A/N: I started this story as a oneshot. Depending on the response, I might turn it into a longer story. Please read and review! ~J

What have I done?

I have betrayed my mentor, my teacher. The one person who took my soul when it was at its lowest point, when I was ready to give up on my pitiful career and abandon hope altogether, and made it sing with his. He took my voice, transcending all barriers – even those I imposed upon myself after my father died – until I rose, like a phoenix from the ashes to enjoy a wonderful success on the stage of the Paris Opera House.

I have betrayed my Angel of Music.

I have betrayed Erik.

Only a few hours have passed since I confided my secret to Raoul. Already I am consumed with guilt at my transgression. I knew it was a mistake to tell him about Erik. I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth. But being under the expansive sky on the roof of the opera house, with so many twinkling stars and no one around to hear, lent to the night a magical air that instantly made me feel more at ease. Before I knew what was happening, I had blurted out everything from first hearing the Angel of Music to my days spent with Erik five levels below the ground in his house on the lake.

His boyish grin faded and those brilliant blue eyes narrowed in concern. At once his arms wrapped me in a protective embrace. I let him hold me, shamelessly taking the comfort I so desperately needed, while he whispered in my ear all the reasons he loved me. When he kissed me, I made no attempt to stop him. I longed for the security he offered, where I would never have to worry about what he might do if he was ever angered. Wrapped safely in the cocoon of his arms, I didn't protest when he begged me to let him take me away. I buried my face in his chest and tearfully agreed.

But now the spell is broken and I am alone in my dressing room once again. The mirror looms ominously before me, a silent witness to the turmoil that I'm now experiencing.

Right now Erik is probably seated at his organ, engrossed in his music and blissfully unaware of my plans for after the performance tomorrow night. I managed to persuade Raoul to let me sing for Erik one last time, as a way to say goodbye. I know it is spineless of me to run away, but I can't bear the thought of confronting him with my decision and seeing him cry at my feet, begging me to stay and professing his love. So tomorrow after I sing, I shall meet Raoul in the rotunda and he will escort me to his carriage. We will leave the city of Paris behind, along with the opera house, and begin our lives somewhere far away from here.

I've tried to convince myself that I'm making the right decision. I will be happy with Raoul. He can provide the kind of safe, loving atmosphere that will be best for me.

Thinking of Erik only brings the familiar sting of tears back to my eyes. My mind struggles, trying to comprehend why it is not easier for me to simply up and leave with Raoul. Perhaps it is because of the connection I feel with Erik when I sing. His beautiful voice holds a power over me that I do not understand, even to this day. It can be sweet and infinitely seductive, and when he sings I would follow him almost anywhere. But it can also be volatile and terribly frightening, as can the man. He has such a violent temper and his face – oh God forgive me, he does not deserve my cowardice – but I can't get past seeing that awful face twisted in pain and anger. It is a horrible sight that I will not forget until the day I die. And yet, he can also be gentle, exhibiting endless patience and tenderness, almost making me forget about his deformity. Almost.

These past three months I've felt like a feather blowing in the wind, tossed about, helplessly out of control. All I want is for it to stop. The only way I know how to do that is to go away with Raoul.

The opera house has grown quiet around me, the patrons long since retired to their comfortable homes. There is a heaviness in my chest as I look at the mirror, knowing that this will be the last time I gaze upon it alone. Raoul will not leave my side tomorrow, the only exception being when I take the stage to sing.

With great effort I got to my feet and shrugged on my cloak. I turned and took a long look at the mirror before I snuffed out the candle.

Goodbye Erik. I will miss you a great deal, but it has to be this way. Perhaps one day, if you have a heart left after what I've done, you will find it in yourself to understand and forgive me.

There was a thick mist that swirled around the streets when I stepped outside. The late October air was brisk, sending chills down my spine. I quickly tightened my cloak around my body as I hurried down the stairs.

It may have been a trick of the moonlight, or maybe deep fatigue clouding my worried mind, I cannot be certain, but I thought I caught a glimpse of a shadow and the flip of a cloak at the top of Apollo's Lyre as I hurried into the night.