This story just keeps calling to me . . . *le sigh* What control Erik holds over me . . .
Wow, I'm all verklempt at the response this story is getting! I wish I had more time to update this more often. There are so many plot bunnies hopping through my head (dark, fanged plot bunnies) that I wind up writing a bunch of stories at once. But I really want to just focus on a handful of them right now. Once I get my book published (or a lot more published online), I should have more time for fanfic.
Yeah, she managed to keep from taking off his mask. For now. That's all I'll say about that.
Hehe, I made Lady Cavalier's head explode from so much *squee* in the last chapter . . .

Okay, enough of that. Let's get back to the story! I think it's time for a little Maman Valerius and Raoul scene!

The day after Christine had gone down to Erik's home, Raoul decided to seek out the one person who might be able to shed some light on why his old childhood sweetheart refused to acknowledge him.

"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte!" Madame Valerius greeted warmly. "Would you care to join me for tea?"

Raoul was taken slightly aback. "You - you do remember me, then?" After Christine's unceremonious dismissal (dismissals, he should say), he hadn't expected the older woman to recall him.

"Oh, I know that you are the young man who insisted on seeing Christine Daae the other night. After she told me about that . . . incident . . . I had a feeling you might find your way here soon," she remarked slyly.

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, Madame . . . When she refused to see me last night, I thought I might come here and offer her an apology."

"I shall be happy to relay the message to her."

"She's not here, then?" the disappointed noble asked as the maid brought in the tea.

"No, Monsieur. She has . . . her singing lessons," was all the old woman would tell him.

"Where?" he dared to ask.

"Why, with her good genius, of course! But it would not do for you to go seeking them out and interrupting such important matters, my boy. Christine has a great gift, and her father would not have wanted her to waste it."

"Nor would I, I assure you."

"So you don't wish to court her?"

'"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I have such fond memories of her. I was rather hoping she would be here today so I could formally ask your permission, but, as she is elsewhere . . ."

"Oh, M. le Vicomte, I'm afraid you courting her would be out of the question! If she were to become your wife, her singing career would have to end. She does not desire that, I can tell you that much."

Raoul's mouth opened and shut several times. This was inconceivable! Was she really telling him that he - a vicomte - was unsuitable as a suitor?

There was something else he had to know before he left. "Please, Madame Valerius, tell me one thing. Did she remember me? That night, after she performed at the gala, when I was in her dressing room, did she know who I was to her in her childhood?"

"Does that really matter?" Her face was blank as she regarded him across the room. She knew it didn't, but she also knew that it was better to quash any hopes he might still have been harbouring.

He sighed before admitting that it didn't. He took his leave of her and bid her a good day.

Mme. Valerius couldn't help but chuckle at how easy it had been to fulfil Christine's request of her!

Beneath the opera house . . .

Erik and Christine were, themselves, having tea at the same time Mme. Valerius and Raoul were having their little chat.

"Oh, Erik," Christine giggled. "Did you really think you could keep up that pretence of being an angel forever? Did you really think me such a silly little girl that I would believe such a . . . fairy tale . . . could come true?"

"You did say it was your favourite," he countered from behind the mask that left his mouth unobscured.

"Yes, a lovely little story my father told me to help me sleep. When I was a child. He also told me of tomtes, and the prophecy of Ragnarok, and the resurrection of Lazar-"

Erik held his hands up with a smile. "All right, all right, point taken!" He chuckled. How could he have thought that she would fall for such a ruse? "Tell me, Christine. Did you and your father regularly attend church services? I only ask in case you might like to attend the day after tomorrow."

She tilted her head, bemused. "We only really went to church because Papa was playing at the weddings. We were hardly religious, though he did teach me to read using a book of Scandinavian mythology as well as a Bible. And he did instil in me a deep reverence for nature and the beauty of song. You could say that music is my religion. Does that make sense?"

"Indeed. It makes perfect sense, my dear."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments as she selected another pastry from the small assortment they'd gone up to purchase, together, that morning. Erik picked up Le Gaulois to peruse the day's news.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?" he replied without looking up from his paper.

"W- I was just wondering . . ." She was unsure if she should continue; she didn't want to anger him with her curiosity.

He lowered his newspaper to regard her face. Such consternation he saw there. She was too young to have her face scrunched up that way. "Yes? What is it, my dear? What troubles you so?" he prodded gently.

"That dream I had . . . Would . . . That is . . . I know you told me never to remove your mask . . . I wondered . . . Why?" she finally squeaked out.

He blinked at her in shock. Had he heard her correctly? He had known the subject would come up sooner or later, but he'd rather hoped he might have a way to explain it to her, a way that would sate her curiosity and quell any desire she might have to see his face.

"If you don't wish to discuss it, I will understand," she blurted as she returned her gaze to the scone she'd been nibbling at for the past ten minutes.

"It - I thought you might be curious about . . . it. You caught me off-guard; that's all. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Only if you wish to tell me," she replied, her eyes meeting his again.

"My face, Christine . . ." he sighed wearily. "My face has made me an outcast, so I keep it hidden from the cruel world. Even my own parents could not bear the sight of me. Please, Christine, promise me you will not ask to see what even they were loathe to look upon!"

He did not wait for her response; he swiftly rose from the table and immersed himself in composing for the rest of the afternoon.

Christine could not imagine parents being so horrid as not to want to look upon their own son's face. No matter what his appearance, she knew that any decent mother should love her child unconditionally. "I promise, Erik," she whispered, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her. "I never would hurt you like that."

In between the notes flying from the organ, Erik's sensitive ears picked up the soft oath she'd uttered. "Oh, Christine, if only you knew," he murmured. "If only you knew what a monster I truly am!"

*le sigh* My characters take on a life of their own, so I just write what they tell me to write. There's no telling where this story will go or how long it will actually be once I'm done. *rose-shaped cookies for those brave enough to stick with us through to the end*