Hey all. Here is the next chapter! Hope y'all like it! Thanks so much to Terpsichore for her speedy editing skills. Hurray! Oh and she has started a story of her own on another site. It isn't a Phantom fic but the first chapter is still great! Here is the link.

http/www. fictionpress. com/ read. php?storyid 2151198

And omg. IheartPoto did another great pic last week. She made it into a wallpaper this time which is super cool. Here is the link. (As usual just take the spaces out of it to make it work.)

http/www. deviantart. com/deviation /31320068/

Chapter 57: Daisies

On a mission to locate a certain blonde dancer Conner strolled along with Aria in tow, making a quick sweep of the stage, his eyes dark and intensely focused. Not finding Meg or any of the other dancers at practice, he changed directions and began searching the backstage area. Several of the stagehands working upon a large set piece stopped and waved as Conner drew up alongside them, offering him a bottle of wine. Aria clung to her uncle's pant leg when he stopped to decline the offer.

Raising an eyebrow at the flowers in Conner's hand, one of the stagehands laughed and put down his hammer. "You got yourself a girl we don't know about, Sinclair?" he teased, giving a conspiratorial wink to his working mates.

"Why do you want to know?" the redhead shot back as he patted Aria on the head.

"So I can steal her away before she wastes her time with the likes of you!" he said, causing a wave of laughter to erupt among the other workers.

Rolling his eyes, Conner merely waved off the statement, in too good a mood to rise to the bait, good-natured though it was. "Ha…ha…ha. I would love to discuss things further, gentlemen, but I do have more important things to do." Ushering Aria ahead of him, he turned to leave as another bout of laughter rocked the small group of workers.

Turning her head to look up at her uncle, Aria scrunched up her nose. "You w-wouldn't let s-someone steal M-Meg, would you?"

"Course not, lass."

"Cause t-that would b-be bad!"

"Yes it would," Conner nodded absently as he mentally went over several ways in which to present Meg the flowers.

Running along in order to keep up with Conner's long-legged strides, Aria took hold of his coattails, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. "S-So are you g-going to m-marry her, then?"

"Absolutely…" Stopping in mid-step, Conner frowned as the actual content of her question sank in. Shooting the child a quick glare that had her giggling, he started walking again. "Hey now…what a wicked creature you are for tricking your poor uncle," he said darkly, trying and failing to give a touch of seriousness to his words.

Continuing to laugh to herself, Aria gave a little shrug, obviously rather pleased with herself. "You c-can't take it b-back nooow," she sang as she twirled her skirt about her knees. "You h-have to d-do it!"

Opening his mouth to admonish her for her sudden silliness, Conner found that the irritation he expected to feel wasn't there. In fact, there was a part of him that found her statement extremely appealing. Married to Meg huh? What a stupid idea… he thought, more as a bid to rationalize his own wayward feelings than anything else, but despite his thoughts to the contrary, the idea of settling down was still attractive. God, I must be getting old. As he stood there staring off into space, a foolish lopsided grin began to spread across his face.

Hmm…what a thought…marriage. What would that be like? Shifting the flowers in his hands, his mind wandered into what could be. He imagined what it would feel like to wake up next to the same woman every morning, next to Meg; to be able to touch her hair in the morning sunlight and watch her dark eyes warm as she awoke to his touch. The thought both terrified and fascinated, filling him with a strange glowing sensation he had never felt before. Well, that might not be half-bad.

"Uncle C-Conner!" Aria asked loudly, pulling on his pant leg. "Uncle C-Conner. What are you d-doing?"

Snapping out of his daydream, Conner blinked down at the child, the smile fading slightly as he realized how idiotic one woman was making him. "What? Oh, I'm not doing anything, lass. Just thinking."

"W-Well think while you w-walk," Aria demanded as she tugged upon his clothing more insistently.

"All right then," Conner mumbled on a laugh, trying to clear his head. The daydream had left him feeling slightly shaken. Clearing his throat, he looked down at the daisies in his hand and flashed a bright smile, pushing his weird thoughts to the side. "But enough of this fooling around now, lass!" he said with mock severity. "I have to get these flowers to a certain young lady before they all die."

"I w-wasn't the one standing around l-looking at nothing!" Aria exclaimed indignantly, as she breezed past him in such a way that made her look exactly like her mother.

Shaking his head, Conner followed behind the child. He took a breath, on the verge of delivering another flippant quip, when a familiar blonde figure came strolling around the corner. Startled by Meg's sudden appearance, the redhead looked left and right before leaping behind a rack of finished costumes waiting to be fitted. With his heart pounding in his chest, he motioned for Aria to follow him but the child blatantly ignored his silent demands. God damn…here I was planning some smooth delivery and she comes around the corner and nearly ruins everything. I can't just give the blasted things to her… Lord a' mighty, never has another woman made me feel so unsettled.

Cursing silently, Conner watched Aria wave to Meg, drawing the dancer down the hall, a light smile gracing her pretty features as she came closer. "What are you doing here all by yourself?" Meg asked as she came to stand before the child, her cinnamon colored eyes searching their surroundings slowly.

"I am n-not all b-by myself," Aria replied as she turned her head to look over at Conner's hiding place, mischief brightening her face to a bright pink. "Uncle C-Conner is here."

Meg brightened at that, her reaction causing Conner to mimic her smile from his hiding place. Somehow, the knowledge that the mere mention of his name could cause her to smile that way sent a wave of pure arrogant satisfaction shooting through his veins. Sweet Mary, does she always look like that when I am not watching? All I ever get to see is her frowning at me.

"Oh? Where is your useless uncle then?" Meg asked, the irritation in her tone softened by the grin still spread across her face.

Deflating slightly, Conner frowned. God she is the most damned annoying woman, he grumbled silently as he straightened, the exasperation within him driving away the nervousness. "Ah now lass, who is the useless one?" he asked as he strolled out of his hiding place, careful to keep the flowers behind his back as he flashed a winning smile.

Meg jumped at his sudden appearance, her pretty mouth falling open on a gasp. Gathering her composure, the blonde raised her chin to glare up at him. "What is the matter with you, jumping out like that and scaring me?" she chided, her body posture stiffening in his presence. "And what were you doing hiding back there?"

Ignoring her prickly attitude Conner raised his free hand to run through his hair, trying to set aside his annoyance enough to be charming. "I wasn't hiding, lass," he said lightly, shooting a quelling look in Aria's direction in order to insure the child's silence. "And you have my apology if I frightened you."

Caught off guard by his pleasant response Meg took a step back, obviously having expected some flippant remark from him. Looking a little uncomfortable with this new, calmer side of the Irishman, she shifted her gaze off to the side. "Um…well that is all right. A little fright never hurt anyone, I suppose." With her eyes lowered, she noticed the arm Conner was holding behind his back. "Why are you doing that?"

Feigning ignorance, Conner gave a little shrug. "Doing what?"

"Holding your arm behind you like that," Meg said, growing a bit more confident now that she had something else to talk about. "Whatever are you hiding?"

Knowing the jig was up, Conner brought the daisies out from behind him, mentally cursing himself for how unpolished this delivery seemed, even as he flashed what he thought was his best smile. Meg took a look at the flowers, her eyes wide with surprise as she recognized the white blossoms; but slowly the smile faded and she looked away. The change mystified Conner and made him distinctly uneasy. Lord, her moods change quicker than a summer storm. Why is it that I cannot predict her?

"I see. On your way to another illicit affair somewhere?" she asked blandly, as she turned to pat Aria on the head. "You would think you would have asked someone to watch Aria first though."

The anger swept over him quick and hot as he took a step forward. "All right, I have had just about enough of your lip," he growled. "Now, I was willing to put up with it for a long time. After all, what did I care if you thought I have nothing else in my head but chasing skirts, but for you to suggest that I would be irresponsible where Aria is concerned is absolutely intolerable."

Staring up at him in shock, Meg opened her mouth to respond then shut it again, looking very much like a landed fish. Taking a deep breath, Conner thrust the bouquet of flowers into Meg's hands. "And the flowers were for you, lass. Daisies…I heard they were your favorite." Feeling a weight build in his stomach, Conner leaned down to take Aria's hand in his. This was a mistake. I should have known better. The blasted girl hates me…why did I think this was a good idea. Clearing his throat, he turned to leave. "Sorry to bother you."

Taking a hasty step after him, Meg grabbed hold on his coat sleeve. "Wait, don't go. I didn't mean to be so horrible."

Looking over his shoulder at her, Conner couldn't help but feel a little mean. "Oh? You could have fooled me," he said unkindly.

Absorbing the bite in his words without protest, Meg nodded her head. "I am sorry I implied you would mistreat Aria…I didn't really mean it…I don't know why I even said it. Whenever I am around you the most horrible things just come flying out of my mouth."

His expression softening slightly, Conner raised a hand to hers upon his arm, finding the warmth of her skin like a drug to his senses. "Yeah, I suppose I just have that effect on you. Instant irritation," he said, every word dripping with sarcasm.

Fingering the petals of one of her flowers, Meg looked away from him to the floor, her cheeks flushing a bright pink as she slid her hand out form under his, allowing it to fall to her side. "I am not always instantly irritated by you," she murmured. "Just whenever you act like a rake."

"Which is most of the time…" the redhead replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his exasperation faded. Why can't I stay mad at her? It would serve her right…but…I just can't.

Looking up at him, Meg searched his face for a moment before likewise smiling. "Yes…"

Shaking his head, Conner laughed. "Well, at least you are honest…one of the many qualities I admire in you."

"Admire…me?" Meg sputtered incredulously, her blonde curls shaking as she shook her head in disbelief.

Sensing that he had hit a sensitive spot in the prickly defenses she always erected in his presence, Conner pushed his advantage, finally feeling as if he had found sure footing. Letting go of Aria's hand, the redhead took a step forward, bringing himself within touching distance of Meg. "Aye, lass I admire you greatly," he said, the Irish in his voice thickening as he reached out to trace a finger casually over the hand that was holding the bouquet of daisies.

She shivered at his touch, her mouth falling open on a gasp. "But…why?" she breathed. "I have never done anything remarkable."

"Ah, now that is where you are wrong. You are more than simply remarkable, you are absolutely astonishing." Moving his finger along the delicate bones of her thumb, he wrapped his hand about her wrist gently, careful to keep his touch light, so as not to frighten her, even though he had the wild and burning desire to crush her body to his and kiss the breath right out of her.

Feeling her pulse racing under his fingers, Conner took a moment to gather his thoughts, making a special point not to stare at her trembling lower lip. God…I have wanted women before…but lord if this one won't kill me with the need for her. "You might not have traveled the globe over, or secured some stupid prima ballerina position, but I have been watching you for weeks now and it becomes increasingly clear to me that you have qualities that I have never seen in a woman before."

"You…you are just saying that…" Meg sputtered, as she looked down at where his hand held onto her wrist.

"No, I seldom say things I don't mean. It wastes time that could be spent much more important things."

"Oh, like what?" Meg asked, some of her usual spunk returning to her voice as she rallied the courage it took to look Conner in the eye.

Flashing a devilish grin, Conner gave in to the boiling need inside of him. "Things like this," he murmured as he tugged on Meg's hand, drawing her toward him until the flowers in her hand were crushed between them. Lowering his head the Irishman brushed his lips lightly over hers, his eyes remaining open to watch a flurry of lively expressions dance across her face. Shock, gave way to anger, then transformed into a sighing bliss as her large expressive eyes began to flutter shut. The hand gripping the daisies between them loosened and the white blossoms fell to the floor in a shower of petals as Meg raised her hands up to cradle either side of his face.

Her touch shot through him like a lightning bolt, making his blood boil and his knees go weak. Unable to help himself, Conner felt the gentleness desert him as he crushed his mouth over hers, his hands rising to tangle in her sun-streaked hair. Something within him, something he had never known was lacking, shifted and ground into a new position, leaving him feeling both shaken and strangely whole. The sudden and violent need to drag her down to the floor and take her right there in the hall swamped his brain, leaving him seeing stars with the force behind the desire. In a knee jerk reaction to this dangerous need he pulled back, his hands shaking within Meg's hair as he fought to clear his mind. No…you cannot. Not with her…it wouldn't be right.

Meg's eyes flew open at his withdrawal, questioning him as she searched his flushed face. Lowering her hands to his chest, she took an unsteady breath. "I will not be just another notch upon your bedpost, Monsieur," Meg stated determinedly even though she did not pull away from his embrace.

His eyes glittering dangerously at her words, Conner slowly forced his hands to release her soft curls. "No," he growled low in his throat. "But you may very well be my last."

Not trusting himself to remain in her presence any longer without losing what control he had left, Conner took a careful step away from her. Dipping his head with some of the charm which he was famous for, the redhead hastily turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat. Taking hold of Aria's hand as he passed her, Conner strode down the hall without looking back.

Scampering along next to her uncle, Aria craned her neck to peer back to where Meg was quickly lowering herself onto a nearby pile of boxes. Looking back up at Conner the child's face broke out into a grin, a dimple flashing happily n one cheek. "I think s-she liked the f-flowers," Aria said brightly, causing a strangled laugh to erupt from the man holding her hand.

"Yes…I daresay she did."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sitting upon his piano bench, Erik stared blankly at the familiar keys before him. Usually this was a place of refuge, a place of creation, where his mind could be set free from the grimness of his surroundings. But as the candles danced merrily about the room, his mind was a blank. The comforting symphony that normally played just for him was silent, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the shocking memories of the last day. Sitting now as he was, calmly staring straight ahead, it was hard to believe that in the last twenty-four hours his entire life had changed. It seemed more a dream than anything else.

Closing his eyes, he reached into the vaults of his mind, replaying the previous night in a bid to assure himself that it had actually happened. Behind closed eyes, he could see the curve of Brielle's cheek flushed in passion and heard her soft lilting voice call his name over and over until he could hear nothing else. Raising a hand to scrub over his face, Erik leaned his elbows on the edge of the organ. Struggling to steady his breath, he could practically feel the intoxicating touch of her hands upon his body, so keenly was his memory unwinding within him.

So powerful were these stored memories that they had, after several hours, driven him from her side. Brielle had fallen asleep with her head resting upon his shoulder after they had talked for some time. He had spent several wakeful hours staring at her sleeping face, just as he had done several nights ago in her room. Sleep had not come to him for he feared to close his eyes, least the dream burn away into nothing, like a morning fog under the sun. And so he had slipped from the bedroom, dressed, and come out to the organ room to think.

Turning upon the bench, Erik looked over his shoulder at the hallway across the room. Brielle is still sleeping. She is weaker than she lets on. I suppose one does not just bounce back from a near death experience. A new spike of fear pushed its way into his mind at the mere memory of her in danger. Even now when the threat was passed, it left him shaky inside. To think of life without her there…especially now…is mind numbing.

Climbing to his feet, he paced across the floor, eyes riveted at a spot directly in front of his moving feet. Why didn't I tell her how I felt? She told me…why couldn't I just tell her? And why didn't she push the issue…Glaring at the carpet, he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, the questions whirling about his head at a dizzying rate. Without consciously realizing what he was doing, he raised his gaze to a small locked desk that was shoved up against one wall. Moving toward the desk, he snagged a key from a nearby shelf and stuffed it into the lock. Opening a bottom drawer, her reached in and pulled out a piece of crumpled parchment. Smoothing the paper out on the top of the desk, he stared down at the only remaining drawing he had done of Christine's smiling face. Frowning, he examined the perfect rendition of her features, looking over her features for the first time since he had crumpled the drawing into that drawer months ago. He waited for the old feelings to wash over him, the old longing, the sadness, but he was shocked to find that he felt nothing of the violent affection she had once sparked within him. When he looked at the drawing, it was like looking at any piece of pleasing art. If he felt anything at all, it was the last dredges of the bitter anger which had settled deep within his soul, but even that seemed far off and gauzy as a half-remembered dream.

Jumping to his feet, he dropped the paper onto the floor. That's it…that is why I couldn't say it. Rushing to a nearby table, he grabbed a blank sheet of paper and scribbled a quick note to Brielle before jumping into the waiting boat at the dock. Rowing off into the darkness, he felt the weight of worry lift from his shoulders, leaving him feeling light as air. He was certain now of what he had to do. Passing endless rows of shadowed columns, Erik soon came to the other side of the lake. Tying off the boat, he practically ran most of the way to the upper floors.

A man cannot live when he is haunted by the past. That is my mistake. I have not buried the past. Weaving through the darkened passages with an ease born of years of experience, he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. Coming to a dead end, Erik pressed a hidden mechanism and slipped from his underground world and out into the open.

Gliding in and out of sight like a shadow on a cloudy day, he moved through the Opera's hallways without being seen. Methodically he searched the floors for a woman he had not seen in a year, the very woman who had nearly killed him with her rejection. He knew Christine had to be there, somewhere, and he planned on finding her.

Standing discreetly behind a hanging backdrop, Erik allowed a group of the theater's carpenters to pass by. In the distance, the sounds of the chorus practicing the second act in Faust floated through the air. Drawing back the curtain with one finger, he carefully searched the area beyond for any more passersby. The light just barely touched the planes of his face, shading his eyes from view as he let the drapery fall back into place.

Where in the world is she? Erik thought with growing irritation, and then like a light going on in his skull an idea struck him. Turning fluidly, he swept off back the way he had come, heading straight toward the dressing rooms, toward Brielle's room. Passing the end of the hall, he caught sight of a petite brunette, standing in front of the mirror room's closed door, with her back toward him, talking rather loudly with Meg.

"Christine, for the love of God, I asked you to stay away from here. Brielle is ill. Can you not see that it would be wicked for you to go into her room now?" Meg demanded, exasperation obviously thrumming in her tone, though strangely enough her voice lacked any sign of actual anger. In fact, the blonde seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood.

"Yes, I know," Christine's lovely bell-like voice replied, sounding truly contrite in the special way she had that forced you to automatically believe her. "I know I am a horrible person. I just thought…" Sighing, Christine paused there. "Meg, do you truly believe that what I am doing is wrong?"

"Yes," Meg replied with certainty. "Everyone else has put last year behind them. Perhaps it is time you did so too. You have your own life to live…you have a husband who loves you…but you are stuck being the person you were then. Everyone else has grown up."

Christine hung her head slightly, her shoulders drooping in submission. "Yes…yes…you are right. But please understand that I thought I was doing the right thing by coming back here. That I thought I could…make things right in a way."

"I know. You were just going about it the wrong way."

Waving a hand weakly in the air, Christine let out a sad sort of laugh. "Yes, I seem to always go about things the wrong way. I try to do good things now, whenever I can, but it always seems to never work out. I mean I was so certain that I knew what Monsieur Sinclair was trying to do this morning but I think I was wrong about that too."

There was a slight weighted pause before Meg spoke up. "What?" she asked slowly.

Nodding, Christine lowered her hand. "Yes, I feel like such a twit. I told him your favorite flower this morning because I thought he was courting you. The poor soul looked so confused that I thought I would help him."

"What made you think he was courting me?" Meg sputtered loudly.

Taken aback by her friend's tone, Christine hesitated. "Well…the way he has been looking at you reminded me of how Raoul looks at me. I was certain…but I see you don't have any flowers so I suppose I was wrong. I am sorry. I didn't mean any harm. I just want to see you happy. And Monsieur Sinclair seems like a nice sort of man."

"You noticed him looking at me…like that?" Meg murmured so lowly that her voice hardly traveled down the hallway.

"Oh yes," Christine responded instantly. "All the time…whenever you walked into the room he seemed to perk up. And several times, I heard him asking others where you were. But I must have been mistaken."

"No…you weren't mistaken. He did bring me flowers," Meg breathed, holding a hand over her heart as if she were afraid it would burst out of her chest. "I am sorry…I think I need to be by myself for a moment. I will talk to you later…" Turning so quickly that her practice skirts whirled about her knees, Meg took off down the hallway, heading straight to where Erik was currently standing just around the corner.

Cursing silently, Erik jerked out of sight just before Meg came careening around the corner. Watching her flee, the masked man shook his head. I wonder what Conner did to her today. She looks like she just had the rug pulled out from under her feet. Listening carefully, he noted that Christine had not moved from her spot down the hallway. Quickly moving down along the wall he was leaning against, he pushed a specific stone and slipped through a small door that opened up behind him. Racing stealthily through the blackness beyond him, he came to the mirror room within seconds. Opening the plate of glass, he slipped into Brielle's empty and locked bedroom. Throwing open the latch upon the door with a click, he retreated once more behind the protective shield of the giant mirror.

Waiting impatiently, Erik watched the door slowly creak open, just as he knew it would. A small bejeweled hand appeared on the wooden panel just before Christine's head poked into the room. Her dark eyes searched the shadows worriedly for a moment before she stepped further into the empty space.

"Hello? Is someone here?" she called out as she hesitated in the doorway.

"Come in and shut the door, child," Erik commanded, pitching his voice in such a way that he was certain she would do exactly as she was told.

The girl stiffened where she stood, her face going slack and pale as her overlarge eyes turned to stare at the mirror. Christine stood frozen in mid-action at the door for several breathless seconds, and Erik began to worry that whatever it was in her that had always responded to his voice had faded. But then, as if moving in a dream, the vicomtesse glided into the room, pushing the door shut behind her.

Standing behind the mirror, Erik allowed himself a moment to study her fine-boned face. He acknowledged her natural beauty, which only seemed to have increased over the last year, but did not feel the automatic reaction of possession he had come to associate with her frail appearance. He didn't feel the obsessive pull or the need to protect her. Just as when he had looked at her picture he felt only a weak sense of anger, and even that seemed to fade because now that his eyes were no longer covered by the ideal she had once represented to him he could see that she was really just a pretty girl.

Before his very eyes, the sparkling image of her he had built up in his memory faded, replaced with the sight of the tired and wary woman standing before him now. Relaxing his stance, Erik felt like all the festering fury remaining within him was washing away, rolling out of him on a cleansing wave of enlightenment.

"I know it is you…" Christine murmured shakily. "Are you really there or are you…a…"

"A ghost?" Erik supplied when Christine's voice faltered. "No, child. I am still very much alive. Sorry to disappoint…I know you came an awfully long way to lay me to rest. I figured it was better to tell you now that there is no body for you."

"Please…" A flicker of fear flashed over her face as she pressed herself back against the door. "Please, stop this…come out and face me if you wish to torture me further."

Receiving her plea with open irritation, Erik mentally went over his words, knowing that he had said nothing torturous at all. Is it me that has changed? Why did I not see how excitable she was before? Feeling that there was no danger in showing himself, Erik smoothly stepped from behind the mirror and out into the room. Christine's eyes widened even further at the sight of him, her gaze moving over his figure in a feverish, disbelieving stare. Standing perfectly still, he allowed this scrutiny without the normal spike of unease that a stare usually instilled.

"Have you come here for revenge, my poor angel?" Christine finally asked, looking as if she were on the verge of a faint at any moment. "I knew someday this would come. Like Judas I knew I would suffer for my betrayal."

His brows drawing down into a fierce glare, Erik abandoned any form of gentleness in the face of her quickly escalating hysteria. Drawing his shoulders back and raising his chin, he schooled his features into a stern frown, easily stepping into the commanding role of the teacher he once had been. "Be silent," he demanded harshly, bringing a quick end to her babbling.

Christine stared at him, slack-jawed, as he calmly pulled out a chair and sat down. "I find it shocking, madame, that you have enough ego to consciously place yourself into the same realm with Biblical characters."

Blushing furiously at his quietly delivered condemnation, the vicomtesse opened her mouth in protest. "Well…I…"

"Did I or did I not tell you to be silent?" Erik cut her off before she could get more than a few mumbled words out. Pinning her against the door with a quelling stare, the masked man cleared his throat and continued. "Despite what you may believe I haven't the least bit of interest in punishing you for what you did to me, horrendous though it may have been."

Sagging slightly in relief, Christine bit her lower lip. "Why not?"

Pausing for a moment, Erik wondered that himself. You would think I would be furious…facing her. But, strangely enough, I am not. "Many things can happen within a year. A person, even one such as me, can learn to forgive my transgressors. Someone smarter than I taught me that."

Hearing the softening of his tone, Christine uncertainly straightened, a question rising up behind her eyes even though she did not appear to be brave enough to voice it. "Yes," Erik continued, knowing exactly what she was thinking, though she was silent. "Even one as ugly as I has been able to converse with other human beings besides you. Though it may surprise you, you are not the sun and the moon. My world did not end after you left nor did my life. I lived on despite your hasty departure."

"That is not what I was thinking!" Christine cried out, though the guilt over her own thoughts was clearly pressed over her face.

"Yes it was," Erik replied, his sigh colored with just a touch of pity. To think I used to be so lost that a year ago her thought might have been true.

Taut silence filled the room, heavy with unpleasant memories and current tensions. Christine looked down to the floor, no longer able to meet Erik's eye. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered, as two fat tears slipped down her shock-whitened cheeks. "I have been thinking about you ever since that night…"

Rising to his feet, Erik casually straightened his coat. "Take a little advice from your former teacher, child. Let the regret go. You cannot change what you did…nor do I wish you could. If you had not done what you did, my life would not be as it is now. I admit I share some blame in what happened. I see now how truly inappropriate my attentions to you were. I saw your grief and mistakenly assumed you would understand mine. Because of this, I could not see that you were just a child. Do not bother to guiltily think of me…for I will not think of you."

"You have changed," Christine breathed shakily, staring at him as if she were looking at a stranger. "What happened here? You seem…so…different."

Looking to the side his thoughts turned to the woman whom had caused these changes to occur. "Hmm, perhaps I am. I had several good role models to emulate."

"Who?" Christine dared to ask. When Erik didn't answer she repeated the question a little more forcefully her eyes darting away from him to stare across the room at where the music box he had made Aria sat. "Who!"

Unaware of her new focus the masked man smiled ironically and shook his head. "Do not concern yourself."

Christine opened her mouth to protest his dismissal but he waved his hand to silence her, wanting very to be done with her. Feeling he had said his piece, Erik turned and strolled over to the mirror, the remaining shadows within his soul burning away as his thoughts once again turned to the woman even now sleeping within his home. Behind him, he heard Christine clamor away from the door, coming toward him across the room. "Wait, don't go. I have so much I still don't understand."

Ignoring her plea, he stepped over the threshold to his secret passage without a hint of hesitation. "Go back to your husband, madame. I am sure he must miss you terribly." Turning to look back at her one last time, Erik felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It feels like I am leaving something behind…like I am finally moving forward.

"Goodbye, Christine." Sliding the mirror home with a soft click, Erik turned and strolled back into the darkness of his underground world. Behind him, he could hear the muffled pounding of Christine's fists upon the glass but he did not stop, and did not look back. He knew now that though he might think of her occasionally, he would never look back again. I have buried her just as surely as she had wanted to bury me. It is over…