Who was this man?

He was mysterious, dark, as if he could never free himself from the shadows. All Christine had seen of him were his eyes, and they were beautiful eyes; although they did not twinkle like diamonds or have a vibrant blue or brown colour – in fact, they were quite colourless and very black – they were soft, with an alluring oval shape, and entranced one so that they could not tear away from the pupils. Christine was sure that she could drown herself in them. If she looked too long at the man's eyes, she found herself struggling to breathe as though she was submerged in water.

But that was all of the face she could see – besides the eyes, the strange man's

entire face was concealed by a blank, expressionless death-black mask. The girl hated the

mask, as she longed to see the entire face of this, angel. Surely a man, even such a

bizarre, eccentric man, with such an entrancing voice should have purely angelic features.

A strong face, probably, smooth cheeks, strong bones, clear and concise.

Christine was being such a silly young girl, daydreaming about the phantom's handsome face. What an insolent child she was! He was a phenomenal teacher, a kind and kindred friend to her and an amusing companion, and all she could do to repay him was to fantasize against the one thing he wished not of her, to see his face. That was the only digression the two had…the man was on his hands and knees to please her, tightly wrapped around her finger. All he asked in return, of his wonderful tenderness and extraordinary music, was that Christine not lay eyes on the body beyond the disembodied voice.

And she had seen his body – he had brought his body to her! He had appeared! She had not forced him to appear. Mysteriously, as always, the man had appeared in her mirror and brought her through into what could only be logically explained as an intriguing dream. And Christine learned! This angel loved her…. and it was odd, it was strange, as before this desperate confession he had always seemed rather cool in their relationship, soft and friendly, but nothing more than a reliable tutor and dear, yet invisible, friend. . Of course a strong and dedicated love for the angel lay in Christine's heart – she had fallen for him like a giddy schoolgirl almost immediately. But that was another dream, another fantasy, and certainly nothing she had expected to have returned. She had not expected more than a childhood crush to awaken from this relationship.

The man had hidden behind his mask and cape. She had seen nothing of him except his eyes. Christine knew naught of what she wanted to know about him, being so young and love struck. She knew she was fault fully shallow, and she despised it, but it was a trait nonetheless that drove her to find the handsome face behind the man.

He was at the organ. Christine remembered, the large, ornate organ that was so well cared for. The angel loved his organ – he adored the instrument so, and he was pouring his heart and soul out to the melodious notes of the thing the way he had confessed his love to the young singer only hours before.

The organ…. that was where she would go. To see this man…he would be delighted to see her.

Silently the girl stood from her bed, the odd bed that had originally been an odd boat, or so she thought; he had placed her there that night before, so lovingly. The small chamber she was in was like a cross between a dungeon and a cave, unlikely to be comforting but yet it was! Christine made her way through the maze of candles – the man loved candles, it seemed, and over to the instrument, her destination.

"Good…good morning." It seemed the right thing to say, but the angel did not seem to hear her; he was much too lost in his music. Eventually, he turned to her as she stood awkwardly, his hands still dancing profoundly up and down the keyboard as his eyes looked over her fondly. It seemed he was smiling, but Christine could only guess. After a moment he nodded and returned to his soulful trance.

He wouldn't really notice, not now, if she took a quick glance under the mask. Wasn't he wonderfully infatuated with her? He couldn't mind – in fact, Christine was almost sure he would beg for it if he thought it would please her…

The loud, deafening music raged on, so complex and confusing but painfully beautiful. Christine reached out her dainty hand and, in a state of boldness, grasped the thin porcelain glass of the hidden garment.

There it was, in her hand, and all she had to do was pull it away and see what lay beneath…

It came off easily as if it were barely attached. There was one split second before the man realized that he was not covered, the same second it took for Christine to recover from the shock of actually daring to do her feat.

But that was nothing compared to the wrenching that Christine felt when her angel turned and faced her, the amazing eyes reflecting hurt, anger, and a sense of betrayal. Christine did not look at the eyes, however.

The face was not handsome, or ugly. The features were strong, smooth cheeks like she had imagined. It was round, soft, and distinctly...feminine.

"You…" She gasped. "You're a woman!"

Once again, Christine felt as though she was drowning, but for a different reason altogether. The glass mask slipped from her shaking hands and shattered on the ground.

The woman stared at her, equally as terrified and dumbstruck. Finally she whispered.

"Damn you!" The words escaped from her lips in a breath of air. Suddenly, she grew furious and began to shriek.

"DAMN YOU!" Her voice was low, but no longer steady; instead it was sharp and no longer musical. "YOU…YOU!"

She couldn't finish whatever insult she had been about to hurl at the other girl, who was nearly crying in disbelief; the phantom's eyes fell to the broken mask and she seemed to collapse within herself. For a brief second, the piercing eyes flickered back to Christine and then she broke away, stumbling through all the candles and ornaments and falling to the ground in tears.

Christine managed to catch a single breath through her lungs – her lungs seemed frozen! – but she could not stop shaking. This tutor, her angel…a woman? How could she be a woman? And yet, she had loved her as if the angel was a man! She had thought she was a man…

Never before had Christine known of a woman like this, a woman who loved other women. All she had heard of them was that they were whores and sluts, cheap tawdry woman who made money off lust. But this girl did not seem like a whore – in fact, she had been extraordinarily passionate and an evident romantic, only in a manly way.

Unable to speak, Christine stepped forward, still shaking, and crept to the young woman who lay bunched up on the ground like a cloak thrown to the floor.

"Oh…oh Christine!" The woman sobbed. Her voice was muffled in the ground, but had regained its musical quality. "Why…oh why did you have to be so curious? Why could you have not kept my wishes?"

The singer suddenly felt very stupid.

"I thought you were a man." She muttered.

"And I was so pleased you thought so!" The phantom wept dramatically, her voice breaking into a full-fledged cry with such perfect emotion that Christine might have thought she was onstage performing. That's all this was, some type of opera, some type of play, the girl thought, attempting to steady herself. None of it was real. This woman didn't really love her….

It felt she was due for a line.

"You were glad…I believed you were a man?"

"I was so glad…if you had thought me to be a man, a handsome man, even an ugly man! Even if you had thought me to be the most hideous man on earth, you still could have loved me…you could have found it in yourself to love me…but now you know that I am a woman!" She spat the word woman like a curse.

"You…you sound like a man…" Christine offered dumbly.

"Yes…yes I do." Slowly the woman turned, a half grin on her tear-stained face. "I have a lovely baritone, don't I? So nice and pure and deep…"

"It's lovely." Christine said faintly, feeling the need to say something.

"Yes, such a wonderful voice…" The phantom purred as if she was referring to a favorite pet. Then her expression turned sour. "But they all hated me for it…ladies are supposed to sing high, like you…" The woman hissed angrily, but then a wave of sadness swept back over her and her face turned blank and broken again. "They always called me a whore…a whore! My family called me a whore!"

"I'm very sorry…"

"You wouldn't know…about my cousin! I loved her; my God…you never did that! She was so beautiful, blue eyes and soft dark hair that curled around her neck, just like yours! Oh, Christine, she was just like you! Her name was Lily, such a pretty name…and I know of others who have loved cousins…why couldn't I love my cousin? Why am I any different?"

The young singer allowed the woman to ramble on for a few minutes. The melodic voice died off into an inaudible mumble that Christine couldn't hear. Not that Christine wanted to hear the rants of the girl she had deducted as being slightly psychopathic, and she awkwardly stared. This was so odd, so terrible, such an outlandish performance by an eccentric actress…actor.

But it felt so real! The singer felt like a sinner being in the company of this bizarre girl; she was a dutiful Catholic, and to her understanding woman could not love each other, at least not like this! It did not seem like she was a fake, like a trick, as if she was attempting to make a fool of the girl, but yet Christine felt mighty foolish. It was easy to see how this crazed woman was hated…and yet…

She was a pretty girl, only slightly older than Christine, maybe thirty or even younger. Her skin was pale as smooth cream, something that the wealthy ladies of Paris would deeply envy. All of her seemed white, except her lips. Her lips were a strong red, not the red of overdone cosmetics, but a bright, healthy…could Christine think…bloody red?

The angel's hair was a thin-sheened black, short and untidy from being kept under her felt hat. Her body was thin and supple, and Christine found that on closer inspection – and this certainly made her feel dirty - that she was indeed shaped somewhat like a woman. The phantom had a hint of a chest underneath her dress clothes, and a bit of a tiny waist, but it was hard to tell, as it seemed that she hadn't forced herself into a corset since she was very young. Christine half-envied her.

"But then they found out…" Christine heard her ranting now - no, she wasn't ranting anymore, she was actually talking to Christine – "They found out how I felt, and I was thrown out, Christine! They shunned me, and no one would take me in…all I've heard all my life is whore, whore!"

Her eyes were watering again. Those strange, alluring eyes were still beautiful.

"Christine…please…don't call me a whore. I think I would quite die if I heard that come from your pretty lips, my Christine…"

Christine couldn't say anything. She couldn't call her a whore. She wasn't a whore…she was a sweet, kind woman filled with passion and love…she wasn't very psychotic with those eyes.

"I won't." She finally murmured, and the eyes lit up.

"I love you, Christine."

"I…"

"Of course, you'd be lost for words." The girl mumbled, and looked back down. "You don't know what to say to me…you wouldn't…"

"I don't…"

The woman scrambled up from the ground and stood, now towering over Christine by a head.

"I'm not that much of a woman!" She couldn't take her eyes off of her. "Only physically, and not that much! I can be a man, I swear! I can be the best man you ever had, better than that boy you're with now – I'm more of a man than he is!"

Before Christine could reply, the phantom started up again.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, it was rude, it was very rude…I shouldn't have said that, now you must think…"

"I don't think…"
"You should think." She whispered, and burst into tears again.

Christine suddenly felt heartbroken for this creature. The poor girl was weeping so hard, as if all of her sorrows from all of her years were only coming out now. No longer did the scenario feel like a script.

"I'm…sorry?"

"Don't be sorry." The woman tried to cover her face. In a sudden act that she could not explain, Christine reached out and pulled her hands away.

"Please don't be ashamed…." She locked eyes with the strange girl and grasped her hand. Her hand was bony and cold.

"Christine…"

"You shouldn't be ashamed." Christine was shaking again, but she stepped towards her. The phantom was quivering also, and Christine let her hand drop. It did not go far and fall – instead she reached for the other girl's shoulder and breathed in hard, looking surprised.

"I love you…" She repeated. Once again, Christine did not reply.

"Do…do you love me?" The hand ventured beneath her face, on her chin, and lifted her dainty head up. "Christine…"

"I…I did. When I thought…

"When you thought…"

"You were…"

"Right. But now."

There was silence. The two's eyes did not separate. Neither of them moved.

"I don't know." Christine finally said, quietly.

"But you could?" The phantom ventured, a hint of question to her voice.

"I could."

More silence. The woman let go of Christine's chin and allowed her to move her head freely. But for only a second she allowed this freedom, as moments later she reached for the girl's cheek and kissed her lightly on the lips.

It was a simple kiss, nothing fancy, very quick. But it was there.

As the girl's mouth touched hers, something stirred deep inside Christine. It wasn't exactly the same giddy crush she had felt for the creature – yes, she was the same creature she had emotion for – but there was something. Something dark and unidentifiable was there, something strong, but at the same time very faint and subtle. But it too was there.

At that very moment she realized and felt confirmation that this was and had never been, an act.

Christine pulled away from her, her pale cheeks turning bright red. When she looked back, the girl was gone, and the loud, pounding sounds of the organ harassed her ears once more.

It was as if nothing had happened. As if she had been at the organ the whole time.

A mixture of shock and horror suddenly consumed the trance. All she felt was the pure red lips on hers and the soft ringing of the phantom's voice in her ears, never leaving, always there. She stumbled on nothing, balance becoming impossible, and could not feel herself floating to the ground. One last blurry thought lay in her mind before everything went blank.

I could love you… She had said.

I do love you… She would say.