Before his eyes even opened Erik could feel that something was amiss. The scent that filled his nostrils was not that of his dusty, tight quarters. Instead he smelled the wax of burning candles, ink, paper, earth, and finally food. The final component caused a rumble to resound within his stomach, and he stirred. As he did so, a throbbing in his skull greeted him. Also out of place was the chill that permeated the air. Many floors above, his tiny room always seemed so stuffy. Now, however, the air tasted crisp and cool. The hollow, piercing kind of cold that one could only find beneath the earth in caves or mines.

The events that led him to this place were difficult to grasp, and Erik finally managed to lift his heavy lids. The bed he instantly remembered, and the angelic faces that had seemed to lure him in - seducing him with only their stares. The drapery he did not recall, and through its semi-translucent shell he could barely make out what seemed to be an elaborate dwelling place.

"I remember there was mist, swirling mist upon a vast glassy lake..."

Finally finding his legs, Erik slipped from the bed. His shoes were gone, though that much didn't surprise him. As the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together a sense of dread filled him.

"There were candles all around and on that lake there was a boat. And in that boat..."

His breath nearly caught in realization, even as his hand brushed aside the dark drape that shielded his view. Immediately she came into view. Sitting at the piano bench, obviously quite taken with her work. From his vantage point Erik could only see the whole side of her face, and allowed himself a moment to stare openly. Without the affect of drugs he could see more clearly that she was not an angel at all, but simply a woman. A beautiful one, yes, but flesh and blood just as much as he.

"There was a woman..."

He stepped forward aggressively, a frown upon his features. Christine heard his shuffling and finally glanced up at him. She smiled, a disarming smile that caused Erik to pause in his pursuit. It was then that he remembered her mask. Now as she faced him he could see that it traced nearly directly down the center of her face and covered her from brow to chin. This one seemed different than the one before, as it was simple and appeared to be less rigid. After having acknowledged him, Christine turned her attention back to the music before her.

Erik continued forward until he stood aside her by the piano bench. She was wearing a simple gown, a softer grey, that made her flesh seem a bit less pale. It had an open neck and Erik could see the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath.

A real woman, he mused, chiding himself for having believed anything else before. But how had she stolen the voice of his angel? How had she made herself sound so similar? It was only then that Erik realized who this creature before him must be. The demon, the ghost that haunts the theatre.

His fingers twitched with anticipation. There, inches before him, hovered her mask. In one easy motion he could pull it away and know the truth. The truth of the rumors, and sate his own curiosity. Before he could make such a brazen move, however, she moved away from him.

Standing at the opposite end of the piano bench, his captor lifted her chin regally and regarded him. Erik met her gaze, and found himself chilled by what he found within. Strength emnated from this creature, and detachment. Erik would never marvel at her ability to live alone for so long. It was easy to see within her gaze that this woman had separated herself from humanity, and therefore from its conscience. For a moment he felt fearful. He had little doubt that if her intentions were to kill, nothing would stopher.

Seeming satisfied with his reaction to her, the masked woman pursed her lips and turned away in a swoosh of skits.

"Come, Erik." She spoke over her shoulder.

Erik felt as though a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He was awake, and the effect of the wine had long since passed. In all clarity he had just heard the voice of his angel again, coming from this woman. He followed along after her, his concerns only heightening the ache within his skull.

She led him throughout the opulent lair and into a small kitchen area. Already waiting for him on the table was a hearty breakfast. All sorts of fruits were sliced and presented, as well as several kinds of toast, jams, and even cheese to accompany it. Erik nearly betrayed himself by swooping in to eat the vast meal. Instead, however, he paused behind the chair she had indicated he sit in. Knuckles white in his grip upon the back, he demanded of her.

"How can this be?"

Again Christine would only smile at him, as she moved about in the cupboards. Before long, however, she came to him and offered him a cup in her outstretched hand. Erik stared at it wearily.

"Oh come, Erik. Are we really reduced to this? It is for your head, that is all. I know it troubles you." The voice that spoke was as sweet and convincing as he had remembered, causing his body and spirit to bristle with pleasure at simply hearing it.

"Who are you?" He spoke, barely more than a whisper. Confusion and horror was etched into his handsome features, and Christine sighed at his resistance. She had expected as much, but did not enjoy it nonetheless.

"Sit, Erik." She muttered, pitching her voice to carry a tone of command. She delighted when he obeyed, realizing her hold on him was still that strong at least. She placed the glass before him, and then chose the seat directly opposite him. Her plate was, of course, empty.

"You sound just like...her.." Erik managed feebly.

"Yes, Erik, I do." Christine replied simply, weighing her options. She had not expected his state of confusion to prevent him from making the obvious connection. She had impersonated an angel all along. He still seemed willing to accept that his angel was a separate being entirely, and she could take advantage of that. She could tell him that she was his angel made flesh, and easily explain her mask away as having been required by their God to prevent any mortal from seeing the full of an angels face. She could tell him that his angel had graced her with an angels voice, and bid her to teach Erik, to care for him.

A million ideas played through her head in the silence, but in a rare moment of compassion, Christine chose the truth.

"I am your angel, Erik."

Disbelief settled across his features, and he looked away. Christine watched him intently, her heavy gaze never seeming to leave him. Erik found it stifling, as though she were peering directly into his thoughts. For her part, however, Christine was struggling to contain herself. Since the moment she had first heard him sing she had longed to have him with her, to touch him, to feel him made real.

Though she was loathe to admit it, the part of herself that was distinctly feminine (the part she had tried to rid herself of for most of her life) longed to feel his lips against her own, his hands upon her flesh. As any other woman, she desired to have a lover. This man, as her lover.To feel his hands, his lips. Most of all, however, to feel his love. To know the joy of a companion, a mate and friend to look upon her with more than pity or hatred. To finally, after so many years, be loved.

The ghost flushed, but Erik was too distracted with his own thoughts to notice it. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and then opened her mouth to sing. She knew that he would recognize her singing voice even more so than her spoken, and his mind needed to find peace.

"I am your angel of music.."

Eriks' head snapped up quickly, eyes glossy as he stared at her. She repeated the simple mantra several times for his benefit, and Erik felt horror and betrayal twist within him. Anger finally brimmed to the surface.

"You lied to me!" he spat, standing from his seat. Christine remained impassive, seeming unimpressed with his outburst.

"Yes, Erik. Only because it was necessary." Christine replied calmly, folding her hands atop the table. She lowered her voice to a soothing whisper, hoping to ease a bit of the anguish he felt. To calm him.

Erik trembled with humiliation and rage. Oh, what a fool he had been! To believe an angel would come to him personally, to sing to him. He rolled his eyes at his own naivety and turned away from her. He could not look at her just now.

"How did you know those things?" He demanded. "About Emma."

"I listened to your prayers, in the chapel." By now Christine had stood and moved to his position, bringing the drink she had made for him as well.

"Drink, Erik. It will ease your pain. All I have ever intended is to ease your pain,"Christine murmured soothingly, in a voice that was not to be denied. Against his better judgement Erik accepted the cup and drained it of it's bitter brew quickly. He could not resist the sweet poison of her voice.

"You eavesdropped on someones prayers? Have you no fear of God?"

Christine scoffed and turned away again, putting his emptied glass back in it's place upon the table.

"I have little fear of anything, Erik." she replied naturally.

Erik bristled at her reply, the cryptic words reminding him of the danger she presented.

"I would like to go back." He stated quietly, staring out at the lake before him. He felt like a trapped animal. He knew it would be impossible to find his own way to the surface, and therefore he was dependant upon the very person who held the keys to his prison cell.

"No," Christine replied quietly, reaching for his hand as she walked past.

"First, we shall make music together."