Author's note: This chapter is a long one. I hope you'll enjoy it. It never ceases to amaze me that even after all the time that has passed, I'm still getting new readers. Have fun with my story and don't forget to review!

Chapter Ninety-One

September 16th 1892: Erik

I was speechless, gazing at Christine while my fingers played automatically. She was standing there like an apparition, not even wiping the tears away. I could see the trails they left on her cheeks. I considered talking to her and asking her to join us, but decided against it. So far, I seemed to be the only one who had noticed her. The children were facing away from the door, and Jacqueline was showing no signs of having seen her either. So I left it to Christine herself. If she wanted to draw attention to the fact that she was there, she could do so.

So I focused on the song again. When I glanced to the door a few moments later, she was gone. Apparently she hadn't wanted anyone to see her. I wasn't even sure whether she had noticed that I had looked at her. Her eyes hadn't given away anything. But why, why had she cried? Had it only been the sad song? Her children's singing? Or the fact that I hadn't sung with her?

"Uncle Erik," Philippe addressed me. "The song is over."

I realised that I had just continued playing after the last line, as if there were another verse coming.

"You're right," I muttered. "You've sung very well, both of you."

The children's cheeks grew rosy with my praise.

"I like singing," Antoinette stated. "Can we do that again sometime?"

"Why not?" I said, smiling. "I could teach the two of you together, every evening after dinner. But of course I have to ask your mother first."

"I'll ask her right now," the girl offered, yet I caught her by the arm before she could even turn around. I couldn't let her go to Christine, who maybe was still crying.

"No, I'll talk to her later," I told her, trying to use the same gentle, but firm voice Jacqueline used. "There are some other things I've got to discuss with her anyway. For you it's time to go to bed now." I had spoken the last sentence very loudly, so that my beloved knew we'd come into the living room soon.

Yet I hadn't thought about how persistent two children could be.

"You haven't sung anything yet," Philippe said. "You always tell me how much you love music. Why don't you sing for us?"

"Well… actually it is a little late…" I replied weakly. I wasn't entirely opposed to the idea. During the song I had noticed that I had held myself back all the time, in order not to join the children. And now they wanted me to sing. It was very tempting.

The maid seemed to sense that I was indecisive, for she told me:

"It's not that late yet. And I would like to hear you sing as well. I've heard the most fantastic stories about your voice.". She blushed slightly, obviously shocked by having dared utter that wish.

I smiled at her.

"If everyone wants me to sing, I'll do it," I muttered, hoping I didn't sound as eager as I was.

Quickly I searched for the right song in my mind. It didn't have to be too serious, yet not too exciting either, or the children wouldn't be able to sleep afterwards. At last I picked an old folk song which described the beauties of nature and the joys of having a family to come home to. I hadn't thought about it for years, but now it was in my head all of a sudden.

Since I had done the warm up exercises together with the children, I could start right away. My voice was filling the room, creating images on my mind and hopefully on the others' as well. I had almost forgotten how good it felt to sing for an audience. I could see in their faces how touched they were, how much my music affected them. It was amazing.

Yet even the most beautiful song had to end sooner or later.

"Another one," Philippe pleaded as soon as I had closed my mouth. His sister nodded, but I shook my head.

"One song is enough for today," I told them. "Now you do have to go to bed." Obediently the children left the room, complaining only very discreetly.

Jacqueline, on the other hand, was still sitting on the sofa motionlessly, a dreamy expression on her face. When I touched her shoulder gently, she jumped, as if I had woken her up from a dream.

"Oh, you're finished, Monsieur?" she muttered, standing up hastily.

"Did my singing please you?" I couldn't help asking.

She looked at me for a long moment.

"You shouldn't be the Opera Ghost," she then declared. "You should sing on stage. I've never ehard something that wonderful in my life." She squeezed my hand for a moment and left to go after the children. I followed her, smiling. It felt good to be praised.

The living room was empty as we walked through it. I assumed that Christine had gone straight upstairs after listening to her children, probably to wash her face before anyone could see the traces of tears. Maybe she had even already gone to bed, although it was still much too early to do so. I didn't doubt that she was angry at me, for whatever reason. Yet I also hoped I'd be able to talk to her later.

"What do you usually do when the children go to bed?" I asked Jacqueline as we walked up the stairs.

"Well, first they go to the bathroom, change into their nightclothes, and when they lie in bed, I read each of them a story. It all takes a little more time since Marielle has left, for I have to go to both children now. But all in all, it works very well."

"Couldn't I tell them a story tonight?" I offered.

"I'm sure they'd like that," she answered. "They love you, especially Philippe. I've rarely seen him this lively." So someone else had noticed it.

We kept talking until we reached the first bedroom, which happened to be Antoinette's. I was glad to realise that the maid was losing a little of her wariness in dealing with me. I couldn't blame her for being wary, for I had had to threaten her every now and then in the past, but for the time we were living under the same roof it was better that she treated me like a guest, perhaps even like a friend.

The bedroom was empty.

"This means she's still in the bathroom," Jacqueline explained. "I'll better go and see whether she needs help… or Philippe, of course."

"Tell them that they should both come to this room when they're finished," I called after her. "I don't want to tell the same story twice."

She nodded and walked down the corridor, while I sat down on a chair in the bedroom, waiting. It didn't take long till ideas formed themselves to a story in my head. By the time the others returned from the bathroom, it was finished.

Antoinette lay down in her bed, and Jacqueline sat down at the end of it, whereas Philippe appeared to be a little helpless, unsure where his place was. I patted my thigh encouragingly.

"You can sit on my lap," I suggested. The boy accepted my offer and crawled onto my lap, making me feel very warm and comfortable. I was just about to start when the door opened and Christine walked in.

"Am I allowed to listen as well?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied, regretting that the seat on my lap was already taken. Yet when she carried a second chair over from the window and sat down next to me, I was rather content as well.

"Once upon a time there was a dragon," I began. "It was a gigantic dragon, as big as an elephant, with huge scarlet wings and a scaly green body. He lived in a cave surrounded by woods and only left it at night, for he was afraid that the people living in the village next to the woods could see him and grow frightened. You see, he was a very peaceful dragon, eating plants and drinking from streams. He also enjoyed sitting on a clearing at night and listening to the owls hooting and the tawny owls calling. And sometimes his roar could be heard mixing with those sounds, like a hauntingly beautiful melody.

Yet one day the roars became more frequent. They were hanging over the village like thick fog. The villagers could hardly understand a word of what they were saying because it was so loud.

´The dragon must have gone insane,´ they shouted. ´We have to do something about him. If we don't stop him now, he'll demand or cattle or even our children next, like other dragons do. It'll be best to kill him.´

´No!´ someone cried. It was a very little someone, a mouse, with soft white fur and ears the colour of rose petals. ´I'll go and talk to him.´ With these words she made her way to the dragon's cave. The villagers didn't hold her back.

´The dragon will swallow her up before she has the chance to speak a word,´ they thought. ´But maybe it'll at least keep him distracted for a while.´

The mouse walked for hours and hours, and by the time she reached the cave, it was night. The moon was shining brightly. The roaring was so loud that it echoed through her head. Yet when the dragon spotted the mouse, it stopped.

´Good night, little mouse,´ he greeted her politely. ´Have you come to help me?´

´Help you?´ the mouse repeated. ´Is that why you roar all the time? You need help?´

The dragon nodded with his huge head.

´Last night I ate a rose bush,´ he explained. ´And one of the thorns is stuck between my back teeth. I can't get it out myself, for my claws are too big. But you have just the right size. All you have to do is crawl into my mouth and pull the thorn out.´

He smiled down at the mouse, and she noticed the tears of pain in his yellow eyes. But she also noticed how many sharp teeth he had.

´Do you sometimes eat mice?´ she wanted to know warily.

´No. I've never harmed another living being, and I'd never harm you.´ he promised.

So the mouse decided to help the dragon, even though she was frightened. He lowered his head, and she climbed into his big mouth. She was careful only to walk on his tongue, so that she didn't touch his teeth. The dragon had stepped out into the moonlight to help her find her way. At last she saw the thorn, stuck deep in his flesh. She seized it with both of her tiny hands and pulled it out.

The dragon was so happy that he wanted to cheer, yet at the last moment he remembered the mouse and let her leave his mouth first. Then he cheered, and tears of joy ran down his scaly face.

´You helped me,´ he called. ´I'd have never thought someone would come to help me, but you did. Now I want to do something for you. I have wonderful treasures in my cave: gold, silver, rubies and diamonds. You can have whatever you want.´

´What should a mouse like me do with treasures?´ she asked. ´What I want is something different: I want to be your friend.´

So the dragon and the mouse became friends, and there were no better friends on earth. They ate plants and drank from streams together. The dragon even dared go out at day-time when his little friend was with him. Yet what they both liked best was listening to the owls and singing with them, and they lived happily ever after."

Resurfacing from the world of my imagination I saw the effects my story had had: Antoinette was fast asleep, so was Philippe on my lap. Jacqueline was watching me in fascination. Yet the most surprising effect was that Christine held my hand. She must have seized it without me noticing. The maid took the boy out of my arms and left the room with him.

"Good night," she called in a low voice. "And thank you."

Christine and I didn't speak as we walked down the corridor. We stopped at the door to her bedroom.

"The mouse isn't afraid of the dragon. Let me show you…" she whispered, tugging at my arm lightly.

"But maybe the dragon is afraid of the mouse," I gave back. Our eyes met.