I awoke slowly, uncertain at first as to where I was. My head was pounding. I looked around, a sense of panic building inside of me, until everything started coming back to me.

I remembered mist, swirling mist, and a vast, glassy lake. There was a boat, and of course, there was the man. The Angel of Music. The Phantom. The Opera Ghost.

My thoughts were swirling. I remembered going through the mirror. His cold, gentle touch as he guided me to the underground lake. I remembered him sending me to bed, and that I was exhausted, but the sound of his voice from the other room drew me to him. Vaguely I remembered going to him as he sang. That beautiful, hypnotic voice! It felt as though I were dreaming, though I knew I was wide awake, as he walked towards me.

I shivered as I recalled the desire that had coursed through me as he sang of the night. I remembered his voice, his touch, and then everything had gone dark.

Now, I was in bed, still in my white gown from after the Gala, and I had no idea how I had gotten there, except for a fleeting memory of being held in strong arms that had cradled me, cherished me, but I was not sure if that was part of a dream or not.

I heard the faint sound of the organ coming from the other room, but I did not hear him singing. I sighed as I got out of the bed. I was filled with confusion. All of this time, I had thought that I was being visited by the Angel of Music, but the man outside my room was just that: a man. Not an angel, though his voice held a power I had never known before. But he was real, perhaps the most real person I had ever met. His voice commanded respect and he was a striking figure. He was stern, but somehow incredibly gentle. And his eyes! His eyes seemed to see straight through me and into my very soul. Haunting, piercing blue eyes that held a million secrets.

Who was this person, this Phantom?

I was getting nowhere with my rambling thoughts, so I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a lavender dress. It was elegant, far more elegant than anything I owned. But all of the dresses that filled the wardrobe were equally ornate. I changed into the dress, noting the little purple jewels that were sewn into the bodice. They looked like amethysts, but I had never heard of a dress being decorated with gemstones. A row of tiny white seed pearls decorated the collar and I was certain that this dress cost far more than even Carlotta's fanciest gown, and this was the plainest of the dresses in the wardrobe.

After I was dressed I sat at the dressing table and stared at my reflection. The dress was stunning and I could not help but feel that this was a dress for a Queen, not a drab little sparrow such as myself.

I brushed my hair, using the jewel encrusted silver brush that sat on the dressing table. When I was done I figured that I had stalled long enough. Not to mention that my stomach was growling. I hesitantly opened the bedroom door and stepped out.

The man…the Angel, (I did not know what to call him!) sat at the organ. He was dressed casually in what looked like brightly colored silken Persian robe. It was far different from the dramatic black he had been wearing the night before. He was concentrating on the song he was playing, stopping every few minutes to jot something down on a piece of parchment, using a quill pen. I crept over, unsure what to do. When I was a few feet behind him I cleared my throat and said, "Good morning, master."

He jumped slightly, startled, then stood gracefully and turned around. "Christine, you are awake," he said.

"Yes," I replied awkwardly.

He took a deep breath. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," I said. It was brighter in the room today. There were more gas lamps lit and the room seemed far warmer than it had last night. The interior of the room was magnificent; ornately carved stone walls, tall candelabra, carved sconces. The furniture was elegant with the most beautiful fabrics and rich, carved wood. The organ stood regally against one wall and there was a large, ornate gilt framed mirror on the wall beside it. Bookshelves lined one wall and they were filled with books and trinkets.

I looked back at him and found myself staring at his face. The mask he wore covered more than half of his face. It seemed more haunting in the light than it had in the shadows of the night before. It was white satin, cut to cover most of his forehead, the entire left side of his face and drew a line from his nose along the edge of his top lip and down to the edge of his jaw. His brilliant blue eyes burned, even through the eye hole cut into the mask. What I could see of his face was handsome; his skin was pale and smooth, his eyebrow arched gracefully over blue eyes framed with thick lashes. His hair was straight and dark brown, smoothed back away from his face. Our eyes locked for several minutes before I finally glanced away, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"You must be hungry, please, sit down," he said, his beautiful voice had cooled somewhat. He motioned me towards a small table with two chairs tucked against the wall to the side of the organ. He disappeared through yet another archway that I had not noticed the night before. He returned a moment later with a tray. He set it down and sat down across the table from me. He poured tea into two teacups and handed one to me.

"Thank you," I said, feeling a strange sense of unreality. I was sipping tea sitting across from the Angel of Music.

I stirred sugar and milk into my tea, busying myself so I did not have to look at the man across from me. There was a plate of croissants and a jar of honey. I fixed a croissant and nibbled it.

"Would you like more tea?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I darted a glance at him. His hands, holding the tiny teacup, were large, with long fingers that could have looked quite silly holding such a tiny teacup, but he possessed such grace that every move he made seemed elegant. He was almost catlike in his movements. "No, thank you, Angel," I replied.

He sighed and looked down. "Perhaps you should call me Erik," he said finally.

I looked up at him. I wanted to see what he was hiding behind that mask, the curiosity starting to burn inside of me, but of course I said nothing.

"Erik?" I repeated. Then I nodded. "Certainly." There was an unreadable emotion flickering behind his eyes, but he said nothing more.

He stood suddenly and took the tea tray and disappeared through the archway again. My thoughts were jumbled. I did not know what to think of my Angel, Erik. While he was gone I stood and wandered around the room looking at the various odd things that filled the room. Most predominant was, of course, the massive pipe organ. It was beautiful with its pipes of shining gold. I wondered idly if it was real gold, and decided that it would not surprise me if it was. I found myself shuffling through the sheets and sheets of music that were stacked on top of the organ. They were all highly complicated pieces and those that had lyrics called for an amazing vocal range.

"Find anything interesting?" Erik asked dryly from behind me.

I jumped, startled. "I-I was just looking through your music," I said quickly.

"I see that. Well, shall we begin your lessons?"

I nodded as he sat down at the organ. He ran through a few chords so I could warm up.

Time floated along as we worked. He had endless energy and we practised for hours. He was focused, businesslike as we worked. Sometimes he joined as I sang, to point out a specific note or way of singing a certain phrase. Our voices seemed to melt together. Our timing was perfect and as we sang together it was almost as if we could read each other's minds. Who knows, maybe he could read my mind. I dared say that not much could surprise me about my Angel of Music.

When he finally took a deep breath and turned in his chair to face me I was exhausted and exhilarated at once. To sing beside such talent was a great honour.

Erik looked at me. The silence between us grew as a flicker of an emotion that almost seemed like desire crossed his face. As quickly as it was there it was gone again, leaving his face cold and unreadable. The warm closeness that we had shared while singing was gone and in a lightning fast change of mood he became cold and distant.

"Perhaps you should go to your room," he said, his voice harsh.

"But…" I said.

"I think we have practised enough for now," he said firmly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. It was clearly a dismissal.

I did not bother to hide my confusion and irritation. He had brought me here, not the other way around, and now it was as if he was just brushing me aside.

"Fine," I said, trying to make my voice as cool as his. I turned walked stiffly to my room. I slammed the door behind me and threw myself on the bed, confused, angry tears filling my eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I watched her walk away. She slammed her bedroom door shut and I winced. Her confusion had been clear, but I had to get her away from me.

The sound of our voices together, singing my music, thrilled me. I felt emotions in me that had been dormant for so long I did not even know they still existed. My attraction to her grew as she had looked at me I had felt myself dangerously close to pulling her to me and kissing her. How I longed to just pour my desire for her into a kiss that would surely show her how I felt for her. Only the certainty of her rejection had kept me from doing it. I knew I could not stand it, to feel her rejection and see the disgust that was inevitable.

My heart was still racing. It had taken every bit of self-control that I possessed to stay calm, especially after seeing the hurt in her eyes. The poor child, she just did not understand. How could she? I had been deceiving her from the moment I first spoke to her. She was so naive, so trusting. Sending her away was the only thing I could do to keep from hurting her even more.

I loved her. I realized that now. Over the course of the months that I had been teaching her, I had fallen in love with her. I laughed aloud at the thought. It was futile. There was no way she could ever love me, not once she saw me without the mask. After all, if even my own mother despised me, could never love me or even touch me because of how I looked. How could I ever expect Christine to?

She was so beautiful, so innocent. I wanted her, even as I knew that I could not have her. Jealousy raged through me at the thought of her with the Vicomte. Perhaps she could learn to love me, with the mask. And perhaps, given enough time, if she learned to love me enough with the mask, she would be able to accept me without the mask.

But deep inside I knew I was just fooling myself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I sat in my room the rest of the evening while Erik played the organ in the other room. I could tell he was in quite a mood. The room practically shook with the force of his playing. I paced the room until I feared I would wear a hole through the carpet. Then I tried to nap, but it was impossible given the volume of Erik's music. I played with the music box, looked through the dresses in the wardrobe. Anything to occupy my thoughts so I did not think of Erik.

It was useless, though. I could not forget the look in his eyes right before he sent me to my room. I did not know what to make of it. I did not understand why he had brought me here. A nagging thought in the back of my mind was trying to make itself known, but I firmly squashed it down. My thoughts flickered briefly to Raoul. I wondered what he had thought when I was not in my dressing room.

Thinking of Raoul was safe, so I occupied my mind with memories of my childhood. We had been friends for as long as I could remember. We had grown up together, and I had always thought of him as a brother. He had teased me, taunted me and protected me. We had spent hours together telling each other scary stories and begging my father to tell us stories or to play the violin.

The red scarf. How could I forget that? We had been playing at the beach and I was wearing my new red scarf. How proud I had been of it. Eleven years old and I thought I was such a lady with my new scarf and gloves. Then a sudden wind had ripped the scarf off of my neck and flung it into the ocean. I started crying and Raoul had immediately run into the ocean to grab it. When he came back he was soaking wet and cold. Far from being the chivalrous hero, however, he had merely thrust the scarf at me and told me to stop crying, but from that moment on I had a special place in my heart for Raoul. His family had moved away a year later and I had never seen him again, until last night. He had always been a good looking boy, but now he was a very handsome young man, although I was not sure I liked his pushy attitude.

I sighed. The music had finally stopped, so I cautiously poked my head out of the door, but the room was empty. I shut the door and leaned back on it. I did not know where Erik had gone, but I did not think I should try to find him. No doubt I would lose my way in the labyrinth of corridors. I was hungry but I did not dare leave the room. Then I suddenly began to panic. What if he left me here? He had seemed so angry, what if he decided to just leave me? I had no idea how to get back and I would probably wander around until I died. I was just trying to decide whether to go look for him when there was a rap on the door.

I flung the door open and was face to face with Erik. "Erik!" I cried, relief flooding through me.

"Christine. I have supper waiting if you would care to join me," he said. His voice was formal, unreadable, as was his expression.

I nodded. "That sounds wonderful." He turned and we walked to the table, where he motioned me to sit. I did and he disappeared through the archway that I assumed led to a kitchen. He returned a moment later with a tray. He placed a plate at each setting and returned to the kitchen. He was back a minute later with two glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured us each a glass and sat down.

We ate in silence. I glanced up at him a few times, trying to get the nerve to talk to him, but the unreadable look in his eyes kept me silent. Even with the mask I had been able to sense his emotions but now he seemed guarded. When we were done eating he began clearing the table. I stood quickly. "Please, let me help," I said.

Erik looked at me for a moment. "You are my guest and will be treated as such," he said finally. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" he asked, his voice slightly warmer than it had been since before we had begun eating.

"Please," I said and he nodded and turned. I realized I was still standing and sat back down with a little sigh.

He returned with the tea and poured me a cup. Then I noticed that his cup was already filled with a dark liquid.

"What are you drinking?" I asked curiously.

"Tea," he answered. "Russian tea. It is the only kind I drink."

"Oh," I said. Then, feeling some strange urge to be close to him, share something of his life with him I asked, "May I try it?"

Erik looked surprised. "It is rather strong."

I shrugged. "That is fine."

Erik handed me the teacup and as I took it my hand brushed his, sending an almost electric-like shock up my arm. I stared at him, and saw that he looked as bewildered as I felt. But then, as quickly as it had come, the look passed and he was back to the guarded look.

I lifted the cup and took a hesitant sip. I felt my eyes widen. It was the foulest tasting stuff that I had ever drunk! I set the cup down quickly and stuffed a cookie into my mouth, trying to rid my mouth of the vile aftertaste of the tea.

I looked up at Erik and noticed the corners of his mouth were twitching. His blue eyes twinkled and I realised that he was trying not to laugh at me!

I smiled ruefully. "You are right. It is rather strong," I said weakly.

Erik laughed then, a hearty laugh that sent a little tingle up my spine. I began laughing, too and we laughed until I was wiping tears from my eyes.

"Oh, Christine," Erik said fondly. "What do you say; shall we do one more song before bed?"

I nodded, glad to see that the guarded look was gone from his eyes.

We walked to the organ and he sat down. He began playing and I watched his hands in rapt fascination. His fingers flew along the keys, performing complicated chords. He became totally engrossed in his playing and I began to wonder if he had forgotten me. The piece was beautiful, haunting. When he finished playing I realised I had tears in my eyes. It was amazing to me that he could play a song with such emotion that it could move a person to tears. It was all part of the remarkable power that Erik had when it came to music.

He switched and began playing a song from Faust. We sang a couple of songs, not really as if it were a lesson, just singing, relaxing.

When Erik finished playing he stood up and looked at me. "Come, you should get some rest. We only have a couple of days more to practise before you perform again. Christine, I am so proud of you. You have improved so much."

"Thank you, Erik," I said humbly. Considering how talented he was, I took his compliments as the highest praise there was.

He walked with me to my bedroom door. "Good-night, Erik."

"Good-night, Christine," he replied softly as I shut the door.

I leaned back against the shut door, my heart racing. What was happening to me? My emotions were in such a whirl! I was confused by the way I was starting to feel about Erik and at the same time I was so curious about why he wore that mask that it was starting to eat at me. What was he hiding? And was part of my attraction to him simply because he was so mysterious? He seemed so handsome, from what I could see of him. Why did he hide?

I was growing frustrated and I was tired, so I quickly changed and got into bed. I wound the music box and fell asleep listening to it.

xxx

When I awoke the next morning the music box was still playing. I looked at it curiously, and almost as if it had seen me wake it stopped playing.

Strange, I thought. Yet nothing in Erik's world was quite normal.

I changed into a pale pink dress. This one had embroidery of golden thread and pale pink stones on the bodice. It was cut slightly lower at the neckline than the lavender dress of the day before. When I sat at the dressing table to fix my hair I noticed a small porcelain jewelry box. I opened it up and found a gold chain necklace with an ornate pendant set with fiery opals. I fastened the necklace around my neck and the pendant nestled in my collarbone.

My steps were light and I felt strangely happy as I opened the bedroom door. Erik was in his usual spot at the organ. He was busy composing again, wearing a pair of black pants and a loose fitting black shirt. He turned his head slightly to jot something on a piece of parchment and I caught a glimpse of his mask. It seemed in stark contrast to his dark shirt and his dark hair.

Again I felt that insatiable curiosity to see what he was hiding behind that white silk mask.

I crept up behind him, remembering the intense look in his eyes yesterday. That, coupled with the beauty of his voice and the electric feeling of his touch drew me towards him with one thought in mind. To see what he was hiding.

I stepped up on the dais. He still had not noticed me, as engrossed as he was in his music. He was playing furiously again, as he had yesterday after he sent me away. He was jotting down notes and chords, his shoulders taut, his whole body radiating energy, power.

Without stopping to think of what I was doing I reached towards him, but he leaned forward again, out of my reach. I took a step closer, my heart pounding with anticipation. He leaned back again and I reached out once more. This time my fingers caught the edge of the mask, by his jaw. I pulled the mask off as he jerked his head around to look at me.

The first thing I noticed was not his face. It was his eyes, and the myriad of emotions that flooded through them as he stared at me. He was confused at first, and then anger was most prevalent, burning with an intensity that caused me to step backwards, almost falling off the dais. He sat there, staring at me and then his eyes flashed with a horrible look of pain that hit me like a blow. I felt my face drain of color at the look in his eyes.

It was only after that that I actually noticed his face.

It was horrible, that is the only way to describe it. Half of his face was perfect, unmarred and devastatingly handsome. The other was horribly deformed. The translucent skin was pulled taut over the bones, scarred and mutilated. Half of his nose was terribly misshapen. Only his eye was untouched by the deformation. I was horrified when I saw the hurt there, hurt that I had caused.

He stood up and reached for me, looking panicked. I backed up, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I did not know what to think. I had been naive and probably stupid not to have thought that he might be hiding something like this. I had just been so consumed with curiosity that I had not even stopped to think how I might hurt him by ripping off his mask like that. I berated myself for not respecting him, but at the same time I was horrified by how he looked.

"Damn you!" he shouted, his eyes blazing with anger again as he reached for me again. His voice radiated a rage unlike I had ever witnessed. I was still holding his mask but I was so terrified by his fury that all I could think of was getting away from him.

I backed away, stumbling.

"What is wrong with you, you little prying Pandora?" he said harshly. He motioned towards his face. "Is this what you wanted to see? Is it?" he spat. "You little viper, sneaking up on me like that. Have I not treated you well? Well, have I not!" he roared. "I have taught you, tutored you, guided you and this is how you repay me?"

I blanched. Every word he was saying was true, but his anger was so great that I did not dare let him get near me. I was afraid if he caught me he would kill me, he looked that furious. I darted across the room, stumbling.

He followed me, his movements' fluid, agile. "You asked me to come to you. You! It was you who wanted to come to my world, Christine. Now you will stay here!" he snarled, reaching for me again.

Sobbing, I ran. I made it to his throne-like chair before I tripped, sprawling on the ground. I collapsed in a heap. I looked over my shoulder and saw Erik standing several feet away from me. Tears were running down my face.

Erik stared at me. "Damn you!" he said again, his voice cracking and his chest heaving. His sleek hair was mussed and his hands were balled into fists.

I whimpered and suddenly it was as if all the life just fell out of him, and he dropped to his knees. He fell forward, trying to cover the deformed side of his face with his hands.

There was a deathly quiet in the room, broken only by my quiet sobbing and Erik's ragged breathing. I buried my face in my arms, weeping quietly.

"You cannot even bear to look at me," Erik said so quietly that I barely heard him. His voice was tight with emotion. "Why did you have to do it, Christine? Why? You will never be able to think of me as anything but a freak, a monster, now. All I wanted was for you to see that behind the beast is just a man longing for beauty…" his voice trailed off and I glanced up. He was crawling toward me, his one hand covering the side of his face. "You fear me now, and all I wished was that perhaps you could have learned to love me, the man behind the mask…"

He was only a foot away from me now, but he refused to look at me. He buried his face in his arms, hiding the scarred half of his face from my view. His body shook and realised he was sobbing as well. "Oh, Christine."

I stared at him, lying on the floor, vulnerable. It was only then that I noticed I was still clutching his mask in my hand. Guilt washed over me as I fingered the fine satin. I had been so sure he was chasing after me to kill me, but now I wondered if perhaps he was just trying to get his mask. There was a painful knot in my chest and I had never felt so confused. I longed to comfort him, but I did not know how. Not to mention that he probably did not want anything to do with me after what I had just done to him. I felt like a foolish, spoiled child, but part of me was still somewhat horrified by how his face looked. Tears filled my eyes again as I looked at Erik, huddled on the floor. He glanced over at me, his hand covering the scarred half of his face from my view. I tentatively reached out, handing him his mask and he jerked back as if I was reaching out to bite him.

"Here," I said, softly.

Erik looked over at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable. Our eyes met, then he reached out cautiously and took the mask, turning his back on me as he slipped it on. He stood, keeping his back to me for several seconds. When he turned around again his face was blank, his eyes icy.

"Go to your room, Christine," he said, his voice eerily calm after all that had happened.

I looked at him, unsure. I wanted to say something but the words would not come.

"Just go," he said. "Now."

Once more I looked at him and felt fresh tears prickling at my eyes. I scrambled up and put a hand over my mouth and ran to the bedroom. As I slipped into the room I glanced back. Erik was sitting at the organ, his back to me. His shoulders were hunched and I heard a soft, "Oh, Christine…why? Why?"