A/N: Hello you guys! It's almost Christmas and I'm very, very excited! So, happy Kwanzanukahmas, a combination of Kwanza, Hanukah, and Christmas and if you don't celebrate any of those, merry holidays!

Chapter Seven: Sneaking Like a Ninja

Everything was dark in the hallway, the candle gave off a ghostly half-light that wasn't able to illuminate a thing, but I wasn't giving it up, it was freezing down there, and it was a good source of warmth. I shrieked a little when a rat scuttled by, but I was determined not to give up.

I jogged down a flight of steps, nearly slipping from all the water on the stairs, but catching myself with help from the wall. I sighed and continued on, down dark hallways and corridors where rats would scamper and play and eat with each other. I passed a horse's stall, and saw a lovely black horse with dark trappings. He whinnied at me, and I waved, continuing on. Horse hooves would be heard down here in a second; if the Phantom was in his lair, he'd here me coming from a mile and a half away.

I passed by as I did with all of the other things, continuing down the slick steps and across the rat-infested floor and I was quite sure that they were not Things. How someone could live like this I didn't know, how so many rats could be running amok with no one to stop them, it was almost sad.

I shuddered as I looked to the left to see a large web with a family of spider's nesting comfortably. As cute as they looked, spiders scared the crap out of me, and so I picked up my pace, walking faster than ever.

Suddenly, a great wind ripped through the corridor, chilling me to the bone and blowing out my candle. I groaned softly in annoyed surprise and began to feel along the walls; that were slick with water and filth, just like the floor.

I gasped in pain when the palm of my hand caught on a sharp piece of twisted metal that one would use for holding a sconce. The jagged edge ripped through my skin, making the small cuts I had from breaking my mirror hurt even more as my hand was suddenly covered in my blood.

It was warm and sticky, with a rusty smell like iron and oh did it burn. It was like I took my recently extinguished flame and held it to my skin, it hurt so much! I grabbed at my hair with my one good hand and ripped the piece of fabric I was using as a hair tie from my head, wrapping it around my hand and securing it tightly. It still burned as I felt along the wall, but at least the blood was no longer flowing freely.

I walked forever, down deeper and deeper into the earth. I wondered just how long this could go on before I hit the center of the world, but I never did; instead, I came to a large, misty lake. It was beautiful and glassy, like ice it was so still. I knew Christine was on the other side, I had to save her, but something was telling me to just leave.

For the life of me, I couldn't recall what happened to Christine, it was if I was actually losing my memories. I shook these thoughts away and climbed into the boat that sat on the shore, picking up the oar and wincing as I put pressure on my cut hand. I dipped the piece of wood into the still surface of the water, making tiny ripples as I pushed off from the shore and rowing towards the other side.

It was too misty to see just what was on the other side of the lake, but a dim, glowing light was there, so I knew that there must be something. It was deathly quiet as I rowed, not making a sound in case the Phantom was there, which I knew was impossible, the boat was on the wrong side if he was, or maybe he had more than one entrance.

A small part of my mind told me that he had passages all over the Opera house, how else could've he gotten behind my walls the first night I came here? I knew this part was true, as for a Phantom to be convincing I supposed one would have to get oneself around at a faster rate than a mortal man. I got sidetracked by these thoughts and accidentally hit the side of the cave when I drifted a little bit; making a thumping noise that echoed around the hollow space, amplified by the marvelous acoustics.

Unfortunately, these acoustics seemed to be working against me, as I winced and thought for sure that Erik would be upon me at any second; stringing his lasso around my neck and choking the life out of me. This did not happen however, but I remained still for some time, waiting for it to. After five minutes of utter silence once more, I began to paddle again, this time keeping my mind focused on my rescue mission.

I paddled for what felt like hours afterwards, the light growing brighter as I neared the other side. I felt as if I was passing into Heaven, even when I was as deep in the earth as Hell, but the world that the Phantom had built himself wasn't one of eternal damnation, even if he lived it; no, he built himself a paradise and as I broke through the mist and laid my eyes on it for the first time; I truly believed my theory of my being dead.

There were candles everywhere, quietly dripping wax as they floated along the water and up onto the shore in beautiful silver candle holders. The steps onto dry land were slick with perspiration, but had footholds to make it easier to step out from. The stone floor looked as though it was carved out of the rock itself, but had natural grooves that were smoothed out, making the assumption false. More candles dripped in large candelabra's and in the center of the lair; a large and magnificent organ with thick, yellow sheet-music paper littered everywhere. I stepped from the boat and gasped at the sight, drinking in the scene.

There were several crevices to the Phantom's home, and I began to explore; looking for Christine. In the first, a large chest with a lock sat and nearby a desk with fresh-cut roses in a crystal vase and a respectably-sized mirror with masks of all kinds on stands around it. One looked as though it was made from broken mirror shards, another was natural skin-toned. And one sat in the very center, menacing and scary beyond all reason; the Red Death mask.

It was full-faced and frightening, with all the attributes of a real skull, like Erik had studied one when he designed it. I reminded myself that he probably did, but I couldn't bring myself to think about where he got one from. Around the mirror were drawings of a very beautiful woman and it took me three seconds to realize that the woman was Christine.

They were done in charcoal, and while they didn't fully capture her, they were very well done and it was then that I realized just how immensely talented the Opera Ghost was. But while there were drawings' the real Christine was not here, and so I moved on, towards the red curtain that hung, covering another room-like crevice.

Behind the curtain was a wedding dress on a mannequin, a mannequin with Christine's face. It was done in paper-mache, expertly sculpted to look just like her, with a soft smile on her pink-pained lips. Despite the care and love that went into it, it repulsed me for it was also then that I realized that while Erik was talented, he was also completely obsessed.

Beside the mannequin, another desk sat with envelopes and paper edged in black, quills and a red skull wax imprinter. This was obviously where he kept his stationary set, and behind the desk, inlaid in the wall was a small likeness of the opera stage way, way upstairs through miles of rock.

Little wax dolls fashioned to look like the members of the theatre troop were there, dressed in costumes from Ill Muto, and at the very front, a likeness to Carlotta stood with her head that included the ridiculously tall Countess wig that she'd been preening over on the body of the pageboy that Christine was supposed to play, with her little wax head painted to look just like hers on top of the Countesses body.

Along the side of the little stage was a small box with another lock. I shuffled through papers until I found the key and opened it, gasping in wonder as I pulled out tiny likeness after tiny likeness.

There was Christine in her white dress from Hannibal, her ballet tutu from when she was still just a ballerina, and in her white robe. There was one of Carlotta in her ghastly, gold-drenched Hannibal costume, as well as Piangi in his costume. I dug to the bottom of the little box, and gasped when I pulled out a tiny doll with dark blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin in a blue-trimmed dress; the Phantom had made a likeness of me! I felt flattered, yet somehow a bit scared that he'd been watching me, but mostly flattered.

I turned to the right after locking box up tight just as it had been, and rearranged the papers, moving to the low bookshelf on the wall and the last thing to see in this room. I bent down and looked at the titles because as Goblin once told me; 'You can tell a lot about someone, simply by what they read.' I could hear his voice clearly in my mind, and while I'm sure that the rule he told me was true, it didn't seem to apply to Erik, because all of his books weren't in English.

I skimmed along the length of his books until I came to a very small one near the back. This one was the only one whose title I could read and I instantly knew that Erik was a good guy. On the cover of the black bound book in red letters was written the title; Romeo and Juliet. I adored Shakespeare, and with the amount of wear and tear this book seemed to have, apparently he did too. I replaced the book where it was and backed out of the room, turning again and bounding up some stairs before coming to the very last room.

This was the only one that had a door, which was surprisingly unlocked. I pushed it open and let myself into the bedroom. In the center, there was large and beautiful swan bed, and along with many, many, many more candles and papers littered all over the floor. The bed was unmade and Christine was nowhere to be found. My heart sank and I wondered if I even should have come down here at all. I cursed my stupidity as poor Christine was probably off somewhere else. I sighed and sat down in one the chairs, ready to give up as hot tears of guilt pricked at my eyes.

My pity party was cut short when I saw it. On a low table, so close to the ground that no chair was short enough, sat a monkey music box. It was elegant and beautiful, with its furry body covered up in Persian robes and a turban on its head, and it sat on a silver cushion. It held gold cymbals in its hands and I was almost tempted to turn the handle to see what tune it played.

I reached a shaking hand out and turned the lever, finding it easier said than done as I turned the heavy piece of metal, my injured hand hurting from having to grip it so tightly while my other was making sure I didn't lose my balance. With a creak; the little monkey began to clap the tiny cymbals it was holding together while a beautiful, tinkling melody played. I couldn't believe that such an innocent thing was sitting in the Phantom of the Opera's bedroom, and a little piece of my heart melted as I sat in his room, listening to his music box.

I felt a stab of pity in my heart for the poor man who had so much time to create all of these amazing wonders, but wasn't allowed to share it with the world because of how he looked. It almost made me cry but it was true and although I'd come down here to save Christine, I couldn't help but loathe her a little bit for hurting someone like him, even if he was a murderer.

I never heard the sound of footsteps behind me, although looking back on it now, I should have. The last thing I remember was someone clapping a cloth over my mouth that hand been soaked in a wet substance that had me falling in seconds.

Falling into the arms of Erik, the Opera Ghost.

A/N: In this chapter, I tried to incorporate as many different versions of the Phantom's lair as possible. Largely, it is based off of the 2004 movie, but the mirror with the different masks was borrowed from the Charles Dance mini-series made in 1990 and the bookshelf bit was from my own imagination and what I pictured the lair to look like the first time I read the book.