. "You would not survive for an hour without Erik."

"I could find my own way down," she protested, grateful for the innocent banter. "I could go all the way to the lake."

He looked down at her, eyes glowing brightly in the dark. Then, the two yellow dots disappeared. She blinked in surprise as she realized that he had vanished. "Erik?" she softly called. Christine turned around, holding her hands out in front of her to avoid running into a wall. Tunnels were sprawled out in all directions, and she didn't even know if she could find her way back to the mirror entrance. "Erik?" She tripped over a rift in the ground but managed to steady herself.

Then, he was standing in front of her again. "Not even a minute!" he declared with a touch of humor in his voice.

"You scared me," she stated, her heart pounding quickly. Still, a soft laugh escaped her lips.

"Forgive me," he replied, affectionately brushing the tips of his fingers against her hair. "Come. We will now go together. Erik promises not to disappear." They were both silent as he led her the rest of the way down, her footsteps echoing against the cold stones. As always, Erik was completely silent in his descent. She lightly touched the upper part of his arm for support as they went down the steep steps. César was nowhere to be found because Erik had not expected her.

She noticed that there was contentment in her escort's eyes as he guided her to the boat, and he seemed less sorrowful than when he had taken her up that morning. Had she subconsciously planned this return all along? Christine wondered this as she tucked her feet beneath her skirts and held onto the tilting sides of the boat, waiting for the house by the lake to come into view.

She was extremely grateful that Erik had found a way to heat his underground home, for the temperature inside was warmer than that of the underground cellars. Tired from the journey, she sat upon the sofa in the drawing room to momentarily rest. Erik turned around and immediately knelt in front of her, eyes aglow, as he often did when she first arrived. "How long will you stay?" he asked, lightly clutching to the hem of her dress.

"Oh, Erik," she gently pled. "Please do not do that. Please stand up. Or…or sit beside me."

He obediently arose and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, leaning forward slightly with his bony hands outstretched toward her. "How long?"

"For a few days," she replied with a timid smile. "I may wish to visit my guardian around Christmas Day. But I will be back after the New Year, of course. Or perhaps I will see you during the masked ball."

"Yes," he eagerly replied. "I do plan on attending the lavish affair. You will meet me afterwards within your dressing room."

"Or perhaps I will meet you at the ball if you have decided to come." The thought somewhat intrigued her. With everyone in disguise, Erik could come out amongst the crowds. Of course, with the realistic mask, he was able to do so anyway. She realized that the thought was no longer as frightening.

Erik paused. "You will see me there, no doubt. All will be certain to see Erik on that night. But you may not wish to approach me."

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Oh?"

"Although…" Erik quickly continued. "If you truly wish to accompany me, perhaps I will alter my plans. For you. I had not planned on you doing so, you see…" He tapered off, a strange tone in his voice, as though he wasn't sure of her intentions.

"Well," she began. "Perhaps I will join you. There is plenty of time to think on it, though. We do not have to decide tonight."

"Yes," he agreed. "We must think only of now." He suddenly jumped to his feet. "I will keep you entertained for the entire time. Music, of course. You will sing for me. And I for you. And-Oh! Did you know that Erik was a magician, Christine? He has hundreds of tricks to show you. And-"

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she arose to her feet and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He ceased speaking and looked down upon it with wide eyes. "Or," she softly began. "Or we could go out some evenings. I did enjoy that."

He paused. "I did not arrange for a brougham. I did not expect you, you see." He looked down at her hand again. "But perhaps I can go-"

"Perhaps we could go for a walk together." She smiled at him.

His eyes dimmed, and he drew away from her, crossing his arms against his chest and turning around. "Do you journey here to torment me, Christine? Oh, as long as you stay, I do not mind. Kick the dog at your feet, if you wish. As long as you-"

"Erik…" She slowly approached him. "I am not trying to be cruel. I wish to do so again."

"As I explained to you, my dear, it was only pleasant with that mask. It will not be so any other way."

She took a deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes. "Then," she began, walking up directly behind him. "Then you shall wear that mask, Erik."

His bony shoulders tensed. "You claimed that it was not pleasant to you."

"Oh…" She waved her hand to the side. "I was just being silly, really. I was a bit frightened. You know how women become scared over foolish things, don't you, Erik? But I understand that it makes everything easier. And I will become used to it."

Truthfully, she was still somewhat wary of the strange mask. Now that she hadn't delivered the letter to Raoul and created a reason for hiding, though, she wasn't as afraid. Erik would go aboveground, and she would accompany him. Perhaps they would see other parts of Paris together, walk down the Champs-Élysées and see the fountains and…

And she realized that, for the first time, she was sharing in his hopes.

"Perhaps just when we go out, I could wear it." He slowly turned around and looked at her, studying her closely to see whether her words were true. "Only then."

She started to reply, but a high-pitched bell suddenly rang out into the air, startling her. Christine looked around for the source of the sound.

Erik's head abruptly turned. "A visitor," he muttered. "Have not I told him to stay away? Yes, I did. He should heed my warning, lest he wish to meet the Siren." Erik turned to look back at her, his eyes becoming softer again. "But perhaps if he sees you…"

"Someone is here?" she enquired. "That is what the sound means?"

"Yes," Erik grumbled. "Someone wishes to intrude on our company. But…" He reached out a hand toward her. "You will wait for me?"

"Of course."

"Erik will be quick," he replied, grabbing his cloak. As soon as he was gone, Christine sat down upon the sofa and took a deep breath, slowly sorting through what had transpired in those last few minutes.