"Where are you going?" Christine asks, grabbing Erik's arm as he gets up from the sofa.

"You need to get some rest," he replies. "It has been a trying day for you…and I suspect you might wish to have some time alone to consider Nadir's offer."

"I have no desire to be alone to consider anything, Erik. I do not want to be alone at all," she says, pulling him back down. "I want to be with you."

Landing awkwardly, he loses his footing, catches himself on the edge of the chaise and slips to the floor.

Sliding from her own seat, she kneels next to him. "Oh, my. Are you alright? Sometimes I do not know my own strength," attempting a laugh. "When Pappa and I were on the road, we seldom had any transport, so I had to carry my share of our baggage. We also did work helping picking crops or clearing brush, so I became quite strong."

"I would certainly agree with that," he says, straightening himself out to rest his back against the red velvet. "I wonder you ever allowed me to carry you off."

"Even now? Now that I am here with you?" she says, taking his hand, toying with his long fingers.

Opening and then closing his mouth, still unable to understand his good fortune, he returns to the safety of what he is coming to understand as civil, unemotional conversation. "You farmed?"

"Pappa grew up on a farm, so I was always used to helping, even when I was very small."

"You never told me that…only spoke about his playing violin and your singing at fairs and the like."

"That is what I missed most about him – about our life together. Hiring ourselves out for labor was not very romantic and you were focused on my voice, so…"

"Romantic?"

Christine blushes. "When you were only a voice, I tried to imagine what you might look like. What an angel might look like. I so wanted you to be a human being."

"What an incredible disappointment I must have been."

"Stop it, I will not have you continue to speak about yourself in such a way."

Sighing deeply, he says, "While I avoid doing so as much as possible, I am not blind, Christine. I have seen my face in the mirror." Holding out his arms, he pushes up the sleeve of his shirt revealing thick healed-over scars. "This is what resulted when I saw myself for the first time. I thought there was a monster in my room and attempted to kill it."

"Oh, Erik, no." Bringing his wrist up to her cheek, she holds it there.

"Sufficeth to say, I can understand a certain level of fear and disgust when others see me." Taking his hand back, he rolls down his cuff and rests both hands on his lap.

"Then they are fools and idiots," she asserts. "M. Khan does not act that way."

"No, that is true."

"Did he ever?"

Erik shakes his head no. "I was wearing a mask when we first met, so I suppose we established a rapport before I was ordered to remove the mask."

"Well, there you have it," she says. "I knew you first as well."

"You screamed in terror, as I recall…and ran."

Unwilling to give up entirely, she vigorously shakes her head back and forth. "I will not say that your face was not…unsettling, but you were screaming at me and calling me all sorts of names," she argues, "but then you spoke to me and I realized who you were."

"The Angel of Music?"

"Yes, my Angel of Music."

"I do not understand you, Christine," he says. "This situation increasingly shows me how inept I am at being a person. Only Allah knows why Nadir cares about me. He told me his son Reza loved me, so he had to love me as well. Reza is far wiser than the two of us put together."

"No others?"

"Adele, I suppose tolerates me…Madame Giry."

"Really? You said there was nothing between you." The curls of her copper hair veil the few fine lines crossing her forehead in a frown.

"I believe I said I was not interested in her as a life partner or something along those lines."

"Well, I am jealous, nonetheless."

He cannot help but release a small laugh. "Jealous."

"Why cannot I not be jealous? Do you think you are the only one who feels passionate about things…people. You say you have no friends and I find there are two people who know you very well…that you consider friends." Pouting, she crosses her arms in front of her. "That I do not have desires? You treat me as if I am a child?"

Erik waves a hand, wishing to, but not quite touching her. "No, you are certainly not a child. I did not spring from the earth when I met you – I, frankly, did not consider either Nadir or Adele as friends – but, yes, I suppose they have affected my life in ways I never considered until you mentioned it. Friendship and love are new concepts to me. I often get caught up so deeply in my own difficulties, I cannot see what others might be feeling."

"Pappa called that self-pity."

"Did he. A bit like Narcissus with a deviant twist."

"Who?"

"In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a hunter who was known for his beauty. He rejected all romantic advances, eventually falling in love with his own reflection in a pool of water, staring at it for the remainder of his life," Erik says. "I, on the other hand, have been fixated on my lack of beauty, but self-absorbed, nonetheless. Hmm?"

"Something like that, I suppose," she says. "When I would complain about having to work, he reminded me we had to eat and if someone was not paying us for our musical gifts, they were at least open to providing a meal and a bed for picking corn."

"Why did you leave the farm?"

"Momma died. Pappa said he could not bear living so close to where she died. He always wanted to play violin in Paris, so we left all behind but what we could carry and began our trek."

"How did you feel about that? Leaving everything you knew."

"I was six years old." Her laugh is curt and hard. "How do you think I felt?"

"Afraid," he says.

The first night was the worst. A life confined inside their house with only an odd visit to the garden did not prepare him for the fields and woods stretching in front of him. The few things he brought with him in his duffle – a blanket, pen, ink and a sheaf of paper…the loaf of bread, cheese, dried meat and fruit - paltry victuals, lasted little more than two days. The few coins he found in his mother's purse lasted but a few days longer. Then, of course, his life after being captured by the gypsies made what he left behind with his mother almost idyllic.

"Yes, being on the road as a child is not ideal."

"Some nights we slept outside – others on the floor of a barn."

Erik nods. "Barn floors can be quite comforting – animals do not judge."

"Sleeping on the floor here…well, I would not mind that," she says. "The chaise is too small for both of us, I do not know how you managed."

"I did not manage – I did not even try," he says, "When I offered Nadir pillows, I was not joking."

Looking around the room, she frowns, "I see no pillows. The room was just as I…we left it."

"Behind the dressing screen – along with your petticoat and bustle. A bedroll and some blankets, as well."

"Enough for two?"

"With a blanket, you will be comfortable on the chaise – you are small enough."

"I would be more comfortable in your arms."

Even as she speaks the words, he feels himself stirring. Does she have no idea about men and their bodies, however, ill-formed their faces might be, beauty has a way of releasing urges and…physical effects.

"No. You did not sleep in your father's arms, did you?"

Christine pauses a moment pondering his question. "When I was a small child, but as I became older…I remember my body changing," she says, running her hands over her breasts. "I would have fits of pique I did not understand and…other things. He seemed to know what my troubles were and asked the wife of a farmer we worked for to give me some guidance."

Erik averts his eyes. "So, the answer is no, you did not sleep in your father's arms and you are aware the reason was you were no longer a child but a woman?"

"You are not my father."

"I am a man – which is my point. It would not be seemly," he says. "Did you never talk of such things with the others…the rats?"

"No, I never talked much to anyone except Pappa, until I met you," she says, pulling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head on them. "You were not the only one without friends."

Erik blinks hard. "But you are so easy to talk to…and you are beautiful."

"I think I talked so much to you because you listened to me," she says, giving him a half smile.

"I supposed you were being kind by confiding in me. My conversational skills are quite lacking and I often felt I might be offending you if we were not working on your voice."

"You think I do not know what you are talking about," she smirks. "I know about men and women. I have observed the patrons ogling the dancers, often touching themselves, or if they are modest, covering their private area with their hands, or simply acting uncomfortable as you are now."

Erik feels the heat rising to his face, imagining his skin turning bright red.

"So the little boy is actually a young man," Rosalia said, tucking her breasts more firmly into the ruffled white blouse. "Next time it would be best to announce yourself before entering the master's tent."

"I am sorry."

The dancer smiled and chucked him on the chin before walking past him. "It is a compliment. I am not getting any younger." Nodding toward the latrines. "Go take care of yourself. You are to perform soon. The fairgoers are only paying to hear you play and sing."

"The rats do tell tales of their meetings with the men who watch us dance. How they behave. How their bodies look. What being with a man feels like. Some find themselves with extra money. Teresa left for a year but came back…with a baby. I was lucky, Madame Giry took me in."

"Adele has been involved in the ballet for most of her life," Erik mutters. "I suppose she was…is fond of you."

"Maybe, I cannot imagine why…I mean Meg and I are friendly, but no more than the other girls."

"Perhaps because of your father's death."

"Perhaps," she says, stretching her legs out in front of her, wiggling her feet. "Her feet are quite ugly, you know?"

"I did not, but her use of a cane suggests they are damaged."

"From dancing. Mine are not quite so awful yet – see…" she says, bending over to remove a stocking.

"Oh, yes, I see." Erik says turning away. The toes of her small foot appear mangled…broken. The level of disgust he feels surprises him. Quite ugly – not at all compatible with the rest of her. "Poor girl, I had no idea."

"Terrible? Correct? Do not deny it, I can see the distaste on your face." she says, putting the stocking back on. Feeling around the floor, she finds her boots and puts them on. "So you see, I am deformed, too,"

"You are quite amazing," Erik says. "You are also not deformed."

"Stop treating me as if I am perfect, Erik…and untouchable."

"You are most touchable, that is the problem."

"I should still like to at least lie next to you," she says.

"Then we must find another bedroll – the floor is too hard, as you likely know from sleeping on the ground, even on the hay in a barn."

"Where?" she asks excitedly. "Here in the opera house?"

"Property room…and perhaps we can find some candy and a cup of tea in the managers' office," Erik smiles, getting to his feet, offering his hands. "They always have a cache of treats hidden away."

Christine giggles, taking his hands, she allows him to pull her up. "You go into their office?"

"And before their time, when M. Reyer was here as well," Erik replies. "If I were to run the theater efficiently, knowing everything that was going on was necessary. One does not learn much by lurking about in the basements or in the flies."

"This sounds like fun".

"I never considered that, but, with you, yes, it does seem like fun," he chuckles. "Do you have a gown for sleeping – you would not want to damage your dress."

"Yes, I have a few things in my bag." Drawing her carpetbag over, she removes a pale blue flannel night dress. "This and this," she says holding up the white charmeuse dressing gown she wore between shows.

"You still wear that?" he asks. "I should have thought it would not have happy memories."

"Honestly, Erik, you are really becoming tiresome. I care about you – I dare say, I love you." Tossing both garments on the chaise, she brings out a smaller bag holding her hairbrush, a bar of soap and some linen towels. "For the bathroom."

"Of course, there is a fully equipped bathroom attached to the manager's office if you wish to bathe," he says. "I am sorry I did not mention it sooner. The accommodations in this room are rather basic."

"Oh, good. I want to be cleansed of the past few days."

"You were not harmed in any way." A sense of rage rises in him, thinking again about the Vicomte. Did he act like the other patrons she described? When he told them to go, he never conceived the idea Raoul might be a rake.

"No. No. But I was not sure."

Erik cocks his head. "How so?"

"He would lock me in my room. He never entered without knocking, but I was not free to move about the house freely."

"A prisoner?" Erik frowns. "How did you get out?"

"The maid – a lovely young woman. I lied and told her I locked myself in and lost my key."

His fingers dig into the palms of his hands. "You are not a criminal or some sort of freak – what sort of man is he? Never mind, I know his ilk only too well," he growls, waving his arms, looking around for something to hit or break.

Christine takes him by the shoulders. "He did not hurt me. He is just foolish and spoiled and I do not want to talk about Raoul de Chagny."

"I have been such a fool, Christine. I am so sorry."

Facing him, arms akimbo, she says, "Your manner of courtship was not what I might have dreamed of, but, despite my concerns at times, I never doubted you cared for me. If anyone was remiss, it was I, not acknowledging your feelings."

"I was not aware I was courting you,"

"Precisely. Neither of us were," she laughs. "That said, I love the robe. Which, like my dress, has nothing to do with you. The peignoir was new and mine alone – there are no unhappy memories attached to it."

"I see…well, not entirely. To be honest you have me quite baffled, but I shall try to understand – you must be patient with me."

"Have I not been saying just that?"

"If you say that is so – that is so. Um…it gets rather cold here at night, you might want something warmer than the satin," he says. "I feel I will be in need of some new clothing as well – perhaps we can search the wardrobe department for some new apparel."

"Wonderful! This is going to be such fun living here."

"You realize you will not be staying here, once Nadir meets with Adele."

"Why not?"

"This is not a home for a young woman."

"It is not a home for a man either."

"For the moment, it suits me."

"Me, too."

"We shall talk about this further once we meet with Adele. I am hoping she and Nadir can come up with a suitable place for you to live, if you do decide to stay on as Prima Donna."

"No more talk about tomorrow, for now we are here and I am excited about breaking into the managers' office and stealing some chocolates."

"Whatever makes you happy," he says, taking her elbow, guiding her to the door.

Turning to face him, she presses her hands on his chest, standing on tiptoe, she kisses him lightly on the lips. "Seeing you happy makes me happy."

"This is quite a new sensation, so I suspect I am…happy."

"Good," she announces taking his arm. "I thought I would never convince you."

"I shall likely need reminders."

"Many and often."

"Fine. That will be fine."