The mirror slid open. Christine stood there, looking every inch an angel with her flowing white gown. Her hand was outstretched and there was a look of awe on her beautiful, innocent face. Her jewel green eyes were wide and trusting as I grasped her wrist. She gasped at my touch. That foolish young man, the Vicomte, was shouting outside the door and rattling the doorknob, but I ignored him. Christine had come to me, which was all that mattered.

She stared up at me, trying to see my face, but I turned from her. Just as the mirror slid shut behind her there was a crash and through the two-way mirror I saw the Vicomte burst into the room, having apparently used his shoulder to knock the door in. His hair was mussed and he looked positively panicked as he looked around the room, his suit coat hanging off one shoulder.

"Christine! Angel!" he shouted, looking wildly around, not understanding how the room could be empty when he had heard voices coming from within just moments before. I gave a triumphant grin, which was hidden from Christine by the shadows that now engulfed us.

With only the light from one small lantern to guide us, I led her by the hand down level after level to the underground lake that lay beneath the Opera House. It was silent, the only noise was the sound of our footsteps echoing on stone. I could hear her breath coming in quick little gasps as she followed me. She did not question me, did not ask why it was that her Angel was dragging her down into the murky depths beneath the Opera. Trustingly, she allowed me to lead her, like a lost child.

When we turned the corner the underground lake came into view. A slight mist was rising off the water, and the cavernous room smelled of must and mildew. The air was cold and damp and Christine shivered slightly. Several torches burned in sconces on the wall and the flickering light danced on the murky water and illuminated a small boat that was tethered to an outcropping that served as a dock. I led her through the mist to the dock and hung the lantern on the bow of the boat.

"Come, my Angel," I said softly. Christine glanced behind her and looked at me. The light glanced off of my mask and her green eyes widened, though whether in fascination or fear, I could not tell.

I helped her into the boat, which bobbed slightly. She sat down at the front of the boat, staring into the mist. I stepped into the boat behind her and pushed off from the dock. I used a long, wooden pole to guide the boat across the lake.

"Your performance was superb, Christine," I said softly as I rowed.

There was silence, only the lap of water against the boat. "Thank you, Angel. I could not have done it without you."

"You seek my guidance, do you not?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then you must obey my commands," I said firmly.

Silence again, then, "Yes, master."

"You do not have time for games and foolishness, not if you wish to rise to your full potential," I said. I felt vaguely like a father chastising a wayward child, but I had to get my point across. The sooner Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagney was out of the picture, the better.

"I understand, master. You are my guide, my guardian. I will not disappoint you," she said meekly, bowing her head.

I could practically feel my power over her. It was a heady feeling, knowing the control I had.

I guided the boat to another dock on the far side of the lake. Quickly I stepped out of the boat and tied it to a large stone post. I held out my hand to Christine and she took my hand trustingly. The look she gave me was dreamy, almost trancelike. "I hear your voice in my dreams," she said. "That voice, that angelic voice, calls to me, calls my name. Sometimes I feel like you are part of me, inside my mind."

My heart pounded as she looked up at me. She seemed bewildered as she raised a hand to my face, her hand brushing over the cool silk of my mask. Our eyes met, her emerald eyes searching, prying. "What are you hiding?" she whispered. "Why do you hide from me?"

I jerked back, alarmed. I had almost let her remove my mask! At once anger and confusion rushed through me. Her eyes were still searching mine, those infernal, bewitching eyes! I suddenly felt I knew how Adam had felt when confronted with Eve and her apple, as if to resist her would be my death.

But I had not brought her here to terrify her in the first ten minutes. I willed myself to calm down and smiled slightly.

"Come, child," I said, ignoring her questioning gaze. "You must get some rest. You have had an exhausting day. Tomorrow, tomorrow we shall have lessons."

Disappointment was written across her face and I could practically see her desire to question me battle with her desire to obey. She had a strong will, I could tell that from the beginning, even through her sadness. It was well hidden, but I knew it was there. Obedience won out and she nodded. "Yes, master."

I led her through the darkness and under and archway which led my chambers. Christine gasped as we entered.

Though it was lit throughout by gas candelabras, some of them towering six feet high, not all of them were lit and the room was bathed in shadows. A massive pipe organ stood on a dais along one wall. The furnishings were sparse, but a number of trinkets were placed about, mementos of my travels, my days before the Paris Opera House. Christine looked around in wonder, but said nothing. I wondered if she noticed the bars of the gate that slid down to block the archway, the only exit from the chamber. If she did, she made no mention of it. She still seemed dazed.

"Come," I said, leading her through an arched doorway across the room from the organ.

Again she gasped when she entered the room. A large four poster bed sat atop a dais, draped in gauzy white curtains. There was a mirrored dressing table and a large, ornately carved wardrobe. On a small table next to the bed sat a gas lamp and a music box with a fur covered monkey in a Persian vest holding cymbals. Christine went straight to the music box, running her fingers lightly over the fur.

"This room, it is magnificent!" she said, her face shining with excitement.

"It is yours," I said simply. "You will find clothes in the wardrobe. I will leave you to rest."

With that, I turned from her, sweeping out the door and shutting it behind me.

My heart was pounding as I strode across the room to the organ. I removed my hat and cloak, tossing them onto the large, throne like chair that stood in the centre of the room. I sat at the organ and took a deep breath. I buried my face in my hands, trying to block out the memory of her face, her beautiful, angelic face. I felt myself losing the control that I had worked so many years to achieve. I had started this charade of becoming Christine's Angel of Music simply to become her teacher, her guide, to help her develop that amazing voice. I had, at first, come to feel towards her as a father, but the longer I had worked with her I had felt myself becoming more and more attracted to her, though I fought hard against those feelings, knowing them to be futile.

I began playing, if only to calm my nerves. It was a song I had written not long after I had started to realize my feelings for Christine. It was called The Music of the Night. It echoed my feelings, my affinity with the night.

I began singing softly…

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently your senses, abandon their defenses

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Turn your face away from the garish light of day,

Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light

And listen to the Music of the Night," Iclosed my eyes and my voice swelled

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams!

Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before!

Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar

And you'll live as you've never lived before…." I opened my eyes and started. Christine was standing before me staring at me, entranced.

"Softly, deftly, music shall surround you

Feel it, hear it closing in around you

"Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness which you know you cannot fight,

The darkness of the music of the night."

I stepped away from the organ and continued singing; watching Christine as she listened to the words of the song, felt the music course through her. She was swaying slightly, her eyes never leaving my face, her mouth slightly open. I walked towards her.

"Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world,

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before,

Let your soul take you were you long to be

Only then, can you belong to me…" I was inches away from her and my voice, my song, was weaving a hypnotic web around her. Our eyes met and I saw a flicker of desire in the depths of her emerald eyes.

I lifted my hand to her face, not quite touching her.

"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication,

Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night…."

My hand touched her cheek and I gently caressed her soft skin. She leaned towards me and my heart raced. A voice in the back of my head was screaming for me to get away, but I was frozen.

"Angel," she whispered, and then she fainted, collapsing in a heap at my feet.

I leapt back, the spell that had drawn us together vanished and suddenly I was myself again, a hideous monster in a cold, dark cavern with an innocent angel that I had essentially kidnapped. She had come to trust me believing me to be the Angel of Music, her teacher, her guide, and now I had brought her here, to my world. She thought I was some kind of heavenly being, but I was just a man. Guilt, an emotion I was highly unfamiliar with, coursed through me as I gazed down at her still, sleeping form. The poor child had to be exhausted. I reached down and gingerly took her into my arms. She stirred slightly, but did not wake. I froze as she shifted, pressing her face against my chest with a little sigh and I pulled her closer to me, my heart still hammering in my chest. I took her into the bedroom that I had decorated for her and gently set her down in the middle of the bed. I pulled the blankets over her and gently stroked her cheek once more. Her skin was soft and warm, her cheeks flushed, the only spot of color in her pale face. I traced the line of her brow and down the fine line of her cheekbone.

A swirl of emotion rushed through me. Longing, desire, guilt and an overwhelming rush of helplessness. What kind of chance did a monster like me have with an innocent angel such as Christine Daae?