"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity."

― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

"Allow me to show you around my home, Christine." Erik requested hopefully, a noticeable nervousness in his voice, a voice that had never been less than powerful and commanding. The change struck Christine with a fresh curiosity. He still held her hand, palm to palm, after assisting her exit from the gondola. He seemed reluctant to release it. The feel of his skin against her own was so foreign and intoxicating, that Christine held tight. His fingers were long and chill, but comforting as they encompassed the entirety of her small hand.

She had been entranced with him since the moment he'd called to her from the mirror, his tender words and otherworldly timbre drawing her to him. He was her angel. An angel that was now a living, breathing, dark shadow of a man. She had wished for him to be tangible for so long, had yearned for the physicality and touch of him. Now that she finally held him, Christine felt an overwhelming need to cling on forever, that her breath might cease to come if she were separated from him.

Erik gently tugged on her arm, guiding her to what appeared as a stone wall, slick with moisture and uneven. "You may be wondering, my dear, where is the door? How does one enter Erik's abode?"

She simply nodded, fascinated.

He smiled at her then, the gaslight reflecting off the cheek of his white mask, as his deft fingers pressed gently on the stones before them. The darkness of the cavern did not allow her to view his exact movements, but Christine stood aghast as the formidable stone wall silently opened before them. She waited there silently for a moment, squeezing his large, cool palm as she stared into the chamber as it was revealed to her. Gleaming candlelight, Persian rugs, the sweet smell of Sandalwood. All of it invaded her senses before Erik guided her across the threshold of his underground palace.

Breathless, Christine took her first steps inside her Angel's home. Erik turned her then, his breath hitching in surprise, as if he could not understand her willingness to follow him into the darkness of his abode.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, surveying the space before her. She had never viewed a place quite so unique, her eyes fixing on a massive organ sitting against the left wall of the massive room. When her eyes scanned left as Erik pulled her hand to coax her forward once more, her gaze caught upon the arrangement of stringed instruments hung along the wall, a grand piano standing magnificently in the far corner of the chamber.

"The music room," Erik explained, "where we shall resume your lessons. If that is to your liking, Christine?"

"Yes, maestro. Very much to my liking." Feeling a blush and heat rise to her face for reasons she did not wish to acknowledge, Christine slowly unraveled her fingers from his now warm grasp. "May I take a look around, Erik?"

"Of course, my dear. Please let me know if you have any questions about this room or if you would like me to show you any of the instruments?" He smiled his visible half-smile once again, and Christine's heart warmed at the sight of joy revealing itself across his features. It was a rare and treasured sight for her. Erik was obviously very satisfied to give her the tour of his home. Still, as she stepped away from him, making her way around the room, fingers glancing over the fall board of the piano, she felt the keen absence of his touch. Wanting him near again, she beckoned to him, "Erik, how were you able to move these instruments so far below the ground on your own?" Her tiny fingers splayed out in a gesture to the organ on one wall and the piano on the other.

Erik arrived at her side in silence, his breath whispering against her neck, and causing her to shiver in delight. "I constructed them myself, piece by piece." His voice was proud, but not overly so.

She had never viewed a place quite so unique, and although wherever she looked there was something new to bask upon, her eyes fixated on the focal point of the enchanting room- the large organ, built of shining brass pipes and dark mahogany wood, of which were finely carved into minute details of snaking vines and ripe fruit. It stood tall, emitting an almost forbearing aura, just waiting to be played again, to strike those within its reach with its harmonious torture.

Christine turned around to face him, a smile of astonishment forming her features. "Surely, there is nothing you are incapable of doing, or creating?" She blushed, her gaze pointing to the ground, for she did not wish her admiration to far outreach her capabilities of verbal admission.

She would not reveal her feelings now. She was far too naive to the world of men, and this man was so wonderfully and dangerously different from all the others. . .

His oddly colored eyes shot down to the floor as he bent his head. His voice became a whisper as he stepped a few paces away from her. "There is only one thing I have yet to gain or accomplish, my dear, and it is not worth mentioning. The attainment of it being forever beyond my reach. Impossible." His voice trailed off, a deep sadness lingering in the air between them.

As he retreated from her again, his broad shoulders sagging, Christine could feel his unspoken words reverberating through her heart.

He wished for a normal life, perhaps? A love? The mask? What did it conceal? Why did he sequester himself in this house five cellars below the outside world? Surely, he was the greatest musician and mind in the known world. What could he not do? What had been denied to her maestro? What imprisoned him in the dank cellars and the lonely concealment of the mask covering the right side of his face?

She held so many unanswered questions, but also so much love and compassion for her secretive maestro. "It's such a stunning room, Erik. I can't wait to see the rest of your home. Thank you for bringing me here." She outstretched her right hand to him, and it alit lightly on his forearm. Offering him a gentle smile, Christine dissolved the tension in the room. "I'm ready for the rest of the tour, Monsieur."

Erik took her hand with an unbridled eagerness, motivated by his protege's kind compliments. "The dining room is next. It is not very large, but there is a table and room for two people. However," and he paused then, "I have never had a guest join me for a meal." He let his voice fall low as he ushered her into the next chamber.

A round dining table with places set for two guests greeted Christine. The wood of its surface had been hand-carved to depict a Bacchanalian feast. She longed to run her fingertips along its curves and etchings.

"You may need to remedy that, Monsieur. I adore a fine dinner with a friend."

Erik paused for a moment, unsure of how to respond to her. "I don't generally dine in front of others, Christine." He took in a labored deep breath, as if he were swallowing thoughts and memories he did not wish to share. "I simply cannot." He ran a hand in the air above the masked side of his face and offered no further explanation. "However, I will be happy to cook and serve you whatever delicacy you may desire while you eat at this table, Christine."

He watched her as she moved to the table and pushed out a chair, sitting down and making herself at home as she examined the fine china settings before her. "Exquisite, all of it. . ." she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment. "I would have not expected any less."

"Allow me to show you the rest of my home. The dining quarters are up ahead. And, I've equipped my home with electricity and indoor plumbing to be at your disposal," he paused there, his voice drifting away but still faint enough for her ears to recognize, "should you ever wish to stay here." Erik did not turn to look at her or gauge her reaction, he simply prodded her forward once again, a gentle pressure upon her hand.

"Christine?" Erik turned to look at her, uncertainty lingering in his gaze as it fixed upon her face, "I want you to know that my home is always open to you. It is yours. You are free to come and go as you please, now that I have shown you the way. This is a haven for music. Our music." He squeezed her palm before averting his gaze back to the hallway before them and resuming the tour.

His words were not lost on her as he guided her through his intriguing home. Her senses were overwhelmed with the subtle majesty of each carved wall, the Persian rugs beneath her feet at every entryway, the music that made itself known in each carefully placed painting upon the stone walls. This was Erik's realm, and he had gifted her with the sharing of it. A kingdom he offered to her should she dare to claim it.

Christine Daae woke with a startled breath, experiencing the kind of wakefulness that comes so abruptly after a deep sleep that it makes one completely out-of-sorts, lost, and confused. The tattered remnants of her misery hung in the air as she rose from the mattress, She was undone. The items that she had clutched to her breast lay scattered across the bed. She had shifted in her sleep. Fitful dreamings. But as she rose up to a sitting position, her eyes took in the room, and she felt the sticky caking of dried tears across her cheeks.

Grief was not a window she had chosen to open. Her heart was already such a broken thing.

She was filthy. Tired. Ready to breathe. Her mind had reached back to a comforting memory, a dream, a remembrance of the day that Erik had first shown her his home five cellars beneath the rest of the world. It had been wonderful, the tour he had given her of his house beneath the Opera. Christine rose from the bed of her misery with a purposeful slowness, one trembling foot alighting to the cold ground before the other. She wiped at her eyes, rubbing away the sleep and dried tears that had formed in their corners. The young woman felt an intense need to bathe, to set her quaking and soiled body in the bathtub Erik had so divinely crafted for her. To wash away the dirt and pain of that evening once again.

She would not fall to her knees in grief of his absence. She would move. Unbuttoning her gown, slipping off her stockings, removing the pins from her hair, Christine stepped into the adjoining bathroom, recalling how Erik had revealed it to her with unhidden pride, his long fingers gesturing to the marble tub with its golden faucets. She had squealed in delight, unable to contain her delight at such a sumptuous room. As she'd taken it in, running her fingers over the surfaces of the sink and tub, she had turned to Erik with a tender honesty shining in her wide eyes. A silence had slipped between them as they gazed at one another. Unable to fill the awkward void with all the words and feelings she wished to express but had not had the courage to speak, Christine had simply commented, "Erik, it's truly beautiful. Everything. All of it. Thank you for sharing your home with me."

As she ran the faucet now, her hands bathed in the warm rushing water, Christine recalled that Erik had not responded to her in words, but nodded and offered that familiar half smile, closing the bathroom door behind them as he finished the tour of his home. It was a fond memory to recall, Christine thought, her heart aching with an agony that had been foreign to her until this moment.

They would create more memories together, and soon, she hoped above all else.

In her wandering thoughts, Christine had not realized that the bathtub had filled. Turning off the tap, she rose, standing naked and certain, her body no longer quaking. She looked at herself in the mirror that sat on the wall above the sink, one of two mirrors in his home. Their home. Her body was bruised, sullied, but beautiful in its stark courage. She marveled at the lines of dirt left by the sewers, and the tension in her muscles toned by stress and grief. She was strong. She would persevere.

Christine Daae stepped into the deep marble bathtub and exhaled a deep sigh as she immersed her body into the liquid warmth. Leaning her head against its back rim, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift and her body to finally come to a physical place of relaxation. Fingers closed upon the edges of the vessel, Christine calmed, her mind singing with the music of her love. Peaceful, if only for a few moments before her search would resume.

The serenity would not last, for in the silence of her reverie came the ringing of a bell signaling the arrival of a guest. . .