Phantom of the Opera 1. No Use Resisting

**Anywhere you go, let me go too**

**Christine, that's all I ask of…**

There were things far worse than death. This was a fact that Erik had grown painfully aware of throughout his tormented existence. He had endured unspeakable horrors in his lifetime, some of them by his own doing, but every monstrous moment that had overshadowed his mind up to this very instant paled in comparison. Christine Daae had just effectively shredded the soul he had offered to her, even before he had a chance to complete the offering. All of his defenses had fallen around him, his heart had been swollen with love and hope, his voice had risen with power and triumph. He had dared to believe that the one person his entire world utterly revolved around would see him as something other than the monster the rest of humanity believed him to be. He had dared to think that one shred of happiness was possible in his bleak existence.

Christine Daae had just torn Erik's mask from his face. He stood now, fully exposed before her, and before the rest of the Earth itself. For so long he had been in hiding, in an escape from the world that had denied him happiness. He had carefully managed to discover himself somewhere within the broken remains of his heart, and through the years he had delicately reconstructed something resembling a man. His music had been his greatest triumph and his power over the inhabitants of the Opera Populaire had given him an exhilarating pride. He had gone through life believing that his music would be enough to sustain him, despite the fact that he would never be able to share it with another soul. He had been sealed away beneath the earth for an eternity to live out his dark fate.

Fate, it seemed, would continue its cruel assault upon him. He had been drawn out of his icy shell as the splintered fragments of his heart slowly united. Someone had heard him in his darkness. Someone had shared in a sliver of his pain. And oh, how he had grown to love her. The past ten years of his life had been wholly devoted to the creature now standing before him, gazing at him with a torn, apologetic expression. His breath was ragged as he could only stare at her. A torrent of emotions threatened to overtake him, to come screaming to the surface.

Screaming…

It took a long moment for Erik to process the screams. They weren't in his mind. They were coming from the horrified members of the audience. Dimly he wondered how they could even clearly see his deformity from so far away, how they somehow instinctively knew what he was. He knew then that he would only have a few seconds to react, a few precious seconds that could break the line between life and death. He was set in perfect position. He could whisk the rapier from his side and slice the ropes that held the chandelier in place, effectively silencing the screams that surfaced at his hideous appearance. He could give them something far more significant to scream at. The lever that opened the trapdoor beneath him was nearby as well. Not only could he silence the screams and divert the attention of the audience, he could make his escape with Christine, dragging her into his lair.

But she was already gone.

He might be able to imprison her against her will, to slowly make himself believe that she loved him, but the truth of the matter was that he had already lost her. Erik had been able to captivate her by his mystery, his beautiful music. Yet the moment she had seen the man beneath the mask, she had recoiled. She had run to the arms of another. She would never love Erik, and he could never have what was standing mere inches from him. No. He would not harm her spirit by dragging her down into his darkness. As much as she had effectively destroyed any glimmer of light inside him, he could not bring himself to inflict a similar pain upon his angel. So Erik did the only thing he could think to do.

He began to sing.

**Too late for turning back**

**Too late for useless pity**

**You dreamed of love and now you see the truth**

**This is the man**

**This is the point of No Return**

Christine took a hesitant step away from him, fear clearly registering upon her face as the anger boiled in Erik's voice. He would not be stilled. If the audience was made to believe that the grotesque face he possessed was merely part of the Opera, part of the show, he might still have a chance at survival.

**You've seen beyond the mask**

**This face that burns**

**You know I'm not the man**

**You hoped I'd be**

**You have revealed me as I am**

**The monster that burns inside the soul**

His voice trailed off as he saw the confusion and uncertainty battle across Christine's face. His stormy eyes flicked to see the movement of the police officials in the shadows offstage, and he knew that her confusion was echoed by all in attendance. Monsieur Reyer, the true professional that he was, had continued to instruct the orchestra to play. The notes were no longer in the script, the words completely unexpected. But the music played on, and Erik's furious gaze bore into the very center of the woman standing before him. He saw her take several uneven breaths, and she slowly realized that he meant for her to sing, to continue performing in this bizarre ad-libbed opera.

Christine's mind had gone hazy the moment she realized it was her Angel of Music standing on the stage with her. Part of her had expected such action, but she still reacted with fear and uncertainty. She had only been able to begin her aria with a look to her dear Raoul, who was seated in box five directly above her. He had nodded to her, silently encouraging her to go on. As the Phantom of the Opera took the stage, Christine had realized that only Raoul and herself understood exactly who it was singing the part assigned to Piangi. She had been seized with an unbearable feeling of wretchedness as he sang those sensual words to her.

She was only here to betray him.

It would have been so easy to call out, to change the slightest thing, and the police would understand that he was the Opera Ghost they were there to hunt down and kill. Her mind pressed at her wildly to do so, to end the twisted affair of the Phantom of the Opera once and for all. He was a murderer. He was a monster. Raoul had spent endless hours trying to convince her of these things, to make her understand how necessary her actions this night would be. And yet, he _knew_ it was the Phantom on stage with her. Why did he not act? How could he possibly be placing this kind of responsibility upon her? He was going to leave her with the responsibility of being the sole cause of her Angel's demise.

She could do no such thing.

She had slowly allowed herself to fall into the trance of his voice, to hear the sincerity in his words. She knew he had seen the guards posted, and she realized that he fully understood he was risking his very life. For what? For her. He loved her, and this Opera was his last desperate attempt to win her heart. Her insides had twisted in repulsion at the very thought. How could she love a monster such as him? He thought only of himself. He held no value for human life. He believed she was a mere possession to be _owned_. So why was she singing in response to him? Why did she feel as though following through with the wishes of her fiancée would be pure madness?

It had not taken long for Christine to fall under the dark wing of her Angel once more. The pulsating light of flames surrounded her, and they seemed to overtake her entire being. The contact between Erik and herself sent terrifying electricity through her blood. When he touched her, sang to her, all thoughts of the audience fled her clouded mind. Her heart knew its own intentions. When he had spun her, held her against his chest, she knew. Feeling his breath against her, his soft touch on her hair, she knew. There had never been a moment she shared with Raoul that brought her such intensity, such desire, such fire. Nothing he said or did could possibly compare to the way she felt in the arms of this man, this Phantom. She knew her draw to him went far beyond mere sentimental guilt, as Raoul had tried to convince her of. It even went beyond the flames he sent burning through her soul with his touch. Her draw to him was deep, soulful, and eternal. Her eyes had shot open when the true realization of her situation overcame her.

She loved him.

Christine had pulled away from his embrace, staring at him with mingling emotions. How could this be? She loved Raoul. She loved Raoul. She… her heart stopped beating when he began to declare his love for her, right then and there. Her blood ran cold when she recognized exactly what he was saying to her. Erik was singing the very words Raoul had sang for her what seemed like ages ago upon that snowy rooftop. He had been there. The Phantom had been there. He had seen Christine kiss another, pledge her heart to the Viscount de Chagny. He had witnessed it, and still he was before her now, openly and honestly professing his love for her.

Her will gave out. How could this be happening? How could this truly be transpiring before her? And more importantly, what could she possibly do? He cared nothing of the world surrounding them, cared nothing for his own wellbeing. She wilted under his gaze, so full of love and adoration. Her hand drifted to his face of its own accord, and the contact with him unhinged her soul. She loved him. She would fight the entire word for him. She would deny everything in her previous life for him. She would become his wife, stay with him always, bring light to his darkness. She would save him from his solitude…

NO!

No, this was all wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. She had to be loyal to Raoul. She had to stay true to the plan. She had to act, to do _something_… All the while her heart fell to pieces in front of him, the Phantom's black mask mocked her. He was powerful now, ensnaring her heart with his radiance. There had to be a way to break his spell. He was not who he appeared to be, not simply a man who loved her more than life itself. She had seen the rage beneath the mask, seen the true darkness in his soul. Her hand shot forward and she flipped the mask to the floor in one shocking, fluid motion.

It was all she could think of to put an end to things.

His love for her was what had complicated everything. If he didn't love her, then she could pretend she wasn't drawn deeply to his every move. She could pretend that she was the perfect fiancée to Raoul. He could never love her now, not after she had just unmasked him before the entire audience. He could never love someone as wicked as she, as horridly wicked as she. Pain wracked her soul as she gazed up at him apologetically. How had this happened? She had been furiously thinking just moments before that she could not possibly love him. Now she was past all denying that truth, not even attempting to fight it. She loved him, and nothing would change that. But he could not possibly accept someone who had betrayed him, hurt him so. She had to force herself away from true beauty, away from his world of darkness. All the lies she had told herself to this point withered away completely. There was nothing to be done. She had betrayed Raoul long ago by accepting to be his wife without loving him with all her heart. And now she betrayed the man she truly adored, the man who she never wished to escape from. She had chosen the light, the pretty tales Raoul had told her so long ago. She had chosen what she was well aware was a fantasy, and she knew deep in her soul that her heart would forever belong to the man she had destroyed on stage.

He looked like a wild animal, standing before her with raw emotions on his face. She could see the thoughts raging through his mind, and the pure fury set his jaw stiffly as he merely breathed. She had not expected what came next. She had not expected him to raise his angelic voice in song once more. His words were now harsh, etched with the unspeakable pain in his shattered heart. Christine backed away from him in fear. What had she _done_? Her body froze when he stopped singing, when she realized that he intended for _her_ to take over in the song. What could she do?

_Twisted every way_

_What answer can I give?_

_Was I to risk my life_

_To win the chance to live?_

_I have betrayed the man_

_Who now captures my heart_

_You are not who you claimed to be_

_You lied right from the start_

_Did you think I wouldn't know_

_You hid behind a mask?_

_I care not for your facades_

_I want to see the truth_

'Who now captures my heart'? Erik wildly replayed her words in his mind. What was she saying? Surely she did not still attempt to speak calming words to him, in an attempt to sedate his anger. And was she _daring_ to defend her actions just now? Was she trying to justify what she had just done to him, for all to see? Despite the raging fury within him, Erik remained motionless, watching her uncertain actions. He found himself captivated by the fact that she continued to sing, continued to hold the pretense of the opera progressing. She took an unsteady breath, and began to sing again.

_Night time sharpens_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs_

_And wakes imagination_

Erik's blood ran cold. What was this? What could she possibly be thinking by singing his song, his song for _her_, right now? He visibly stiffened, turning his head to watch her as she slowly began to circle him. She was clearly in a state of distress: her face had gone quite pale and she was trembling. What on earth was going through her mind? His emotions battled inside him. Fury was the easiest feeling to deal with, although just below the surface, he was truly trying to hide the deep hurt in his soul that his hope had been crushed, that his beloved had betrayed him after all. At the same time, the faintest flicker of hope gained life within him, clinging to the desperate, impossible notion that not all was lost.

_Silently the senses_

_Abandon their defenses_

A tear slid down her cheek as she saw his look of utter confusion and apprehension. He had stiffened in much the same way she had when he began to sing the words Raoul had once spoken to her. What was she doing? She knew exactly what she _ought_ to do, but could bring herself to do none of it. The thoughts passing through her mind were of a night that seemed years ago, the first time she had heard the song she was now singing. She had been utterly enchanted that her Angel was a man, and now she understood. The moment she first saw him was the moment Christine had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love. Now she had destroyed any chance of happiness in that love; she had literally ripped away all hope with a single, desperate motion. Tears streaming down her face, Christine did the only thing she could thing to do.

She sang.

_Slowly, gently_

_Night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it_

_Tremulous and tender_

Erik's heart thudded painfully within the confines of his chest. She had already unmasked him before all. She had already made her intentions clear. What more was there she could possibly do to unravel him? Why this? Why was she singing 'The Music of the Night' for him now, on this stage? Tears were streaking down her face, and he could not begin to guess at their source. What was she crying for? The childhood dream of an angel, lost? Had something in whatever scheme she had concocted with her fiancée to ensure his demise upon the stage failed? Did she see herself trapped now, at the Phantom's mercy? Bitterness surged within him, and his face hardened as she drifted around him, slowly.

_Turn your face away_

_From the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night_

She placed a hand over her heart, unable to hold the intense gaze of the man standing before her. She knew he was furious. She knew he was hurt. And she knew it was all her fault. Fear and doubt throbbed through Christine's veins with every beat of her heart as she fought to keep her voice loud and steady. Now it was her turn. She found herself trying to communicate her love for this man through music, just as he had done moments before. Christine felt the searing pangs of anxiety as she could only wonder if this song would end the way his had, with utter rejection. How could she expect him to understand? That she had acted out of confusion? That in truth, she loved him? At last, she raised her eyes to his, wishing only to communicate her soul to him.

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar_

_And you'll live as you've never lived before…_

Erik felt as though he was shattering from the inside out. The fiery red of the stage they were standing upon grew hazy as his own eyes blurred with the unfamiliar sting of tears. He furiously blinked them away, at last able to meet the gaze of the woman singing before him. The look she gave him seized his very soul. She looked intensely apologetic. For what? Betraying him? Ripping his mask from him? But there was something deeper to her expressions, her movements. There was something urgent in the way she sang, something desperate. Feeling his fury slowly fall to the crushing sensation of defeat, Erik's face at last softened. The energy drained out of him as he joined his voice to hers, no longer able to resist.

_**Softly, deftly**_

_**Music shall caress you**_

_**Hear it, feel it**_

_**Secretly possess you**_

The unmistakable exhilaration of hope breathed new life into Christine when she heard his voice join hers. The song was more powerful than she had ever dreamed it could be as the two of them sang in unison. Her hand once more drifted to his face, seemingly of its own accord, and she gently grazed the marred side of his face just as he turned away from her. He closed his eyes to her, shaking his head in a defeated gesture. Boldly, she moved forward, running both of her arms down his sleeve, grasping his hand and holding it as though her life depended on it. His stormy blue eyes rose to meet hers, a tidal wave of confusion and emotion clearly registering upon his face.

_**Open up your mind**_

_**Let your fantasies unwind**_

_**In this darkness that you know you cannot fight**_

_**The darkness of the music of the night**_

Erik felt the familiar warmth spark to life at the contact with her flesh. She grasped his hand tightly; her expression seemed so lost, so honest, so open. He felt his bleeding heart go out to her, against all possible shreds of logic. His power of reasoning fled him. Whatever Christine was planning, he no longer cared. His resolve iced over within him, and he dismissed his earlier thoughts of letting her go. No. Not now. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and now she would live with the consequences. He felt the frayed edges of his mind stumbling over the verge of desperation as he quite suddenly raised his other hand to cover one of Christine's. She was pretending to reach out to him? He was reached. She thought she understood the games she played? She would one day. She was offering herself to the darkness, and he would be all too happy to cater to her wishes.

**Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world**

**Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before**

**Let your soul take you where you long to be**

**Only then can you belong to me**

Erik's voice had regained its momentum, its soul. The opera house resonated with the power of his song, and every individual present had been completely enraptured by the scene unfolding upon the fiery stage. The police were no longer on guard for any sort of apparition, the audience no longer shocked by the grotesque face the character on stage possessed. Raoul de Chagny felt as though his breath had been sucked from his lungs. Pain, outrage, terror, heartache, and love all poured through his racing mind. He had risen out of his seat when the monster had begun to sing the words he himself had sang for Christine on the night they proclaimed their love for one another. All strength had flooded from Raoul when Christine had begun to sing a new song, when he had seen the way she looked at the Phantom, and he had slowly sunk back to his seat.

The last line Erik had sang for Christine held the echo of a pleading question, an honest request. Christine's heart soared at the emotion she heard in his voice, and a smile ghosted across her face. Had he understood her meaning, then? She quietly surrendered to his movements, not resisting when he mimicked the actions he had taken upon first singing this song for her so long ago. He turned her around with her back pressed up against his chest once more, trailing his hands down her stomach. He splayed his fingers out across her abdomen, feeling her rapid intake of breath. She desperately wished she could go back in time, that she could undo the damage she had done. What she wouldn't give to change her reactions that night in his lair, that night on the rooftop, or even moments ago when she had torn his mask away from him.

_Floating, falling_

_Sweet intoxication_

_Touch me, trust me_

_Savor each sensation_

He guided her hand up to his face once more. Her heart jumped in confusion when she felt that his skin was clammy to the touch. Christine slowly turned to face him as he moved away, giving her a cold look. He looked almost like a cornered animal, only able to know he was alive by the next bout of pain he was required to endure. Her heart fell. He didn't understand her meaning at all, and he must still be suspicious of her, resigned to the thought of her betrayal. His arms dropped to his sides in a silent sign of defeat, although she did not miss the glimpse of fire in his eyes. There was more to this than she could see. Suddenly his eyes locked with hers; burning with a fury she had never before seen. The power radiated from his being as he moved towards her again, grasping her by the shoulders and never breaking their eye contact.

**Let the dream begin**

**Let your darker side give in**

**To the power of the music that I write**

**The power of the music of the night**

Erik knew that he had somehow abandoned the safe shores of reason; that his actions bordered on the edge of madness. He understood that what he was doing now was utterly and entirely self-destructive. He understood, and yet he could not bring himself to stop. Whatever actions he took now, Christine had brought upon herself. He trailed his hands upward, along her smooth neck, and held her perfect face within his hands. She stared up at him with the open, honest trust of a child, unmoving, unchanging. Why wasn't she pulling away? Why wasn't she staring intently at his grotesque face? His breathing grew erratic as he finished the song, the words she had never heard.

**You alone can make my song take flight**

**Help me make the music of the night**

Christine's heart instantly froze within her, and it seemed that the only sound in the vast auditorium was her own ragged breathing. The rest of the world blurred into a reddish smear as only the man standing before her came into sharp focus. She did not see deformity. She did not see a murderer. She only saw her Angel, someone who had been her friend through so many years of her life. She slowly moved forward, feeling as though her mind was on fire. In an action just as shocking as her removal of his mask, Christine placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him.

Now he was certain all reason had fled him. Erik had, not a moment before, managed to chill his entire soul towards Christine. He had fully intended to take her away forever, to force her to stay with him. He was willing to face down any sort of pleas she would offer. And in a single instant, all the coldness in his soul evaporated with the heat of her lips upon his. He had never before felt the touch of another in this way, never before been kissed. And he had never truly imagined that Christine Daae would kiss him of her own accord. All thoughts of rage, fury, and betrayal lifted from his mind, and all he could do was loose himself to the power of her kiss.

**A/N: **Yeah, it's probably not a good idea to be writing this fanfiction while my other one is in progress. But it begged me to write it, to write out another scenario to the PoNR scene. That scene in particular fascinates me, which is why I've explored it in such a way. I'm not sure if I ought to continue this or not.

**Disclaimer**: I have no ownership over the Phantom of the Opera. This disclaimer applies to any chapters that follow hereafter.


	2. A Denial

When the momentous contact between demon and angel was broken, it seemed as though the foundations of the Earth itself released a shuddering breath. The feathery touch of Christine's delicate hands drifted down the sides of his face to rest upon his shoulders. She had been overcome by the curious sensation of being adrift in a sea of molten flame, utterly unable to resist the leaden feeling that consumed her. Her breath was even and deep, her tears had ceased their painful flow. All the frantic rise of desperate emotion that had waged a battle within her soul just moments before had effectively been halted with a single action. No thoughts of betrayal, denial, uncertainty, terror, or guilt were allowed life inside her swelled heart. Not any longer.

It had felt so _right_.

The raging hurricane in her mind was calm and tranquil, as completely still and transparent as a sea of glass. Christine found no words, no possibilities of vocalizing the apparent power surge in her soul as she gazed into those haunted eyes above her. He too was breathing in short, deep gasps, accenting the rise and fall of his chest mere centimeters below the place where her hands rested. His eyes no longer shone with a fury hotter than the sun, no longer reflected a swirl of unreadable emotion. All she could see in his misty blue eyes was the expression she knew must mirror her own. They were glittering brightly with a look of pure wonder.

In the first moments after contact had broken, Erik had been aware of only two things. The first was the desperate beating of his heart, throbbing so heavily he truly thought it might balloon out of proportion and be visible through his chest. The second was the clear sensation of Christine's hands coming to rest upon his shoulders, not releasing him from her touch. Consciousness fluttered upon him, returning his mind to its capacity of thought once more. He denied the questions that flooded his thoughts, the questions of her meanings and motivation. He refused any attempt to understand the events that had transpired on stage in the past few minutes.

All he wanted was the present.

Christine was wholly focused upon him, unmasked, with sheer wonderment in her dark eyes. Her tears had stopped, and her face was brushed with a beautiful pink glow. The light he saw in her eyes had been reminiscent of the gaze she had bestowed upon him when he first revealed himself to her that night so long ago. Yet, there was something quite different about her now, something significantly brighter in her dazed expression. Now her face was alight with the shimmer of understanding, with longing. Over the faint sound of his own breathing, Erik slowly became aware of the fact that the music had stopped. The silence in the air was weighty and thick, filled with the stunned presence of the entire captivated audience.

He needed to act.

Taking in a solid, deep breath, Erik snapped his focus away from Christine. There would be time to understand her actions later. Silently willing that she be able to grasp his intentions, he turned to face the audience, gently removing her hands from his shoulders. Trembling to the depths of his essence, Erik grasped Christine's hand in his own as he made a slight bow to the multitude that hinged on his every movement. The act had ended and it was time for the curtain to fall. An entirely new fear had wrapped its thorny vines about his mind, grasping his racing heart with a different sort of terror. This had not come into his plans for the performance. He had not anticipated facing the audience this night. He felt Christine's hand begin to quiver in his firm grasp as she gleaned understanding of their strange situation. She too made a faint bow, utterly focused on the blurred sea of faces focused upon them.

The very skies burst apart with a deafening roar.

The audience was upon their feet, a resounding applause quaking through the Opera Populaire. No one had ever seen or heard such a performance, such sheer masterpiece. Erik's breath was stolen from him in a dizzying sensation, barely able to comprehend the thought of the world praising him. And yet here they were, so enthusiastic that their applause sent vibrations through the very stage beneath him. His emotions had spun wildly out of control in the past few moments, all bounds of his logic shattering in the wake of impossible events he was experiencing. With a triumphant sweep, the grand velvet of the deep red curtains at the front of the stage descended upon them, veiling the couple in the glowing light of their simulated fire. Neither one found the ability to speak as they were both enthralled by the audience reaction they had received.

Raoul de Chagny felt as though the seams of his heart had been unmercifully ripped out, one by one. How could this be happening? How could it truly be possible that the world around him was applauding the rupture of his young heart? His love, his dear, beloved Christine, had turned to the arms of the Phantom. Just hours before the performance, she had confided to him that she was terrified the man would take her life. How could it be that she now surrendered herself to him? The rest of the audience might have believed the act, believed that Don Juan was _supposed_ to have been disfigured in the Opera. But he knew better. He knew exactly what Christine had done.

She had flipped off the monster's mask in an attempt to expose him, to call for help. And yet none had surfaced, because no one realized it was the Phantom on stage with her. All she had to do was utter a single sound of distress, emit a solitary signal to the officers placed upon the catwalk, and everything would have ended. And yet she had remained silent, and indeed, shed tears for her actions of exposing the creature for the monster he truly was. She had apologized to him through song! Every word she sang was unscripted, unhindered betrayal. His fiancée had effectively declared her loyalty to the very man that had attempted to kill him, that had killed who knew how many others besides Joseph Buquet.

_Why_?

Raoul was still paralyzed in his seat, tears flowing down his perfect face. He had managed to retain some dim shred of hope that perhaps this was still part of her act, still part of her plan to destroy the Phantom. But all pretenses had been dissolved the instant she pressed her lips to his. Christine had kissed him. Christine had kissed the Phantom of the Opera. The thought of it made Raoul's stomach churn in revulsion. How could she? How could she possibly do such a thing? He had been mildly aware of her attachment to the man, of her reluctance to be an instrument of his doom. But he had never imagined that in the end, she would choose the darkness of her own free will.

Sorrow collapsed to the anger building in his heart. Perhaps it wasn't of her own free will at all. He had witnessed himself the power the Phantom held over Christine that night at the graveyard. Perhaps the madman still held some kind spell over the girl's fragile mind. Raoul's resolve crept back into existence, spurring him out of his seat and down the stairs. He had to reveal the monster for what he was, and end this waking nightmare once and for all.

Not long after Erik had appeared on stage, Madame Giry felt her strength unhinge. Fully aware of the police lurking around every corner of the Opera Populaire, she had been unable to remain a moment longer and witness the demise of her dear friend. For so long she had shielded him from the horrors of the world, for so long she had admired his ability to spin beauty from darkness. She knew her soul would not be able to hold up under the impossible weight of his death. And so she had hastily departed, pushing her way past the captivated stagehands. There was not an individual among them who was not fully aware that it was the enigmatic Phantom of the Opera making his appearance at last.

Wildly pushing past the others with no specific destination in mind, Madame Giry had stumbled upon the sprawled form of Piangi, splayed out across the glossy wooden floor just beyond the curtain leading to the stage. Feeling a terrible sensation of dread grip her, she knelt down to inspect his still form. The man was still breathing. She swiftly removed the lasso from about his neck, feeling carefully for any broken places. His neck had not been shattered. For some reason, Erik had left Piangi intact before taking his place in the Opera. Madame Giry whispered a silent prayer of thanks as she took a handkerchief from her dress pocket and began to blot away some of the blood running down the large man's face.

All the while, the Frenchwoman kept one alert ear tuned to the situation taking place just beyond the heavy velvet curtain she crouched behind. Christine was holding herself in character, and there had been no alarm yet sounded. Madame Giry's mind raced as she frantically assessed the situation. What possible way could there be for Erik to escape this disaster intact? If he managed to survive to the curtain fall, how could she assist in his safety? Piangi was certain to be discovered, and it would not take long for Erik's identity to be revealed to the Police. She had no doubt they would open fire upon the man they thought to be so terribly dangerous.

Madame Giry froze as she heard the blood chilling sound of the audience screaming in horror. Drawing in a raspy breath, she reached a quivering hand to pull back the curtain just enough to see what was going on upon that stage of fire. From her vantage point, all Madame Giry could see were the shadows of the players flittering about frantically. She could see neither Erik nor Christine, although she soon heard his voice once again lift up in song. Maestro Reyer seemed to have missed a beat or two, for the music sounded uncertain to her well trained ear. Soon enough it properly continued, closely following the music Erik sang. So all was still well.

Except for Piangi.

The Ballet Mistress shuddered to think what might befall Erik if Piangi and his beloved la Carlotta were allowed to speak out against him after the act had drawn to a close. Every single member of the cast and crew must have instantly recognized Erik as the Phantom they had lived with for so long. The superstitious fear of him hung over the hearts of many, which would spur enough of them into silence of his identity. No one wanted to incur the wrath of a demon, after all. But la Carlotta would succumb to no such course of action. She would identify him as the Phantom he was, effectively drawing his life to a close at the hands of the officers drifting about the Opera House.

Her mind began to race furiously as she constructed possible courses of action that would save Erik's life. There was one certain way to rid the Opera Populaire of Carlotta for the night, and Madame Giry meant to take it. She rose and attempted to regain her composure before seeking out one of the so strategically placed uniformed guards. She quietly informed the young officer she discovered of Piangi's sudden fainting spell, and she strongly suggested that Carlotta accompany him to the hospital for inspection. After all, a fainting spell might have spurred all kinds of hidden health problems, and it was best the couple be together. The Soprano had been forced to remain quite silent, as there was still a performance going on just beyond the curtain. With quite a bit of showy fuss, the two of them were removed from the Opera Populaire, just as Madame Giry had intended.

She turned her head immediately when she heard the deafening roar of the audience's applause. Madame Giry took a deep breath as she saw the light dim from the falling of the heavy velvet curtain, and she stepped forward onto the stage to meet two of the three people she cared for the most in life.

Christine made no movement to release her hand from his trembling grasp. Forgetting herself, Christine felt her heart soar. Her Angel had been able to receive the recognition he deserved for his genius at last. And he had done so without hiding behind a mask. Furthermore, she had received the impossible opportunity to make several of her childish fantasies spring to life by singing on stage with her otherworldly tutor. This time, the tears that sparkled in her clear brown eyes were those of joy, a glimmering expression of her wonder. She squeezed the man's hand once, just enough to refocus his attention. His dazzling eyes sharply turned to meet hers.

The frantic hiss of wind and turbulence within his mind only heightened when Erik turned his attention to the young woman holding his hand. Christine was smiling at him. Wonder of wonders, a look of pure joy had lit her features, a faint glitter of tears in her astonishing eyes. A solitary tear skittered down her satin cheek as her smile grew in sincerity. Raising his free hand, Erik traced the path of the moisture upon her face with his finger as he reveled of the sensation of her flesh against his.

"It's him! The Phantom of the Opera!" Raoul's sharp voice rang clearly through the dim murmur of the backstage activity. The small world Erik and Christine had shared for just a moment was shattered by the sound of his accusation.

"No!" Christine called back frantically, eyeing the officers off the edge of the catwalk she stood upon. The men were shaking their heads, as though coming out of a thick daze. Christine swallowed thickly. So she was not the only one her Angel could entrance with his voice. Applying a quick burst of pressure to her Angel's hand, Christine released him and began making her way down the spiraling staircase, descending into the inferno that had been created below. She knew that he would follow, and she only prayed that no harm came to the man she loved this night.

"Of course it is!" Raoul looked at Christine in disbelief as the crew began to gather. Uncertainty appeared to be a tangible fog in the air upon the stage, and hushed whispers were flying across the gathering assembly. Indeed, it was the Phantom, but what would befall the mortal foolish enough to assault him?

"This is the man?" One of the Sergeants voiced the question gruffly, with the hint of a threat echoing in the air. He shifted his long, dim blue coat to reveal the deadly shine of a pistol in his hand. The Sergeant had been told of this murderous man who disguised himself as a Phantom in order to exploit the unfortunate individuals who worked in the Opera House. He had even go son far as to murder a man to drive his point across. There was no telling what a man so close to an auditorium full of unsuspecting upper class Opera goers might do when panicked.

"Yes!" Raoul exclaimed, locking Christine with a stare of accusing disbelief as she joined his level on the stage. Erik followed close behind her, not daring to let so much as a breath slip past his lips. His life was in peril, yes. For so long, he had managed to be safely tucked away in the dark folds of the lair below the Opera House. For so long, he had avoided condemnation, avoided the soul crushing truth that raw hatred was lurking just beyond the shadows edge. In one night, his years of hiding had come crashing around his ears as he faced certain death at the hands of the Parisian Police department. Even worse, at the hands of the crew members he had so long haunted, so long terrified into submission.

But Christine had denied it.

Christine Daae had almost instinctively contradicted her fiancée, with one, emotional burst of denial. Her single word carried much greater weight than she was aware of, in that it might result in Erik obtaining his life. He was standing straight and tall upon the wooden floorboards of the lower stage, now fully in view of all concerned. A curious flow of dancers and stagehands continued to drizzle in around him, all staring at him as though he were on display. A rough feeling scraped through his thoughts like sandpaper as he recalled the depths of cruelty humanity was capable of. Exactly as things had been in the times of his childhood, he was standing, exposed, before a curious crowd of onlookers, awaiting some horrid fate. He desperately fought down the compulsion to cover his face, to find a way to slip back into the darkness he deemed so familiar. At the word of the Viscount, the Policeman raised his pistol, and the other two officers that had found their way to the stage also began to advance towards the man cloaked in darkness.

"What do you think you are doing?" A different voice called out, and all attentions turned to Madame Giry as she made her way past various stagehands. She sounded so clearly annoyed, as though chastising one of her Ballet Rats for missing a step. "That man is _not_ the Phantom of the Opera." She placed herself on the inner edge of the onlookers, twisting her long, brown braid about a finger. She gave Raoul a curious look and shook her head. "This man is Erik Angelle, a last minute replacement for Signor Piangi."

"What happened to Piangi?" one of the dancers touched Madame Giry's shoulder, worry and terror upon her face. It was evident that she assumed the Phantom had murdered the lead tenor of the Opera House. Madame Giry frowned and focused her attention upon the young Viscount.

"I discovered Signor Piangi just beyond the back curtain," she replied, her voice crisp and commanding. "He was unconscious, and blood was dripping from his mouth. When I took a pulse, however, I found he was quite alive. Erik had run across the unfortunate man's body and quickly informed me of it, asking me what should be done. Since I know this man is quite talented from his involvement in the Opera House, I told him to take Piangi's place while I summoned help. Two policemen and la Carlotta accompanied Piangi to the hospital, suspect the Phantom had been at work, attempting to sabotage the performance."

The Sergeant appeared to be at a loss. He had the frantic, insistent word of the Viscount de Chagny, the man who had called them there in the first place, that this man was the Phantom of the Opera. And yet the Opera House workers did not appear to agree with this accusation. He tightened his grip on his pistol and turned his attention to Madame Giry.

"And who might you be, Madame?" He could not simply be satisfied with what could be a quickly crafted tale to conceal the Phantom's identity.

"I am Madame Giry," she replied coolly, all the while avoiding any eye contact with Erik or Christine. "I am the Ballet Mistress of the Opera Populaire."

"She is lying to protect him," Raoul spoke just loud enough to be heard, the anger evident in his voice. "Madame Giry is the one who always received his notes, and indeed, she is the one who first brought the Phantom to this place to save his life, years ago."

"And what of me?" Christine stepped forward, her entire poise steely. "Why would I lie to protect the man I feared, not hours ago, would take my life? You of all people should understand that I wish the Phantom gone from my life. This man, this man is simply Monsieur Angelle, as Madame Giry has stated." She desperately prayed that no one could see the quivering she struggled to control. There was no hiding the fact that Raoul could see right through her, that he was all too certain who the man standing just behind her truly was. Raoul had fought with the Phantom! Of course he knew who he was! The look he fixed her with reflected the searing questions in her own mind. He looked betrayed, unnerved, and shocked. How could she lie to protect this creature of darkness?

Raoul felt as though the ground began to give way beneath him. Had the entire world gone mad? The cruel pangs of desperation began to sting at his mind as he looked from Christine to the Ballet Mistress. This could not possibly be happening.

"I too must assure you that this is not the man you seek," a new voice cut into the heavy situation. Erik thought he could almost see the fabrics of reality shredded as Maestro Reyer stepped forward. Erik was fully aware that the man had been there for most of his career, had been in the Opera House even longer than he himself had. Reyer most certainly knew exactly who he was. He had heard Erik's menacing voice enough times over the years to have immediately recognized him for the Phantom he was. Erik had dismissed the Maestro's earlier action of continuing the progression of the music to professionalism. So why was the elderly man speaking in his defense now?

"And who might you be?" the Sergeant was growing increasingly agitated.

"I am Maestro Reyer, the music conductor here." He cast one lingering glance to Erik before stiffly straightening his tuxedo front. "I have been in this Opera House since the Phantom first surfaced, and I have had quite a bit of experience in witnessing the madman's appearances. This man, this is my personal assistant. Erik Angelle shows promising talent in many musical areas, and in some, far surpasses my own. This is why he knew the music to be sung tonight, and why he was able to replace Piangi."

"This is absurd!" Raoul was clearly suffering from desperation. "Piangi was on stage moments before the Phantom appeared! How could this man possibly have had enough time to dress in costume and apply that face disfigurement paint in a matter of seconds?"

"Viscount," Reyer maintained his cool composure. "Monsieur Angelle was dressed in proper attire. On Performance nights, we all dress differently. As for his disfigurement… take a closer look. You shall see it is not paint that covers the right side of his face. Alas, that is truly how he appears. His face is marred by an unfortunate disfigurement, which is why he could never before apply for a part on stage. But oddly enough, in this strange Opera, the script calls for such a disfigurement, which made Angelle a perfect candidate for performance."

The Sergeant again turned his attention to Raoul, awaiting another protest to insist that the singer wasn't who they said he was. The Viscount was rapidly shriveling under the weight of the pressure.

"Well Viscount? Do you still insist this is the murderer you summoned us here to capture? I am assuming I shall receive the same sort of explanation from the others gathered here." The policeman locked the unnerved nobleman with a piercing stare as the dancers and stagehands offered dazed nods of agreement. No one dared to speak out against the Phantom now, or worse, to go against the word of their Maestro and Ballet Mistress. Raoul could only weakly shake his head, feeling utterly defeated.

"Alright, alright," the Sergeant waved to the other two officers gathered in the circle of onlookers. "Come, we need to search elsewhere for this oh so deadly ghost we have been summoned to capture." With that, the Policemen made their departure from the dimming stage, making their way back out into the fray of activity just beyond the curtain.

"Christine," Raoul walked towards her fragile form, barely able to contain the emotions raging through him. "Swear to me you are telling the truth about this man. That it is possible he is exactly who all of you say he is. I shall ask you only once, and accept your answer above that anyone else here could offer." He knew he was not mistaken. He knew the man they all lied to protect was the very same who had attacked him that cold night in Perros. And now he would discover where Christine's loyalty truly lay. He had offered her a chance at freedom, a way to rescue her from the darkness that loomed mere inches from her. If she told him the truth, now, her mind was not past saving. If she told him the truth, now, he still had a fiancée.

Her heart collapsed when she saw the raw emotion playing out upon her fiancée's face. What was wrong with her? What was she doing? Why couldn't she return his adoration? After sharing that solitary, electrifying kiss with her Angel, Christine knew the truth. She could never again touch Raoul without thinking of the fire ignited in her soul by the darkness. The sensations of this night, this dance were burned into her soul for an eternity. There was no going back now.

"Raoul, this man is no Phantom," she tried her best to sound convincing as her hand flitted skittishly upon her Angel's sleeve. "He is a singer, just another musician." She saw the pain in his narrowed eyes before her fiancée turned his back on her.

"I am sorry," he said tensely. "But I cannot openly destroy myself by pursuing this farce any longer. If you truly wish to humiliate me by turning to the arms of this Phantom… you have chosen your fate. I am not abandoning you, but I cannot force you to come with me unless you first tear yourself away from this sick veil of twisted flesh you call an Angel. You know how to reach me, and at a solitary word, I shall release you from this prison. Until then, goodbye Christine." Without so much as a backward glance, Raoul vanished from the stage.

It seemed as though all gathered released a collective sigh of relief. Christine felt a wave of dizziness overcome her, and she finally wavered where she stood. Instinctively, Erik grasped both of her arms from behind, steadying her. In all honestly, he too felt as though he were going to waver and collapse right there on the fiery stage. He raised his piercing gaze to meet the eyes of those gathered there, those who had spoken in his defense.

"You know exactly who I am," he fought to keep his low voice even. "_Why_?"

"You are the Phantom," Reyer answered quietly. The elderly man was clearly nerve wracked, and he tightly clamped his hands behind his back in tension. "Now, I am certain that there are many here who chose to speak for you out of fear. No one wishes to incite your wrath, sir. Indeed, the death of our comrade, Buquet, is still all too fresh in our minds. But there are some… like myself, who have different reasons. You have been a part of this Opera House as long as I have, if not longer, Monsieur. Things would simply not move along properly without you." He nodded decisively, as though the explanation were satisfactory. As though it would define the indefinable actions of the crew and himself that Erik had just witnessed. In effect, Reyer had flat out stated that some members of the crew were attached to the concept of the Phantom of the Opera.

Erik was utterly shaken.

"I must go," he cleared his throat and mustered up as much dignity as he could manage. He straightened himself out and attempted to look as presentable as possible, despite the fact that he was painfully aware of – he was without his mask. "I am in your debt," he added with a nod of his head. He motioned to slip away, beyond the heavy curtain that led to the dark safety of the backstage area, when Christine pressed her palm against his upper arm. Erik froze instantly at the contact, his mind locking in place.

"Let me come," her voice rang with an inquiring tone. She could not imagine the effect hearing those three simple words had on the already fragile man beside her. He drew in an unsteady breath, fearing that his heart would blister and burst with the heat of emotion searing through his chest. He could not face her, could not bear to look at her. His control was wavering dangerously, and Erik was already well aware that he had abandoned the waking world of reason. He nodded once, sharply, decisively. With that solid action, he gently pulled away from her faint touch and sought to emerge himself in the darkness once more.

**A/N:** Alright, after much thought, I decided to continue this story. This one shall not be updated as regularly as "The Strength to Try", however, because it takes quite a bit more effort to write. I'm trying to make this story written to the best of my ability, so that takes quite a bit of editing and whatnot. Thank all of you for your encouraging reviews – that is what prompted me to continue this. I suppose I was writing this because I got tired of bad things happening to Erik. I don't want Erik and Christine to pursue a relationship while on the run, and I didn't want to loose the setting of the Opera House right away. Besides, I think everything falls into a good place of "what if"….

Please review!


	3. Proposition

When Christine awoke, it was to the haunting sound of an organ echoing in the musky air. Slowly she allowed her deep brown eyes to flutter open, and for a few moments she was free of all memories, of all distractions. She was simply Christine, adrift in a soft sea of an enticing melody. With a blink, her dazed state of relaxation snapped. What was going on? She was lying down against impossibly soft fabric, a material she faintly remembered from a time long past. She brushed her hands across the deep red sheets as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Recognition and understanding sharpened in her clearing mind, and Christine was able to recall her situation.

Somewhere during the descent into darkness, Christine had been overwhelmed with the flurry of emotions uprooted by the impossible events she had taken part of. Coupled with the effort of keeping up with her nearly panicked Angel, her corset had become unbearably tight. Christine had collapsed to the hard stone floor below with a cry, and her world had faded into darkness. She rubbed at her forearms delicately, noting the soreness there from her fall. Her Angel- was his name Erik? – must have retrieved her heaped form and carried her for the remainder of his journey. A knot rose to her throat as she lifted the black lace veil of the swan bed she had been placed in. Erik must have been just as overwhelmed as she, and yet he had taken the effort to transport her safely.

The haunting tones she heard tugged at her soul, edging her forward. Erik was venting his confusion, clearly pouring his soul into the notes he now played. Her heart sprang to life as Christine recalled precisely what had transpired on the stage in the moments before her world dissolved. She had betrayed Raoul, and indeed, broken his heart. A wrenching pain of regret clenched her stomach tightly, and she could only close her eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the common sense ringing in her mind. What was to happen now? She had most likely removed Raoul from her life altogether. Any chance at a safe, happy, wonderful existence as a Viscountess had been shattered the instant she pulled Erik to her in that mind blinding kiss.

Perhaps she should be pleased with the situation. Erik's life had remained quite intact, and she had recently realized that her soul would never be cleansed of the dark imprint he had left upon it. He was part of her eternally, which is what finally drove her to succumb to the darkness. So why was she overcome with dread and unease?

Erik had hardly noticed when Christine collapsed to the hard stone floor behind him. Some level of his psyche had ordered him to turn around, gather her into his arms, and proceed his flight from the world above. Logic and reason had evaporated; the world had spun away from him entirely. As he journeyed farther into the depths of the Opera House, he doubted if anything would surprise him anymore. What else could possibly occur?

Despite his frayed state of mind, Erik still managed to place Christine in the swan bed he had ordered for her with the utmost care. His mouth had turned to dust as he paused over her restlessly sleeping form, recalling the feel of her lips upon his. No one had ever kissed him before that moment, not even his own mother. After that instant, everything else had crossed into the fantastic realm of the impossible. Christine had stood by his side, and faced down the crowd and police that came for him. She had defended him, indeed, so had the crew of the Opera Populaire itself.

Once he had secured Christine in her bed, Erik simply sank to the floor and cradled his head in his hands. Shaking breaths wracked his shivering body as he slowly tried to purge the intensity of the past hour. All the anguish of being exposed before hundreds, all the wrath at Christine's betrayal, all the terror of being at the mercy of the world that had destroyed his soul years ago, all the passion of his contact with Christine… everything came bursting forth as he huddled against the wall in his lair.

When at last he had no more tremors within his body, Erik felt utterly spent. He retreated to his organ, desperately expressing the emotions that had not yet been released.

And thus was the state of the Phantom as Christine came upon him.

"Angel," she nearly choked as she hovered behind his hunched form.

"Angel," he echoed distantly. "You know I am not really the Angel of Music."

"No?" She fought to still the raging torrent of unease within her, desperately wishing he would look at her. For the first time, she heard him miss a note. An unpleasant sound rang in the dank air.

"Why?" The sound was almost primal as the music came to a startling halt.

"Why?" Christine could not understand what he was desperately seeking from her.

"Why!" He rose to face her in one fluid, swift motion. His unmasked face was awash with confusion, desperation, and sorrow. The severity of his mournful expression stung unbearably in Christine's heart. "Why…." He visibly deflated, the anger hissing away from him. "My mask, the kiss, defending me, following me here… why any of it?" Tears burned Christine's eyes. Didn't he realize that she was still fighting a brutal battle in her own mind to answer those questions? It certainly made no sense.

"I'm sorry," it was the only safe answer she could think to give. She did not trust herself to speak of her emotions any deeper than that, nor could she imagine telling the unstable man before her that she had been driven to the brink of madness upon realizing how deeply he affected her. By the flash of coldness that crossed into his hazy blue eyes, Christine feared she had given the wrong statement.

"Sorry." He said the word heavily. What was she apologizing for? Removing his mask? Or leading him on? For making a decision she now regretted? He turned away from her, rubbing at his temples with one hand. What could be done? Perhaps she was even apologizing for placing herself at his mercy.

"I was a fool," Christine continued behind him, speaking in an unsteady voice. He braced himself for whatever admission would come from her lips. He no longer possessed the strength to react with anger; indeed, all he could do was listen. "Part of me knew you were on the roof that night, and I acted upon it. I _wanted_ you to hurt, I _wanted_ you to feel as unstable as I did when I saw Joseph Buquet hanging from the rafters. I had felt utterly betrayed, as though all of my childhood fantasies of my gentle, heavenly Angel of Music had been torn away from me. I was bitterly angry when I realized that not only were you just a man, you were a murderer. So I threw coal into the fire, knowingly turning to Raoul, knowing that I did not love him as I claimed to. I wanted you to see, wanted you to feel jealousy and pain. I wanted to return the blow of loosing my fanciful dreams of magic. It was childish and horrid of me, and so impossibly selfish. I twisted Raoul's heart while knowingly wounding yours." There. The truth had at last surfaced, and she would face whatever blow was to come next.

"You let him walk away from you." Erik's voice betrayed no emotion, none of the thoughts streaking through his battered mind. "And you came with me. Why?"

"You possess me." She did not dare venture father than that, too terrified to fully journey out on the fragile wire she found herself upon. "Even if I were to leave this place forever, part of me would remain in your control. Even if I were to be with Raoul, it would be _your_ embrace his would shadow." She watched his broad back grow straight and stiffen significantly.

"What do you want here, Christine?" His mind was reeling, his heart again springing to painful life within his chest. She released a shivering breath at his question. It was the one she had been praying he not ask, for she had no answer. At her silence, he turned to face her. "Please tell me this is not another foolish game you are playing." Still he could not face her, could not see her dark eyes flash with anger and stinging hurt.

"The games we've played till now are at an end," she replied in a low voice. "Your own words, and they ring quite true. I am being _sincere_!" The tone in her voice was desperate enough to turn him towards her once more. Hope dangled dangerously before him, and he did not know if he had the strength to retrieve it once more. The recollection of their duet on stage blazed through his mind. She had acted the part he always dreamed she would, fully convincing him that she had allowed herself to fall prey to his darkness. His heart had soared with her within his grasp, offering herself completely to him. Her performance had been so convincing that his fragile heart completely exposed itself to her. In a single action, she had savagely destroyed it, tearing his mask from his face before all. She knew what that would do to him! She had seen his reaction when she alone had removed his mask in the isolation in his lair… she must have been fully aware of the effect it would have upon him to be revealed to the entire audience.

No.

He would not dare to believe her act once more. He still had a shred of humanity nestled securely in the wreckage of his soul, and he intended to protect it. His entire life had hinged upon the woman standing before him now, but he would not allow her cruelty to unravel him completely.

"I cannot do this," his voice was riddled with pain as he spoke at last. "I will no longer fall victim to your inconstant heart." The ache from her betrayal was still to raw in his heart to be mended by a kiss that could have been nothing more to her than a ploy at some selfish plan.

The breath caught in Christine's throat as her Angel of Music looked her in the eye and denied her the unspoken request that had hung between them. She no longer had a place here, in the world she had learned to grow in. He was going to ask her to leave. He did not trust her, and she could offer no defense on her behalf. She shook her head and looked towards the glittering underground lake. Anger surged within her as she mulled over his words and implications. Didn't he realize she had forsaken everything for him? That she had dismissed her childhood friend, a man she loved, just to be with him? That she loved him? And yet he would send her away, unable to believe in her. If that was his answer, then she would return to Raoul, attempt to build some semblance of a life without her fallen Angel's shadow.

But she had already extinguished any other options, hadn't she? If she didn't fight for what she could barely understand now, it would be lost to her forever. She could not fully comprehend the feelings he had ignited within her, but to think that she could live without him was simply not permissible.

"I'm not leaving." She did not ask, did not attempt to make a feeble explanation he would not accept anyway. She had nearly thrown away a vital part of her existence, but she would remedy that mistake now.

The beautiful portion of Erik's face contorted in pain and confusion. Desperately his mind tried to understand her words, her motivations. Why? What did she hope to gain? What did she want from him? Hadn't he already given her all he had to offer, only to have it thrown back at him?

Becoming painfully aware of her Angel's hesitation, Christine felt a burning panic grow inside her. If she walked out of this damp place now, she would never be welcome to return. The man who had pulled her from her unbearable loneliness would recede to the darkness he came from, even more wounded than he had been before. How could she condemn him to such a fate? How could she go on to live a terribly empty lie without him?

"Why?" The pain in his face quickly returned to anger and suspicion. She threw her head back defiantly at him as he closed the distance between them. "If you continue playing games with my heart, I am going to perish beneath the weight of it!"

His words rang throughout the darkness, spiking Christine with an almost physical pain. She clung to the vague understanding she had of what her actions could imply, of what kind of life she was now walking into. This man, this Erik, was just as elusive and out of reach as her Angel had been. She did not want the tangible space between them, she did not want to be confined by the uncertainty between them. He had lied to her for years, pretending to be something he was not, purposely playing her feelings. She had loved him long ago, falling into bliss every time he sang for her. Emotions swirled within her as she came to the realization that things were the same as they had always been. Here was her Angel, firmly directing the situation, enforcing his own will. Was this how things were to end between them?

"I want to stay with you!" She cried out the words with every ounce of force within her delicate body. He drew back, shock plainly registering on his face. This was not the meek chorus girl he had grown so accustomed to. This was a woman hovering on the edge of desperation. She had let her Viscount walk away. Her explanation for doing so was simply that she preferred her Angel to any other. And now she asked to stay here, with him. How could such things be possible?

"You wish to stay with me?" He did not attempt to hide the quiver in his voice. "Then let's make this easy, shall we? If you are to stay, it is permanent. You are to be my wife." The statement was heavy with emotion, anger seething from each word. She had proven herself to be more than untrustworthy, she had utterly betrayed him. If she was sincere, then she ought to have no issue with what he now commanded.

Christine felt as though someone had physically struck the back of her knees, very nearly sending her to the floor once again. But now was not the time for such uncalled for reactions. Now was not the time to dwell on the terror his order instilled in her heart. To marry a madman… to be locked beneath the Opera House for an eternity… to become the bride of darkness…

She could not refuse him.

"Alright." Her voice was only a faint whisper; one Erik could scarcely bring himself to believe.

"What?"

"I said alright," she swallowed, and forced herself to be more audible. And why shouldn't she have expected him to make such a demand of her? And indeed, why should she not accept? She loved him, yes? But oh, the fear he awoke within her, the sheer terror he invoked in her soul… it threatened to unravel her.

"You shall be my bride?"

"Yes, Erik." Her heart was pounding in her chest. Was this truly alright? She loved him, she had always loved him. And he loved her, didn't he? Wasn't that the reason why he had done all this? Why everywhere she cast her gaze around his domain, there was some sort of replica of herself?

"Why my dear, you are trembling." Erik's voice was dripping with acid as he spoke. He clearly did not guess at her thoughts. "Why do you agree to something that terrifies you so?"

Christine was silent, and her gaze towards him iced over. She loved him, but she despised him as well.

He frowned at her cold anger, and broke their stare. Without pausing to see if she followed him, he strode to one of his greatest triumphs concerning her. Pulling back a deep velvet red curtain, he revealed the mannequin of Christine, lifeless and terrifying. Christine had not been able to understand that the mannequin of herself wore a wedding dress the first time she laid eyes upon the frightening replica of herself. But now she saw, and now she understood.

"Take the dress and change," he ordered softly. His mannerisms had softened, no longer teeming with hate, with the desire to hurt her emotionally. She was frightened, but she did not try to run from him. Perhaps there was some sinister motives to her actions, but then again, perhaps there were not. He was going to call her bluff, either way.

"Very well." Her voice was just as shaky as her limbs as she made her way over to the frightening replica of herself.

Raoul de Chagny had walked away, but he certainly had no intentions of giving up. Even as he made his way through the Opera House, it was not the exit he sought. He was going to find the one person who could lead him to the Phantom and Christine, without the accompaniment of the crowd that had formed about them. His heart had retched to see Christine speak out in defense of the man who had terrified her for so long. He clearly recalled the countless conversations when she had asked him to set her free from the dark chains of the Opera House. She had made her feelings crystal clear over time, wishing only to be released from the supernatural hold the Phantom held over her.

She had fallen back under his spell. Raoul had been able to see that much when she lost herself in the power of the song. Yes, it had shredded his heart to see the woman he loved most singing in such a way to another man. Had it been a normal man, a normal situation, he would have gracefully bowed out of the entire affair, not willing to put his heart on the line only to find it return to him in pieces. But this was Christine, and he was willing to go to any lengths to save her. He had seen the panicked glint in her eyes, he had seen the way she glanced up at him during her performance.

Christine was no longer in control of herself.

And so, Raoul made his way to the shadows, waiting for Madame Giry to surface form the shadows, breaking away from the crowd that had spoken in the Phantom's defense.

"Madame!" Raoul lightly touched her arm, gaining the older woman's attention. She gave him a look of surprise as she stiffened.

"Viscount," she answered. "I had thought you left."

"I cannot leave Christine in such peril, Madame." He drew in a deep breath. It would be difficult to obtain information from her this time, as she most likely did not understand the danger Christine found herself in. What if the monster's spell broke? What if it became clear to him that she did not share the sick love he felt for her? Would he kill her? Hold her against her will? Raoul could not stand the thought.

"I do not believe her to be in peril, Monsieur."

"How can you not?" Raoul fought to remain calm, in full control of his own actions. He must not allow his frustration to guide him.

"Christine went with the man willingly, Viscount. Her choices are her own, and under _his_ watch, there could be no safer place for her." Raoul's eyes flashed with outrage, although her response had not been unexpected.

"Will you tell me where they have gone?" He would travel every hallway of the Opera Populaire if he had to, searching each stone for a trapdoor, for a passage that could lead him to Christine. He would find her with or without the assistance of the ever evasive Madame Giry.

"Why?"

"Surely Madame, you must understand! If I am to truly release the woman I love to the man she has spent months telling me terrifies and controls her, I would prefer to do so in good conscience. I must be assured that she truly has chosen this of her own free will, that she is fully in command of her thoughts."

"You do not believe in Christine, then?"

"_What_?" For another time that night, Raoul felt the edges of reality begin to blur. "Of course I do! This has nothing to do with Christine, it has everything to do with the fact that monster is controlling her somehow."

"And just what do you plan to do, if I lead you to them?" He felt as though her tone was mocking, as though she were addressing an over-active child. His pride bristled at her manner towards him, and again he struggled to remain perfectly composed.

"I plan to _rescue_ Christine, Madame."

"You plan to take her away then? Even if it is against her will?" Honestly, what was the matter with this woman? Why was she treating Raoul as though _he_ were in the wrong?

"Madame Giry!" He was most indignant with her implications. "I plan to rescue the woman I love, who has promised to marry me. I do not believe that the passage of merely a few hours could have so drastically changed her heart towards myself and that… Ghost."

"If Christine chooses to seek you, Monsieur, I believe she will know how to do so. I shall respect her decision this night and let her in peace." Raoul's gaze grew dark with anger at her words.

"I shall find her, with or without your help, you realize."

"Then I shall accept no responsibility for the fate of one who foolishly explores the less trodden spaces in this building." With a twirl of her long, dark braid, Madame Giry turned and left Raoul to seethe in frustration.

Had everyone gone _mad_?

Raoul crossed his arms as his mind raged furiously. There must be some way to reach her, to discover her location. If only he could find her, speak to her, he knew that she would be grateful for his presence. She would return to him, and the nightmare of the Opera Populaire could at last draw to a close.

It was not until he saw Meg Giry pass by that his thoughts took on a more solid pattern.

"Mademoiselle Giry!" He approached the young dancer, looking nearly frantic.

"Viscount de Chagny!" she exclaimed, her surprise evident.

"Do you know where the Phantom has taken Christine? Can you tell me how to reach them?" She drew back, clearly unnerved by his questioning.

"T… taken? He didn't take her…"

"I have just spoken with your mother, Mademoiselle. She is most concerned for Christine's safety, but before she could speak of their location, the authorities passed by. She does not wish for the Ghost to be harmed, so she continued to protect him by leading them away. But now I truly fear for Christine's safety! Please, if you know where they might have gone, you _must_ tell me!"

"M…Mother is concerned?" Raoul felt a small twinge of triumph as he saw her uncertainty.

"Yes! But she does not find the situation quite as dire as I do. Please, you must help me! For Christine's sake!" As a look of worry crossed the ballerina's face, Raoul knew he would soon be facing that monster for the second time before night was over.

**A/N**: Yikes, it took me forever to get this next chapter up. Sorry about that! But I did warn you that it would take longer to write, simply because I am using a difficult format. As far as I can tell, this tale shall not be a lengthy one. Unfortunately, I have not planned it out in the slightest, so it is subject to change direction in mid chapter on me. My stories tend to do that to me sometimes…

**Barb**: Well, I suppose it did kind of seem as though I had resolved virtually all the conflict that could await Erik and Christine. But I'm not through with things just yet. You didn't think Raoul would accept things as they were, did ya?

**Amber**: Thank you! I was trying to think of a turn the PoNR scene could have taken that has never been expressed before. I was shooting for something I haven't read in any fanfictions, that could still be realistic and true to character. As for the rest of the crew, well… I was thinking about what I would do if I were a random stagehand that had been dwelling on tales of the Phantom for as long as I worked in a place. Then to discover that he was a real person just like anyone else… yeah, I'd have protected him, so I decided everyone else should too.

**PhantomsHeart**: I like Reyer! And I thought he of all people would stick up for Erik, since who knows how long he's worked at the Opera Populaire.

**Jaws**: Actually, this is my experiment with a different sort of writing style. I'm happy you like it! It's taking a lot of work to keep it going like this though, but I think it's worth the effort to try and improve my writing skills. And yeah, I really really really wanted something good to happen to Erik, something it'll take a while to wrap his mind around and truly understand. He's so wrapped up in believing that the world hates him… I wanted something to happen to make him feel better.

**Kate**: Thank you! And I am sorry for the wait in getting this next chapter up. I hope you liked it!

**Lady Winifred**: I'm happy you're enjoying the story so far, and do hope you continue to do so.

**Katherine Silverhair**: Yes! Someone else noticed that Reyer is a softie! I saw that too, and that's part of what prompted me to write him as I did. And Erik does have an innocence to him, I agree. I can really relate to his outlook on life, and to his character in general, because I've come dangerously close to isolating myself from humanity in the past. Granted, I've never gone bananas and killed anybody, so I'm not quite him, but still! And I freakin LOVE YOUR STORY! Please update soon.

**Shdcat27**: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

**Reylan**: Ooo, thank you! I didn't know that before. I'm happy you pointed it out to me!


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