Thank you so very much for the kind reviews. I must admit that this story is quite a challenge! It is more difficult to make Christine the Phantom and Erik the innocent than you might imagine! At any rate, I'm enjoying this very much and I am glad you are too.

When someone is accustomed to controlling every facet of life, it becomes quite unbearable when that control is lost. Such was the case with Christine. Lingering in the wings of the chapel, always shrouded in shadow, she had expected him.

The hour he usually frequented the chapel had passed, and Christine knew that he must be taking dinner. Still she waited, the ghost drawing upon every last vestige of patience she could contrive until the silence was more than maddening. With little more than a growl of complaint, she stalked off into her secret corridors to follow his voice. Even amongst all the din, she would be able to find him. His voice was a rich, delicious tenor that stood out in it's crystalline quality. It would be easy to pick from amongst the rabble. That is, if he were speaking at all.

The evening found Michal in a rather jovial mood, and Erik had been deterred from his pious visit to the chapel by his energetic companion. Still unsure as to how he had been laden with this bane of friendship, Erik found Michal rather endearing and could not bear the thought of rejecting him. He was, after all, the only one who had made a significant effort to befriend him in the few short days since his arrival.

Thus were the circumstances as the two sat down to dinner together. Michal rather picked at his food, too busy talking to pay it much mind. Still overly thankful that he had a hot meal at all, Erik simply nodded and mumbled agreements with Michal to spur on the conversation while he feasted.

"So, how did you come to be here?" All of the nonsensical talk screeched to a halt when Michal posed the serious question.

Erik's hand paused in mid-air, and his expression fell. He had known his tale would surface eventually, but to have to share it so soon was nothing short of nauseating. Regaining his composure, he finished chewing and calmly took a drink.

"Misfortune," was his simple reply, his appetite suddenly waning.

"Yes, of course. Isn't that the case with all of us? But misfortune of what sort?" Michal, with his unabashed youthfulness and glowing eyes seemed unaware that his persistence could be rather annoying, or that it may be a topic Erik did not want to discuss at all.

Erik cleared his throat, glanced about the room, and finally picked up his fork. He could find no diversion.

"My wife was very ill. We spent two years traveling the world in search of a cure. All of our funds were exhausted, and eventually.. She passed on." The heaviness with which Erik spoke caused all the conversations immediately surrounding them to cease. A silent reverence ensued, and was only broken when Erik once more cleared his throat. On cue, the soft conversations continued and Erik allowed his moist glaze to drop again to his food. Suddenly he was not hungry at all.

"I am sorry," Michal offered, seeming quite sincere.

Erik only nodded and stood from the table.

"I am exhausted. Perhaps we can share breakfast, Michal. If you will forgive me..."

With little more explanation, the widower made a hasty retreat from the dining hall. He considered a visit to the chapel, but felt he lacked the emotion strength to endure it. His knuckles were still cracked and sore from his first visit, and Erik felt as though the fight had left him. He wanted to sleep at last.

When he stepped into his room, the gaslight was turned low. He heightened the illuminance long enough to prepare for bed, and once he was settled beneath the scratchy blankets he extinguished the flame, ensconcing himself in darkness.

Silence followed, but Erik felt as though he were not alone. As he focused on the feeling, it reminded him of how he had felt as a child. His mother would assure him that his heavenly Father was always with him, even if his earthly father could not be. She would read stories from the Bible and just before he would drift off to sleep a feeling of peace would surround him. The current sensation did not directly correlate, but it was the closest comparison he could find within his mind. This prompted his quiet prayer.

"Father," his voice was shaking, even as he began. "I suffer greatly. If you are there.. If you still listen..."

The words trailed off, his conviction lost. After another long moment of silence he spoke again, into a different vein.

"I believe perhaps you have sent an angel, to comfort me. Thank you."

After muttering an awkward 'amen', Erik rolled to his side and allowed his eyes to close. As was always the case, tormenting images flashed before his eyes and he knew that without divine intervention he would not find the peaceful sleep he had tasted in the last few nights.

"Please, God. Send your angel.. The angel of music."

As if in response, the sweet melody that he had felt within his soul filled the room. Only this time, he was certain it was audible.

"Erik..." it sang, drawing out each syllable. Erik sat up quickly in bed.

"Who's there?" he snapped into the darkness. He would not be made a fool of.

"God has sent me to comfort you. I am the angel of music."

The tone of the voice was so magnificent, and it soothed his mind in such a way that Erik put up little resistance to the outlandish thought. No mortal could possess such a voice, and so with all of the blindness that pain and suffering can cause, he accepted such heresy.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Erik."

"The Catholics.. the priests say.. What I mean to say is.."

Erik could not find the words to express his worry.

"Did you come from heaven, Angel?"

"Yes."

Again he struggled to say what he did not wish. If it were spoken aloud it would become too real. The inner struggle was written plainly on his face, and from her vantage point Christine could see him wrestle with his thoughts. She had found him indeed, in the dining hall. She had found the source of her pain, and it did not take a genius to put the pieces together. His wife was a suicide, unable to bear the pain any longer Christine suspected. Erik worried over the state of her soul.

Though her inner voice warned her against such hypocrisy, Christine spoke with authority, using her voice to weave her spell about Erik and grant him peace.

"She is there, Erik. Peacefully, in heaven. Your Emma is safe."

In the after life she may have to pay for such a lie, but the expression of relief that crossed his handsome features made it well worth the blatant untruth.

If any doubt had began to creep into his mind, it was silenced when the angel spoke again. She had seen Emma! The course of her demise had not caused her eternal damnation, and the angel had even known her name.

"Angel?"

No audible response came, but Erik could feel that she was still with him. He settled into his pillow again, and sighed a soft request.

"Will you sing for me, angel?"

And she did. The demon became an angel, and sang with the voice of such.