DISCLAIMER I do not own anything related to The Phantom of the Opera. All belong to the ALW

Author note: This story was formally titled THE MUSIC OF MY HEART. I started this story in the winter of 2005 and never finished it. My phantom obsession has been revived by the release of LOVE NEVER DIES and I am back to finish this story, but first, I am revising ALL CHAPTERS and content. Hopefully this story will be much better the second time around. ENJOY and please review :)

"You alone can make my song take flight. It's over now the music of the night!" Picking up a candelabra, the Phantom of the Opera smashed all the mirrors that surrounded his world of darkness. Behind the last smashed mirror there existed a tunnel. Taking one last look at his home, taking in all the memories of Christine, the infamous Opera Ghost hid in the darkness as the mob approached his home.

Angry shouts and smashing happened then, and it took all of the phantom's strength to not make his appearance known. His concealment did not last long. It was only moments after the mob appeared that a member located his passage and was able to overpower him, and drag him out of the tunnel by the neck with his own Punjab lasso.

Christine shot up in bed, eyes wide and tearful, her breathing heavy; sweat drenched her neck and back, and her limbs were tangled in her sheets. Her breathing steadied as she noted the familiar surroundings of the guest room she was currently occupying. The sun had just started to rise and Christine heard the De Chagny grandfather clock strike seven. Knowing that she would not be able to fall back asleep, Christine crept from her bed and walked over to her dresser, lifted her pitcher and filled her basin. Dipping her hands in the cool water, Christine cupped up one, then two, then three handfuls of water.

After the third splash, she held her hands to her face and relished in the cool feel of the water as it seeped down her chest and back, soaking through the back and front of her nightgown. Picking up her hand towel, Christine dried off her face and wiped off the remnants of the tears that had spawned during the latest nightmare. The same dream that had been plaguing her every sleep for the last four weeks.

Still shaking from the memory of her dream, Christine emerged from her room thirty minutes later, clean and fresh, dressed in a lavender lace gown. She made her way down to the dining room where she hoped she'd find Raoul She found him at the head of the dining room table, a paper in one hand and his coffee in the other. "Raoul," she said softly, doing her best to cover up the sadness in her voice.

He looked up from his paper and smiled, then frowned as he noted her forlorn expression. Setting down his coffee and paper, he stood up and walked over to Christine and wrapped her in his arms, "The nightmare again?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Christine answered with a muffled yes, and looked up from his chest, " I can't stop thinking about it.... about him."

Raoul pulled back suddenly, his hands now resting on her shoulders, "Don't give him another thought, Christine," he said sternly, "I'm still in shock that he let you leave with me, and I'm terrified that he will come back, and I will wake up one morning and find you gone."

"Raoul, he won't come back"

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am... I think I've hurt him more deeply then anyone can possibly imagine." Raoul looked at her strangely and pulled away from her, "That's why I still feel that I need this... closure," she said carefully, "I don't know if he's dead or hurt, or if he's gone, but I can't rest or move on until I know for sure."

"Christine, we've been through this. I'm not allowing you to go back to the Populaire. Besides, even if you could navigate yourself through the wreckage, how do you plan on making it across the lake?"

"I don't know, Raoul!" She yelled louder then what was necessary.

"Christine, I know you're terrified but I won't have you wasting away over madman... You should be busying yourself with wedding plans. This is supposed to be a happy time; our wedding is only two weeks away." He gave her a hopeful smile but it did nothing to change Christine's forlorn expression, "You do still want to marry me, right?" He said with a nervous laugh.

Christine closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, then looked into Raoul's eyes, "I.... Yes?" She said suddenly unsure.

"Good!" Raoul said with relief, apparently not noticing the uncertainty in her voice. He pulled her to him again and kissed her forehead, "I'll send word to my mother and sister to come here tomorrow. They'll want to help you in anyway they can." He walked back over to the table and picked up his saucer, and downed the rest of his coffee, "Well, I'm off. I will be in Paris all day meeting with Firmin and Andre. I should be home by suppertime." He leaned down and kissed Christine's cheek, "Try and get outdoors today. It will do you good to take in the sun."

Christine smiled and nodded obediently as he left the dining room.

The outdoors brought her littler joy, and when she came across a bush of brilliant red roses, her tears came back. Taking a rose from the bush, Christine walked back in to the house and made her way to the ballroom, where stashed away in the corner, was the De Chagny Baby Grand.

Christine seated herself at the piano and lay the rose next to her. She ran her fingers across the keys, and then placed them in position and began the first few notes to her favorite Swedish lullaby. She closed her eyes as she continued to play, picturing in her head a time long ago when she and her father would dance to this song: Christine standing on his toes as her father stepped from side to side and back and forth.

Her memories then shifted back thirteen years in the past. She was in her father's room at his Parisian hotel. Her father had been on tour in France and he and Christine were concluding the tour at the Populaire. They had been there a week when he was suddenly stricken with Pneumonia. The scene in her father's room played on: her father promising to send her the Angel of Music, him giving her one last kiss before he died, and Christine sobbing and screaming for her papa to open his eyes. Madame Giry was in the room, and she came up behind Christine and wrapped her arms around her, doing her best to comfort the little girl as tears too streamed down her own face.

Eyes still closed, Christine continued to play in to the transition of the lullaby. Her memories continued. Her sleeping seven year old self was being lifted from her father's bedside by a teenage boy dressed all in black. The boy was being instructed by Madame Giry, who then lead him out of the hotel and across the street into the Populaire. She lead him in to her private quarters where he placed Christine on the bed adjacent from little Meg Giry, who had been per playmate for the last week. The boy tenderly tucked Christine in to the bed and lovingly ran a hand over her head before he walked from her bedside. Madame Giry spoke to him then, "Merci, Erik." He smiled sadly as he took one more longing look at Christine before he vanished from the room.

It was then that Christine, back in the ballroom, realized that the boy had only made half of his face visible. Christine came back to the present, her eyes shot open as she inhaled deeply and exhaled just as quickly. Her eyes were wet with tears for the fourth time that morning. More forgotten memories suddenly came flooding back to her: the day after her father's death she knelt in the Populaire chapel and cried to God and to her father. Why had he left her, and where was the Angel of Music that was now supposed to watch over her?

She had returned to the chapel the next day to light another candle for her father. It was when she started to pray that the soft voice of the angel of music began to sing, "Christine, Christine, do not be afraid. For I am hear to watch over you now." He continued to sing sweetly to her and listened to her tears and fears and promised that he would always be watching over her, and if she ever needed him, all she had to do was come to the chapel and pray.

Christine had gone to the chapel nearly everyday after that, and each day that she did, the angel of music was there too, singing comforting words, and on occasion, playing a violin. Most nights before she fell asleep, the angel would appear and sing her lullabies and wish her sweet dreams and comforts. Her angel of music never left her, and for the past three years he'd been training her to be a Prima Donna.

"Erik." Christine said. HE had been there since the beginning. Not an angel or a phantom; a boy, and now a man. Always caring and comforting, never abandoning her, and always keeping whatever promises he made to her.

The first night she laid eyes on him she was awestruck, forgetting that the captivating and intimidating man that walked her to the depths of the opera, was the angel of music who'd been her closet friend and confidant since she arrived at the Populaire. Nothing that had happened, or could happen, would ever change that. Not the interruption of Il Muto, the murder of Joseph Buquet, the duet during Don Juan, her brief abduction, or the near death of Raoul.

Christine recalled her last encounter with him. Tears were streaming down his face as be bore his heart and soul to her, the two things other then his music that he only ever had to offer her, "Christine, I love you." Regret and disgust washed over her as she remembered the empty response she'd given him: placing the stolen diamond ring in his hand before she hurried away to Raoul in the waiting Gondola.

How ungrateful and distant she had been. Since seeing him, she never once thanked him. What he must think of her. Her mind then went to the nightmare she'd been having the last four weeks: her and Raoul floating away, the smashing of mirrors, and then the frightful site of the mob tying up her angel and hanging him from the cavern ceilings.

Engulfed now with fear and nausea, Christine bolted from the ballroom and sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. Once there Christine pulled her trunk from it's closet and began piling in her clothing and what little possessions she had in the room. She made her way into the bathroom and grabbed her remaining possessions and ran back in to her bedroom, where she collided with Raoul.

Raoul! In her hurriedness she'd almost forgotten him.

"Christine, What's going on? What are you doing?!" He asked with a panicked expression.

Christine bent down and began picking up the toiletries she'd dropped, "I can't stay here anymore, Raoul, I have to leave." She choked back her sobs and avoided his eyes.

"What?! Christine?!," he walked over to her and grabbed hold over her shoulders and faced her towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Calm down, okay? What happened?"

Christine took a few breaths and then cried, "I must find him, Raoul. I'm sorry, but I cannot go on another moment without knowing the truth. I NEED to see him!" Tears were streaming down her face as she continued to pile in her possessions in to her trunk.

Raoul pulled away and stepped back as if he'd been burned, "So this is where your heart truly lies?!" The bitterness dripped from his voice, "I thought you loved ME, Christine! Not that disgusting creature! Five months ago you were BEGGING me to save you from the darkness and keep you in the light. What's changed?! Now you want to return to that filthy, deformed, lunatic?!"

Christine's hand made stinging contact with Raoul's right cheek, "How dare you!" She yelled, her face red and fists now clenched at her side, "Don't you EVER speak of him like that again! He was there for me when I had no one else in the world! Everything I am today I owe to him. He gave me everything, and in return, all he wanted was my love and for me to sing! I'm ashamed that I only gave him voice. He deserves more then that." She turned from him and bent down and latched up her trunk.

"Christine, you're going to throw away your life because of what you think HE deserves?! What about us?"

"I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't marry you now. I need some time to myself. I need to find him and confront him and get this all sorted out. Until that happens, I cannot devote myself to you... I'm sorry."

Christine bent down once more and grabbed the handle to her trunk and began to drag it from the room. Raoul stopped her then, placing his hand on her wrist, "Christine, please don't do this," his face filled with fear and sadness, "Please, tell me what I can do to make this right! I'd do anything for you, Christine." Tears threatened to fall from his face.

Christine sniffled as tears fell from her eyes, "Let me go... Just like he did... Please, Raoul?" She looked down at her arm, and Raoul bent his head in defeat and released her wrist, "Thank you."

Christine continued to pull her trunk, but Raoul stopped her then and took hold of the trunk and carried it down to the front door, "Where will you go?" He asked somberly, avoiding her gaze.

"Paris. To Madame Giry's for the time being."

"Wait here. I'll have George bring around the carriage."

Ten minutes later Christine was being helped in to the carriage by Raoul. She kissed his cheek before he shut the door, "I'm sorry, Raoul. I never meant to hurt you. Please know, I still love you."

He looked up at her then, tears now falling from his eyes "But you're in love with him." He closed the carriage door and turned quickly, and without looking back, he made his way into the house and closed the front door.

The carriage lurched forward and Christine settled into her seat, where she pondered the possibility of the revelation that Raoul had just reveled to her.