General Author's Note: A lot of Halloween activities in the 19th century centered around romance and courtship as Hallowe'en was a time for fun and societal morale and norms to be loosened. A lot of commentary is made today around "slutty" version of women's Halloween costumes, but women's Halloween costumes have always been "slutty" for the era. Popular Women's Hallowe'en costumes in the 19th century were bat, bee, celestial night sky, and all of them had high hemlines often coming above the ankle where all of the boot and sometimes an inch of stocking could be seen. Those vixens!

All historical information I am drawing from can be found on Messy Nessy Chic searching: Forgotten Romantic Rituals of Halloween's Past or came from my own excessive knowledge of the 19th century that I have been accumulating since I was like 13. Example the additional apple peeling fortune telling stuff I learned at a historical Halloween event I've attended two years in a row. I'd be going this year if I had the money.

Author's Note for this story: In this story is a form of fortune telling by way of apple peeling. This was usually done by young single women. You would peel an apple's peel in one long strand then toss it over your shoulder. You would then check to see what letter it formed and it was supposed to form the first letter of the name of the man you were to marry. There's a couple different versions of this in which if the peel breaks you either die an old maid or you die within the next year. I did not use these versions in this story.

Christine Daae stood on the ottoman in her dressing room, undergarments completely exposed. The Opera Populaire's lead costumer wrapped her measuring tape around The Soprano's waist.

"Is this how you always wear your corset, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes."

"Even when you are performing?"

"Yes."

The elder woman, draped the tape measure around her neck before scribbling the number down in a notebook with a dull pencil. "I just want to make sure. We exhaust over adjusting Carlotta's costumes."

"Mlle Daae will not give that kind of trouble I can promise," Madame Giry adjusted her hands on her walking stick.

The costumer studied the young woman one last time, "I will see what we have in storage that might fit you. 'The Magic Flute' has been performed before in the Populaire's history."

"Thank you very much," Christine smiled at the costumer as she stepped off the ottoman. She removed her dressing robe from the dress mannequin as Madame Giry showed the woman out.

"I hope she finds nothing to fit you. He would prefer to see you in new costumes."

"Madame, my voice is his only concern," Christine finished tying her dressing robe around her and walked over to her vanity. She lifted her brush to her brown locks.

"Are you so sure?" Madame Giry met Christine's reflection in the mirror. "Behind the mask and under that face is still a man. And that man does love beauty."

The Soprano looked down, her brush pausing mid stroke. She suddenly felt too naked. Had he not said something similar when I so cruelly ripped his mask away? Had I not felt the passion of a man when he held me in his arms and sang to me his music of the night?

A hard knock at the door jarred both women.

"Christine? Mother?"

"Meg!" The young woman dropped her brush and skipped to the door letting her friend in. She embraced the ballerina welcoming the distraction from her thoughts.

"I have something for you!" Meg held up a small drawstring bag and handed it to the singer.

"Meg Giry, do you not have your own fitting?" Madame Giry turned a stern face to her daughter.

"I went first, Mother."

"Very well. I better help with the other girls." The older Giry turned to Christine and smiled, "Do keep her in line. She does not have half the discipline you do, Christine."

The Soprano gave a small bow, "Yes, Madame. And thank you for all your help."

The moment she was gone, the blonde ballerina locked the dressing room door, "Thank God. Anyway, it's that time of year!"

"What time of year?"

"Hallowe'en! The time of ghosts, goblins, witches all things that rule the night!" Meg pulled her friend to the floor.

"You of all people, Meg?" Christine sat the bag down as she adjusted her dressing robe. "You are excited for such a time of year? You who cannot hear a creak in this building without thinking of The Phantom of the Opera?"

Meg huffed, "I thought I had a friend with whom I could share this. I heard a certain Vicomte mention that you loved stories of goblins and ghosts and would spend hours acting them out in the attic."

"Those were just childhood games. We are grown now."

"That's right and I see how he keeps coming around. I do believe that is more that a childhood crush," Meg playfully pushed her friend and giggled. "And if ghosts are such childhood games, how come you too pale at the mention of the Opera Ghost?"

Feeling her cheeks start to flush, the Soprano changed the subject, "Okay what is in your bag to celebrate Hallowe'en?" She emptied it onto the floor to find two large red apples and two knifes. She arched an eyebrow, "Meg?"

"We're telling fortunes!" The blonde girl giggled. "We each take an apple and a knife. We call upon the spirits as we peel our apple in one long strip. We then toss the strip over our back. The spirts are to form it into a letter. It is to be the letter of the first name of the man we are to marry!"

Christine smiled as she grabbed a knife and apple. The room was silent as both girls concentrated so their strand would not break. Meg finished first.

"Come on, I want us to toss together!"

"Almost done…ouch!" Christine dropped everything to the floor as she brought her thumb to her mouth. A small drop of bright red blood landed on her white dressing robe.

"Oh, Christine are you okay?"

The Soprano sucked her thumb for a few more seconds and pulled it away, "I think so." She studied her thumb, there was no cut, "I just poked it with the tip." She picked her peel back up and sighed, "Good it's still on one strand. Are you ready, Meg? This was your idea; I will let you summon the spirts."

The ballerina took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "Spirits please show us our future in the peel."

A quick toss and three soft thumps. The girls laughed as they turned around but it quickly turned to groans upon seeing what happened to Meg's.

"Mine broke!" Meg exclaimed. "I don't know what that means."

"It means we shouldn't put much merit into this," Christine wrapped her arms around her friend.

"You're right. Yours looks like an E not an R."

Christine turned to look at her peel and sure enough it was twisted to look like a lower case E.

"You return even though I am no Angel of Music?" The Phantom's voice boomed.

"Yes. Even as just a man you make beautiful music and I cannot ignore that. However, as a man you must have a name. May I know it?"

"Erik," The Phantom's voice was now soft. "You may call me Erik, Christine."

The Soprano's cheeks pinked when they should have drained of color.

Meg tilted her head, "Maybe the spirits were just too powerful? They accidently split mine and curved your R too far that it became an E. What do you think?" She turned and looked at her friend, "Heavens, Christine are you blushing?"

"I believe I should get dressed. We've had enough Hallowe'en fun for the night." She stood and walked over to her chaise lounge where her clothes laid.

The Blonde gathered up the fortune telling material and pushed it back in the draw string bag, "Christine, who is he? Who is this mysterious M. E? What's it like to have two men trying to court you?"

Christine walked back over to her friend and took her hands into hers, "Promise me, you will not tell anyone about tonight!"

"We were just playing a Hallowe'en game. What is there to tell?"

"Just don't mention it."

Christine's blue eyes were frantic, filled with tears as she tightened her grip on her friend's hands. "No one can know about the E."

"You do still believe in ghosts."

The Burnette nodded her head. Those tears now streamed down her cheeks.

"No one will know."

Christine helped her friend to her feet and then hugged her tight, "Thank you."

Meg pulled away, "I will let you get dressed and see you tomorrow at rehearsal."

Once she was alone in her dressing room, Christine leaned her whole body against the full-length mirror. It was cool against her burning body. She knew Erik wasn't there right now; he knew she had a costume fitting and that Madame Giry would be there. But this was as close as she could get to him tonight.

The Soprano let out a sob. Her father had sent her an Angel of Music but he had fallen from grace. And now he was a man. A horrifying man, but still man who somehow stirred something in her. A man with a name. Erik.