As the last sounds of the organ died away in the night, Erik's fingers lingered on the keys. He was apprehensive of giving into the silence of the small house on the lake. Normally he embraced the silence; the knowing that the only sounds that came from around his small house was his own.

But he had a visitor.

His eyes pulled away to the hallway and to the closed door to the Louis Philippe room that held the beautiful Christine Daae.

She had returned on her own accord. He did not beg her, he did not drag her. He had given the key to the Rue-Scribe and told her that if she wished to see him, her liberty was in the fate of the key. He was unsure if she was to return since the moment that her eyes beheld his visage.

Yet, he heard the little bell ring, warning him of a visitor approaching through the tunnels. As he stepped out from his house, armed with the lasso and a lantern in his hand, he hardly made it to the entrance of the tunnel before she appeared before him.

She was dressed in a day dress, her head covered with a wrap to hide her face. In her hands was a small basket, which she clutched against her chest.

"Erik," she breathed, "you startled me." She knew what he held in his hands and her eyes never left it.

"Good day, Christine," he replied, hastily putting away his lasso so that the fear would leave her face. "I am sorry I frightened you, but you know Erik must protect himself from the arrival of unwanted visitors."

Christine nodded at this and said nothing. He approached her and fell to his knees at her feet.

"Oh Christine," he murmured, his head dipped low, "you came back to me. Erik was afraid that you would never return."

"I made a promise, Erik," she said kindly, her voice wavering slightly. "I promised to return and here I am."

"Yes," he nodded, "here you are. Erik is very pleased. Very pleased." He stood and looked down at her basket in her hands. "What did you bring, Christine?"

"Little things from my flat Erik," she replied, "that's all."

"Shall I carry your basket, Christine? I would be honored to do so." He was hopeful, anything to make her feel comfortable.

"It is quite all right, Erik," she said, "I can manage." She dropped the basket so that it hung down a little lower and she cradled the handle in both hands. Erik stepped aside and allowed her to pass, and she did with trepidation. He followed her closely so they walked side by side back into his house. He opened the door for her and she stepped in. He closed the door and so the day with Christine began.

As he worked away at his music, he would steal glances at her as she moved about the room. She was dressed in a day dress of violet with her curly blonde hair pulled up in a little kerchief. She was always drawn to her work, as he was to his own. She was organizing his things, her eyes wandering over his vast collection of books and little trinkets that adorned the shelves. Only once did their eyes meet, and he was ashamed of his lingering gaze. She was not afraid of his gaze; on the contrary, she smiled warmly.

When she had finished with her organizing of his shelves, she moved on to the area that surrounded his organ. Discarded on the floor were various bits of music and pieces from Don Juan Triumphant. Her fingers picked up each bit of music and began going through them.

"Do not bother with them Christine, you may leave them where they are. Erik will go through them himself." Christine dropped the sheets instantly. She nodded and stood. He was at alert now, afraid that he had hurt her innocent task of cleaning. "But, if Christine would like to go through my music, she is welcome to do so. Erik would not mind."

"It is all right, Erik, I will do something else," she said, moving away from him. Erik turned and watched her as she moved away from him and down the hall into the Louis Philippe room: Her room.

So that was where time had brought them to now. She had not exited the room and supper was approaching. All though he did not eat, he knew that she must be hungry. She always enjoyed the food that he placed before her.

Erik stood up from the organ and turned to make his way to the Louis Philippe room. As he stood outside the door, he felt nervous. Since Christine had spent her first night here, he never once knocked upon her door. It was almost as if he did not want to disturb the peaceful silence.

As he raised his hand to the door, the door opened leaving him stunned. Christine was peeking out through the crack, staring at him.

Finding his voice, he erected his posture and linked his hands behind his back. "It has become rather late. I have forgotten to prepare a meal for you, Christine. I do not want you to starve on account of Erik."

She nodded and slid out from the room. He noticed that she did not open the door any wider and he became instantly suspicious. When she shut the door, he offered her the tips of his fingers which she took. He led her down the hall to the small parlor that was adjoined to the sitting room.

Pulling out her chair he helped to her sit. He left her alone to attend to the food he had in the small pantry he kept stocked for her. He removed a bottle of wine for himself as well. Returning to the table, he laid out the wrapped food items one by one.

"Everything looks delicious," Christine said, looking up at him with a hopeful expression, "will you not join me?"

"I?" Erik asked, finishing organizing the food and starting to unwrap it. "Oh Christine, you know very well that Erik does not eat." He gestured to the wine with a curl of his hand. "I drink wine, and only that."

"Please, Erik," she said, reaching out her hand towards him on the table, "it would make me most happy if you were to eat-just a little-for me."

Erik hesitated in his task, the finally after a few moments he agreed, nodding. "If Christine wishes it, then yes, I shall eat a little to make her happy."

Christine seemed pleased at this, and when Erik had fixed her a plate (and one for himself, but only a little), she waited for him to lift his fork. When he did, she lifted hers. Christine watched as she moved his mask so that he could place a piece of food into his mouth. Erik was staring at her while he did this.

"Erik," she said quietly, "you may remove your mask in my presence."

He placed his fork back down on his plate, staring at Christine with a cold expression. "You know very well what lies behind this mask Christine. Erik's face is not a face meant for a dinner table, even as crude as this one. Nor would he allow Christine to look upon a face that gave her so much torment."

"I know very well what I am asking you, Erik. This table has been laid out for me, and as a guest and the only sole person at this time, I wish to look upon my host's face."

Erik was surprised by her stern tone and her reliance to his words. "Christine must eat her own dinner, for Erik will eat his—just to please Christine!" He lifted his fork and the corner of his mask and placed a piece of his dinner into his mouth.

Christine said nothing more but returned to her food with her eyes fixed ahead and never upon him again. When Erik had finished eating all the food on his plate, he waited for Christine to finish her own, hoping that she would look upon him again.

"Christine should not be upset with Erik," he said chidingly, "It is for her own good." Christine twitched in her chair, but Erik continued on: "So, Christine, the evening is ours to do as we please. Any request I shall fulfill."

When she had finished her food, she stared at him and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. When finished, she began coldly: "Erik, your promises are as empty. I shall retire to my room for the remainder of the evening." With that, she stood and left the room, leaving Erik alone.

It was fear that remained in the back of her mind as she continued her stay at Erik's home. Christine knew that for whatever reason, no matter what she did, Erik would never harm her. She knew that he felt for her, and had feelings for her for quite some time.

It was a twisted world that she now lived in. She knew the secret of the Angel of Music, and she knew the identity of the Opera Ghost. The fact that she was the blind obsession of both of them was the reason why she was so frightened.

Now in the depths of the Opera Garnier, she was alone with the very man that had control over the entire opera house by just a mere letter. She only wondered how many letters went out in according to the plans he had for her.

She was sure that Raoul would be looking for her. Poor Raoul, she thought as she leaned against the door of her bedroom. Leaving the door she moved to the bed and sat there thinking about her dear friend. She wished that she could look upon his face, on any face for that matter, which was why she was so adamant on wanting Erik to remove his mask.

She knew of the face that was hidden behind the plain black mask. The face that lingered in the back of her mind every time she spoke to him or caught his eyes watching her as she moved around the house. She could not believe that such a face could exist. And yet, she was willing to look upon it again.

Perhaps the reason of looking behind the mask was to show Erik that she was not afraid, but determined to have him treat her as if he had nothing to fear.

Christine looked to the small clock beside her bed and took notice that the time. Standing up, she moved to the wardrobe that held the many dresses that Erik had purchased for her. She always felt afraid of wearing them, though she could not picture why. Choosing her nightdress and a dressing gown, she carried them over to the scrim to undress for sleep.

When she had finished, she moved to the vanity to the small basket that she had brought from her flat. She removed a small book and hastened to the bed to begin her prayers.

During her reading, a single knock sounded at her door. She wanted to resist allowing him in, but she could not. For if she did not let him in, she was sure that the following days she would spend in the small house would be filled of his moans and ever lingering want to please her more than before.

"You may enter," she said, closing the book of prayers on her finger to mark her place.

Erik entered. The way he moved across the ground, his long legs and his lean figure making him look like a specter, a figment of the shadows. Being entirely dressed in an evening dress of black to complement his black mask was a frightening sight.

When he came to her bedside, he looked down upon her. His eyes caught sight of her small book of prayers. She was sure his lips twisted into a smile behind the fabric.

"Is that a book of your own, Christine?" A simple question coming from him, for she was certain he was going to ask if she was angry with him.

"Yes," she said, "it is my prayer book," she replied, her other hand brushing over her book. "It is very dear to me. I noticed that you own not a prayer book in your collection so I took it upon myself to bring my own."

He chuckled. "That is because Erik does not believe in God."

Christine found this absurd. "Erik, why do you not believe in God?"

What a question to ask him, for his eyes burned into hers. "Surely a man like God would not allow a man like I to live a life with a face like this." He turned away from her, pacing around her bed. "His teachings are immoral, archaic to a culture that does not respond to such simple minded words."

Christine was stunned. "Is that what you believe?"

"Yes," he said, looking at her, softening his gaze just a little. "But I can see that Christine has precious feelings when it comes to God that makes him very dear to her."

"How easily that has slipped your mind, Erik! You used my devotion to religion as my weakness."

He became shocked. She had caught him. "Erik does not wish for Christine to think of it like that."

"But you did," she said, clutching the edges of her book tightly. "You listened to me speak to my father during my prayers." Christine's eyes became soft as she thought back upon her moments when she first believed that Erik was her Angel of Music. "I was so alone, so frightened, I prayed so often back then."

"Erik," she said, her eyes focusing back on him again, "I would like an apology for your words."

Erik crossed his arms. "Oh? And I suppose that the reason is that I declared there is no God?"

"No," she whispered, "it does not matter—to you—if there is a God or if there isn't, I am talking about what you said when it came to people who listen to the words of the Lord. It was as if you were calling them 'simple minded' themselves! If you believe so then I, too, am simple minded. And if you cared even just a little for me, no matter how you feel about the subject of God, you will apologize."

Erik clutched his hands tightly around the shoulders of his crossed arms. He looked away from her, conflicted. Christine waited.

"Erik forgets that Christine does not understand Erik. Does not understand his life, his reasons…" He dropped his arms after one last tight squeeze to his shoulders. Turning back to her, he approached the bed and fell to his knees. "Erik apologizes, to Christine, for to have her upset—even as a guest in his home—is not something Erik cannot have. Does not want to have, for he hopes Christine will be happy here."

Christine gingerly lifted her hand and placed her hand on the wig that covered his hair and she felt him flinch. He quickly stood and hurried away from her, his eyes shooting dangerous glances.

"Christine was going to touch Erik's mask! Christine has learned once never to touch Erik's mask ever again!"

Christine shook her head. "No Erik, I wasn't going to touch your mask! I only meant to touch you, to forgive you."

Erik took in her words, weighing them carefully in his mind. "Christine… was to accept Erik's apology?"

"Yes."

Erik eyed her for a long moment. Then finally, he approached her again. Getting down on one knee, he gingerly placed his head on the mattress of her bed, with his hands clutching the sheets. "Erik, then, shall apologize for causing Christine alarm."

"You are forgiven, Erik," she said. "Now, it is late, I would like to… finish my prayers and retire for the night." Erik raised his head to look up into her eyes.

"Yes, Christine wants to pray, and so Erik will take his leave." He stood, and made his way to the door of her room. Erik lingered at the door for a moment, his eyes looking down upon the small desk at the side of the door. Christine realized he was staring at the inkwell.

Besides the book, she had also brought a few sheets of paper and an inkwell. She had not seen any the last time she was in the house, so she had brought her own.

"This… isn't mine," he said, his fingers touching the desk next to the inkwell.

"Of course not, Erik," she said matter-of-factually, "I brought it from my flat."

Erik continued to stare at the inkwell for a moment longer, and then left the room closing the door behind him.

Christine turned to the last page of her book of prayers and inside was a letter she had begun to write. She only hoped that Erik had not suspected her. But, when it came to Erik, she knew him only too well that she had everything to fear.