He had lain all night, trying to sleep yet his mind would not let him. All night, and now all day, he had lain motionless, the black curtain shutting him off from his pain. Yet he still he felt it, just as he could feel by the changing temperature that day had once again changed into night. Her voice echoed through his mind, as he tossed in his restlessness;

"Say you'll share with me one love…one lifetime…"

The wind howled as Christine made her away through the shady streets of Paris, pulling her cloak tightly around her. Madame Giry had said nothing. Meg had let her be. And, just after she was due to dine with Raoul; after she had dressed and the clock on the mantelpiece had chimed she had left; leaving out through one of the servant's passage ways…slipping out into the night.

It was no good…this would not do…he couldn't live like this. He pushed the curtain aside, stripping off his clothes which were stale with sweat and washing himself in the cool water. He removed his mask and washed his scars, pulling back his hair before replacing it; and changing into fresh clothes. He reached for the decanter of wine and poured, catching his reflection in one of the broken mirrors as he rose the glass to his lips. He looked so strong…how would anyone be able to see the broken spirit within? His voice was hoarse as he sang,

"Angel of music you denied me…turning from true beauty…"

As Christine drew ever closer to the Opera Populaire, her feet began to fail underneath her. With increasing frequency she stumbled on the cobbles; her heart pounding in her chest. How would she ever reach the opera house if her legs felt so heavy? She raised her eyes to the sky and knew she would never reach there before it rained.

"Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light; and listen to the music of the night."

As he looked about the cavern he thought of the time when he had first made himself known to her; and brought her down here. He hadn't ever planned to seduce her, yet she had looked at him with such desire as he had touched her; pressing her body fully against him as the words of his song filled her ears. She had feinted and he had carried her…he had scooped her up in his arms and laid her in his bed; hardly daring to believe that she had welcomed his touch. He could have kissed her as she slept he thought, remembering the way her dress had seemed translucent in the candlelight.

"No!" he bellowed, breaking the eerie silence that filled the cavern. "She is another man's wife now!" The air seemed charged with electricity; the storm was about to break.

Just as Christine reached the square outside the Opera Populaire, the heavens opened and the rain, that had been threatening to fall for so long, came pouring down. There was little she could do to shield herself, the hood of her clock blown back by wind; the water falling down in great sheets all about her. As she rushed into the lobby through a break in the boards lightening split the sky; illuminating the grand staircase as she made her way up it. She was soaking wet as she squelched up the stairs, the wind rattling about the empty place, mocking the emptiness within.

The thunder boomed as he sat, gazing down at the endless reams of empty sheet music. Why was it that he couldn't write anymore? His muse had been lost to him for good and now he was doomed to never write another note. This made him angry yet again, as he kicked a candlestick that had toppled to the floor. He thought that in letting her go he would have set himself free; but now he was as trapped as ever. He could not write, no matter how much he willed inspiration to come. He could not forget his love no matter how far he pushed her away; and into the arms of another man. Raoul had touched her now in a way he could have only dreamed...and now he was condemned to live forever alone; with not even music in the night.

A sudden gust of wind blasted its way through the cavern, extinguishing every flickering candle; plunging the room into darkness. He cursed the wind as the thunder continued to growl overhead, fumbling for a match in the dark. He found one at last and lit a single candle; its fragile flame lighting only the tiniest of spaces.

It was now that he heard footsteps scrambling over the rocks; the stifled cries in the darkness. And, as he lifted the candle, its dim light illuminated Christine who stood before him; shaking with the cold…her hair soaked as it fell in wet ripples about her face, her cloak falling heavily to the floor.