Author's Note: I was hoping to post this last night, but it was a very challenging chapter to write as I'm sure you'll see. Hopefully I pulled off everything that I was going for without managing to disappoint. I'll try and get the next update in ASAP, but if you end up waiting, as I said in the previous AN, it won't be for more than a week.

Thanks to KyrieofAccender, Lothiel, montaquecat, Earelwen, Busanda, jeevesandwooster, mikabronxgirl, jtbwriter, Lady Winifred, TalithaJ (special thanks to you - you know why), Passed Over, Rose of Night, Spectralprincess, TouchingTrusting, mildetryth, snowflake17 and 6 mega 'thank yous' to Lady Wen for some impressive catch-up reading and reviewing.

I can't thank you guys enough for being so understanding about my absence. Your reviews were a wonderful end to a tough week, so THANK YOU, and just for mildetryth, another ten apologies for the delay :). Thank you so much for sticking with me everyone, and enjoy! Nedjmet.

Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.

Chapter 66

As she neared the stage, though she couldn't have said how, she knew he was nearby. Quite a number of the cast looked at her strangely, wondering what she was doing there cloaked, but otherwise in just a corset and the voluminous petticoats that made up half her costume. Ignoring them, she searched everywhere she could think of for her Angel.

She found him.

It was only when the body fell that she realised what he had been doing in the few seconds before. Joseph Buquet's legs twitched madly before hanging limply like the rest of him. The rope turned and she saw his face, contorted in death – and staring straight at her. In the next breath, he fell. Her eyes followed, stopping where he had landed on stage. Something within her made her look up again. Though it was only for a moment, she saw the dark figure standing above the stage. The cold triumph on his face was more terrifying than the startling white mask that frowned down at everyone else.

And then he was gone.

Her Angel was gone. And the Ghost had left . . . this in his wake. As she continued to stare up into the shadows, she became lost in them: she saw Buquet's eyes, leering over her as he'd attacked her; then staring at her in death, filled with accusation. She saw the exultation of the Ghost as he'd wrought his revenge over the insolent subordinates who dwelt in his kingdom. She saw the darkness that surrounded him, that filled him, and the more she stared up into those shadows, she felt that same darkness surrounding her. It crept in slowly, chilling her heart as it consumed her once more. She was falling . . . falling into the black depths of isolation, of loss . . . of death. All that she had felt after her father had . . . it filled her anew as it found her once more. It had found her, and in the form of a ghost, it had taken her Angel.

She was alone.

She was drowning. The air wouldn't fill her lungs, so lost was she under the waves of horror that crashed over her mind at that thought. Blindly pushing past the panicked crowds, she couldn't find a way out – until she saw the stairs. As she moved towards them, she caught snatches of a familiar voice . . . Raoul? He wanted to know if she was alright? Mindlessly, she continued to climb, hearing herself telling him that it wasn't safe, that it would find her . . . that he would take her. The shadow had taken everything else from her, what else was left besides?

Bursting through the door and out onto the roof, she drank in the air heavily, her eyes transfixed by the stars, the light shining upon her filling her with hope. Until she looked at the darkness that enveloped them. Then she succumbed to the chill once more. Distantly, although he was only mere inches away from her, she heard Raoul asking why she'd brought him there.

I didn't. You followed.

"Christine, we have to get back, they'll be-"

"I can't go back there. He'll find me . . . those eyes will find me . . ." Those eyes that were forever burned in her mind, the eyes that had stared down laying the blame on her for what had happened.

"Who? This Ghost? He's nothing more than a phantom of your mind."

"Raoul, I've been there. I've seen that world of unending night. I know that darkness. I can't go back there. He'll find me. He'll stop at nothing to take me."

She barely felt Raoul taking hold of her arms from behind, and she almost missed him gently saying her name. All she could see was the bleak darkness, and the Ghost who had sunk her beneath the black torrents once more; which is why she started as she heard an all-too familiar voice whisper her name across the night sky, catching her attention with one breath far more efficiently than a thousand of the other who was there.

Though it was only a word, though only the faintest whisper, it filled her mind and she held onto it desperately, wanting it to drown out all else as she knew it truly could. Her eyes sought the origin of that voice, longing for the comfort only its owner could provide, longing for him to shelter her from the darkness again: longing to have him tell her it was just a dream and nothing more. So tormented was she that she did not realise she had let the precious rose fall. She simply allowed herself to be folded in the embrace that was offered, though it was nothing like the one she hoped for.

Raoul held her in his arms, somewhat content that his Little Lotte was back, but otherwise horrified at the state she was in. He'd been trying to keep an eye on her since he'd received that note from 'O.G.'. The undertones it carried had sounded like the writings of a psychopath, and more to the point: one who was determined to have Christine; his beautiful Christine who had stunned them all with that incredible voice of hers.

As soon as the change in casting had been announced, he'd headed down to see her and make sure she would be alright. Whilst he had been somewhat aware of the situation concerning the 'Ghost's' latest demands, he thought it sheer lunacy to expect Christine to perform the title role with only ten minutes preparation. That had been his concern until he'd heard the screams. The moment the body had fallen to the floor, he had been snapped out of his horrified stupor and renewed his search for Christine. He had spied her running towards him, and had immediately called out to her letting her know where he was. All she had said in return was that it wasn't safe. Chasing after her, he finally understood what the matter was when she'd said that he would find her. His poor Lotte was terrified of this 'Ghost', and had sought solace in the one nearby retreat that wasn't completely within his domain. Tilting her chin up so that she was looking at him, he tried to pour hope back into her lovely eyes.

"Christine, I won't let anyone take you. Least of all some coward who hides in the shadows." Turning from him again, she wrapped her arms around herself, her voice sounding far away as her mind was still occupied with thoughts of her shadowy mentor.

"Raoul, you don't know him. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. That face haunts my dreams, but it's filled with all the sadness of the world. He frightens me, yet in the darkness, he makes my voice soar like it never has before."

"Shh. No more talk of darkness, Christine. I won't let him take you again. I can protect you." He offered, bringing her back to his touch once more in his efforts to provide the comfort she so obviously needed.

"I just want to be free. The nights have haunted me for so long . . . the darkness keeps threatening to consume me." She sounded so helpless; he tried again with more zeal.

"Then let me help you, let me bring you away from all this. Christine, do you remember those summers we spent together? I can give you that light again if you'll let me. You've been in the darkness too long, away from those who care about you; let me save you from that darkness."

Pleading with her, he was rewarded as she gazed at him with clarity for the first time that night. A small frown creased her brow, but it soon faded. Finally feeling some confidence, he bent down slowly, wanting to show her all that he meant as he pressed his lips lingeringly against hers. Instead, she turned her head slightly, and it was her cheek that received the caress. When he lifted his head, she gazed at him in wonder before throwing her arms around him tightly.

Eventually they parted and breathlessly, she said that she ought to get back. Raoul allowed her, relieved that his Little Lotte was his at last. He followed her down back into the hubbub of the theatre, silently vowing to guard her as much as he could during the difficult events that would no doubt follow tonight's disaster. His old playmate had always needed someone to guide her, and he had no intention of letting anyone else step into that breach now that she had returned to him.

He had been on his way back to her dressing room, where he had thought he'd find her having left his gift. When he heard her voice though, promptly followed by the boy's, he had immediately altered his course and followed them, astonished when he realised they were heading towards the roof. The building was ornate enough in its design that concealing himself whilst still seeing all was not difficult, a fact he was grateful for as he was once more granted the sight of Christine bathed in the night's glow. His rose of the night truly was exquisite, dressed in the old-fashioned garb of the opera that somehow looked perfect on her here.

When that young pup obstructed his view and dared to near his angel, he felt his hands reaching for his side where the length of rope had only recently been. He was stopped short as she spoke. And as her angelic voice poured forth, each word was as a knife in his heart.

She had seen.

It had been years since he had done anything like that, years since he had allowed such a rage free reign over his faculties. Having grown up being taught he was less than an animal and then being shown otherwise, he had sought to rise above his earliest lessons. And for her, he had allowed himself to slip back. For her, he had risked everything.

And she was rejecting him.

Turning away from him, his world, all that he could offer her, she was allowing that boy to draw near.

Her name escaped his lips before he realised. She heard. Myriad emotions swam across her face before she finally turned to him.

The boy called him a coward for hiding in the shadows. What would a self-absorbed fop know of his life? What would a handsome young fool know of having no other choice? Christine moved away from him at his comments. Was his rose about to defend her poor angel? No. Like the ghost that he played, he haunted her. Like the monster she had almost persuaded him to forget he really was: he frightened her.

As the boy offered her a sanctuary the naïve pup could not ever hope to provide, he looked down and saw the rose that had fallen from her hands. The rose he had given her. The rose like so many she had willingly and gladly received from him. The rose that was a symbol of all he felt for her. And she had carelessly let it slip through her fingers. Taking it delicately, he blocked out everything after she wished for freedom. He did not hear her speak solely of the darkness. When he risked a glance, he saw his rival bending down to kiss her. That boy was actually daring to taste her lips: something he had only ever dreamed of in his sweetest slumbers!

She turned away. Could it be she remained loyal to her angel?

When she embraced his rival with more fervour than she had ever bestowed on him, he knew the answer.

Watching them flee, he crushed the innocent flower. So he was a monster keeping her caged, a demon to be freed from, a ghost that haunted her with the face of a devil? He had given her everything: his music, his time, his devotion. His heart.

No.

That had never truly been offered. He had not been fool enough to risk that. But he had shown it to her. And not only had she plunged in the same knife as the rest of the world, but in revealing so much to her fool of a suitor; in turning from him, she had twisted the blade, inflicting a greater wound than any other had managed before.

As the last of the crumpled red petals fell to the ground along with the stem that had held them bound, he let fall the last of his restraints and freed the terrible cry of rage that had been swelling within him since he had heard the words "Christine was attacked."

No more!

Too long had he dwelt in the shadows. Too long had he ruled through rumour and whispers on the wind. Too long had fools trampled his wishes and quashed his ideas. Too long had his hopes been disappointed. Too long had he been failed by those he had dared to trust.

Too long had he let the Ghost keep him idle. But no more.

It was time for the Phantom of the Opera to reclaim his kingdom. To claim all that belonged to him.

And they would curse the day they did not do all that he asked of them.

Having finally managed to shake off Raoul, Christine hurried back up to the roof. Her whole encounter with him had left her dazed. Granted he had given her comfort when she needed it most, but it was not all that she had needed – there was still something missing. It was only when her hands felt empty that she realised she must have dropped her rose whilst she was up there.

Raoul's words had been sweet, but far too naïve. Did he really think he could protect her? That she needed protecting from her Angel? The idea was ridiculous. He didn't even realise what she had been talking about for goodness' sake! Not that she had it within her right now to make him understand.

He cared about her. So the gossip had been on the right lines, even if they had made it sound more sordid. She couldn't believe it, though based on all that had been said on the matter by the student body and her Angel; she really shouldn't have been surprised. But she never could tell about things like that. Her Raoul had returned: her childhood sweetheart, the boy she had dreamed of marrying. But he was a boy, and her childhood dreams belonged there with the little girl who used to wear pigtails and chase after the Korrigans when they danced at the rising of the moon.

When he had tried to kiss her, she had turned away, knowing what he wanted, knowing that she didn't. Papa had always told her that her first kiss should be better than even the most wonderful music, that there was only one who could bestow that upon her. She would then laugh and try to steal a kiss from him. Raoul had tried to bestow it, but something inside of her knew it was not right. His words had reminded her too much of the first song she had sung with her Angel. And the magic of those brief but glorious moments was sorely lacking in his gentle caress. When she fell into his arms, it had been through the overwhelming loss she felt: loss of her childhood innocence, loss of her father, loss of her peace of mind – but most of all: loss of her Angel.

He had not been there to comfort her when she needed him. It had not been his arms that had kept her shielded from all the horrors of the world. Instead it had been a pair of arms that merely offered a placebo in comparison.

She was wrong.

When she saw the small splashes of crimson on the cold roof, she knew with a horror that her Angel had been there, that he had seen and heard. She hadn't imagined his voice on the wind. And if Raoul had misunderstood her, then her Angel certainly would have, possessing far more self-doubts than anyone would believe the Ghost capable of.

The Ghost.

"I only know my Angel."

"Christine, they are one and the same."

It truly was all her fault. She had run from the Ghost when he had tried to offer her the greatest surety of protection he could. She had run from the Ghost, and in doing so had truly lost her Angel. As she gathered up the now ruined rose petals and stem, her fingers gently caressed each one as it filled her hand before the touches were replaced by her tears. Once she had a complete hold of the flower once more, she let the full pang of her loss consume her. As the floodgates of her tears opened for the second time that day; like the petals, she fell crumpled onto the floor, silently begging for her Angel to be restored to her.

Knowing it was hopeless.

AN: And I bet you weren't expecting that last section! Apologies to anyone who likes 'All I Ask Of You' and was expecting me to use it in accordance with the other POTO music that's been found in here thus far. Whilst I do acknowledge that it is a lovely song, it makes our favourite phantom cry every time it's sung, and so it is therefore evil. That's my reasoning, and I don't think it would have worked here.

I haven't specifically asked for a very long time, so I hope you'll forgive me, but PLEASE let me know what you think! That really was hard, and I'm dying to know if I pulled it off or not. Thanks again. Nedjmet.