A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! :) As promised, answers to much of the mystery are revealed in this chapter (and remember, dear phriends – this is very much a fantasy ;-)). (To better understand this chapter it might help to go back and read the conversation Christine had with Tobias in ch. 6...) - and now...

Chapter XV

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Lillith sat at the edge of the pond and dropped petals, one by one, into the shimmering pool. She smiled maliciously with each ruined shred of velvet red blossom as it disturbed the placid water, forming ripples that spread out into rings of violent disorder.

Erik…Christine…Raoul…Frederick…

…all of their lives soon to be destroyed.

"Lillith, her majesty would speak with you at once."

At the lilting voice of authority, Lillith turned to see Jareal, the queen's personal assistant. With raven black hair and an exotic beauty that all the queen's servants possessed, she stared down her nose at Lillith with the lofty arrogance she had come to expect from the entirety of her kind…

And all because of her sister's disgrace.

She sighed and tossed the decimated rose into the water, then stood to follow Jareal through the floral forest that was their home within Brocéliande, and to the evergreen bower where the queen resided. Invisible to mortals who erroneously thought their race long vanished, they and their realm rested within the midst of the great forest, their voices if heard by humans comparable to the quiet murmur of a stream or to the whisper of fronds.

On a crystal throne encrusted with precious jewels in every color of the heavenly rainbow, Queen Viviane, leader of the Fae, sat in all her luminescent glory. Known by mortals as the Lady of the Lake, it was she who gave Excalibur to King Arthur centuries ago, and likewise tricked him into entrusting her with the dark magic through the young Merlin, then turned and used it against them. Eternally young and fair as all those of their race, her eyes were like starlight and glowed with centuries of wisdom. Her long silver hair shimmered with iridescence like the light of first dawn and hung as a mantle about her hips. The gown she wore shimmered as a mirror with cerulean tones, reflecting her unique beauty.

Lillith's true countenance of fair hair and violet eyes paled next to her queen's splendor, but in one area they were alike. Their hatred of humankind – and for Lillith, one family in particular.

"My Queen," Lillith said, lowering herself in a low, graceful bow while spreading her arms out to each side, overcome and a little anxious that her sovereign would seek her out. "You wish to speak with me?"

"I know of your shifting the two worlds in time." Queen Viviane's words came fluid and smooth, but Lillith sensed a hint of anger there. "For what purpose have you interfered with these mortals and without my permission?"

Lillith recalled her fortuitous meeting with Christine Daaé on the path outside the Chateau de Martinique. She had worn the glamour of a sweet young girl, a disguise that often brought unwary mortals into her trap. Few had reason to suspect the innocent charm of a little child.

Enticing Christine to visit the Megaliths of Carnac had been simple, as had tripping her so that she would fall and cut her hand. Blood was imperative in the spell to send her back through time, since she had been fully aware. For the twisted man, Erik, such an act had been unnecessary, so deep in wounded sleep had he been after the mob's vicious attack five levels below the Opera House.

"The woman is the intended of the de Chagny lord whose ancestor captured my sister and kept her for a season," Lillith explained, working to keep the quiver that coursed through her form absent from her voice. "Shailene has never been the same since your soldiers found and brought her back to us."

"Then it is vengeance that guides you?"

"That, and a desire to please my queen and make restitution for the sins of my family, if it is at all possible."

Viviane frowned at the reminder of Shailene's humiliation.

For the advanced race of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, to be captured by man was the worst fate, once thought impossible. Indeed, a Fae had to be near willing. In all records throughout the last ten thousand years, only Shailene had been tricked and fallen victim, namely to the arrogant de Changy curiosity and charm. For a Fae, upon rescue, to wish to remain with a human and plead for that outcome was unforgivable. Lillith also suffered unjustly for her sister's crime, ostracized by their kind. The Fae she loved had denounced Lillith and told her he could not trust that she would not also betray them. For half a century after the heinous infraction occurred, he still refused even to speak with her.

"I understand why you have separated the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and the woman, to give him great sorrow when he finds her missing, and indeed it has. He is beside himself with grief and worry. But what of the masked man with the scarred face? For what purpose have you altered his reality? Why did you not leave things as they were? In all likelihood, he would have soon died."

"It is true, the mortal, Erik, lay at death's door between worlds. I healed his deepest wounds, those that could prove fatal, and sent him to the sixteenth century before I sent the woman, first clouding his perception of his identity with a memory spell and placing false memories in his mind so that he and all those who know Le Masque would believe Erik is that man. The true Le Masque lies trapped in the Phantom's place, with only his aide to know it – I blinded her to the truth with the same spell. The Giry woman thinks it is Erik she tends and keeps hidden from the gendarmes. I found it fortunate that Le Masque also was badly wounded the night of the raid. His wounds I did not heal," she smirked. Indeed, she had placed him in a position that violence would be inflicted, turning a few of his less than loyal men against him and blotting out that memory as well.

Lillith was quite pleased with her work. While crafting her wily plan, she had gone through the annals of time and to her great fortune found a relation that favored Le Masque, almost identical in appearance. Le Masque also suffered from a deformity on the right side of his face, perhaps passed along to his descendant of the 19th century - The Phantom, whose malady was much more severe. Yet a perverse sense of false pride and self-loathing along with their vulnerable need to circumvent a derogatory reaction from the masses led both men to wear a mask, which had worked splendidly for Lillith. Indeed, it seemed with the manner in which everything fell into place that her plan to destroy the same family within two epochs of time was predestined to succeed.

Once returned to their lives, if that should ever happen, Erik and Christine would not recall a thing. And if perchance they should remember, better yet, tell of their experience, they would be thought to have gone mad, as had happened to a few mortals in centuries past while shifting. But that outcome was very rare, as was the idea that they would return. Lillith was determined to chain them to the century in which they now dwelt for the rest of their natural pathetic lives.

"So you would help these humans?" Viviane scoffed. "How does that make restitution for past offenses?"

Lillith knew the queen had once been betrayed by a man, making her look the fool and for love, a mistake for which humankind had been paying for centuries. Since that day she despised them, male mortals especially, taking profound pleasure in upsetting their lives.

"Only for a time, my queen. My ultimate goal is to destroy them."

The queen gracefully rose from her throne, impaling her with a look.

"It is clear the woman feels strong ties to Erik, a man she thought dead. And now you have brought them together in a union of body and soul? How will that lend to their destruction?"

"To find the most satisfaction through their downfall I felt it necessary to unite them, but only for a time."

"They have joined in wedlock and consummated their vows," the queen said in disgust. "Do you forget that should pure love have existed between them in their original time it will only grow stronger and weaken the spell? His memories could return."

Lillith felt a twinge of nervous uncertainty. Such deep love was rare, but it failed to matter.

"Christine did not love him in that manner, if she truly loved him at all. She ran from him in bitterness and fear and left him to die at the hands of a violent mob, all to be with the Vicomte. She married the man Erik, yes, but only to save herself."

"You speak in ignorance, Lillith. Memories have returned in small number, though he is unaware they are his own and attributes such thoughts to madness. What is to prevent the woman from apprising him of the truth? She might reveal his identity, just as she confessed to him her experience of falling through time. Know, too, that the deeper the love, if it exists, the stronger the effect it has to weaken the enchantment. In its truest form, it could break the spell. He could come to the knowledge of who he is, with or without her telling him that truth. They could find their way back to one another."

Lillith winced at the revelation and at the knowledge that her Queen had not been as unaware of the plan as she initially led her to believe, but from its inception had watched the plight of the mortals so intensely. Lillith had feared to seek out permission, sure it would be denied after Shailene's betrayal. If Lillith now failed, Queen Viviane would be displeased and might punish her worse than the shunning from her people already endured. She should not have kept her actions secret from her divine regent, but had wished only to present the queen with the coveted gift of the end of the de Chagny line, once all plans for their demise had come to fruition.

True, she had witnessed brief occasions of closeness between the couple, Erik and Christine, but the dark thralls of physical anguish and emotional despair with which Lillith plagued the man made his own memories seem to him a nightmare and memories of the current century that he inhabited faded. He toyed also with the idea of Christine being demented, still looking at her askance for her claims of coming from the future, deciding the idea was caused from the injury to her head. So surely he would discount any revelation she might give. The woman also feared speaking, certain to do so would put distance between them and he would think her insane.

Yet if Christine should speak, and Erik was to believe her…?

Lillith smiled at a sudden thought. Even then it would work to her benefit.

"What greater suffering for these mortals than to love deeply, only to lose all? Christine Daaé will soon know the greatest heartache when her masked lover shall be brutally taken from her, again to die, leaving her behind in a world unfamiliar. And then my vengeance on their kind will be made complete."

Queen Viviane nodded thoughtfully. "You were remiss not to seek my permission at the outset of this plan, most specifically in the shifting of time. That could have proven most dangerous had you misspoken such a powerful spell. There is a reason it is only permitted by the elders and myself. You were fortunate, but never again act without my knowledge." Quiet fury leaped from her eyes, like silver lightning.

"I beg pardon," Lillith cast her frightened gaze to the ground, bowing her head. "I wished only - and still wish - to rectify my sister's grievous error and to show my loyalty is eternally for my queen."

A long period of silence elapsed.

"I will show leniency, this once. Be aware, Lillith, I will be watching."

"I will not disappoint your majesty. Already I have plans set in motion that will lead to their absolute downfall…"

xXx

Out of sight, Shailene listened with somber reflection to her sister's conversation with the queen. She had been punished for breaking Fae law and falling in love with a mortal. Shunned by her race and stripped of most but not all her powers, she had been forever separated from the man who once captured her body, then captured her heart, with only the seed of his loins that had borne fruit in her womb to remind her.

And it was with great interest she listened to the plans for Christine Daaé and her masked lover, Erik.

It would take more time to again win the Queen's favor and re-establish herself at court, but win it she would, and once she did, her powers would be restored…

"Mother?"

Shailene turned quickly and put a finger to her lips for silence. Her son, Bradon, stood behind, his long hair like golden floss in the morning sunlight, his eyes the deep cobalt of the de Changys and the sole trait he bore of his father's race, opaque and not shimmering with iridescent lights exclusive to the Fae. Appearing in his mid-twenties, as all of the Fae did when their bodies ceased to age, he had received the immortality of Shailene's race, though at times she could see his human side surface in the things he said and his simple acts of kindness, very much like his father, Gregory.

Quiet and reserved, svelte and muscled, his form taller than most of the Fae males, Bradon was one of the most glorious, even as a halfling. It was no surprise that the queen showed a particular fondness for Bradon, despite his mother's sin, taking him as a slave into her court to serve her and into her bed. With Viviane being her sovereign, Shailene had no say in the matter, though she used Bradon's royal captivity and exclusive favor to her benefit. To his mother's great relief, Bradon remained secretly loyal to her, acting as a spy, even slowly attempting to soften Viviane's heart toward Shailene. Their plan had begun to work in the decade past, though Shailene had needed to feign disgust and abhorrence for the de Chagny line, proving her heart had turned from loving Bradon's father, dead now, as all humans eventually died…

But there was no longer time to wait for the queen to find mercy in her icy heart and restore to Shailene all Fae magic. Lillith's cruel plan would destroy her beloved Gregory's descendants, indeed, all of Bradon's family, thus ending the de Chagny line.

And that she could not allow to happen. For Gregory. For Bradon...

The curse would be broken.

"Come," she said, taking her son's arm and pulling him away before they were discovered eavesdropping. "We must talk."

xXx

In the misty gray dawn of a cold and barren bedchamber, two figures huddled close in slumber within the pelts of fur strewn across the stone floor.

Awareness came gradually to Christine, her mind at first muddled and confused by the sensation of delicious warmth against naked skin…muscled flesh, not entirely smooth, with tufts of soft hair that tickled cheek, breasts, and legs - a pleasant tickle, but alarming nonetheless. The memory returned as she opened her eyes – and looked into silver-blue eyes that mirrored her soul...

Erik.

He supported himself on one arm, the mask again tied around his head, clearly the only item of clothing he had donned. And she blushed at the idle rumination and the proof of it in the solid, warm feel of his skin against hers.

He ghosted a finger along her brow, bringing it low to trace her lips.

"May I know what shocking thought put that charming flush of rose against such milky skin?"

"I…" She lowered her lashes. "um, simply had forgotten the events of yesterday, that is, until I opened my eyes."

His manner grew somber. "Do you regret what has happened between us?"

It was the second time he asked the question, and that he felt the need to tugged at her heart.

"No, of course not. It's just…" Shyly, she pulled at her lip with her teeth. "It will take some time, I think, to, um, become…accustomed to the idea. Despite that we have shared a bed, it is so different waking up…like this."

"I see."

She could not discern his mood, he remained so calm and unflustered – unlike Christine, who could barely master articulation of her words – and she couldn't help but compare his assured behavior to the night they first reunited in the forest. Indeed, there were times he seemed confident, more like Erik of the Forest, while on other occasions, she could clearly see that Erik of the Opera House ruled his actions.

He brought the tips of his fingers along her jaw then lower, across her neck, bringing up the backs of them to brush the rim of her ear. She shivered with delight and nervous expectation.

"I have heard," he whispered against the ear he had just caressed, "that when oft-repeated, the experience enacted with care and attention to detail can aid in the ability to adapt to...change."

His words made her breathless, and her eyes went wider as his finger found and caught the pelt covering her breasts. Her hand instinctively rose to catch his.

"I would see my wife in the light of day," he whispered.

He had seen her twice naked in the moonlight, had taken her body as a husband, and with that knowledge, she certainly had no cause to refuse. But as he slowly brought the pelt lower, she could not help but feel a shy embarrassment, a foolish nervousness that he would not find her entirely to his liking with the darkness no longer acting as a shield.

Despite her strong grip to stop him, his will prevailed, and her breasts bounced free of the fur coverlet, her hand uselessly dropping away from clutching his. Her eyes fell shut.

The Phantom's gaze dropped to the firm, softly rounded globes and he ran his finger along one graceful curve, brushing against the fair rosiness of one pearl-like nipple.

She gasped and he faintly smiled, continuing with the blanket's descent, until her hips were unveiled, then pushed the fur pelt sideways off her legs. The predawn light made her flawless skin almost luminescent and his pulse raced with desire at the sight of her. Slender arms and legs, gracefully long, her hips gently wide in counterpoint to a waist that was also long and narrow. He traced his finger slowly beneath the curve of one breast, down her ribcage and over a tiny heart-shaped mole on her stomach near her navel, his fingertip then softly taking a path through the thatch of dark curls that adorned her womanhood.

Her eyes flew open and he lifted his own to capture them in his hypnotic gaze.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, "lovelier than any statue or painting of goddess or angel I have encountered."

She moaned as his hand slid between her thighs and found the creaminess there.

"I asked you a question last night…"

"Yes," she whispered, breathless, moving her hips in gentle rhythm to his gradual strokes.

"But I fear, ma belle damoiselle, I cannot wait to have you again until night falls."

"No," she whispered in consent, her moan eager as he found and rubbed a tiny hard swell of flesh. At her enthusiastic reaction he did it a second time, then a third…

"Erik…" She reached for him, her hand clasping his arm, his shoulders, then both hands clutching his head and bringing him to her. He kissed her lips, feasting on their softness, never moving his hand from its damp haven of warmth.

She groaned with pleasure as he rubbed her, burying his fingers deeply into her slick desire, kissing him back fiercely, her tongue sweeping into his mouth and finding his. Kissing him – until overcome with the pleasure he gave, she broke away, head falling back into the pillow, and closed her eyes, softly crying out.

From her response, he did not deem her cry one of pain, and he brought his lips around her hardened nipple, suckling the sweet flesh. She arched her back, her fingers threading through the locks of his hair to keep him there…

Never…never had Christine felt such a wealth of carnal bliss. Last night, she had come close to this feeling, but now the sensations were stronger, more intense. She felt as though she was being sucked into a well of rippling sensation, as he sucked her breasts and moved his hand firmly between her legs, setting off little pulses of pleasure within her being. Her heart pounded as if to leave her body, her breaths more difficult to manage and coming faster as a coil of warmth tightened inside her core. Her senses heightened, more alert but strangely dizzy, until something gave way inside, causing her to cry out and tremble from the magnitude of the experience.

The Phantom watched great relief smooth the tension that had tightened her features, recognizing she had discovered a peak of pleasure, the silken flesh at his fingers wetter, even hotter, and pulsing in strong beats at his fingertips.

Her hands lifted to cradle his face.

"Take me," she whispered hoarsely, "Take me and make me yours…"

He shifted the coverlet from his own body and moved over her, positioning himself at the gateway to paradise. Slowly he sank deep inside her, and she gasped, looking intently into his eyes. They stared at one another for several breathless moments, a slow smile tilting her full lips, and again he took them with his, feasting on their softness.

His thrusts came steady, fluid, and she lifted her legs, pressing her calves against his tight buttocks. Her movements came natural, without thought, the passion he always stirred igniting like embers glowing inside her – and the feel of him… God, the feel of his thick maleness stroking so snugly down to her very depths was both maddening and magnificent. This time, there was no sharp, burning pain, no true pain at all, just a sense of overwhelming fullness, and she held to him strongly, moving with him, eager to learn this slow dance of sensuality from her master of music.

The Phantom plunged deep within her heated walls, certain he had never known such bliss of the flesh. No matter his memories, dubious and vague as they were, they had misled him. He had never been with a woman before his Christine. He knew this, as certain as he knew the beats of his heart.

His Christine…at last, and he wondered at the sudden joy that nearly drowned him in emotion. Coupled with the pleasure in taking her, in being one with her, his feelings were almost too much to contain. His hand slipped beneath her slim thigh, pulling it higher up his waist and she sucked in a rasping breath as he found even deeper penetration in the sweet furnace of her flesh.

"My God, Erik…"

The expression of her delight drove his desire to a higher pinnacle and he strengthened his strokes, bringing them more swiftly. All too soon he felt the tightness prick along his spine, the culmination of his passion exploding within and without as his seed filled her.

Breathless, they held to one another as the pink rays of dawn faintly colored the morning sky. It was several moments more before either could find the ability to speak.

"Good morning." It was trite, it was foolish, but it was all she could think to say.

"Most assuredly."

A shared smile turned into a giggle and he chuckled along with her. Gently he pulled away then fell onto his back. Christine turned her head on the long pillow they shared to look at him.

He stared up at the sky through the open shutters, but she felt his hand move against her wrist, his fingers slipping over her hand to cover it. She moved her fingers slightly to curl around his.

"I think I shall grow well accustomed to this new life very quickly."

Still cossetted in the relaxing warmth that came from their spent passion, her words came with ease and without thought. Only after she uttered them did Christine wonder if he might think her too brazen, especially for this ancient century. How did women behave after making love? Quiet and meek? Or like his Aminta of the opera, a seductress?

His quiet chuckle reassured her, as did the squeeze of her hand.

"I shall be most happy to repeat the experience whenever and wherever you please, ma belle, to help you attain that goal."

Fire seeped into her cheeks, and she sought quickly to change the subject.

"I think for now I should like something to eat."

"How remiss of me - you must be famished! If what little memory I have retained serves me, you had nothing to eat last night either."

She grew serious. "Do you recall what happened in the courtyard?"

"I recall enough."

He sat up suddenly and to her curious shock rose from their bed. With wide eyes she sat up, clutching the pelt to her breasts and watched him stride to the window, the illuminated skies behind casting his tall, lean form in silhouette. She stared in stunned admiration as he reached for her undergown hanging on the shutter.

"It is still damp and cold, unfit to wear."

Leaving the item of clothing where it was, he turned to face her. Quickly she lowered her eyes to the fur blanket, flames heating her face to be caught so avidly staring.

"Never mind," he said more softly. "The sun will dry it soon enough. You should remain here and rest. You are still recovering from the attack. I will find us something to eat."

Christine heard the rustle of material, and when she felt it safe to look, lifted her eyes. He had donned his dark hose, his scarred back bare. Holding his tunic in his hands, he stood poised ready to pull it over his head. Reminded of similar words he spoke the previous evening and anxious not to let him out of her sight, for fear of another episode, (and certainly not wanting to spend another minute alone in this chamber), she looked toward the cot where her kirtle lay.

"I need no further rest. I prefer to come with you."

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

She stood to her feet, holding the pelt to her body, and moved toward the bed. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed he now sat with his back to her as he pulled on his boots. Quickly she dropped the pelt, pulling the kirtle over her head. Not as scratchy as the awful wool robe, it was bearable against her skin, but cut low and with no linen undergown beneath, her breasts were revealed almost to the nipples. She had worn garments with low necklines in the opera, her costumes at times revealing, but never to this degree. Yet with no other option, she quickly brought her cloak around her shoulders and fastened the frog clasps.

She turned to see him standing close behind her.

"Oh," she exclaimed softly in surprise. Always he was so silent when he arrived and departed, ever since as a child she had known him, like the Phantom of his chosen designation.

"Shall we?" he offered her his hand.

She smiled in delight at the echo of the past and slipped her fingers against his palm.

"But first…"

With her hand held fast in his, he drew her close and dipped his head to brush his lips lightly to hers. Christine's heart beat more quickly, especially after what they so recently shared. A little demurely she lifted her eyes to his, and he brought his other hand to her cheek, drawing his fingertips against it.

"Come, sweet wife, let us raid the larder and see what we can find."

His manner and words were mischievously playful, despite the uncertain quandaries they faced, and though the dangers had not abated, her heart felt buoyant with hope for the future as she accompanied him to the door.

"Lead the way, husband."

Together, they slipped into the dark corridor…

But to their dual shock found it was not empty.

xXx

A/N: muahahaha... ;-)