A/N: Ugh, my computer/internet connection was not being very cooperative with me this week, and neither was my fanfiction muse these past few weeks.

In case you're wondering why it was so long - nearly two months! - between updates, I was rather buried in work.

Wow, nineteen chapters and sixty reviews! I can scarcely believe it! Hehe, insomnia is my friend . . .

LadyCavalier: Ah, yes! The epic snuggles! YAY for Krispy Kreme and A's on report cards! And a much belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Reverend Squid: I'm glad you're enjoying this! I've been trying to keep things in the realm of believable, and I'm pleased to hear that it has been so far.

JDLuvaSQUEE: Yay for faveourite chapters!

Eldunari Liduen: Yeah, it's going to be . . . teehee, extremely interesting . . .

Marlean: All I do is write, dear. Oh, you meant fanfic, didn't you? Too bad writing fanfic doesn't pay the bills or I'd spend a lot more time on it! :-)

Glad you're all enjoying this!

The so-called "Rosy Hours of Mazenderan" were dubbed such for reasons that Erik was loathe to admit to anyone. He hardly dared think on such events as they were wont to bring him nightmares. And yet, here he was, sitting with Mme. Anne Valerius, about to admit the horrors he had committed in those days. She was about to learn why the "Opera Ghost" was such a figure to be feared.

He'd never been this nervous in his entire life. Even showing his face to Christine had been easier, though not by much. Anne held his very future in her delicate and weathered hands.

"Ah, Erik, it's so nice to see you again," Anne began lightly. "How did the rest of your morning go?"

"Oh, I . . . took care of some business at the opera house," he admitted.

"Ah, of course. Did you check on Christine while you were there? She did have an audition today with M. Gabriel, oui?" She arched an eyebrow even as she grinned.

Erik cleared his throat before attempting to speak. He chose his words carefully. "Mais bien sur. She did, and I heard. Her voice is quite remarkable. It is my honour to be able to . . . be of help to her career."

"Indeed." She paused while Mlle. Engström brought in the tea service. "Merci."

"Shall I go to the seamstress for you, now, Madame?" the maid asked in her throaty voice.

"Oh, yes. Heavens, I'd nearly forgotten about that. There's no rush; take your time, my dear."

After the honey-haired younger woman had gone out the front door, Mme. Valerius clasped her hands together. "Now then, my dear boy, about this phantom who haunts the opera house. What do you know of him? Does he really exist, or is he merely a figment of overworked imaginations?"

Erik wrung his hands, wondering how best to tell her. "The Phantom . . . He is . . . a man . . . who has taken advantage . . . of overworked imaginations . . . and superstitious minds . . . He . . ." His voice trailed off. Could he really admit to being the Phantom?

"So he is real? Have you any idea who he is?" Anne asked calmly. "I dare say, I should be intrigued to meet such a man who is capable of such manipulation. He must have an astounding intellect!"

Erik remained silent. He was aware of his own intelligence, but he didn't want to seem arrogant. He simply lifted a hand to his face to assure his mask was secure then he nodded his head. "M- Anne . . . This phantom . . . He is not one to be trifled with. There are secret passages beneath the opera house, some of them very dangerous."

Anne inclined her head, ready to listen to whatever he had to tell her. "Now, where you left off earlier, you had to go to Persia . . ?" As she stirred cream and sugar into her tea, she listened, nearly hypnotised by the sound of his voice, as he revealed more of his storied past to her.

"There are parts of my past that I should prefer to forget."

"Yes, I can understand that. I believe we all have ghosts in our pasts that we'd sooner forget. If you don't wish to go into much detail, I will understand."

His mouth felt unusually dry at that moment. He swished hot tea with more than his usual amount of lemon around his tongue. "You must understand, Anne, that even thinking of such events, all those years, is difficult for me. I have never spoken of it to anyone. You are the first I felt I could trust, besides Christine . . . that is, I trust that you will not judge me too harshly, even though I deserve it."

"Oh, now, my dear boy, you told me why you went to Persia. It was to assure the safety of someone who was dear to you. How could I ever judge you harshly for that?"

He bowed his head and took a deep breath before continuing. "When I went to Persia, I had no idea what to expect. I had heard tales from some who frequented my tent that the Shah and his favourite wife had . . . rather . . . peculiar tastes in entertainment. Because of my unique proclivities with ventriloquism and sleight of hand, they . . . Well, they had me perform . . . in a . . . political capacity." He eyed her warily, wondering if she took his meaning.

She tilted her head. "Political capacity? What do you mean?"

"I dealt with . . . enemies of the crown . . ."

Comprehension slowly dawned on her pale face. "Oh!" she sighed at last. "They had you . . . Oh, my dear boy . . . my dear boy . . . what horrors you must have gone through . . . being coerced . . . and manipulated like that! It is small wonder you don't like to think of those days."

"Still, the things I did at the Shah and the little sultana's command . . . they were still committed by my hands! And I must live with that knowledge . . . all the rest of my days."

"And your friend? What happened to her?" Anne asked after several moments of silence.

"Anahita," he replied as though lost in a dream. Erik remembered where he was and cleared his throat. "I was able to secure passage for her out of Persia and far from the . . . dangers of the palace. But that was not until after she'd fallen ill. I suspected she was poisoned by someone jealous of the attention I paid her." He shook his head in disbelief. "Whatever the cause of her malady, her beauty was . . . marred by malnutrition. I was able to have her taken, with help from the same daroga who had first lured me to Persia, to a hospital where she could recuperate."

Anne, sensing that this was too painful a memory for him to continue, asked if he might like some cake. He accepted it wordlessly, but his eyes spoke of his gratitude. He had carried the burden for far too long, and he was thankful that someone was willing to share it with him, even if only for a short time.