A/N: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy!


In the aftermath of Raoul's death, Christine found herself occupied by a great deal of matters that needed her attention, despite the immediate cancellation of all her social engagements. There were so many letters and condolence cards to answer and seemingly endless visits from well-meaning family and friends. Her wardrobe must now be refitted in suitable attire for a widow; to her dismay a year of dull black lace and crepe gowns stretched ahead of her, along with suitable dark suits for Charles. Phillipe kept hinting that he needed to speak to her about Raoul's finances and she knew she would need to agree to a meeting with him soon.

It was now two days after the funeral, and Christine felt utterly exhausted. Charles had said very little since that day, he seemed lost in his own thoughts, processing the events in his own particular way. While Christine worried about him desperately, she knew that he would speak to her when he was ready.

After supper Christine sent Charles up to bed and visited him to tuck him in and sing him a soft lullaby, as she always did.

"Never fear the dark, my darling. The darkness is your friend, and the Angel of Music waits there to gently sing you to sleep, to welcome you to the world of beautiful dreams."

Charles gazed up at her sleepily.

"Mama, one more song, please?"

Christine smiled indulgently. How could she refuse? As she sang to him she gently stroked his brow, watching as each owlish blink became longer and longer until his eyelids closed completely and she was sure that he was at last asleep. She kissed him gently and left him to his dreams.

Later that evening she sat alone with her needlework. She did not mind being by herself – she had often been alone once Raoul had started frequenting his Club – but now he was dead it seemed different somehow. She should feel free, but Christine had the niggling feeling that there was something else, something yet to happen even now.

Looking around the little sitting room, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. The silence was oppressive and she had nothing left to fill the emptiness. No hopes, no dreams – nothing for herself. Simply the sombre ticking of the mantelshelf clock, like a dour metronome marking each passing second of her life. She thought about singing something to take her mind from her worries, but she was not in the right frame of mind for it. Christine shivered. She put away her embroidery and then went up to bed.


Christine awoke in darkness, unsure of what had roused her from her sleep until her senses slowly came to. There… at the edge of her hearing, she was aware of something… a noise… some faint sound…

As she listened, she could just make out the soft refrain of a familiar song. She recognised it… it had been a favourite! Her poor, neglected music… Christine lay there in the dark, her tired eyes beginning to close again as she started to float away on that beautiful melody as it sharpened and started to become more distinct. Such wonderful music… and then – oh, bliss! Could it be? That voice

Like a familiar robe, Christine slipped into the sound of that bewitching aria as it drew her in, gently whispering her name. Sliding from her bed she moved towards the door of her room, eyes barely open. Just as before, so long ago, the song called her and she followed - powerless to resist even had she wanted to.

Her bare feet padded softly along the wooden floor of the hall. Like a ghost she moved, swift and silent through the darkened house; down the staircase; along the corridor; down towards the beguiling music. If this were a dream, perhaps she would see him! Oh, how she wanted to see him!

Christine found herself standing outside the music room. She knew then it must be a dream for the door was open, inside there was a lighted candle at the piano and music set out on the brass stand. As she entered the room the music stopped ...

The libretto on the stand was a song she knew well. Christine gazed at the familiar words and her heart swelled. Carefully, she ran her fingers across the music, tracing the lines as she began to sing the notes she loved, hesitantly at first. As she warmed to it, her eyes closed again and that wonderful feeling of exultation started to rise within her – the pleasure of the music growing and expanding as she formed each note. There was a sudden breeze from the open window that raised goose bumps along her bare arms and then – she heard him! Her own sweet Angel, his melodious whisper caressing her ear as if he were standing right behind her:

"My dear - did no-one teach you to sing? Straighten your shoulders! Sotto voce!"

Christine felt tears prick her eyelids as she adjusted her voice and pulled up her posture, unconsciously turning her neck towards the lips she imagined there, continuing to sing as he would have wanted her to… she could almost feel his breath on her shoulder... could imagine the brush of his cool hand across her hair…

Oh, cruel memory… Through her tears she could hear his voice still, whispering in her head:

"If I could be here with you, Christine, would you want it? Would you truly want this to be more than just a dream?"


From his position near the window Erik had kept himself hidden from her, unwilling to face rejection – he could not stop himself questioning her feelings. So many years had passed – it would not be beyond possibility that she regretted what had happened… their unusual relationship. How could he express his sorrow at what had happened to her? How could he give her what she deserved?

Watching her, seeing her lovely face transported by the music - when he heard her voice he could feel their strange connection still. That eerie surge of energy that seemed to fill the space between them was as strong as before - it drew them together, made them complete.

As she sang, Erik was dismayed by how unpractised she sounded – almost as when he had first begun training her. Poor, sweet Christine, her music denied to her for all this time. It was not her fault – but still, he could not help but chide her – his student, his muse.

Oh! How she inclined her beautiful neck… almost as if to receive his kiss… Erik's body stirred with longing. He moved silently and stood as close as he dared, breathing in the heady scent of her, what exquisite torture!

Then suddenly it was too much and he found himself asking – 'What if this were not a dream?' Her reaction was all he needed – she spoke his name with such longing he knew that whatever the cost he wanted more of her, another chance to feel her warmth against him, to be loved.

When she spoke his name, Erik stepped forward behind her, he barely moved and then her head was against his shoulder and he had buried his face in her soft hair. Her arms twined upwards to caress his face and he held her, his arms around her waist. They kissed each other gently, savouring the moment, then she turned slowly within his embrace till she faced him. The trance-like expression was gone, her eyes were bright with tears.

She stared at him in wonder and traced her hands across his face, as if reading some secret information from every line or mark. Her delicate fingers stroked the edge of Erik's mask and teasingly slid beneath the material, their eyes locked intently – he was still awaiting that familiar moment, steeling himself against her reaction – but she surprised him once again. Christine undid the ties with gentle, seductive fingers and slid the mask from his face in such a way it was…almost pleasurable. She looked on his uncovered face with warmth and recognition.

"I thought you were dead."

She said simply, her voice soft.

"I thought I would never see you again."

She brought her arms around his neck, pushing herself into him and he kissed her again. They fit together like two lines of a melody, her soft form pressed to his, curve to curve. Erik could feel his body come to life at her touch, could sense her in every nerve and every pore of his being - it was intoxicating, exhilarating. How he had missed her!

Erik breathed her in; let his hands travel along her back, her hips, trailing down towards her thighs, then back up her side towards her breasts. The nightgown she was wearing was excitingly thin and he began to feel a mad desperation to have his skin bare against hers, to touch every part of her, lose himself so deep within her… but it was too soon, he knew it was too soon - he must restrain himself…

The way she felt in his arms was perfection, he never wanted to let her go.

However, the music room was cold and despite the warmth of their embraces Erik was eventually obliged to step apart from her. Christine was shivering but refused to admit her discomfort – perhaps for fear he might disappear like mist once she let go of him. He lit the fire then found a large chenille cloth that had been used to cover the piano and wrapped her in it, as much to create a further layer to separate her from him as to keep her warm. Erik found some cushions and they sat together before the flames.

Despite her pleasure at seeing him, Christine was clearly exhausted and overwhelmed. In the firelight her pale complexion showed the dark circles beneath her eyes and she leaned her head wearily against Erik.

It was not long before she fell asleep curled within Erik's embrace, her hand still clutching tightly at his jacket. He carried her carefully back to her bed, tucking her in gently. She briefly opened her eyes and smiled at him, he kissed her tenderly in reply, whispering softly.

"I will return soon, my Christine. I promise."