A/N: Ok, back to the introspective one-shots for now. Most of this is going to be like the first two chapters, but every now and then, I'll throw in something that looks like chapter 3... Um, I hope this doesn't sound like a repeat of Chapter 1. If it does, I'll delete it and add something with the managers instead (because we haven't gotten to them yet!). Read and Review!

Erik's POV

I play your father's violin in a special concert, only for you. I am still in agony, for you love that which you do not yet know. But...

You love me.

My Christine loves me.

You love me.

I can hardly believe it. Christine loves--me! I... a deep crescendo of blood has been racing through me all night, especially now as the power of this music possesses me. I feel like I'm alive, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps it is because I am among my brethren, the dead, and am the first to be resurrected by you, my love—Christine is alive!

Aha! I knew it. You will be my living wife. But Christine cannot love an angel, just an angel. No. You cannot marry an angel who plays you pretty music. Christine can only marry and love a man.

Christine must learn that her angel is a man, and soon.

I feel the gold ring lightly dancing in my pocket. Oh, I recall how my fingers tingle in burning ecstasy when I hold it! My body collapses in tremulous delight with crushing thoughts of love, at the thought of our wedding day again and again... I cannot get you out of my mind, Christine. Erik sings, breathes, and lives always and forever in and with Christine, as one body and not two. Erik and Christine will be one person.

The time is drawing ever nearer when you will be wearing this ring, the first step in our engagement. Thinking of it terrifies and exhilarates me. I see you now before me suddenly and vividly as the moon discards a trivial and thick veil of clouds. The moonlight nakedly beams on my Christine, revealing every sweet detail, every dulcet habit and look and attitude of Christine's, and—and—

I must have you. I play the violin even harder, breaking into a cold sweat in the snowy graveyard. I must, simply must. You are driving me completely mad with love. I can hardly contain myself. Love, love, sweet and tender love!

I—I am in tears for love of you! Oh, Christine, you cannot—and mustn't!—continue to live with an illusion! You must know and soon that Erik is a man, and then you will—you must—love me as I am! But Christine must never know what lies behind this mask, for Erik knows that as long as Christine believes him to be handsome, Christine will fall in love, hopelessly and completely and deeply in love, with me, her poor Erik.

My lip trembles and I crumble in submission to your beauty, to your existence, to your presence—completely to Christine. Oh, God, I am nothing more than a lowly dog, a little child when you, a--a true angel, are near me! My mind is weakened and conquered; my heart is nearly dead with love from this unquenchable thirst for you to be mine, finally, totally, completely, and only mine. If you do not consent to be my living wife, we—we will have to be married in death. There is no other way or option. Our marriage has been predestined by the Fates, and must occur either way, depending on which you choose.

Ah, my poor eyes are moist with tears with a longing so deep, I feel agony in your tantalizing presence! Christine... Christine... always so close, but always too far for Erik's reach!

Ah! I can't take this madness any longer! You will know your Erik soon enough—you will love him for himself! And you will know he loves you beyond life itself! Oh, see how your pitiable Erik loves you... only you make Erik feel alive, lovely Christine. Ah... your poor, lonely Erik...

Wait... who is that, behind the gravestones? Someone is intruding on us, Christine! Who has the audacity--

It's that blasted, meddling, irksome Chagny! What on earth has possessed him to follow you here? Oh, I see—it's his jealousy. Does he honestly believe he can rival me? Well, if it is a war he wishes, it is a war he shall have!

You are mine, Christine, do you hear me? Mine! You cannot love him, Christine, you—you will not! You will love me for myself, and consent to be my wife. Mine! There is no rival in your love for me, there cannot be, there will not be! There mustn't be. Especially not that horrible Chagny that plagues your mind and tempts you to hurt your angel. Do you recall, dear Christine, how you live for your angel's music? He will never let you hear it again. He will kill you for his own interest in you. You will die with him...but you will come to know that soon enough, my dear.

I have finished the Resurrection of Lazarus for you, Christine. I... I melt in your radiant light. Your eyes are beaming with the intensity of the stars, the result of my music! If only you knew how my heart burns with just as much shining love! Ah! Oh... my heart is full of cold and hot fire. Don't worry about hurting your angel anymore, for your angel will take care of the viscount for you. Once he sees my Death's head, he will no longer bother you, for a little while at least. If he had any decency, he would leave you alone now, but he will eventually be put in his place by a little discipline. Perhaps then he will grow bored of his childish infatuation and finally leave us alone.

I grow tired of playing with this child and his world of pretend; aren't you, Christine? Yes, you are; you hate displeasing your angel. What does he mean by following you, interrogating you as though you have committed a crime against him? Well, don't worry a bit, my dear, lovely Christine: that little game of detective shall end soon, and you will have Erik to love. In fact, you will meet your Erik tonight--no, tomorrow--and that, Christine, will be the day that you first love me! Chagny will soon mean less than a trifle to you.

He still has not left! He is looking for me, no doubt, since you have departed in joy, full of love for me. You didn't even notice him on your way out, did you? Ha!

Well, little Chagny, did you want to play with me? Did you wish to see how close you can get to the fire and play with it before you are burned? Well, then so be it!

Let there be war between us, you meddlesome young suitor, you puerile fool!