Christine Daae came forward for her bow as Agathe in the opening night production of "Der Freischütz." Despite Carlotta's fits, it was agreed upon by both management and directors that Mlle. Daae was a better fit. The Opera Ghost sent a note applauding they finally developed a sense of taste and waved his salary for the next month. She practiced rigorously with her Angel of Music and the applause, cheers and bouquets of flowers coming her way proved the pay off.

She glanced up at Box Five and her face glowed as two golden orbs locked with her blue eyes. A single red rose flew from that direction landing softly at her feet. She bent down to retrieve it in that instant the orbs disappeared. When she looked back up over the audience, she saw Vicomte Raoul de Chagny with his brother Comte Phillipe de Chagny in their box. Raoul was on his feet, clapping enthusiastically, tears in his eyes. She could see a large bouquet of flowers on the little bench beside him. Christine smiled as she curtsied again before stepping back.

As the curtain closed, she viciously pushed past her fellow cast members and the crew, hitting them with her elbows and flowers. The costume's veil trailed behind her, catching on people, props and set pieces as she headed through the commotion towards her dressing room.

"Such an odd bird," one mumbled. "On her way to being Prima donna and all she wants is to return to her dressing room."

"Well it would be nice to have one with such low demands for once."

Once outside the dressing room a couple of her dressing assistants waited for her.

"No, no!" She exclaimed shaking her head, her words rushed. "I wish, no need, to be alone. Tell all who come to my door I am not entertaining tonight. Leave all flowers, notes and the likes outside the door. Thank you." Christine closed the door and locked it. She sighed as she dumped all the flowers in her arms onto the floor.

"Angel…Angel are you here?" Mlle Daae beamed, looking around the room. There was no response.

She sighed and proceeded to her vanity and sat down; removing the white daisy flower crown with its attached veil. She placed on the chaise lounge next to the vanity. The Soprano then untied the bow on the front lace-up of the wedding dress proceeding then to unlace it. Little by little the lace trim of her chemise was revealed followed by the pure white of the new corset she got just for this show. How nice to have a front lacing costume. She carefully guided the sleeves down her arms and placed the top of her costume on top of the veil.

"Erik…," She turned her head and looked at the full-length mirror. "I felt your eyes on me tonight. Every note was perfect, just for you, Angel. I felt like I was your living bride in this dress." Christine mindlessly pulled the ribbon from her hair and slowly undid the braid.

Suddenly there was a thump from behind her. She turned around and saw her Angel of Music recovering from tripping over the leg of the changing screen.

"Erik!" She squeaked.

"Forgive me for startling you," He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I wanted to make myself known before you got too much further." He ran his slender fingers softly down her arms, watching the goosepimples rise on her skin.

When he reached her hands, he lifted his and went to a little hexagon inlaid wood trinket box on her vanity. It was from his days in Persia and he gave it to her for one purpose only. The creak of the lid lifting revealed only one piece of jewelry, a gold ring. The Opera Ghost picked it up and gently slipped it on Christine's left ring finger.

"Of course you felt like my living bride; because you are."

She looked down at the ring and smiled.

"You told your dressers you were not entertaining tonight…"

"I did. I have been so busy with rehearsals and us with voice lessons we haven't had time to be proper husband and wife," she looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Take off your mask, Erik."

The man lifted his hands to his head and removed the mask. As he lowered his hands back down, Christine took the mask gently between her fingers and placed it on top of the collection of items on the chaise lounge. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the face she once found monstrous. He bent down and let those thin lips touch her rouge painted ones.

"Raoul, slow down, they wait for us," Phillipe called at his brother but it was pointless.

The young Vicomte with his arm full of flowers was bounds ahead, the path to Mlle Daae's dressing room memorized. However, the spring in his step was halted by the one of the dressers.

"I am sorry Vicomte, Mlle Daae is not entertaining visitors tonight," The dresser gave him a sad smile. "If you wish to leave any flowers, gifts or notes I will gladly make sure she receives them."

The Vicomte flustered, "I believe you are mistaken, Madame. Tell her it is Raoul. She always wants to see me."

"I apologize but Mlle Daae said tell all who come to her door she is not entertaining. She did not list any exceptions."

"That's just absurd! This is no way to treat a patron!"

"What is the matter, brother?" Phillipe finally caught up with Raoul.

"I am being informed Christine is not entertaining guests tonight! Not even me!" He tossed the flowers to floor on the side of the door.

"Is this true, Madame?" Phillipe asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"How could she do such a thing?" Raoul ran his fingers through his blond locks. "She knew I was to be here tonight."

"Come, Raoul. There are plenty of others to humor us in the green room."

A loud gasp and laugh came from inside the dressing room. "Put me down!"

"In just a minute," The Opera Ghost carried her bridal style to a large pink ottoman on the other side of the room. After he sat, he adjusted Christine so she was on his lap spanning him. "There," He gently caressed her cheek before leaning into her lips.

Christine fumbled with his bowtie and buttons, as Erik opened his lips, his tongue finding hers. His hands found her knees, still covered in stockings, but they pushed under the layers of skirt, finding the few inches of exposed skin between the end of the stockings and the leg openings of her pantalettes.

Squeaking into his mouth, she pulled away, "Erik, please! Let me remove the skirt, I cannot damage the costume."

The Vicomte leaned against the wall of the green room by the door, arms crossed as he observed the actions of the room. Other male patrons had one arm around ballerina or a choir girl, a glass of champagne in the other. La Sorelli sat comfortably on his brother's lap; she had undone his bowtie and the top couple buttons of his shirt and kissed his neck softly. This is acceptable, but my wanting to properly court Christine is somehow not?

Conversation was light and cheerful; discussion of the night's performance, hopes for the new year, masquerade costumes. A girl sitting on a chair by herself made eye contact with Raoul. She smiled before he looked away. She stood up and made her way across the room; her light brown curls bouncing. She kept her hands folded together in front of her powder blue dress as she inched closer to the Vicomte.

"Sorelli informed me you are Comte de Chagny's younger brother. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Excuse me, I need some air," Raoul backed away from the girl. He grabbed door knob and left the room.