"Mademoiselle Daaé!"

"Please, Mademoiselle! Just a quick word!"

"Brava, Brava!"

"Merveilleux! Ravishing performance!"

"Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, please indulge us in answering only a few questions!"

Christine smiled at the people calling out to her as she dashed through the crowd lining the hallway to her dressing room. They pressed against the walls, jumping out to try and talk to her as she flew by. She tried to politely shake them off as she quickened her pace. They blocked the door to her dressing room, and she tried to push past them as respectfully as possible. She turned the brass handle and with one last grin, shut herself in. The grin fell from her face just as the door closed with a soft click.

She lowered herself onto a chair, not trusting her shaking limbs to support her for much longer. She passed a cool, clammy hand over her forehead and felt a wave of nausea overcome her. She closed her eyes, tried to steady her shuddering breaths, and attempted to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach.

He was back. After four years, he was back.

She knew it. She could feel his presence emanating from box five. To anyone else the box had looked strangely empty—it was a full house after all, the audience occupied all seats but the ones in his box—but she knew he was there. She had felt his presence so strongly, it had closed in around her, suffocating her, the potency overwhelming her and she remembered so clearly how it had been four years ago when he had watched her every show. She remembered the thrill it gave her to know he was there, to feel him as she sang, to arrive at her dressing room and see a single slender rose. It seemed that she was thrown back to the time when she first took La Carlotta's place in Hannibal only four years ago…so much had happened in so little time.

After Erik had taken her to his home underneath the lake for the final time, when the Persian and Raoul had rescued her, no one saw him nor heard from him. There were rumors floating around Opera Garnier about him fleeing to the secluded mountains of Russia, or seeking comfort in the melancholy rainy days of Ireland, possibly even dying, but none of them had been verified nor confirmed. For a while, the actors, actresses, ballet rats, and especially the managers were fearfully waiting for his arrival which was bound to be dramatic and result in some sort of tragedy. But it never came. Within a few months, life at the opera relapsed into a busy but mundane hum that everyone was grateful for after the chaotic months caused by the Phantom.

Raoul was eager to start over and forget, while Christine had a rougher time forgetting all that had happened between her and Erik. Raoul wanted to completely start over and move away from Paris, but his father was nearing his last days so he and Philippe, his brother, stayed close to home. His father, the Count Philbert de Chagny however, did not approve of his engagement to Christine; in fact he was strongly against it. Christine as a mere opera singer, the daughter of a poor—but talented—violinist and would ruin the family name. He had never approved of her since they were childhood friends and the young pair had always played in secret. Raoul wanted his father's blessing, and Christine, not having a father of her own, had great respect for his need to please him. They decided to wait until he passed over. They wanted to marry badly, and although they wanted to respect his wishes after he was deceased, their love and marriage were more important. The most they could do was wait for the Count to perish. Raoul was the main author of this plan; Christine felt embarrassed and guilty just thinking about it not respecting his wishes. However, on his deathbed, the Count's heart softened and with his last words he imparted his blessing on the two of them. He had said, "A girl who could wait and put up with my cold-hearted prejudice was worth it, no matter what her social status was." A week later, Raoul announced their engagement. That was six months ago, and the couple was to be wed in merely three months' time.

Much had changed at the Palace Garnier as well. La Carlotta left after Christine was promoted to Prima Donna. Shortly after the Phantom left, the managers Firmin and Andre, tired of Carlotta's tantrums and drama, demoted her to a smaller role. Outraged, she fled in a flurry of flamboyant skirts and pearls, flinging her meaty hands about shrieking "Little Daaé! Hah! The girl couldn't sing the part half as well as I can! If my talent isn't appreciated here, then I will go somewhere where it is!" She returned to Italy. The height of her career was long gone, and she had a difficult time finding an opera house that would hire her for a leading role. La Sorelli retired early—early even for a dancer— to live with the Count Philippe de Chagny, leaving Meg Giry to take her place as prima ballerina. Life had been going well for Meg and Christine, the two remained close friends. Mlle. Giry had blossomed into a beautiful woman and was soon to become the Baroness de Barzabac. Madame Giry was still teaching the ballet rats and had not let old age soften her, as she was as firm as ever. Andre and Firmin were relieved after the Phantom's disappearance and continued to run the Palace Garnier. They led the opera house to much success.

It felt like those four years had never even happened now that the Phantom was back. The only question was…why? Before she could truly reason an answer, three sharp raps sounded on the door, followed by a tenor voice calling "Christine!"

She sighed inwardly. Raoul. She wasn't in the mood for company now, and wanted to be alone to think. Nevertheless, she opened the door and plastered a smile on her face for the Vicomte. He beamed back with perfectly straight white teeth and perfectly shaped lips that would charm ay girl, but Christine did not feel her heart beat any faster nor her smile grow larger.

She stepped out of the way and let him pass. Being the gentleman that he was, he politely took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss on it while never breaking her gaze.

"You were amazing, as usual," he commented with another smile.

"Thank you, Raoul," she replied automatically.

"A perfect finale for your career," he complimented.

Christine frowned, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. "End of my career?" she reiterated quirking one eyebrow as she did so.

Both of his eyebrows shot up as he spoke. "Of course, you didn't think you would still have to sing when we are wed, did you?" he laughed and fondly patted her arm. "Darling, I am perfectly capable of making enough money for the two of us to live very comfortably," he explained with a slight edge to his voice.

"I know that," Christine frowned. "But that doesn't mean that I won't love performing as much as I do now. I want to sing."

"Love, you mustn't still perform when we are married. You will no longer be a poor actress, but a vicomtesse! You must think of our reputation, what will people think of you? Already there are some that are not proud of my decision—"

"Are you?" she cut in, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. "Am I worth the damage to your reputation?"

Raoul blinked at her a few times before hastily grabbing her hand and holding it fast in his. "No, Christine that was not what I meant…" he murmured comfortingly. "You know it's not. But you also know that our reputation is vital…whatever we have left of it," he ended in a bitter low voice. Christine knew he was alluding to Philippe, his brother who was turning into a drunk and a gambler.

She nodded half-heartedly. "I can't imagine my life without music," she said simply but poured her heart out in every syllable, hoping that he would understand. "I need to sing."

"You're tired, we can discuss this tomorrow when your eyelids aren't drifting close as I speak." He kissed her hand and parted with a fond goodbye. She watched him go through silently. He closed the door without a glance back. She sank onto her chair again, dropping her head in her hands and not feeling strong enough to head back to her small apartment that she had bought after the small increase in her salary.

She thought about the tense conversation that had ended moments before…not being able to sing. What would she do? Music was her life, singing was her air, and without it she would be suffocated in a world of stiff formal gatherings full of uncaring people who would forever look down upon her because of her background as an opera singer. What kind of life would that be? Would she be able to stand it for the rest of her days?

Pulling herself to her feet, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up around the loose curls she had freed from the high tower that pins trapped them in during performances. She took one last glance around the room before setting out for home. Her eyes swept over the old familiar glass from which Erik posed behind as the Angel of Music, which he had opened and led her down and across the lake as the Phantom of the Opera. Her feet involuntarily crept across the floor towards the large glass. She pressed one hand to the cold glass, sweeping it along its smooth surface gently. She found the familiar point that would cause the mirror to pivot when pushed. Her fingers reached out, shaking, and pressed it. With a begrudging lurch, the mirror started to move, slowly due to years of neglect and idleness. She picked up the rusted lantern still hanging on a hook and lit it with an old unused match lying beneath it. The lantern cast an eerie glow on the cold stone walls, and despite the light it gave Christine still strained her eyes to see into the depths of the tunnels. She took a step forward, crossing the threshold between her world of light and day to the one of darkness and night.