Hehehe, I love reading the reviews/feedback!

Jess, yeah, that's going to be . . . haha, interesting for me to write when I get there!

LadyCavalier, all I'll say about that is, erm, I wasn't even going to go into depth about Christine's faith, whatever it may be (I'm just using Leroux for inspiration, after all), so I'll just say that whatever faith she may have, it's not blind and my Christine is more . . . grounded in reality, I guess you could say.

Raoul paced the rooms of his flat. How could she not remember him? She had said she would love him always! He still had the same fair hair and clear blue eyes of his youth. She had to remember their days by the sea! And all the trouble he went to fetching her red scarf from the sea!

But she had laughed - laughed at him when he brought up their shared history! And she'd admonished him for having not been there for her all those years.

Well, he supposed she had a point there. He should have been the one on whose shoulder she'd cried when her father had taken ill and died. He should have been more steadfast in his devotion. He should have kept in contact with her all these years.

He sighed wearily. There was no changing the past. He'd simply have to show her that he truly did love her! True, it had been many years since their days in Bretagne, but this was real love, the kind that lasted forever! This was -

His elder brother, Philippe, entered carrying two goblets of deep red wine. "Something troubling you, little brother?" he asked as he handed off a glass.

"Hmm, just . . . Do you remember that summer several years ago? We took a holiday by the sea and I got drenched fetching a red scarf for a young Swedish girl."

"Oh, yes, I believe I do! You were ill for nearly a week! Oh, you gave us all a fright that summer! That's why we never returned there! We couldn't very well have you running into the sea to fetch scarves for all the pretty young maidens, now, could we?" he teased.

"Yes, well, that young Swedish girl has become an opera singer. She had her first lead role last night - yes, that was her, don't look so disbelieving! - and she fainted at the end of her performance. I went backstage to her dressing room and she was fine - the doctor was tending to her, as well as her maid. When I reminded her of our days as sweethearts, she - she laughed at me!"

Philippe could only laugh himself, now, at his younger brother's naive foolishness. "Oh, dear little Raoul! Did you really expect her to recall such an event? It was so long ago! I dare say it had more of an impact on you than on . . . anyone else. Just forget your little baggage and come out with me and Sorelli tonight. I'm sure she can find a friend for you," he promised with a wink. 'Poor boy needs to learn about the reality of women, and fast, before one has him wound about her little finger and has him traipsing about like a fool!'

Christine returned to the flat she and Madame Valerius called home.

"And your good genius, dear? Did your angel remain with you last night after you fainted?" the widow queried over her bowl of vichyssoise.

"Oh, yes, Mama. Even after a young man barged into my dressing room!"

"Ah, Dr. Vronsky told me about that!"

"Was I wrong, Mama, to tell him that I did not know him? The Angel - he asked me who the boy was, and I told him the truth, that I really did remember those days by the sea, but . . . but that things had changed since then."

"Well, of course, things have changed, my dear. Nothing stays the same," she reminded her gently. "We don't remain the same people over the years, or even day to day. Just think of the girl you were three months ago and the young woman you are now! So much has happened in such a short span of time."

Christine sighed contentedly. "You are right, Maman, of course. And the Angel did say that I must not give my heart to anyone on Earth. If I were to do that, he would have to leave me forever! I couldn't bear that." 'And I want him to reveal his true identity to me soon. That will make me happy. But I must keep up this pretence of believing him to be a heavenly messenger until then.' She chuckled silently to herself.

They finished their lunch in comfortable silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts of men they loved but could not embrace.

Soon after their midday meal was concluded, Christine returned to the opera house for another gruelling afternoon of rehearsals. Despite the previous night's success, she was still seen as nothing more than a ballet rat and a chorus girl! But she could live with that for now. The new managers had heard her sing and would allow her to audition for other parts in the future. She just had to be patient.

Besides, they were all afraid of La Carlotta and her temper!

From up on the catwalk, a dark figure kept watch over the ballet rehearsals. He wondered why Christine seemed so content this afternoon. He would have to ask her about that at their next singing lesson.

"You seemed distracted during rehearsals this afternoon, Christine," the Voice chided.

"Oh, I . . . simply had something on my mind, Voice. I had a good talk with Maman Valerius over lunch today," she admitted.

"And what did you speak of?" he asked lightly, his curiosity growing. He nearly dreaded her answer.

"I told her about the boy who was here last night . . . And what you said."

"What did I say?" he asked casually. He told her so many things, it was difficult for him to know what she might have told the old woman.

"That you would leave me forever if I dared give my heart to any man on Earth," she reminded him sadly. "And I told her I couldn't bear it if you left me!"

"Calm your fears, child. You need not fear that. I am here now. Perhaps, one day, Christine, if . . . Perhaps, the day will come when I can show you my face," he murmured.

Christine's ecstasy at this announcement was evident on her face. 'I knew it, I just knew he had to be a man! He will show himself to me soon! But will I have to go on pretending he is an angel once he does? Or will he admit to the ruse?'

"Sing for me, Christine," he urged.

She spent the next hour lost in song and wondering how long it would be before she would see the man that owned such a beautiful voice.

Erik leaned against the back of the mirror in amazement after their lesson had concluded. She wanted to see him! She wanted her Angel of Music to be a man that she could love! Did he dare let himself be known to her? If she saw his face, would she still feel the same way about him?

No, he would not let his hopes rise like that! What angel could love a demon such as Erik? Better to keep things the way they had been for the last three months. He would teach her and train her voice, and she would be his willing student.

Then, the sickening thought of that boy entered his mind. What if he persisted? He was handsome, rich, and titled. He had known his precious little Christine as a girl, and now the boy had seen the lovely woman she was blossoming into. Who could resist such charms? If he remained at the opera, as he was sure to do as he and his brother were patrons, would he continue to call on Christine?

How long would it be before she succumbed to the honeyed words of the insolent fop? Erik considered the actions he could take. He could cause an unfortunate accident. No, Christine would blame the Phantom, and she would never forgive Erik when she discovered that her Angel of Music, Erik, and the Phantom were all one and the same!

Oh, no, Erik would simply have to remind the pretty little Swedish songbird where her loyalties should be if it seemed she might stray! Yes, she would remain his. He would make her see that she could love him. His new mask was almost perfected. With that mask, he would look like an ordinary man.

Then she would not care if he were hideous, the very image of Death! She would love him, him, and all he had done for her. Then, perhaps, she would become his living bride! And they could go out on Sundays like any other couple.

Oh, how different Christine was from the only other woman Erik had felt such affection for! Christine's skin was so pale, like porcelain, and her hair was as brilliant as the midday sun! She was so unlike Anahita in every way! Anahita's hair had been a lustrous blue-black, dark as the midnight sky, and her skin was . . . so golden from her time in the sun. And her eyes! Those eyes, like the dark depths of a glass of ratafia de cassis!

She . . . Anahita had been his dark angel, his angel with the midnight hair! At least he'd been able to get her out of Persia before he'd fled. His poor dear . . .

But Erik could not think about the past now. He needed to move forward. He had a diva to train!

Christine checked her hair and make-up in the mirror yet again. For some reason, she was more nervous to be in the ballet tonight than she had been to perform the lead in Faust the week before. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and adjusted the straps of her costume.

Knowing that the Man with the Voice was going to be watching was making her shaky. La Sorelli came up behind her to check her own costume in the mirror.

"There's no need to be nervous, Christine! You've always been a good dancer," she reminded her.

"Thank you. I could never be as good as you, of course!" Christine wasn't sure if the prima ballerina was simply being reassuring or sarcastic, but she had to play along and let her think she was still the shy, naive girl that everyone thought she was.

*Ratafia is a liqueur or cordial flavoured with peach or cherry kernels, bitter almonds, or other fruits. Cassis refers to the blackcurrant. Creme de cassis, first produced in 1841, has replaced ratafia de cassis due to potential for toxicity as peach and cherry kernels contain high levels of hydrogen cyanide.