Readers:

I have just finished writing this chapter, and I dearly hope it is up to your standards. I find it amazing that humans can encompass so much emotion, and that later we can confess it to someone else. I found the information for this chapter in a note that was left on my pillow, signed O.G. as always. It snowed last night, so I cannot be sure, but I believe the paper was stained with tears. I leave you with the next part of this tale.

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It was late. The light in the lair had not altered except for the extinguished candles, but Erik knew. He also knew, despite her stillness, that she was awake and had been since she lay down. Finally, unable to stand it, Erik rolled to face her. "Cecily?"

She moved as if in sleep, and Erik sighed in exasperation. "Cecily, I know you're awake. What is it?"

He watched her form move in the darkness. She turned toward him, her face tired and empty. "Nothing Erik. Go back to sleep."

At that moment, he wanted to touch her, to hold her until whatever pain was holding her to consciousness slipped away. He wanted to wrap her arms around her and whisper comforting nothings until the darkness surrounded both of them with its peace. Instead, he rose and went to stand next to her. "I told you, little cat, I do not often sleep. You, however, need your rest."

"Oh, Erik! Rest will not come, no matter how I woo it!" She was exhausted, he knew.

He looked at her weary body and had an idea. "And what of a lullaby?"

She looked at him quizzically. "What of it?"

"Would you like me to play for you?"

Her eyes lit up. "Would you? Oh, Erik, please!"

He smiled gently. "I will go then…"

She reached out and grabbed his hand. Stunned, Erik looked down to where her smaller, feminine hand was clutching his large, pale, skeletal one. Would this siren never stop singing? "Erik, can I watch?"

"What?" His attention was nearly entirely focused on that little bit of contact between them. He wondered if she could feel his skin burning beneath her touch.

"I mean, would it be all right if I came and sat with you? I've never seen someone play the organ before."

His eloquence deserted him. She wanted to sit with him? On the organ bench? She would be so close… "Cecily…"

She looked up at him, her eyes expectant. "Yes?"

It was those eyes that broke him down. Those pleading, wonderfully bright eyes. "I don't see why not."

She smiled broadly, with only a hint of the fatigue that had played about her eyes a moment before. She put her feet to the floor, shivering with the cold air that surrounded her. Erik reached out his hand to help her up before he realized what he was doing, and she accepted it.

She stood slowly, her side tight from the long night of lying awake. She stood to her full height, but dizziness overcame her. She wobbled a little, convinced she was finding her balance.

He watched her as she stood, concern written in his face. She had stood too quickly. Before he could think anything more of it, he felt her body come into sudden contact with his. She had lost her balance and fallen into him. He braced her up, waiting for her to push away.

She didn't. For a long moment, she sank into Erik's supporting arms, allowing his warmth to seep into her. She didn't want to move ever again. She could already feel the nightmares that had been lying in wait retreating at the mere thought of contending with this man. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, seeking comfort where she had never found any before, and was quite sure she never would: in the arms of a man.

Erik stood stock still as she pulled closer to him. Her hands were on his chest, and her head was pressed into his shoulder. He held her awkwardly, as one might a dandelion when it was white with seed. Everything within him wanted this moment to never end. The feel of her hands, the warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin… She was driving him mad!

He pushed her away, terror rising in him. She was a siren, no, Circe! She would have him as an animal if he weren't careful. Still, he could not go back on his word to play for her.

She felt herself being repelled away from him, the back of her knees hitting the side of the bed. She knew that her face was open to the confusion she felt, and she didn't care. He hadn't seemed averse to holding her only a moment before! Now he was looking at her through a carefully constructed mask of duty. What sort of creature was he that thought he could treat her as carelessly as a child's doll! She took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, willing the tears from her eyes. Well, two could play at that game.

"Come, I will play for you."

She wanted to resist, to laugh at him or be cruel, but she could feel the things that filled her dreams with terror approaching. He turned and walked out of the room. He did not offer her a hand, she noticed. She followed him silently through the lair, each step chilling her. He sat on the organ bench, leaving enough room for her to sit without them having any contact. She sat grudgingly and watched as Erik's long, lithe fingers pressed gently on the keys.

A pipe organ is hardly an instrument associated with a lullaby, but Cecily felt as though Erik was receiving a favor from a dear friend in its gentleness. She watched as the music emerged from the long brass pipes above her, each movement of Erik's hands creating a different combination of notes. He started simply, but gradually the song grew more complicated. He had lost himself in his music, and Cecily felt herself following close behind.

She closed her eyes, allowing the chords he played to invade her very soul. The music painted pictures before her, pictures of the south of France, the countryside. Of endless vineyards filled with ripened grapes. Of children dancing with play in front of their home. Of a couple in love, watching the children with a vaguely protective eye. Of a lover's arms wrapped around her as they sat on the grass. Of his lips on hers. Of her hands brushing over his face, her fingers disregarding as a fact of life the mask that lay below them…

Her eyes burst open, her breathing not at all even. A mask on the face of her lover? What was coming over her? It must be something in the music that made her think like this! Surely it wasn't her own mind. She shook her head, praying he didn't hear the rapid thumping of her heart. She had nothing to worry about; he was deep in the thrall of his music.

She sighed. He was trying to help her sleep; the least she could do was aid him in that effort. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned against his shoulder, doing her best to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

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Seven stories above, seven-year-old Christine Daae was crying herself to sleep once more. She wanted more than anything for her father to come, but short of that, Christine would settle for the angel that had so recently visited her. She remembered the sound of his soft voice. He had music like her father.

She was beginning to give up hope when she heard it. The music seemed to be coming from up around her bed. Her eyes grew wide and she looked tentatively beneath. There was nothing. She smiled, thinking that her angel must have sent it to comfort her. She fell into a deep sleep, remembering her father and his violin.

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Cecily's sleep was not dreamless, although what the dreams had been about she couldn't recall the next day. For the moment, the real world could not touch her. She moved anxiously in her sleep, her hands defending her from some imagined adversary.

Erik was roused from his reverie by the feel of her hand on his face. Without warning, she clawed out at him, flinging the mask from his face. He stood shoving her to the ground beside the bench. He pressed his hand to his deformed skin, screaming in rage.

"Damn you! You are a siren! You lure me in, then rip it away! You are a little prying Pandora! Did you want to satisfy your damned curiosity about my face? Look, then, you little viper!" Reaching down, he grabbed her chin harshly, causing wretched memories of the last time someone had done that to come rushing to her mind. He forced her face toward his now uncovered face. She had her eyes squeezed shut. "Look!"

His voice was bellowing, and Cecily was trying her hardest not to obey him, but his grip was becoming increasingly strong. "Look at me, or are you too afraid of this monstrous thing to open your eyes? Damn you to hell! I'll break your neck you little gypsy! Look at me!"

His hand slipped lower, his hand closing off her wind pipe. That broke her resolve. She opened her eyes and stared open-mouthed at him. His face was warped, to be sure, but that was not what horrified her. It was his eyes. Those eyes that she had adored were now filled with a fearful insanity. They were hell-bent on seeing her punished for whatever it was she had done.

She had woken up when he stood and began to rage against her. His mask had come off, and she wished she knew how. Apparently she had done it.

His hand tightened again when she met his maniacal gaze. "I should strangle you right now, you whore of a gypsy!" His voice was no longer booming, but low and threatening, and Cecily wanted to disappear.

She felt her strength waning as the last of her oxygen was used. "Erik!" she managed to mutter.

It was that single word that froze him in place. His hands pulled away and the madness left his eyes.

She was crying silently, the marks on her neck swollen and angry. Oh, his nightmare was living! He tried to back up, but he collapsed onto the organ bench. Her eyes met his, and a sensation that he had never before known began to creep through him. He fought it with all his strength. It was guilt. It seemed to him as if she was suffocating him with this new feeling, and he would not give in. His eyes met hers again, and he felt a thick, leaden knot settle in the base of his stomach. He writhed in anguish, unable to break away from her gaze. She stood slowly, her eyes cautious and fearful, tears spilling forth as she fought for every new breath.

She stared at him, her pain emanating from somewhere deep inside her. What had just happened? She saw his hand clutch the left side of his face again, and realized he was still without his mask. She grasped it and stood. How strange that this little scrap of leather could hold so much power over this great man. Damn him for letting it control him! She could still feel his hands around her neck, and she had the sudden urge to throw it into the lake.

She slammed it down on the bench beside him. "You fiend! It was not your face that frightened me!" Cecily turned and ran. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, ready to defend herself against him if she had to. Then she collapsed into a corner of the bedroom, waiting for him to continue his attack. He never did. She huddled there, sobs wracking her body until morning.