AUTHORS NOTE:

WOW, well things have certainly changed, a lot. Firstly, I did not update frequently as I had guessed, and secondly, now that I am on holidays, I have decided to re-write the entire thing! The first chapter has not changed too much, but the following ones have. I suggest you begin reading from the beginning if you want to understand where this current chapter came from. Of course the premise is exactly the same, I just feel as though I have given Erik and Christine a little more "balls" to use a vulgar term?

To all those who had read the story before I gave it a makeover, I am very interested to hear what you think of the changes. Hopefully they are to your liking. :)

Oh, and I have striven to make them longer too!

As Christine chowed down her food, she looked up to see Erik motionlessly staring into the distance.

"Aren't you eating?" She innocently inquired. It seemed logical enough to tuck in after what must have been a long and eventful night and morning.

"I'd rather not," he replied. "Eating with a mask on is uncomfortable at the best of times, not to mention messy."

"Well I hardly care for neatness, look at me!" Christine grinned as she lazily wiped away a layer of egg yolk that had found its way onto the corners of her mouth. Filling her stomach with hearty food agreed with her.

A slight grin crept onto Erik's face and Christine could see a small sparkle in his eyes due to his changed attitude. He is much more agreeable when he isn't fuming, Christine thought.

"Please, you must be hungry?" Christine pushed. Although another unmasking was not on the top of her wish list (his disfigured face was something she would most definitely need time to grow accustomed to), if her own hunger was anything to go by, eating would be an easy way to make Erik more manageable. Communication was critical to the development of their current strange and strained relationship.

"I satisfied my hunger earlier with a few slices of bread, I do not require anything more to eat. You enjoy it."

Christine wasn't going to refuse, for she was enjoying the food. How did he learn to cook so well? Christine thought to herself.

"After years of needing to fend for yourself, you quickly grow tired of bread and cheese as an easy way out of cooking. Besides, the managers have rather expensive tastes…" Erik trailed off, he didn't think detailing the way he frequently intercepted Andre and Firmin's meals was the best way to impress Christine.

Christine laughed at both what she assumed he implied and the way Erik seemed to read her thoughts. Then again, she had never found a way to mask her thoughts and feelings like the other ballet rats.

Changing the topic, Christine couldn't help but pry, "Do you really think I will become the next diva?"

Erik raised an eyebrow, "You already are."

"I don't mean for one night, or one show, but for good? Am I to replace Carlotta?"

"I hardly think she will go down without a fight, but I am hoping I can knock some sense into the managers. You have received some rave reviews, Christine. They will flock to see you now ma cherie."

Christine almost blushed at the endearment. It was not uncommon for men to use the phrase when conversing with women, particularly the more educated, but to hear it on Erik's lips was a little more unsettling.

Erik placed three of the daily papers in front of her, demonstrating exactly what he meant by 'rave reviews'.

"Mademoiselle Daae sung like an angel, her euphoric voice filling the mind and hearts of all audience members…" "charming and beautiful, Miss Daae radiated youthfulness and purity…" "she captivated the audience with her flawless voice, even the angels would have wept…", the papers read.

Christine felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. What a triumph, she thought, what a dream. "The angels would have wept," she repeated as she looked up to Erik. The look in his eyes communicated the same words on the page, admiration. The sparkle is back and he isn't even grinning, Christine thought with a smile.

"They loved you, Christine, the angels would have wept last night. You were a vision." His heart was pounding loudly, staring at her across the table, Christine was still a vision, always a vision. He could not imagine his life without her. It was like she was his heart that kept blood pumping though his veins. Around her, he strived to do good, she made him feel like a real man. Too much like a man sometimes… Being together in the flesh only tightened the bond he felt they shared. The darker thoughts came at night, but during times like this, he simply felt like a human being, full of life.

For moments they stared at one another, both captivated by the deep admiration they shared. "The angels would have wept", Christine kept on thinking. Her father, she remembered. Father. Christine broke the silence, yearning to hear Erik affirm what she deeply desired, "Do you think father heard me last night, Erik?"

"Yes, Christine, every note." True or not, Erik could not imagine anyone in the heavens not captivated by her voice and drawn to watch her performance. Her father would have been proud.

"Thank you, angel," Christine whispered, her voice full of emotions she had kept under wrap for so long.

"Your thanks is not in order, Christine, it is I who should be thanking you…" She waited for him to continue.

"You have filled my soul with gladness, with hope…" he bowed his head, feeling unworthy to meet her gaze at this moment, "with love. Before you, Christine, I was an empty vessel, a hateful man who despised the world. I thought my time had come, I thought there was no redemption for me and sooner than later I would meet the fiery depths from which I was spawned."

She could hear the emotion in his own voice, the pity and self-loathing, but also the sadness, the hopelessness.

"Then you came. You were dumped at this opera house, my playground, my prison. It became yours too. Then I heard your voice. It rose up, above your sobs and I heard the angels sing. You were so young, too young to feel the loneliness and despair I had endured, and I believed soon enough it would have come…"

He stood and walked over to the fireplace that was still blazing and emanating a fierce heat. A heat that rose in Erik's cheeks as he continued to dwell on their past.

"I had to help, I had to do something. I knew I could offer you little physical comfort. What would anyone think to see a gangly, 20 year old boy comforting a fragile girl half his age? No one knew I even existed then, other than Antoinette Giry."

He paused, and Christine continued to listen, transfixed by him.

"So I sang to you. I sang lullabies to soothe your tired spirit. You were confused, but you liked them. As I watched you sleep from afar, in the narrow maze that creeps behind the walls of this entire structure, I wanted to help you, comfort you, and console you in your sadness. I began to sing you to sleep every night and keep an eye out for you during the day, in case you came to any harm. You were so quiet and so meek, it was those rare moments you would sing in the chapel while you lit a candle for your father that I cherished most. It was almost euphoric. Even though your voice was nothing of the greatness it is now, the purity was unlike anything I had ever heard. You see, during my travels, beyond France and through the Middle East, I came to develop an ear for music. Music was my constant companion, we are the oldest of friends. I would sneak out where I could to listen to an opera, or stick my ear to the concert hall walls in dark alleys to hear the sweet melodies. In Persia, there was a time when I could enjoy music more freely, as I acquired more power…"

He trailed off again, and took a few moments to continue with the story he sought to tell.

"But that did not last, a masked freak was doomed to go nowhere in that world, in any world. So in the cellars I had my music, my sole companion. But with you, there was a chance to share it. You seemed to like the songs I sang and played, and I felt, even then, that we shared a unique connection. You see, music is so diverse that there are only some who truly share the same passion and taste for it. Nonetheless, I felt I could mould your tastes, mould your voice. And you let me become your teacher."

His fists grew whiter as he clenched them, recalling the next few actions which changed the path of both their lives.

"You accepted my tuition…believing I was the angel your father sent you... I wanted to help you, I needed you in my life so badly that I lied, Christine. I led you to believe I was indeed an angel, sent to guide you to accomplish your wildest dreams. But it was a lie, all horrid lies, told because of my selfishness…"

"As you grew older, you had your queries, and I resolved them by adding to the lies and escalating the tricks I used to deceive you. Ventriloquism was always a talent of mine but one I exploited to further my own plans. I had such big plans for you! By fifteen, I knew your voice had true potential, and I pushed you accordingly. To think of the days and nights I stopped you from going out with the ballet rats, or relaxing with Megan. But you were so faithful, and my love for you grew through your goodness… and my hate for myself also increased threefold."

Christine was unsure of whether she wanted Erik to continue. To hear the details about the façade he put up for her, to tutor her, it was so much to come to terms with. She truly had been naive. She pushed herself to continue listening. She herself was frozen in her chair, staring at her now white hands, just as Erik stood staring into the fire.

"You grew into a woman before my very eyes, and before I knew it, the love I had for you turned a different shade…but I will not dwell there…" Erik chastised himself for even allowing himself to voice such secret feelings.

"You were so close, at 19, to greatness. So much better than Carlotta, I had to give you a shot at Hannibal. There is much for you still to learn, my dear, but you were ready for the role, and we trained for it so well that it did just fall into your hands. Future operas will not be so easy, but with my guidance, we can achieve greatness!"

He turned to look at her, sitting frozen at the table, "And now look how far you have come, Christine. No longer frightened, no longer sad. We have been such friends, music and I, and I believe you too have entered into the circle of friendship. Music is in your blood, in your soul, and music will set you free. That is what you want, Christine? Please tell me that is what you want?"

He took a few steps closer and halted when he saw her hands shaking, she was so pale, her eyes were fixated on the table but had the glossy coat of tears which signaled she was doing a good job of keeping them back. He didn't know what to do. Was she listening? Is she OK? Have I forever scarred her with my tale? Was it too much to hear?

He took a few more steps further, hoping the noise of his movement would startle her out of her reverie. Ever so slowly, her watery eyes met his.

"At what price is such greatness to be achieved?" is all she could manage to spit out.

NOTE:

I suppose you could say my Erik is younger than the book, but his background is not the same as the movie. Madame Giry did not bring him to the Opera House straight from the traveling fair. But that will be explained in more detail later…