A/N: A giant apology to all my darling readers and lurkers: I know it's been FOREVER since I updated. Life just got busy, and University takes a lot of my energy (I'm sure a lot of you understand). Anyways, let's pick up where we left off: Gianna taking a chance at changing her life and dancing for the ballet master…and an eager Christine arriving early to practice for Swan Lake…

…

Odette and Odile

Christine stepped out of the warmth radiating from the inside of the black car, pulling her woolen coat tighter around her body as the cold air of the morning bristled against her face. She leaned over and stuck her chin through the back window, smiling at Bruce who looked half awake.

"Thank you so much for getting me here safely," she said, and he nodded in response, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"This is Erik's first day after the concussion, so I figured we'd let him sleep a bit. Is this too early for you? The conservatory doesn't even look open…"

She grimaced against another wave of wind that knocked yellow leaves out of a nearby tree, and they fluttered down to settle themselves on the top of the car.

"No, Bruce, it's fine…I have tryouts today for Swan Lake, so it's better if I get here early, before everyone else. Gives me an edge."

Bruce gave her a sleepy grin. "Good luck then, Christine. I'm sure you will be fantastic. Well, I'm off…I'll just sit here until I see you go inside. Just for, well, protection purposes. You know Erik will be badgering me about it later."

Christine closed her eyes against the sound of his name.

He had pledged himself to her.

He'd told her that he loved her.

She replayed the sound of it in her mind again, shivering blissfully at the thought of him thrusting inside of her. She tried not to think about the fight that had ensued after, but instead forced herself to focus on the outcome. He had apologized. He'd made things right, kneeling before her, unmasked, while an entire room of people watched…

He was her dream, no matter how many fits he had, with his countless scars and bouts of uncontrolled anger.

She would keep him, forever.

Christine began to back away from the car when she noticed a numbness creeping into her fingers. "Goodbye, sweet Bruce," she called out as she whirled around, nearly running up the cemented steps of the conservatory. She pulled on the brass handle of the front doors, turning around once to wave goodbye to Bruce, and then slipped inside, thankful that it was unlocked. The musty warmth of the long hallway greeted her, half lit by lamps upon the walls. She skipped merrily down the length of the hall, making her way toward the enormous dance studio where she would start warm-ups, nice and early, ahead of everyone else…

Christine startled when she saw that the door to the studio was ajar, and a bright light emitted from its crack. Her mind flew into a panic; had Raoul followed them here? Was he inside of the studio, waiting for her? Did he know that she might come in early…?

Was he here to take her back to that horrid apartment? To her old life that reeked of yellow maggots, strangulation, bruised nipples, of screaming and crying…

No. She had brought death upon her old self. She could not be that girl, anymore. There would be no white cots lined up inside of her nightmares, laid in perfectly angled rows, a promise of cold wind brazen against her shaved head…

And her curls in a heap on the floor.

She could not be afraid. Fear would pull her back into the child she used to be. Fear would stop her from opening up to Erik…and fear would teach her that she didn't deserve to be loved.

Christine bit the inside of her cheek, and pushed through the door.

Music was playing; a dark and thunderous symphony that echoed the black swan's transformation. She watched from the doorway as her ballet master sat across the room, enraptured as he watched another woman dance.

The woman was far more beautiful than Christine, and she immediately felt inferior, for she could see proud white cheekbones standing out from the woman's face, and eyes that were narrowed; a discerning focus. Her hair was a deep red, pulled back into an immaculate bun, and she wore all black except for a decadent shimmer that lined her calves. The woman seemed to be a part of the music that surged and swelled, and Christine watched in awe as she spun herself faster and faster, her movements violent yet precise. Her body slowly arched backward with every turn, and Christine could almost see hundreds of ebony wings sprouting up through her flesh, all the way down her spine, multiplying until she was covered; until her arms had folded into dual wings. She landed the last movement of the symphony with a striking flutter of the hands, and her cheekbones were lifted to the ceiling where the light hit them, leaving just the right amount of shadow. The music ended and the woman stayed in position, seeming as if she wanted to stay there, gloating, forever. Christine heard the claps from her ballet master's hands echo in the large space, and she tore off her coat, throwing it to the ground as she began sifting through her bag for her pointe shoes. He hadn't even noticed that she stood here, watching. A bout of jealousy rippled through her heart, and she banged one of her shoes loudly upon the ground, finally gaining the attention of both the new ballerina and the ballet master.

"Christine, you're early," he responded, standing up and pushing his chair out from underneath him. He was tall and lanky, with shoulder-length curls that were pulled into a bun behind his head. He adjusted his glasses and gestured to the new ballerina, who didn't even seem to have broken a sweat. "This is Gianna, our newest dancer as of this morning. She will be dancing the part of Odile."

"What?!" Christine cried out, ripping her patterned skirt from her hips and letting it fall to the ground. She stood defiantly in a light pink leotard with white tights; an exact opposite of the new, darkly dressed ballerina. "I haven't even had a chance to show you – "

He put a hand up, and Christine's voice broke, wavering with the threat of angry tears. "I've decided to split the parts, Christine, so please, calm down. You will be dancing the part of Odette. The white swan."

Christine shook her head, clenching her still-numb fingers at her sides. "But it's one role – "

"I'd like you to answer a question for me," he strode across the room to where she stood, and he stared down at her, his arms folded across his chest. "Who makes the decisions in this studio? Is it you? Do you get to choose who dances what?" His voice was dripping with irritation. Christine bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, holding back a wave of insults that she felt like hurling at him. "No, I don't. I'm just a dancer," she replied softly, averting her eyes to the ground. He turned upon her then, walking back to the middle of the studio to where Gianna stood. "You two are going to need to collaborate. To become one. Yes, this is a new idea, and yes, it's never been done before…but I believe both of you can make it believable. Are we all in agreeance? Can I leave you two alone to go get my morning coffee?" He scoffed, pulling a wool cardigan around his shoulders as he made his way to the door. "For your attitude, Christine, I should make you get it for me. But I'm not a monster," he chuckled, and she stared daggers at his back as he left the studio.

The silence was suddenly overwhelming.

Christine sat down on the floor, refusing to even look over at the woman. Where had she even come from? Her mind was spinning, trying to remember if the ballet master had said anything about a new dancer. It was the middle of the term! How was she even allowed to try out? Did she come from some rich family where her father had paid her way in? Christine felt tears brimming the edges of her eyes. Would she never be able to escape the scars of her own poverty?

She felt the woman sit down next to her. Christine continued to ignore her, crunching one of the ends of her pointe shoes with a fist. "I'm…I'm sorry," the woman said quietly, scooting closer to Christine. "I didn't know he would cast me on the spot…"

"It was supposed to be my role! Mine!" Christine snapped, turning her face so the woman could not see her tears. She had, of course, acted as if the role might not be given to her, especially when Rosie had suggested it…but she had dreamed about the day she would undoubtedly landed the role. She had imagined the look on her smug ballet master's face when she flawlessly danced both parts. She'd worked harder and longer than any of the dancer's here. She had come from absolutely nothing; from a cold and cavernous orphanage to the warm light and wood of the dance studio. This was her life, and this woman had just showed up out of nowhere and pulled it all out from underneath her…

She'd stolen half the role. Half. A half that Christine had so very desperately wanted to explore.

She heard the woman sigh. "I…I didn't know. I just came here this morning. My mother sent me."

"Oh, and I'm sure your mother will be so very proud. So proud that you split an iconic ballet that is supposed to be one person into two," Christine muttered, yanking her foot into her left pointe shoe. The woman, Gianna, took a deep breath in.

"I didn't know he would split the role! I just showed up here because I…because I couldn't keep doing what I was doing. I had to do this. And I'm sorry if you're upset, or angry with me. I just gave it my everything. Every ounce of pain that I was keeping inside…I just let it out. I released it."

Christine pulled the satin wrappings from her shoes around her calves, glancing jealously at the glimmering leg warmers that Gianna wore. "Well, I was supposed to be given a chance, at least. I didn't even get that chance because you showed up here! And I'm sure he thought you were prettier than me, and…and more graceful than me…but I've put in the work! I did! Not you!"

Gianna stood up, bending one of her legs forward into a stretch. "Look, I said I was sorry and that I didn't know. What more do you want me to do? Refuse to do it? Leave here just because you have an advantage over people like me?"

"People like you?" Christine stood up and faced her, wiping the snot from her nose furiously. "You mean women that can use their beauty to get whatever they want? That use money and privilege to get seen by a ballet instructor in the middle of fall term?" Gianna narrowed her green eyes, sticking her nose closer to Christine's face.

"You have no idea where I come from. Don't pretend to even know. And maybe you're the one who's privileged. You've been attending this conservatory for ten years, I'm sure! Dancing every day and going back to your upper east side house at night. Poor you, Christine!" She spat, whirling around and marching across the studio, away from where Christine still stood, her hands balled up at her sides. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to breathe, but the anger toward Gianna would not die down; instead, it flared up like a festering wound, with scarlet blood that trailed into the past…a past that she had promised herself to forget. But how could she forget feeling ugly and unloved when this woman had made it a reality, again? She'd showed up with her porcelain cheekbones and slender curves, crying to her about privilege and release?

Christine's eyes grew dark as she began walking toward Gianna. She wanted Gianna to hurt as much as she'd been hurt. She had just been freed from a prison of marriage, and had fallen in love with the masked man in the penthouse above her…and he loved her back, despite his ragged flaws…but all the love in the world right now could not stop Christine's trembling fingers from what they were about to do.

She reached up, before even thinking, digging her fingers into Gianna's perfectly gelled bun. She heard Gianna scream as she pulled her head back, almost immediately regretting her choice as Gianna clawed her hands against Christine's knuckles, desperate to be released. Christine blinked as she remembered Raoul snatching her by the hair and dragging her to the floor, delighting in her screams. She let go of Gianna suddenly, staring down at her hands, ashamed that she had let a little bit of Raoul inside of her. Guilt flooded her heart as Gianna panted, backing away from Christine as if she had contorted into some sort of monster.

"You evil little bitch! Stay the fuck away from me!" Gianna screamed as Christine stood frozen, her eyes blank, her hands falling limp at her sides.

"I…I…" Christine stammered, but Gianna stormed off before she could even sputter out an apology. The door to the studio slammed, and once again, the silence was almost too heavy to bear.

Beastie…

Raoul's voice flooded back into her mind, his breath hot against the back of her neck, his fingertips twisting around the front of her throat. She shook her head against the blind panic that ensued, the worry that he had somehow infected her with his darkness. Had she not just pulled another woman's hair out of jealousy and rage? Her heart sank, and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing into a pair of hands that she no longer recognized.

…

A/N: Two women who have more in common than they think; coming from absolutely nothing, and oh, our precious Erik! Hehe. Any comments, thoughts, or feelings? Will Christine still be sorry when she finds out about Gianna's mission to win Erik back? Has a tiny part of Christine become violent after what she's been through?

Hmm…More to come, soon! As per usual, thank you for taking the time to read.

Love, L.