Feeling rather full, both of stomach and heart, Cecily hobbled back to her room, clutching the cane even tighter in her weariness. It had been a good day. M. Lefevre had bought all their meals, despite Fabrizio's vehement protestations, and had engaged them all in fine conversation. She had felt rather like a fine lady riding down the street in a carriage, and smiled delightedly at the memory.

She entered her room and sat down at the small desk in the corner. She scribbled hastily in a small leather-bound book that she removed from the drawer, then replaced it. "It was nearly a perfect day."

Nearly. The only thing that was missing was Erik, and she could remedy that easily enough. She slipped out of the fine dress she wore to impress M. Lefevre and into a simple work dress. Locking her door, she grabbed her lamp and pressed the button behind her bureau. Erik had showed her where it was just three days ago, and she had yet to use it. A small door opened, and Cecily began her decent, wary of her footing in the dim light.

She pressed a second button and the door swung shut behind her. She gulped down a breath, and tried to calm her heartbeat. "Come now, Cecily, you're not a little girl anymore," she whispered to herself. "Pull yourself together! Just a few more steps and you're practically there."

Her steps were silent in the immensity of the caverns, and she hurried to reach Erik's lair. Hearing the sound of the organ, she extinguished her lamp and slid slowly onto the floor of the bedroom.

Erik was concentrating on the composition in front of him, playing a piece she had often her him pound out. It was to be part of his opera, Don Juan Triumphant. She watched him as he played, scribbled, played again. He sometimes sang, and the words nearly made Cecily's heart weak. Knowing that Erik would be startled by her voice or movement, and startling Erik was always a bad idea, Cecily set her lamp down on the table. He heard and whipped around.

"Hello, Cecily."

"Erik."

"Your day went well. I see that M. Lefevre even deigned to take you out to tea with him." The distaste Erik felt for the manager was evident in his voice.

Cecily leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. The drop from the entrance had jarred her knee. "You shouldn't be too hard on him, Erik. He is a decent man, and he does his best for the opera."

Erik growled softly. "Perhaps."

She came up next to him and peered at his work. "Past the Point of No Return? This is for Don Juan?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "But it will not come! She will not come!"

"Who?" Cecily queried, suddenly worried that Erik was awaiting another woman.

"Aminta! Don Juan speaks so easily, but Aminta…" he put his head on his hand, leaving smears of red ink across his forehead. It was too reminiscent of blood, and Cecily wiped it off with the sleeve of her dress.

"Perhaps you think too much like Don Juan to write this part as well. From what you have played for me, Aminta is not a libertine like those around her. Throughout, she has thought only of joy. The one desire of her heart has been love. She is an innocent."

"If you know her so well, you try!"

He had meant it as a snub, but Cecily took her seat next to him, relieved to be off her sore leg. "Play." It was a command, and Erik grudgingly obeyed.

"You have come here," he began softly, testing the song out on another person for the first time, "in pursuit of your deepest urge…"

Cecily let herself drown in his voice. She imagined him Don Juan and herself Aminta, seeking something within herself that would help him. The deeper she traveled, the harder it became to see what she needed. She was caught up in his words, his voice. She felt the notes of the organ as the reverberated down her spine, sending chills rushing through her.

"Past the point of no return, the final threshold! What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return..." Don Juan's voice faded, and Aminta knew she had to say something. She had to respond to his obvious desire. She had to reply! You have brought me to that moment where words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence..."

A dam somewhere within her broke, sending words she did not know she possessed spilling from her lips as she confessed to the man before her. "I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided, decided..." Beside her, she felt him turn, slightly surprise. She didn't dare look at him, not yet. The thought of what might be in his eyes was too frightening. She had to finish, then face his rejection.

"Past the point of no return, no going back now! Our passion play has now, at last, begun!" Her hand ran up his arm to his shoulder. She felt each one of his muscles tense as she touched it, the trembling echoed in her own body. "Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question: how long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames, at last, consume us?" Her voice traced the music, the low note nearly disguising the now- rough sound of her voice.

The words on the page blended the two voices as one as they sang. "Past the point of no return, the final threshold! The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return..." His hands drifted toward her, brushing her face. She closed her eyes, the passion in his too much to bear. She leaned into him, the beat of his heart nearly as fast as her racing one. Both chests were rising and falling rapidly, breath a luxury that emotion seemingly pushed aside.

She lifted her face to his, and the briefest of kisses past between them. She opened her eyes and felt a heart-wrenching thing: she was Aminta.

He was not thinking of her as Cecily. She had become, in both their minds, Aminta, and he Don Juan. It was a testament to Erik's music that he could so ensnare the mind with just a few measures that reality was lost. Still, as Erik kissed her again, Cecily did not want to say a word. She reveled this moment, a moment she could pretend was real, a moment that contained every one of her dreams. She knew it would end, but would not be the one to end it.

She moved her mouth toward his ear, making sure her lips brushed against him as she whispered, "I am here."

One ragged breath brought Erik back from the depths of his mind. Before him sat not his Aminta, but Cecily. His music had taken her away to the world of his opera, too, and now he had to bring her back out of it. It was almost more than he could bear. She looked at him with such passion, such love. His heart gave one painful twist as he felt her lips on his ear. She kissed his cheek, then continued around, even placing kisses on his mask. How he wanted to pull away the wretched thing! But to wake her from this reverie with that horror would be an unforgivable sin.

He moved to pull her back, but could not resist placing one last kiss upon her lips. He would surely burn in Hell for taking such advantage of her. Softly, he pulled away, separating their faces and hands. "Cecily, you were right."

Her head jerked up. He knew once again that she was herself. She bit the inside of her lip, attempting to hide the disappointment that threatened to consume her. "About," she cleared her throat of the rasp that had claimed it, "About what?"

"I could not write that. You did beautifully." Cecily thought for a moment that the same passion that had been in his eyes when he thought she was Aminta graced his features now, but would not deceive herself.

"Aminta is the woman-child in all females. She wants nothing more than real love. She is even willing to deceive herself to get it." They were avoiding the topic that burned in both their brains, but Cecily had said what she needed to. She was not Aminta. She would not delude herself into thinking she could have such love here. Or anywhere.

"It is late, little cat. You must be tired after your long day. You should retire."

Mutely, Cecily nodded and left the room. Erik's eyes trailed after her until he heard the sliding of the panel. Quickly, he turned to his paper, trying to set down the words she had sung before they faded from memory. Before the heavenly feel of her lips faded from his. He was truly bound for Hell.