A/N: There is a very small reference to Jane Eyre in this section. It also explains how Christine knows the Phantom's name in some of my other ALW stories.


The passageway was cold and dim, lit only by a lantern hanging from a hook in the wall. It was a stark contrast to the warm glow of the gas lamps still visible through the back of the mirror. Her dressing-room seemed like another world from this view. Christine's eyes flickered between the mirror and her companion, brows furrowing as she realized that he could always see through this side of the glass. She shivered as she thought back to the countless hours spent in that room with her Angel of Music, unaware that a man of flesh and blood had been so near, watching her.

Sensing her unease, he released her hand instantly. "Only with your permission, Christine," he reassured her. "For our lessons." She nodded, wanting to believe him, to rebuild some of the trust that had once existed between them. He retrieved the lantern and turned to leave, but paused to offer his arm. She could see the tension in his thin frame as he awaited her response, and felt him relax almost imperceptibly at her touch. He glanced down at her hand in the crook of his elbow before ushering her forward into the maze of tunnels leading to his home.

Christine saw everything clearly now that the truth about her Angel had been revealed. The spell of his voice during that first journey had blinded her to the cobwebs littering the stone walls, the faint skittering of rats in hidden corners beyond the lantern's reach. The caverns grew brighter as they approached the lake, candles shining in the distance through the mist as they reached the water's edge. She was grateful that not all of her memories from that evening were false.

He fixed the lantern to the boat and stepped in first, hesitating before reaching for her again. She picked up her skirts to keep them from trailing in the water, bracing her other hand on his shoulder. His arm closed around her waist to assist her, and they stood like that for a time even after she was safely in the boat. She kept her eyes fixed on his shirtfront, hoping he could not see the flush creeping into her cheeks. They had been closer than this before, she knew. But then, they had still had been Angel and ingénue. Now…

Before she could consider the matter too closely, he shifted, guiding her to sit at the bow. She murmured her thanks, settling in against the cushions. While he was distracted by the task of poling the boat, Christine took the opportunity to observe her teacher. He was in evening clothes, as always, but without hat or cloak. His slicked-back hair seemed unnaturally pristine. Remembering how the twisted angles of his face had disappeared into his hairline, she realized that it must be a wig. As she imagined how far his disfigurement truly extended, he caught her eyes unexpectedly. Her cheeks burned again.

"You examine me," he remarked dryly, although he did not seem bothered by her candid gaze. "Forgive me, I was only wondering something," she admitted, lashes dropping in embarrassment. "And what is that?"

Sidestepping his question, she answered with one of her own. One that had been on her mind since she had first learned that her Angel was instead a mortal man. "What should I call you?" His hands stilled on the pole for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "I am still your Angel, Christine." His tone was firm and she knew that he meant to end the conversation, but she persisted. Summoning her courage, she sat forward and met his eyes again. "Even the angels in Heaven have names. Please, tell me yours."

She struggled to read the expression on his unmasked cheek, fearing that he would continue to refuse. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed, "Erik."

"Erik," she echoed. "Thank you." He gave a slight nod in acknowledgement and she relaxed, turning to look out over the lake. They continued on in silence but it felt oppressive to her, and his true name was a novelty that she could not resist using again. "Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?" When she looked back up at him, the tenderness in his gaze surprised her. She felt suddenly shy about making another request of him. "Would you...sing for me?"

He seemed pleased, the visible corner of his mouth creeping up a fraction. "Anything you wish." Relieved, she returned his smile with one of her own.

Dalla sua pace la mia dipende; quel che a lei piace vita mi rende, quel che le incresce morte mi dà.

He began to sing another piece from Mozart's Don Giovanni and she allowed her head to fall back against the pillows, eyes drifting closed as she remembered why he had once been the Angel of Music.