Christine rose from her bed, gasping with fear, the ceiling had been caving in on her.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn't calmed down, it was only after that she remembered her breathing exercises and implemented them. Soon after her beating heart settled, she sighed and laid back down uncomfortably in her bed. It was a thin hard mattress, a far cry from what she had used to have. But feather mattresses were expensive, and she couldn't afford one. No matter what the ballet girls said.

In another fifteen minute she realized she wasn't going back to sleep, so she sat up and fumbled in the dark for her lamp. She found it on the shelf next to her bed, and quickly found the matches next to it.

After it was lit, it filled the small space that she called her bedroom.

The apartment she rented was a small one room establishment. Respectable, but hardly luxurious. She had created a bedroom by pushing her bed right up towards the corner of the room where a closet lay on her left side, then directly on her right she had placed two shelves that spanned her bed. They were filled with 5 cent second hand books she had bought over the years. A few brand new books covered the shelf, she allowed herself a fully priced book once a year on her birthday.

There was a small space where her lamp was, it had cost her much more than she wanted, but she thought it safer than a candle. Especially since she spent so much time reading.

Now she yawned, blinking into the darkness, she pushed aside the curtain that led to her closet and picked through her clothes, pulling out a stiff white button up shirt and a brown skirt that just allowed her toes to peak out. She scrambled out of bed, teeth chattering in the cold.

She pulled off her night gown and pulled on her clothes. She folded the nightgown and placed it at the end of her bed. While she did so she pulled out her lamp and checked a small clock on the shelf that Madame Giry had given her several years ago, it was five in the morning. An hour before she usually woke up.

She sighed and turned to the rest of her apartment. There was a small stove, a cupboard, a padded chair and table. Draped on the chair lay a white dress, waiting to be stitched together.

It was a small room, barely ten by ten, she'd measured. It had no window and was a rather depressing box.

There were some cheerful pictures on the wall that fought the darkness. Christine walked to a picture on the wall, lifting up the lamp to gaze at it fondly. It was Madame Giry, Christine and Meg, sitting firmly on a couch. It had been taken during her first year in Paris ten years ago. During that time she had been hopelessly lost, and the steady home of Madame Giry had meant everything to her.

The women had taught Christine to knit and sew and cook and clean. In return, Christine had given Meg, at the time barely eight, lessons in mathematics and reading. She had continued doing so up until about three years ago, Meg had had no more interest in formal schooling. And her mother agreed that she was better learned than most ballet girls ever would be.

Still, Christine sometimes still taught the occasional lesson, normally when Meg was insatiably curious about some topic.

After a year in the City of Love she had felt ready to move out, but Sunday dinners at the Giry's had always been welcome to her.

It took Christine half an hour to finish getting ready, consisting of unbraiding and brushing her hair, finding a pair of socks that didn't have ridiculously large holes and squeezing her feet in her almost too small second hand shoes.

She ate some bread and cheese for breakfast, she finished with an apple while she read. Then she sat down on her chair and began sewing along the pins of the dress. It was going to be a beautiful dress, and it had taken a large portion of her savings. Perhaps it had been foolhardy, Madame Giry had scolded her purchase, stating that if anything happened to her wages, she would become homeless.

But she had need to do something to cheer Emily up, this marriage meant so much to her, and Christine had desperately wanted something for her to keep.

It hadn't had been as foolhardy as Madame Giry accused, she had been in that apartment for nine years, always paying on time, her landlady was a kind but strict women. Christine knew if anything serious happened she would allowed Christine a few months free rent to get back on her feet.

Her food was was more expensive than most family's, she always tried to have a large range of food. However, her crochet work was well known around the marketplace, if worst came to the worst, she could trade her needlework for nourishment.

All this had ran through her head as she had paid the sum for Emily's dress, the final price had made her hesitate, but she had gotten it down quite a bit by throwing out the lace, opting to use some she had made a year back, it wasn't as fine as the stuff she had refused, but it was nice enough work.

Christine kept one eye on the clock as she sewed carefully, at half past six she carefully folded the dress and stored it in a carpet bag with a lunch wrapped in brown paper. She donned a simple felt hat and coat and walked briskly out into the stairwell of her apartment building.

The half hour walk reddened Christine's cheeks, her breath making clouds the cold air. Beside her people rushed passed, cheeks flushed and obviously in a hurry to get to work.

Christine arrived at the Opera house at seven, one of the cleaning ladies let her in. After thanking her gratefully, Christine walked slowly towards her dressing room, and thought dryly that she never really used it for dressing.

She passed Madame Giry in the hall, glaring at the world and shaking her head, she winced at Christine's greeting.

"Maybe you shouldn't have had four glasses of wine." Christine commented, giving her an exasperated look.

"The man kept on pouring." Giry grumbled. "I need you to take the lead dancer again."

"I'll be there." Christine promised.

Rehearsal was rather strained, Madame Giry was more picky than ever in her hangover and even snapped a few times at Christine, who normally escaped unscathed.

Meg took it well, but her friends grumbled and whined at being corrected again and again. Surprisingly, they made quite a lot of progress. Even when suffering from a hangover, Madame Giry was nothing but efficient.

At lunchtime, she had cooled down enough that Christine felt safe enough to bring her a cup of coffee in her office. While the middle aged women drank it, she apologized.

"It wasn't fair to you." She admitted gruffly, sipping the dark stuff.

"I was off." Christine admitted.

"Yes, but you haven't been practicing for two months." Madame Giry sighed and drained the cup. "I've been hard on everyone." She admitted grimly.

"We've made a lot of progress though." Christine reminded her, then she grinned. "Listen, everyone knows you drank too much last night because of Meg."

Madame Giry groaned. "Oh, sweet girl, can she keep nothing quiet?"

"This might work in our favor." Christine reminded her. "Everyone knows you've got a hangover, so they'll excuse your behavior. What they don't know is that you're feeling better now, and ever since you got snappy we've been improving faster."

"So I continue my atrocious behavior for the rest of the day." Madame Giry smiled. "Yes, that does sound nice."

And so, snappish and unpleased she remained for the rest of the day. Soon the entire ballet troupe was dancing in tip top form, doing their best to please their terrifying teacher.

When the day was over, everyone left feeling relieved, but Christine felt that Madame Giry was satisfied.

It took an hour for the Opera House to clear up, and when it did, Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

It took all of ten minutes for Erik to appear, dressed exactly as before, save that his mask was a dull white, and it allowed his thin mouth to grace her vision.

"Your music." He said, thin gloved hand holding the crinkling paper to her.

Christine took it, and she looked it over quickly.

"I assume you have not seen it before?" He asked. "It is a rather unknown treasure."

Christi shook her head, and looked through more of the song as they walked to the practice rooms that the rest of the singers occupied by day.

Once inside she sang with great vigilance her warm ups, then jumped into the song headfirst, Erik's hands gracefully sliding over the piano along with her.

When she had finished the song for the first time, she waited for the customary critique from Erik. To her surprise, none came. She glanced at him, and found him staring at the piano keys, silently fingering some unknown song.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked gently, she placed her music down. "I was hardly perfect."

"You were nearly, had you gone through but three more times you would have been. My critique is no longer necessary." Erik pulled him fingers from the keys and curled them into a fist. "Is it not time you stopped pretending you needed my lessons? There is nothing more I can teach you."

Christine watched him, opened mouthed for a moment. "Excuse me?

He turned to face her, mouth set in a grim line. "Oh please." He murmured. "You have learned next to nothing for the past several years."

"And why is that a reason we should stop?" She asked, giving him a stern look. "I must admit, I have noticed you've given much more freedom and praise recently. However, should our lessons stop, I think that the joy I find in singing would greatly diminish. And you do have a talent for finding unknown but beautiful pieces."

His hands flew up in the air, his eyes rolled upwards. "Nevertheless...... our lessons are no longer necessary."

"Does that mean we need to stop seeing each other?" Christine challenged, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

His hands froze in mid-air, then they fell into his lap.

"Are you so bent on being rid of me?" Christine asked slyly. "Truly, I thought we were friends, forgive me if I was wrong."

Erik sighed heavily. "I have obtained invitations." He replied.

"I-what?" Christine blinked at his sudden topic change.

"For the New Year ball." He glanced at her uneasily. "That is, if you wish to attend?"

"Of course." Christine laughed softly. "Did I not, in our last meeting understand, say that it was a fond wish of mine to attend one?"

"It should arrive tomorrow." He informed her.

"Are you going?" Christine asked.

"I-what?!" He turned to her, looking more than a little exasperated. "I don't follow."

"Did I not also say that they could be dangerously boring if you did not find the rare gentleman or lady?" She teased. "I will need some sort of backup. Besides, if you say our lessons are at an end, then perhaps we should declare an official end to them and continue our friendship. Friends go to balls do they not?"

"I......" He sighed, and leaned down on the piano. "If you wish it." He conceded.

"I do." Christine replied softly. "It is a masquerade after all. You should have no trouble blending in."