(Apologies for my lengthy absence. I'd like to claim it was due to some lofty pursuit in life, but in reality it was because I didn't have it in me to write a single sentence. Anywhere, on any topic. The fuel to write is back in me again, and I hope it stays.)

Six hours later he stood on the banks of the lake as Jules recounted all he had encountered. It seemed Christine Daae lived as a common pauper, in a dismal flat with spotty electricity and nothing in the way of care besides a poorly-groomed maid. Jules spoke of the dingy building, the drafty walls, but what concerned his master the most was the address. In the lower block of the Guilliest, the crime roamed as freely as the drunks, and he felt the tightening of his throat at the thought of her pale, winsome face passing quietly through so much debaucherous degradation night after night. Erik looked with further dismay at her shabby luggage, almost afraid to open and see how lacking her wardrobe was. With a delicate flick of his fingers, the clasp on the trunk closest fell open and he sighed. The money seemed to appear from nowhere, his hand empty one moment and filled with a purse the next. He then tossed one of the garments, a blue piece well-worn toward Jules, as well. "They'll be able to determine the fitting based on this. Madame Beauvais, in the Sorsonne, near where my tailor is. Tell her money is no object, I want a full ensemble, fit for a queen. Formal, day, dressing, nightclothes, accoutrements, everything. You may take anything prêt-à-porter she recommends. The rest we will wait for. And I want it back before nine, here. You will be well compensated." Jules did his nearly regulation bowing and deference - which Erik found endlessly tiresome - before disappearing back above ground.

He returned to his home, to perform the final preparations for her return that evening. The box on the mantle, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, had sat atop his mother's dresser in his childhood home, one of the many cold and perfectly cared-for relics of his past life. He'd kept it dusted, her jewelry and a few stray mementos he'd never been able to learn the story of resting inside. The jewelry he'd cast off without a second thought, but the trinkets he'd tucked away. A photo of his father as a child, a newspaper article that bore virtually no meaning, two tickets to a play he'd never heard of, and a broken chain, the pendant that occupied it long since missing. This box was now removed from its customary resting place and taken to the spare bedroom, the room that had been redressed this very afternoon. New blankets, thicker rugs, the fireplace cleaned and the floors scrubbed. He placed it on her dressing table, running his fingers over the etchings with care.

Later, on the Rue road, he waited anxiously, pacing a small line forward and back. But it wasn't Christine that first came running, breathless with agitation to his side. He found himself face to face with none other than Nadir, the Persian man's face solemn with disappointment.

"There are rumors that a man, a servant, was seen today in Madame Beauvais. The same man who regularly makes bizarre, exorbitant purchases in that area... but never before of women's apparel."

Erik said nothing, staring at a fixed point in the distance.

"He apparently spent a great deal of money, insane amounts of money. Jewelry, clothing, shoes..." Nadir pinched the skin between his eyes. "Please tell me, please swear to me that this has nothing to do with one Christine Daae. Her lover is in quite a state of agitation. Apparently she disappeared last night from her dressing room entirely after refusing his dinner invitation. She left behind her clothing in a dressing room found locked."

Erik clenched and unclenched his hands, remaining quiet as Nadir continued.

"It was locked from the inside, Erik. how do you think that is possible? Such a mystery! And then she just reappeared a few hours after breakfast. Popped back into existence in the hallway, dressed in those same discarded clothes she'd left behind the night prior, refusing to answer any questions, refusing to see her beau."

So she did have a lover, as he'd long suspected. The news that she refused him recently should have warmed his heart, but he still felt the sting.

"Erik, I want you to tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the Vicomte has nothing to worry about. Or that perhaps she has someone else, someone on the side. Someone who does not spend his days pretending to be Paris' most famous haunting!"

"I have an appointment," Erik said softly, but sternly. "If you don't mind, I would rather not receive my guest with you in my company."

Nadir sucked his breath in between his clenched teeth. "This isn't proper," he growled, "you of all people should realize how wrong this is. You know she can't possibly-"

"Can't possibly... what?" Erik asked, regarding Nadir with cool hostility. "Can't possibly what, exactly? Would it surprise you to learn that it was she that begged me to bring her? That she asked for my tutelage? That I'm the one who demurred to her wishes?"

"Then she is mad," Nadir whispered.

At this, the masked man sighed. "Because what woman would willingly return to me?"

"That is not what I said, but she has a future full of promise, a brilliant career on the stage, and a man of noble blood who desires her and who is clearly passionate about caring for her."

"The Vicomte, like his brother before him, is a silly man more interested in the girls' skirts than their well-being," he spat back. "Once he beds her he will lose interest. I haven't the inclination to damn her to such a fate. She will not find such disgrace within my walls and under my watchful gaze. So you can tell the Vicomte to find some other member of the cast to bury his... desires in. Christine Daae is in the care of her tutor, and he keeps a most strict curfew."

Nadir shook his head sadly. "Perhaps you're both mad. But mark my words, my dear friend, if anything befalls her, I will find you."

"You," Erik said grimly, "know where I dwell."

The Vicomte, of course. He'd noticed how... enthusiastically he'd applauded her efforts. And while it was true the older de Chagny, Phillipe, had an inclination toward bedding half the cast and the majority of the staff, he knew the younger brother was a vestal virgin by comparison. he was the more serious of the two, and therefore the holder of most the family estate. If he were truly willing to risk public shame and loss of his title for a lesser marriage, he was likely convinced he was very much in love.

As loathe as he was to do so, he knew it was a topic that would have to be dealt with. Possibly most severely. But at least now his enemy had a name, a face. That was an answer, the solving of the mystery that had eaten away at his insides.

Now he only awaited Christine.