Hello, again. This next one-shot is a bit longer than my previous one, and it does fit in a specific place in the book. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out where it goes.

Anyway, like always, this is from Erik's point of view, so there is a little bit of Raoul bashing. Now, I happen to love Raoul, and I believe he is a very respectable character. In other words, he is not a fop.

R&R, please! -KTBG

Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, or any of the other characters from The Phantom of the Opera.

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The Music of the Night:

Little Lotte

I could feel the drips of angels' tears while she sang. It was unlike anything of this world, her voice. A burst of vibrant colors in the cold grayness of my cellars.

Christine DaaƩ was the woman millions dream of. Her ivory complexion matched the shade of her Swedish hair perfectly. The sweetness of her smiling face overflowed in her heart, translating into her actions. Never had I met someone so kind and so gentle. The way she talked and moved lifted my spirits to heights I'd never imagined.

As the music flowed from her lips, her bright, blue eyes sparkled. This voice, this intoxicating chime of a voice, sang for me. Christine DaaƩ, my Angel of Music, sang only for me. A monster such as myself did nothing to deserve that gift.

But, suddenly, the angel's feet began to shift, and her chest heaved for air. Christine collapsed, her body giving in from all of the excitement. "Christine, my dear!" I shouted, though she could not hear me. After wrapping my knuckles against the walls in the column of Box Five, I fell into a passage way beneath the seats.

Crawling along the floor, I rushed to the underground hallways which lead me to the girl's mirror. My hurrying feet would not move fast enough, but I soon found myself at the two-way mirror. Looking at the scene on the other side, I felt something inside of me crack, oh, just a little bit, but just enough to send a surge of pain throughout my body.

Surrounded by a crowd of on-lookers, my Angel of Music was cradled in the arms of the Vicomte de Chagny. Her normally tinted cheeks were bone pale, and her limp fingers were intertwined and laid on her stomach. This did not disturb Monsieur Vicomte, though. His eyes were fixed upon her closed lids, and his lips curled into a dainty smile. I knew that smile. That was the same smile Christine possessed when she talked about the man. The smile that confessed more to me than anything the girl would ever say.

I'm very familiar with pain. Pain was my only companion for a long while, before Christine entered my life. But...when I witnessed this quick moment of silence, two unfamiliar pains swept through me. The first was mourning. I mourned the loss of my precious Christine to another. This pain lingered for a while, but was soon replaced by another type of misery. It was called jealousy. I felt my pulse racing in my ears, and my chest throbbed with a stupid longing.

The next emotion was a feeling I'd experienced all of my pitiful life. It was rage. Pure hatred and rage. A blazing fire burned around my hands as the leathery skin was stretched over my clenched joints. Cursing the vicomte and his wretched family, I hissed profanities in all of the languages I knew.

At that moment, Christine's lashes began to flutter, and the color returned to her face. This brought my attention to the fact that there were still others in the room, and a doctor was standing over the two. Chagny muttered something that I could not understand, but, once he was finished talking, Christine began to laugh. What a wonderful laugh she had! Church bells ringing on Sunday morning sounded absurd compared to her delightful giggles. I sighed, a spark of warmth beginning to grow back inside of me.

The vicomte seemed embarrassed and confused, for his brows were knitted together, and his little nose was scrunched up. Trying to piece together what was happening, I realized that Christine was acting as if she'd never met the man! After days of discussion about the young boy of her childhood, Christine was behaving in such a strange way.

Perhaps she had a reason to.

This beautiful creature had seen what I was capable of, and she knew of my strict rules. If she married, I'd leave her. If she had associated with her old flame, she knew what that would do to me and what I might do to the vicomte.

I felt a tear drip from my chin. This woman was protecting Chagny. She was protecting me. I realized then that God had really sent down an Angel of Music. That God had created this fragile girl so that I might live and love like everybody else.

- - -

"He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar."