Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Unfortunately for all of you, I do own Gerard's heart  and he owns mine! Yes, we're deeply in love and I'm not crazy! Ok, maybe just a little crazy. A couple friends and I actually celebrated his birthday on the 13th. That's when I wanted to post this chapter but as you can see, I never got around to doing that. I'm sorry about that. Anyways, the brilliance and the credit for most characters belong to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. The beauty is Gerard's doing. Only Cielle and the plot line belong to me… so far.

On Angels' Wings

Chapter Three

Un Soir de Paris

As Erik walked out of his lair, his mind raced. He didn't quite understand his reaction to this girl. How dare she touch his music? They were his most intimate possessions.

Stupid girl, he thought to himself angrily. He stopped suddenly. He was so angry that he could hear his footsteps echoing through the tunnels. He was always careful and quiet. His footsteps never echoed.

Erik took several deep breaths and kept walking. It would be okay. He would deal with his emotions later. There was other business to take care of first.

Erik continued to walk, without the echoing footsteps. As he neared the tunnel that led to the opera house, his heart began to race. He could feel his head pounding and his throat drying.

Finally, after a considerable amount of time, he reached the mirror. He looked through, not knowing what to expect.

Then, he saw her. She was standing in front of the vanity in all her beauty. Her long curly hair draped down, framing her face. Her delicate form was accentuated by dress she wore.

It was a red dress that hung snugly to her body and falling to the floor. He could tell she had a miniature petticoat underneath to add some volume from the waist to her knees.

There was a longing in his heart, a longing that was stronger than he had felt in the time that had past since he had lost his beloved angel.

For a moment, Erik considered turning and running back down the tunnel. But he knew that he would have to do this. Ever so cautiously and silently, he pulled the mirror aside and stepped into the room.

She didn't notice, but continued to fix her hair. She was patiently taking a single curl at a time and setting it in place with hairpins.

He stood still for a moment and began to sing to her:

"I gave you my music

Made your song take wing

And now, how you've repaid

Denied me, and betrayed me…"

She paused, obviously hearing his voice. "It's you . . ."

"Have you forgotten your angel?" he sang in response.

"Never…" she responded softly

"I have not come for the reasons that you may think," Erik said to her.

"Why have you come then?" Christine asked, "Surely you have heard . . ."

"Heard of what?"

"If you do not know, then it does not matter."

"Very well," Erik sighed.

A long and awkward silence followed.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Christine said.

"I wish I could say," he whispered, "It feels like it has been a long time."

"It has been," Christine stated simply. "Why have you come?"

"I wish I could say," he repeated. "I – was"

He watched as she tilted her head to one side, regarding him silently.

"I don't know why I came. I needed to be away from –"

"I understand. It seems very gloomy down there."

"No doubt the richness and the fineness of the Vicomte's house are much more appealing," he said scathingly.

"It is." Christine stated simply, "If only everything else was."

"What?" Erik sighed, "Are the horses not fine enough?"

"That is not fair," Christine said with frustration in her voice.

"Of course it isn't," he mocked

"You are only angry because of Raoul. It's not like I protested that much to staying!"

"Of course you didn't," Erik said. "You really think that I wanted to keep you there if I knew that you didn't love me?"

"Excuse me," Christine said, "I didn't think you cared that much."

Erik shook his head.

"You are the one who sent me away, remember?"

"This isn't what I came for," he said, "That much I know."

"Then why?"

"Just to talk," he said, "but not like this."

"I hold nothing against you and your decisions." Erik said cautiously. "I want you to know that."

Christine nodded.

"I only need a change in environment. I am somewhat frustrated. I'm not used to charity work."

"Charity work?"

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"Forgive me for recognizing your lack of skill in lying, but it would seem that I am keeping you from getting ready." Erik sighed. "Do you mind if I stay in your dressing room for a while just to clear my head until you return?"

"I won't be returning until morning," Christine said.

"You won't?"

"I don't live here any more."

"Oh yes," Erik said, "You've married that slave of fashion, haven't you?"

"We've been married for almost a year now."

"It has been a long time then," Erik said

"It has," Christine replied. "Feel free to stay as long as you like, but I suggest you be careful. There are others who have keys to this room."

"Thank you, Christine."

"You're very welcome," she replied.

Erik watched as she walked to the door and as she reached her hand to open it.

"I don't suppose—" she began.

"Yes?"

"When met all those months ago, you didn't tell me your name… or whether or not you had one for that matter."

"Erik," he said.

She blinked.

"My name is Erik," he said with a sigh.

"Nice to—in a way—meet you, Erik," Christine said, nodding her head slightly.

Erik's head spun. The love of his life walked away from him. Again…

No, he thought. You don't love her, remember? She's a figment of the past. You have to move on. And you have to do it quickly…

Sadly, he sat on one of the couches in the dressing room, thinking and pondering for a long period of time. He couldn't really sort out everything going through his mind. He really had no idea what to do about Cielle. She couldn't possibly stay there forever.

But, he was enjoying her company. And it seemed she was enjoying him. Yet, as everyone before her, Erik knew she would eventually tire of the gloomy underground. More importantly, she would tire of the monster living there.

Something definitely had to be done about that skirt. It was old, torn and frayed. He could imagine she was tired of that.

Quietly, he moved to the dressing room armoire and began to look through the costumes. Most were too elaborate, too dressy, too old fashion, or too ridiculous. There were a few dresses left over from Hannibal, Don Juan, and one that Erik guessed had been for an opera having to do with an ancient civilization of some sort.

Finding nothing, he moved to a chest of drawers. He opened the top drawer, closing it up quickly after discovering what lay inside. Very cautiously, he opened the second drawer. Seeing blouses, he went through each. Most were made of delicate fabrics. He knew for a fact that they would be ruined by the conditions inside the lair.

He went through drawer after drawer, only to be disappointed by the selections available. As quietly as he could, he opened the door to the dressing room and slipped outside. Seeing no one, he quickly made his way through the halls and exited through the back door onto the streets of Paris.

It was late and there were no crowds and no people. It was just the way he liked it. He made his way down the street until he passed a clothing shop. In the display window was a seemingly plain white dress. It was long and appeared to be made of durable fabric.

Interested, he placed his face closer to the window. He could see a faintly stitched pattern. Perfect, he thought.

Erik made his way to the back door of the shop and reached into his coat pocket. He found a small knife that he always carried with him in case of danger. As quick as he could, he put the tip into the lock and worked the lock until the door opened.

Upon entering, he found a bag with pull strings, deciding to take it in case he found more than one item to take with him. He swung it over his shoulder and decided to work front to back, looking through each item thoroughly.

He took the white dress of the mannequin, finding the same dress in blue, black, and red on hangers nearby. He placed all four in the bag. Deciding to take advantage of the situation, he walked over to the fine, more expensive clothing.

He picked out a black velvet skirt that made his skin melt to the touch. There was a red and black silk dress on the back hanger that captivated him, so he took that as well. Not knowing Cielle's preference on style, he took all kinds of blouses for her since they took up less room in his bag.

He knew very well that Cielle would need suitable clothes to sleep in, so he took a sleeping gown. He was sure to choose one that was in no way revealing—at all. It was round necked, dropping on the mannequin at the spot where the collarbone should have been. It ran to the floor and the sleeves were long.

He picked a few more skirts for her, thinking that she must like them. He took one pair of shoes for her, and a pair of slippers for comfort. He grabbed the finest robe from the selection, and then made his way to the jewelry.

Behind the counter, there were boxes filled with the items in the display cabinet. He went through the boxes and took one of everything he could find. There were hairpins, necklaces, earrings, hair combs, rings, and bracelets of all sorts. Each item came in a velvet box, which made his task of placing them in his bag much easier. Very carefully, he placed the boxes in their correct places and left them the way he found them.

On top of the counter, there was a gold, hand-held mirror. He took a nearby blouse and wrapped the mirror in it, placing it in his bag, which was almost full by now. He also grabbed a beautiful jewelry box that caught his eye. It was big; hopefully, it would be big enough to hold the jewelry. With that last item, he pulled the drawstrings and went towards the back door.

He locked the door the same way he unopened it and made his way to the opera house. He made his way toward the side, where there was a manhole. He lifted it and climbed down slowly into the tunnel, pulling the lid to re-cover the opening.

Slowly, but surely, he made his way back to his lair. He had been navigating the tunnels for some time now, so he was pretty sure he could make his way blindfolded.

When he reached his home, he took note that Cielle was not in sight. He silently made his way to the bedroom.

There she lay, sleeping on the red velvet lining of the bed that served as the mattress. Her red hair was spread around her. She was lying on her side, calm and unmoving. Her breath was soft and even.

Erik drew nearer to watch her sleep. She looked so peaceful. Her torn skirt allowed him to see a pair of shapely, olive-skinned legs.

He watched closely and saw that she was shivering. Erik was so used to the cold, but he realized that Cielle would need warmth. He walked to his armoire, where he kept an extra blanket for the colder seasons.

Remaining gentle, so as not to wake her, Erik lay the blanket over her. He walked over to the place where he kept his food stored. Taking a key from around his neck, he unlocked and opened a small chest. From it, he took a croissant and a muffin. He also took a silver tray from inside.

As he made his way back, he took a piece of paper and a quill. He also took one of his black ribbons and a black rose. Upon reaching the bedroom, he laid the tray on the bedside table, which had on it the pastries.

Then, Erik tied the black ribbon around the rose and placed that next to it. He also wrote her a small note.

Cielle:

I did not wish to wake you. My business has been taken care of. I also ran into town and obtained a few things that I thought you would need. When you wake, I may not be here. Feel free to get more food if you are still hungry.

If I am not present, do not wait. I may be a while. I am usually in and out of this place anyway. I would strongly suggest not making your way into the tunnels. It is very complicated and very simple to get lost. Besides, I chose this spot for my home since it is the hardest place in this tunnel network to find.

I also want to apologize for not being the most welcoming of hosts. Your presence here is greatly appreciated. It has been a long time since I've had company or others to talk to. And I have not shown you that I am glad to have someone to talk to. We shall talk more when we see each other next.

Sincerely,

Erik

He left the note on the tray. He laid the bag on the floor next to the bedside table in a manner that would not be in her way when she tried to get out of bed. Silently, he made his way to his organ, where he sat and began to write on his sheet music.