He observed her silently from the shadows. Part of him wanted to see Christina - though last he checked, she was with Pierre - and the another part of him was too puzzled by this strange girl to look away. She was a gifted dancer, and while her voice was nothing compared to Christina's, that too was beautiful. Or... pretty. Only his Christina was deserving of such adjectives as beauty. She was the reincarnation, the embodiment of beauty.

  Grace swung and twisted from her long, thick ropes of material, and Erik felt a faintly awed sensation. He could easily maneuver around regular ropes - it helped when avoiding pesky stage hands and opening traps - but he did not do it as artfully as she did. He could manipulate anything to suit his needs, but he could not tease his materials as she could. Honestly, he was a bit envious. Perhaps exchanging his skills with hypnotism for hers would be useful to them both.

   His copper eyes widened as her hand reached out and missed the cloth she was reaching for. Grace went tumbling to the floor, landing with a hard thud, however she did land on her feet.

    "Erik?" A soft voice called his name from below. Christina. He rushed down and appeared beside her. She shrieked in surprise. "Oh, my angel, I've been looking for you," she said, bright eyes shining with warmth.

  "Christina. My Christine." The words slipped out. But then why not? She had to know his feelings couldn't have changed. It had only been three years...

   "Erik, you hide your feelings about as well as Sorelli did her anger." His angel laughed. "I was wondering if you could give me a lesson tomorrow. In the evening? I miss our lessons."

  Erik had a meeting tomorrow evening... Damn Grace. "Of course my darling."

   The smile she bestowed upon him was blinding. Full of innocence and perfection, and all the things he never had and never would have. How much would she hate him if he killed Pierre?

                                         🌹

   Grace ran into Christina Nilsson on her way to rehearsals the day after the diva arrived. She had to admit Christina was kinder now than she had been when she was younger. Grace had difficulty finding the ability to hate her.

    They parted after a good fifteen minutes of conversation. They talked about stupid things, the kind of conversation Grace referred to as 'mindless chatter.' For some reason, this form of chatting was more tolerable with Nora, though that was simply because Grace wanted to hate Christina but couldn't.

   She was in a bad mood when she reached the ballet hall. Her irritation increased at the sight of the room, where every wall was a mirror. They reflected what she did not want to see. She nearly exploded, however, when she saw Erik dressed as the other male dancers. Madame Chausir was not present. Guy looked quite unhappy - which brightened Grace's mood.

   He had been rude to her and Fleur - who was now Christina's maid - all week.

    She flung her coat down and joined the ballet ranks.

     Erik proceeded, scowling at her for holding them up.

   "Madame Chausir is unwell, so I  am here in her stead. Be on your toes, rats, for I am not as lenient as she, and I know that at least two of you, after today, will not dance again on my stage. Tap into your talent, if you have it, because under my scrutiny, you will need to be better than the best. Begin!" His harsh, enchanting voice chilled those around her. Grace herself, felt nothing. She walked over to Guy and they began their routine. Around them, the ensemble twisted and flowed, a river of gossamer skirts and black pants.

    Everything was going swimmingly, and then, as usual, someone tripped over a flat surface and caused a disaster. A girl who's name Grace did not know tripped and brought herself and another girl down. Erik sent them away, deaf to their crying. Grace wouldn't have objected to slapping him.

   Unfortunately, he targeted her and Guy next.

   "Monsieur Guy! Lift your partner above your head!" He hissed, exasperated and angry. "Your eyes should not be level with her hips. Do you not see everyone else? Mademoiselle Christoux, why did you not point that out?"

   Christoux. Grace didn't recall giving him that name.

    But she didn't have time for wonder, as the next thing she knew, she was suddenly being lifted quite forcefully, before she got into position in Guy's hands. She raced to pirhouette. Their movements were successful, however Guy dropped her too quickly, practically throwing her down in his fury, and she landed hard on her side, knocking the wind out of her. Guy stormed  away, cursing her and Erik. Livid Grace leapt to her feet, ready to jump him. Before she could, her arm was roughly grasped in unyielding fingers.

   "Have you not angered him enough?" Erik spat.

   "I don't have a partner now, do you expect me to stand in a corner and watch?" She replied, standing down.

   "I'll take his place for today." In quieter tones he added, "I need to speak with you."

   Grace nodded. When Véronique found out about this, she might strangle her, but oh well. "D'accord, merci."

   He would probably be easier to dance with than Guy  - at least, she knew his hands wouldn't wander. Ignoring snickers and whispers from her fellow dancers, Grace let Erik pick up where Guy left off.

  They stopped only when Erik had to snap the occasional direction or tip to someone. He wasn't in a good mood either, it would seem.

    Grace found that she liked dancing with him. It was almost a pleasant experience. The sulking man kept himself in perfect condition, and he danced with more grace and ease than Guy. He, like Grace, had full control of his movements and every action was completed with fluid motion. Grace was impressed.

  "Though I can't imagine how you can solve my problem, I must take you up on your previous offer," he said, voice cutting through her silent admiration of him.

   "What is your problem?" She smiled, smug that he did need her after all.

    "I have to be in two places at once this evening. With Christina and at a meeting."

   "Take her with."

    "Because that, my little realist, is such a romantic setting."

    Grace huffed. "I'm a romantic, not a realist. I just think more practically than you do." He removed his hand from her back and she flew off balance. "Position seven calls for -"

   "My, my, Mademoiselle, how clumsy of you," he announced loudly. Grace glared at him.

   They moved back into their positions and resumed their conversation.

   "In that case," Grace spent a moment searching her mind, masking her lack of ideas by pretending to tighten the lace of a ballet slipper. It came to her. Erik noticed the pause of her hands.

   "What? What did you come up with?"

   She straightened and they continued their dance. "Are you a prude? Do you object to women wearing masculine garments? What do you think of decency? How much regard do you have for it?"

   Erik was utterly lost but he responded to her questions. "I am not a prude, no. I don't object to anything of the sort, in fact, I rather detest a few garnents women wear - tight-lacing restricts a woman's lung capacity which in turn alters her vocal capabilities. Decency is, in few words, of no purpose or worth. Why?"

   "Come to my room before you go to see Christina, and bring a pair of your clothes - I respect you enough to assume that they will be clean - and a pair of boots." She looked down at his feet. "Do you have a pair that's too big?"

  "Yes. I never wear them because of it."

  "Bring those..." she glanced up at his face. "And bring a spare mask. A hat? Do you ever wear hats?"

   "No."

   "Hmm. Oh well, I'll see what I can do."

   Ten minutes later, Erik proclaimed that rehearsals were over for the day. The dancers had danced to his liking.

   He tried to figure out what Grace was going on about. What could she want with his clothes? Did she plan on stuffing them, creating a dummy? That was crazy, even for her. But he so wanted to be with Christina... he'd agree to anything to be with her, to have a few, stolen minutes.

    Stolen minutes, secret touches, stolen kisses,

  Take heed and fulfill my soul's darkest wishes.

    Not bad. A melody for the lyrics already rang in his head. How lovely, his muse was re-awakened by his love's presence.