Thanks for the review, Mouse. This chapter is just for you :)

Two days had passed and Erik found that the calm still resonated within his soul. Sleep came easily to him, as it had not in all the months before. Just when the familiar pain threatened to surface and disturb his rest, the melody returned again. So soft and faint were the strains that he could not decide if he heard at all with his ears, or entirely with his heart. Such peace was granted by the soothing tones, however, that just as he surrendered to slumber, Erik wondered whether God had answered his prayers with the presence of an angel.

In the hustle of the daylight hours he had no time to ponder such things. To all of the performers it may have seemed like a quiet time in the opera house. An entire month was left before rehearsals would begin on the new opera, and all of those with the artistic talents were given much leniency in their schedules. The dancers practiced twice a day, and the chorus did the same. The primary singers attended vocal lessons at their own discretion, and all of the other time was filled with revelry and mischief. In the two days since his arrival, Erik had overheard countless tales of the ghost. Though they all disagreed on different aspects of it's personality, they did arrive at a consensus upon most of the important facts. It was a woman, thin as a wraith and as pale as such. She would be beautiful, the gossiping girls whispered, were it not for the deformity that ravaged half of her skull. When all human wisdom was exhausted, they simply decided she was a demon.

Joseph Buquet, a rather ruddy stage-hand, was currently taunting the younger ballerinas with such sordid tales. They clustered together in fear and squealed in terror and delight at his words.

"Within her command she holds all of the legions of hell," he hissed, in a much too dramatic voice. Erik could only roll his eyes, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He tossed his gloves onto the edge of the stage and leaned against it, listening to the rest of Joseph's words.

"Fiercely protective of the opera, she is. You should watch each mis-step you have, for it may be your last!" He made a grotesque face, and lunged toward the children as he spoke. Having tolerated all their morbid curiosity could withstand, the pre-teens stood together and scrambled off of the stage in a squeal of horror. The stage hand simply laughed and rubbed his hands together as though he had accomplished some great feat. He turned, surprised to find Erik staring at him with obvious disdain.

The older man sneered, and walked on. Erik shook his head in disbelief. This place was full of superstition and tales, and he found it all rather silly. Before he could continue his work, he was interrupted by a familiar chipper voice.

"Look busy, you do…"

"Yes," he replied simply, donning his work gloves again.

"He's a regular pain, that Joseph. I'd avoid him if I were you. He causes trouble, carouses with the women.. not the sort a gentleman would associate with."

Erik merely nodded, his attention once more focused upon the job at hand. He was dismantling a rather large elephant from the former production of Hannibal.

"At any rate, he shouldn't scare the children so." Michal had found a perch upon the very edge of the stage, his legs dangling over. He allowed his heels to tap at it in an annoying rhythm.

"What is all this foolishness about a ghost?" Erik inquired, continuing his work.

Michal lifted his voice over the noise that Erik was making against the prop.

"It's true, you know.. she's…could you stop for just a moment? It's not something I care to yell about."

Erik shot him a sour face, and then found his way over to his new friend.

"Yes, go on."

In a tone that was comically hushed, Michal continued.

"Mother knows her. The ghost. She will never confess how, but she runs errands for her and keeps her box empty." With a nod of his head, Michal indicated one of the private boxes.

"Why would a ghost need a box?" Erik murmured in obvious disbelief.

"Why does a ghost need twenty thousand francs each month?" Michal stated, laughter in his eyes. "If you were a ghost, you could have anything you wanted. And wouldn't you?"

Erik rubbed at his temples. This entire story was rather ridiculous, and when it was coated with the exhuberance Michal seemed to carry with him at all times, it was even more so.

"Foolish," Erik muttered at last. "Who gives her twenty thousand francs?"

"The managers, of course! Ghost, demon, whatever she is.. she has certain powers that terrify the managers. If they pay her salary, things flow smoothly within these walls. Some say she protects us. A guardian, of sorts. I believe she's a demon, and that if she's placated.. she allows no others to haunt us."

Erik laughed aloud at the absurdity of his friend. The mirth drained from Michal's face.

"Foolish as it may seem, you should be careful. A lot of people have accidents, and I would hate for you to befall that fate."

Erik did not have time to question his strange little friend as to his meaning before Michal rushed off, chasing the skirts of some pretty brunette.

The entire set of Hannibal was nearly dismantled, and soon the lush tropical jungles and scenes from Lakmé would emerge. She was not interested in that, now. Her attention was captured by the man standing merely feet below her. Sweat lined his brow and she could see the strength of his muscles as they flexed beneath his shirt. He was strikingly handsome, but she could see the haunted expression in his gaze.

Separated and rejected from all human interaction, Christine had never longed so much to touch another person. It did not equate to lust, exactly. Only a strange desire to know what the flesh of another person would feel like beneath her cool fingertips. When he wept, in the chapel, and his anguish overcame him – she desired nothing more than to draw his head into her chest and sing his worries away. Betraying an oath she had sworn to herself years prior, she had did the latter.

Allowing her voice to echo off of the tiny chapel walls and seem to surround him, she had offered a soft, soothing melody to tame the beast within. His pain was so fresh, so real – it easily transferred into her own breast. She could feel the aching within his soul, and found that it mirrored her own. Having committed treason against herself, Christine found herself falling down a slippery slope. She vowed in her self-directed fury to speak no more to this man. The darkness that surrounded her would consume him, and she would not subject another person to that horror.

At night, however, as he tossed and turned and struggled again for peace – she found that she could not deny him that. With the use of her voice, she could chase away all of his demons. Christine could not help but smirk at that thought, even as she idly watched this unusual man hard at work. "Demon indeed…" she murmured to herself.

The legends about her spread rapidly throughout the walls of the opera house, and she was not surprised that he had already heard these tales. A sense of power coursed through her as she realized that she could control his emotions. She had learned very long ago that she could pitch her voice in different ways to evoke the desired reaction, to accomplish her goals. It worked easily enough even on Madame Giry, who had known her since she was a child. Though the stern expression seemed to express that she understood she was being coerced, Anne obeyed easily enough. It was not simply that, in this case. She could bring pleasure to his haunted mind. Calmness, peace. A creature of darkness and pain could instill a beauty, a peace. It felt powerful, appealing.

Christine turned away from the sight before her and stalked silently toward the secret passageway that would permit her entrance into her own labyrinth.

"Two hours," she mused. Two hours, and then dinner would begin and he would return to the chapel. This time, perhaps, the angel he had prayed for would meet him there.