Christine went to the toilette to freshen up. She looked at her face in the mirror, which was by now, terribly flush. It took some cold water and deep breaths to return her pink cheeks to their normal shade. Why, she thought, did he have to be so accusing? Yes, she and Raoul were friends, mostly due to their childhood memories, but that friendship had changed over the years. They were certainly not the same people they once were when they were young and innocent. Her father's death had greatly changed her personality to one of remorse and hopelessness,. That is until she met Erik, her Angel of Music. He had give her a spark back to her life, although she still had her melancholy moments when she would slip into depression with the feeling of her loss and loneliness.

Raoul on the other hand had changed only slightly. His padded and comforted life had only changed from having very few responsibilities, to having quite a few as he made his debut in the public eye as an aristocratic man. He still retained his boyish innocence as well as his stubbornness to defy his brother Philippe in attempting to court her. Such things were just not done in modern society and differences in class were rarely breached and thought of as a splendid occurrence. Christine could see this, but apparently Raoul could not, or rather, chose not to.

Christine thought to herself as she changed from her travel dress to something more suitable for supper, but still warm enough to protect her from the harbor winds. What did she feel for Raoul, truly? Anymore, he was more of an escape to her friendly past from the harsher realities of the current time. When she was with him, she did not have to care about the dismal gossip of the corp. de ballet, nor the petty trifles of life and having to make a living on her own at such a young age. But then, there was Erik. He too was an escape, but she had to admit that he was more of an escape to the future. What future? Who knew? But when she was with him, she no longer dwelled on the sad reality of her past but looked towards a brighter future where she was the star of the Opera Populaire and her father's death did not scar her any longer.

Erik was such a mystery, she mused. It had taken her awhile to overcome the strangeness of his unusual features as well as his eccentric ways. It had taken her awhile to forgive him of his deceit in preying upon her fantasies of the Angel of Music. But now all that seemed rather inconsequential. She felt something for him that she really could not define even to herself.

She finished dressing and straightened her hair with the use of the dresser mirror. Being rather pleased with herself, she sat and waited for Erik to call upon her.

Erik had to take a few moments to compose himself after Christine had left his room. Why on earth did he seem to have no control over his emotions in her presence? He, who was in control of every aspect in his life, except for the fate appointed to him due to his face, could not seem to belay his feelings for her. They say that you can read certain people's faces like a book. He thought to himself, 'Thank God she cannot see mine."

Erik stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at himself as he undressed. He reached up and slowly removed his mask.

"You love her," he spoke to himself, "But you don't stand a chance to win her if you don't manage to get a grip on your feelings for her. You do yourself no good if you let your hatred and jealousy of that damned boy get in the way. She will only resent you for it." He gripped the sides of the mirror and let his bare face come to rest against the cool surface. A tear trickled down his cheek. "Oh, if only I had been born as he. Then she would love me."

He stood before the mirror for a long time, hating his reflection, willing it to change into something beautiful for the thousandth time that week. He longed for beauty so much, he would be willing to sacrifice all he had, to create it for himself.

With a heavy sigh, he realized how long he had been standing there wishing the mirror would somehow magically change his appearance. He slowly donned his mask, and put on a fresh shirt and jacket then went to her door and knocked softly.

Downstairs, the other few guests staying there were sitting in overstuffed chairs talking low, waiting on the supper in the great hall to be served by Marie and her servants. A few others were preparing to leave for dinner elsewhere. Erik and Christine walked down the stairs arm in arm, in silence. They both seemed to sense the uncomfortable air that was leftover from their slight argument earlier. Erik stiffened as a few people in the room glanced their way as they entered the room. Erik had his hood up over his mask already, but still felt naked under their unassuming gaze. Surprised to him, they did not pay the couple that much attention and went back to their chatting as they left the front door.

Erik hailed a cab and helped Christine inside, pausing a moment outside to inquire the driver as to a nice restaurant by the sea. Christine heard the driver's muffled response and the carriage swayed as Erik stepped inside and seated himself by her side.

They both sat and listened to the creaking of the wheels and the clopping sound of the horse's hooves. Neither of them felt right to break the silence.

Christine sat wondering if Erik was upset with her for having spoken so forcefully to him. She hadn't meant to come off so strong in defending her supposed relationship to Raoul. A stab of guilt struck her once more as she recalled the pitiful crack in his voice when he said Raoul was not worthy of her. Perhaps Erik was right. Perhaps Raoul was not worthy of her, after all, what had he ever done for her?

Erik was the first to speak, "Christine," he whispered, "I want to apologize for earlier. I had no right to say the things I did. I know that you and the boy are not promised to one another and I should not have accused you of it."

"It's alright. I was just taken aback from first hearing it from Mme. Beauchamp, and then again from you," she sighed. "I should not have raised my voice to you."

"Christine," Erik replied, his hand aching to take hers in it, "It is hard for me to express my feelings in the proper manner. You must excuse me of that. I sometimes just don't know exactly what to say."

Christine nodded for him to continue.

"I guess what I wish to know from you is," he paused to swallow, "what exactly is your relationship to the Vicomte?"

Christine lowered her eyes, "I don't know. He is my friend and perhaps in a way, always will be."

"But?" Erik replied. "But you wish for something more?" The words tore at his throat like torturous razor blades.

"I don't know," she said. That was the honest truth, and perhaps the only one she could offer right now. "He wishes it to be more, but…"

Erik steeled himself for what was to follow.

"But I know better than that. For once I seem to be the one who is thinking logically about this situation while he is the one living in fantasy. It would seem our roles have changed."

Erik felt incredibly numb. Christine seemed to be a little regretful of having to admit that to herself. "Christine, what if that wasn't the case? What if all things were equal? What if social standings meant nothing? What then?"

"I don't know. I care for him very much, but there's something missing."

"Like?" Erik croaked out, not really wanting to hear more, but dying to know the truth.

"Who knows?" Christine replied. "Would you mind if we don't talk about this anymore?"

"Of course," Erik breathed a sigh of slight relief, but still felt the twinge of jealousy at the back of his mind. "One more question, though?"

"Hmm?"

Erik took a deep breath, unconsciously grasped her warmly gloved hand, "If all things were equal, and I were," he swallowed hard, "normal…"

Christine gave him a nervous lopsided smile, "You are far too extraordinary to be 'normal', Erik."

"That's not exactly what I meant…"

"I know what you meant but I meant what I just said." She hesitantly reached up to his face and lightly touched the mask, feeling him tense even more as he fought not to back away from her hand that had once stripped away his dignity, "This," she gestured, "matters not compared to the rest of your being."

Erik closed his eyes and gripped her hand tighter, suddenly realizing that he was holding it he lessened his clutch to a softer one. "Thank you, Christine."

The cab came to a stop at their destination, and as Erik helped Christine down, he choked back a small tear of hope.