*crawls out of an ubersecret chamber in fifth cellar (where the authoress has been slaving away to post new poems at Helium) encounters no angry mob . . . sighs in relief* I like going back to read the reviews! Seriously, the feedback is like mega-awesome cookies with rainbow-coloured sugar sprinkles! Oh, the fluff bunnies of death!

Wait, what the hell did I just say? What strange power compels me to keep writing this? *dashes off, then returns in puff of reddish smoke for the uber-important task of giving you another chapter of my insane ramblings*

LadyCavalier: I'm basking in the adoration! Woohoo! But, um, why would you think the holidays would mean I could possibly have time to write a chapter a day? Haha! Silly phan, keep dreaming! ~_^

StrawberryStoleYourCookie: Owl City? Never heard of it (I was kind of thinking of Star Trek when I wrote that poem (Warp Drive).). And . . . *Edward Elric reaction, aka jumping up and down in a totally not extreme overreaction to what was said* MILK IS EVIL! Unless it's plant-based, of course. *wink* And, because you mentioned her, I'm just going to have to have Anahita make another appearance . . . *ducks to avoid blunt objects being thrown*

elfinmyth: Haha! Yes, I had to throw in a little . . . *ahem* drama . . . and I'm pleased to hear -erm, read that those grammar "thingies" helped! ^_^ *Snoopy dance at the mention of chocolate and flowers* *cough* Raoul . . .*cough* As River Song would say, "Spoilers!" And I'm pretty sure I had seen that letter before, but I couldn't remember where, so I credit you with where I, you know, pilfered it from.

nonesuch: Hehehe, Raoul's reaction . . .

Eldunari Liduen: Hehe! I couldn't resist a little ALW thrown in there! Oh, and, yes, DUCKIE! And blanket forts!

SquidPire: I'm glad you're enjoying it!

MoonlightDuchess: I'm having fun writing this!

ReverendSquid: Yay for the fuzziness!

Wow, is it really the thirteenth chapter already? How the heck did I find time to write so much of this? Oh, maybe I typed it up while I was sleeping . . . Or else, Erik came along and wrote it . . . Hmmmm . . .

All right, that's enough of my silly rambling. On to the story!

"How can you claim to love me?" Erik repeated insistently.

Christine merely stood in front of him, held immobile by his vise-like grip on her hands. How could she hope to answer that question when she wasn't sure herself how she knew she loved him? All she knew was that, somewhere in the course of their lessons and the time she had been down here, below the opera house and away from the rest of society, she had managed to fall helplessly, hopelessly in love. He had rescued her from the doldrums to which she had resigned herself. Now, she realised, she would simply have to save him from the darkness within his own soul.

Whatever had happened in his past to make him so untrusting would have to be put to rest before they could move forward together.

"Erik . . . I . . . You are hurting me," she winced as his hands squeezed hers even tighter.

"Oh, Erik would not want to hurt poor little Christine! Erik will cover his face with the mask to avoid harming Christine with his accursed ugliness!"

As he turned to retrieve his mask, Christine placed a hand on his sleeve. "Erik," she murmured, "you were only squeezing my hands too tightly. I . . . do not wish you to feel the need to wear your mask in my presence." She inhaled slowly and let it out in a sigh, praying that he would calm down.

Elsewhere in Paris . . .

Philippe was similarly hoping that Raoul's tantrum would soon end. But where Erik's anger was cold and controlled, Raoul's was heated and volatile. He continued to throw trinkets and baubles at walls while he shouted epithets that are best not repeated here.

"How?" Raoul was fairly seething with jealous rage. "She . . . she could have told me there was someone else!" 'Why didn't Madame Valerius justtell me someone was already courting her?'

"Perhaps she wanted to spare your feelings," Philippe consoled. "You were so set on her remembering that summer by the sea that she may have wished to-,"

"What do I care what she wished?" he retorted sharply. "If she had given me some time, I would have made her recall what we shared! She would have loved me again!"

Philippe was aghast at such a declaration from his little brother. The de Chagnys were nothing if not honourable. The lad had been so calm in his youth, but something had happened to make him angry and out of control. But what? What could have been so jarring as to warrant such a drastic change?

Raoul stormed off without a word as to where he was going or when he would return, leaving the elder man to fret. He would simply have to ask La Sorelli if anything untoward had occurred recently. She would surely know of any gossip circulating among the other dancers and chorus girls.

After a few moments, Erik came back to himself and apologised to Christine. "I . . . am sorry, my dear. My . . . anger . . . has a way of . . . getting the better of me at times. It is at those times that you must be very careful, for I forget myself then, and I might do things that I will not be aware of."

"I understand, Erik. And I am sorry, too."

"Sorry? What have you to be sorry for?" 'She is an angel to worry about me the way she does. Those eyes . . . such caring, sweet eyes . . .'

"For . . . having stolen a glance at your face without your permission. I should have waited until you allowed it."

"Ah, but I did allow it this morning, did I not?" he remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

Christine smiled, relieved that his demeanour was back to what she had become a accustomed to. Even though she knew there were any number of things that might incur his wrath, she was determined that she would not be one of them.

Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, made his way up to the Opera Garnier. There had to be some explanation for Christine's cold behaviour towards him! She remembered him, he was sure of it! But she simply didn't want to upset that masked man Philippe had seen her walking with!

That had to be it!

Content with his own contrived reasons, he ventured up to the offices to find one of the managers. They had to know where Christine Daae was or the identity of this mysterious singing teacher!

"Teacher?" M. Moncharmin aped. "We know not, Monsieur le Vicomte."

"Are you certain? I would, ah, be willing to increase my patronage if I were able to locate them and be assured of Mlle. Daae's . . . safety and well-being," Raoul offered.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but we really cannot help you locate her," M. Richard interjected. "If we knew, we would take you there ourselves. I dare say we should like to know who this mysterious tutor of hers is, as well. He seems to be able to work miracles if he could transform Mlle. Daae's voice to such glorious soulfulness within the space of three months!"

Raoul flushed. His memories of Christine included a beautiful voice! But, he reasoned, things had clearly changed in the decade since he had known her. Now, with a clearer head, he could see how rashly he had acted. He would certainly need to make amends with his brother! And with the help who surely had quite the mess to clean up after his tantrum!

"If you do hear from her, please, let me know. I should like to send . . . Ah," he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "I would like to know that my old childhood playmate is all right. I have been worried about her."

"Oh, of course, worried," M. Moncharmin echoed.

"I shan't take up any more of your time this afternoon. If you will excuse me, gentlemen . . . I shall return later to check in on the rehearsals. With your permission, of course," Raoul added politely with a slight bow.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course! You - you and your family are always welcome to view a rehearsal, Monsieur le Vicomte!" M. Richard vowed as the young man exited the office. "How odd," he remarked, turning to M. Moncharmin as soon as the door was securely closed. "He seems . . . rather taken with that Swedish girl. Do you think it possible that . . ?"

"That . . ? Oh! Firmin! Don't be stupid! If a patron wanted to see one of the chorus girls be granted an audition, he wouldn't stoop to threatening letters! No, that 'Opera Ghost' business must be a silly trick of Debienne and Poligny's as a sort of . . . initiation . . . into the -"

"I'm not entirely convinced of that, Armand," he replied uneasily. He was not a superstitious man, but recent events had caused him to become rather wary of who might be listening.

A/N: Okay, so it's been a while since I've actually sat and read the whole book (just portions as I required them) so, if the managers seem out of character, I'm just writing them in my own way. I hope you've found this . . . interesting . . . so far . . .