Not as long as I would have intended, but it's been such a long time I just wanted to get it out there to you guys. A million, zillion things have happened that have delayed any update so please forgive me. Also, this may be a little rusty because I've lost my beta's e-mail address! Oh no! So, Little Lotte, please e-mail me if you get the chance. :)

At any rate, please review.

M

Annabel and Michel rushed through the corridors of the opera house, finally arriving at the door to Erik's room. It was plain and nondescript, just like all of the other doors lining this hall. The servant's quarters. Michel rapped insistently upon the door, and Annabel called out to him. When neither were effective, Michel forced the door open and the two stepped within. The room was small, rather stifling, and had little to show the personality of Erik. The only thing out of place at all was a rather expensive silver tray settled atop his bedside table. As Michel rushed about checking for anything amiss, Annabel approached the tray and overturned chalice. She lifted the cup to smell the contents. It smelled like any fine wine. She was about to turn away from it, simply chalking it up as strange, when at last her gaze fell upon the note.

"A gift from the Lady. Please enjoy."

Hurt welled within her, bringing a flush to her face. Erik was entertaining another, apparently wealthy woman? While she had no right to impose upon his life or choices, secret hopes were shattered by this revelation. With shaking hands she released the slip of paper and watched it fall haphazardly toward the floor. She turned with unshed tears still brimming in her eyes and walked out without a word. Michel could do nought but follow after her, oblivious to the exchange that had taken place while he had picked over his friend's room.

"Annabel!" He called helplessly, struggling to keep up with her as she stormed away.

"What a fool I have been," she muttered to herself, seeking distance from his quarters.

Christine and Erik had both slept soundly in that awkward position, nestled too close within a simple armchair. Erik had long ago lost feeling in his right arm, which cradled Christine's back and supported her weight at the price of being pinned beneath her. For once, dreams did not torment Christine and she awoke before he did, with a start.

"Mon Dieu," she breathed softly as she realized where she was. His body was warm beneath her, and Christine could hardly recall a time when even the tips of her fingers seemed as warm as they did now. Peace had coaxed his features into a state of relaxation, and he seemed so peaceful as he slept. Christine had watched him sleep often, but this new vantage point was quite different. Not only could she see the rising of his chest with each breath, and hear it expelled betwixt parted lips, but she could feel it's warmth against the column of her throat, and the shift in his body against her.

Should she move? Grant him the distance from her that he rightfully deserved? Or would it only wake him? Perhaps she should stay until he was roused from sleep himself, granting him at least that deserved rest.

While she struggled with these questions, one thing was made clear to Christine. She could not keep him here any longer. The gentleness and compassion he had shown to her was unique in her entire lifetime. No one had ever looked upon her in such a way, and to repay his gift of kindness she would have to release him from the snare. She would send him back to the surface, to his world of daylight, and no longer taint it with her darkness.

Having decided on such, she shifted to crawl from his lap as quietly as she could. This immediately roused Erik, who mistakenly thought she was falling. His arms darted out to encircle her waist and he pulled her tightly against him. Christine released a soft "oomph" as the air was pushed from her lungs, and a groggy Erik murmured in her ear.

"Are you alright?"

Christine, the Lady who haunted the Opera House itself, blushed. Her flesh was pressed so provocatively against Erik's taut body that she had a difficulty formulating her answer. Instead she simply nodded. He released her then, and she quickly stood. Erik stretched languidly, seemingly at ease despite all of the antics of the night before.

Christine found herself doubting her decision. Could she really release him so easily? This ray of light that had been cast into her own prison, could she relinquish the hope that shone so brightly with it? Erik smiled at her, and this cemented her thoughts. That light would fade and eventually die within the darkness that shrouded her. She would have to release him. She turned from him coldly, and in a voice that reflected none of the familiarity they had shared the evening before, she stated.

"Go and dress. I will return you now. The fools above will notice you are missing soon enough."

Erik was left with a surprised expression as she disappeared from the room. How could a single person be so complex. She had wept openly in his arms, allowing him to dry her tears with his kisses and soothe him with his songs. Like a child she had allowed herself to be cradled and comforted, and now she was as aloof as ever. The chill in her aura had returned and Erik felt displaced. He was torn between racing after her and forcing the woman within to the surface again, banishing the demons which tormented her daily and taking the offered escape. He had missed his dinner with Annabel, surely she would be worried and as neurotic as Michel was he would have the entire opera house in an uproar over the pitiful lost stagehand.

Erik stood and walked toward the room that had been deemed as his, resolute. He would return to the surface at her behest, to calm those he had left above. He had little doubt that Christine would leave him to that life, however. She would return for him eventually, and he would be ready.

The tunnels were less difficult to navigate when Erik was lucid, and although he tried to remember every turn he was quickly confused and had given up on the task. He would only be permitted into Christine's world when, and if she desired it. He followed along behind her ghostly figure as they made their way upwards, eventually stopping behind what appeared to be a dead end. Christine hesitated for a long moment, and then reached to press the indentation upon the stone which would cause the panel to slide open. It did, revealing his room just as he had left it. Christine stepped aside to allow him to pass, and he did. She turned to retreat into the tunnel once more, but Erik grasped her wrist to stall her.

"Christine..." he began, unsure as to what he should say to this woman who had been so cruel and deceptive to him, and yet pulled at his heartstrings.

Christine lifted her cool gaze to his, and they seemed so empty to him. It was as though he had siphoned all of the life and joy from her with his single word. Erik released her as though burned, so taken aback by what was reflected within her eyes.

Again she turned to leave, and he finally found words to say.

"How do I find you? When I want to see you, I mean... What I should say is.. " He stumbled over his words, but did not miss the surprise that registered on the portion of her face that was not hidden beneath the mask.

Why would he ask her such a question, here, upon the brink of his freedom? Why would one beg the executioner for another audience? Christine could not understand his reasoning, and so answered unwittingly.

"The Rue Scribe."

With that she was gone, and the panel did indeed slide closed once more. The wall looked as ordinary and drab as it ever had, and for a moment Erik felt as though it were all a dream. He turned to take in his surroundings. The bottle and chalice upon the tray affirmed that it was, indeed, not a dream and as he crouched to pick up the letter that had fallen he recalled his first suspicion of who had sent the gift.

"Annabel," he breathed, grabbing a jacket and making his way out of his door quickly. The last thing he intended was to hurt a childhood friend, and perhaps the last link to his past.