Christine's POV

What do you say to the man who has just laid his heart on the line, pleading with you to spend his last
days not alone? I don't know how long I knelt there, staring at my hands, clasped tightly together in my
lap until the knuckles were white. I could feel his gaze, burning- always burning! - waiting for my reply.
All I could think about was Raoul and the ring at my breast followed by those pitiful mismatched eyes.

'I won't beg!' he had said but every word he spoke in his beautiful voice was a plea to my ears. No, no
matter what, Erik would never sink the level of beseeching. It was too out of character for him, too
dishonorable. Yet here, it sounded as if all his life he had been bracing himself for this moment, the final
rejection, and now that it was time for the end of all things, he would do anything to resist it.

I knew he spoke the truth when he said he had scanty time left to live. Everyday, even over his cool and
collected exterior, I could see the weakness in his eyes, the utter failing of his health. No, it would be a
miracle if he made it those six moths he asked for. I could feel the burning of tears in my eyes and the
streaky wetness as the fell down my cheeks and into my lap. They were not tears at my position in this
tragic tale, the chooser, but at the idea that my maestro was dying. No matter what my choice in this, I
would loose him.

"Christine."

Slowly- oh, it was so painful to look at him! - I raised my eyes to his face, only far enough to see his lips.
I dared not look him in the eyes!

"Promise me," he said firmly and it was most certainly not a question. Slowly I nodded and heard him
sigh softly, almost as if he were in pain.

"Then come. We must get you back above for the performance," and he unfurled his gloved fingers
towards me in an attempt to help me off the floor. All I could do was stare at his hand for a moment
before, at his command, placing my hand in his.

It was in such a daze that he led me back up towards my dressing room that I never realized that Raoul's
ring and my crucifix were not around my neck and it wasn't until much later that I even remembered
them at all.

As soon as we came to the space behind the mirror, Erik stopped me and forced my eyes to meet his with
the one of his voice. "You promised," was all he said and he seemed satisfied when I nodded in
acquiescence before working the mechanisms and disappearing.

After writing my plea to see Raoul and sending off the page, I found myself slumping into the chair at my
dressing table, utterly exhausted and more troubled than I had ever been in my life. I didn't even notice
that my dressing room was completely dark. The only thing I knew for certain was that there was no
presence behind the mirror. Erik was a man of his word and would give me until tomorrow night, I was
certain. But what would my reply be?

Oh, how I wish this had never happened! How I had never heard the Angel of Music and how I now would
never be free of him, married or not. Yes, even if I left with Raoul, left Erik behind, I would never be free
of those haunted eyes which burned my soul. Erik, it seemed, would haunt me until the day I die, even if
he was long gone. I longed for my father then, my dear sweet, safe Raoul, and then my world shattered
at the next thought which crossed my mind.

It was as if I had seen a vision. I saw Erik in his armchair by the fire, eyes closed and breathing rather
shallow. His long, bony fingers grasped weakly at the arms and I knew what I saw would come to pass if
I chose Raoul. Erik would die alone. And the utter wretchedness of my situation fell upon me like a
waterfall. All I could hear was the priest speaking to Mama Valerius at my father's funeral.

'The man died in the best way God has allowed us to past. He did not die unloved or alone.'

These are bitter tears that run down my cheek now and they taste more salty than the ocean.

'Six months...'

I know what I must do.

When Raoul arrived I had collected myself enough to appear somewhat calm. However when he took me
in his arms, I felt myself tense and pull away. He looked down at me confused as I led him into my
dressing room. No Erik behind the mirror, good.

"What is it, Christine? You said to come as soon as I could," I hushed him with my index finger to his lips
and led him to sit down at the chair. He looked at me even more strangely as I knelt before him.

"Christine, what's wrong?" and I allowed him to trace my face with his fingers before looking him in the
eyes.

"I can't marry you, Raoul," I said quietly as I watched his eyes widen in shock.

"Christine," he babbled at a loss for words, my dear sweet Raoul. "What do you mean? I-" Again, I
silenced him with my hand.

"Please let me speak." My heart broke into a thousand pieces as I watched him nod dumbly in response.
"I mean to say that I cannot marry you now. One day but not now."

"I don't understand," he murmured and then suddenly a dawning comprehension rolled over his face.
"It's him, isn't it? Christine, if he's forcing you-"

"He is forcing me into nothing," I interjected and he went quiet again. There was no other way to say
what I was gong to d without being blunt. "I am going to marry him."

"What?" Raoul shouted this time and leapt to his feet, almost knocking me backwards to the floor. I
caught myself and stood slowly, watching his face contort in disbelief. "You can't be serious, Christine. All
you can speak about is how much he frightens you and now you want to marry him! He's manipulating
you, I'm sure of it! He's got you under some sort of a spell!"

"No, he does not, and keep your voice down." It was all could do to keep myself from breaking down into
tears. "It would not be forever, Raoul. He's," and I felt myself stuttering, "he's dying. He's only got about
half a year to live and-"

"You are not a martyr, Christine," he said and I felt myself begin to tremble. This was all so much! "He
came foreword and wrapped his arms around me, clutching me to his chest as I let out a dry sob,
followed by another before I caught myself and pulled away.

"Please, Raoul," I begged him with my eyes and he took a deep breath, stepping one step back. "It is
only for a short time before we can be together. I owe him this much, not to let him die alone."

For a long time neither of us said anything. We just stared at the other in mutual longing yet we were
oceans apart. My eyesight began to blur with tears as he finally spoke. It was in a tone I had never heard
before, defeated and useless and if it were at all possible, my heart shattered even further.

"Why?" It was such a simple question.

"Because he has given me everything," I said and I looked over his shoulder to gaze at my reflection in
the mirror. How pitiful I looked there and I forced myself to continue. It was still empty behind the glass.
"He rescued me when I was in grief for my father, gave me a career, and gave me so much when I
deserved nothing at all. If all I can give him in return is a person to look after him until he is gone, I'll do
it no matter how much it hurts. You do not know what he had done for me."

Another silence followed my declaration but it was different. There was something so final about it that
the room began to feel extremely stuffy and close. Raoul must have sensed it too for he looked at me
once with an expression I could not fathom. I nodded once at him and he walked to the door, avoiding all
contact with me until his hand was at the knob.

"I could not convince you to come away with me," he asked, and his tone was strained. I shook my head
in reply and he gave me a sad smile tat tore at me more deeply than anything else. "When he-" and I
shook my head again. He nodded at me and left, the door closing with a finalizing click behind him.

It was in that moment that I fell to the floor and sobbed for what I had gained and lost.

The performance went smoothly and when I sang, I sang for Erik as I always did. But there was
something more behind it tonight and I think the audience could understand the change. Not once did I
look towards the Chagny box where I knew Raoul was watching, lamenting for what would not be his.

Once I had taken my bows and changed out of my costume, I headed for my dressing room where, as
expected, Erik was waiting for me. As soon as the door clicked shut, the mirror opened and there he
stood, tall and splendid, like a king.

"Come, Christine," and he held out his hand which I accepted without hesitation. I knew my choice now
and I was going to have to live by it.

'Six months,' I whispered in my head as we made our way to his underground haven where he led me to
the footstool before his armchair. He left me then and returned a few minutes later with a tea tray,
setting it on the table next to the chair. He looked down at me through the holes in the mask, his
mismatched eyes unreadable.

"You did very well tonight, my dear," and I blushed brightly at the compliment. From Erik, if he had said I
was mediocre, it would still be significant praise.

He turned from me to stare into the fire before speaking in a far off voice. "I thank you for keeping your
promise. I trust you have made your decision." And I nodded. I could see him brace himself for the
rejection, just like the many he had endured before.

Slowly I stood up and walked to stand at his shoulder, staring into the yellow flames that licked the grate.
Closing my eyes, I listened as I condemned myself into hell.

"Yes, Erik, I will be your wife."

The look he gave me was one I know shall linger with me until the day I die. The utter disbelief matched
with unimaginable fear and wonder shook me to the core and broke my heart all at once. He had been so
convinced that I would say no that the concept of my agreeing had thrown him off balance completely.
How terrible had his life been that he had come to expect rejection with everything? I vowed to myself
with that look to never allow him to sense my hesitation. I owed him as much.

I watched as ever so slowly he lifted a trembling gloved hand to my cheek. He hesitated and froze an
inch away from my cheek, not knowing whether or not he had the daring to actually touch me. With
nerve I never knew I possessed, perhaps it was the absolute desperation in his eyes- to think when he
was weak, I was strong! - I leaned into his hand, the skin tingling where his fingers brushed against my
flesh. I could feel his surprise at my boldness, and I believe he took strength in my strength. He traced
my cheek gently before lifting my eyes to meet his. This time they did not burn.

"Do you know what you speak of, Christine? Of what you are consenting to?" his voice was like a beacon
on the sea and I, the boat it was drawing in. How I wish I could lose myself in that voice!

"Yes, Erik," I knew I would wonder later where my strength to face him came from, but for now I was
happy to be standing on my own two feet unaided.

What I was consenting to? No, I did not know and to say that this strength overcame my fright of Erik as
a man would be a lie. I would have to live with that terror if I was to become his wife.

His hands still clutching mine, he led me gracefully over to the footstool in front of his armchair and
lowered me to a sitting position. He stood over me then, a black shadow towering from above, and I
swallowed hard to keep my fright from showing. He looked so dark and powerful that I clasped my own
hands tight to keep from trembling. My bravado was failing and I knew I had to get out of that room
before it completely shattered.

I watched as he opened an empty palm and curled his fingers into a light fist before unfurling them
again. I gasped. In the center of his palm was the single most beautiful ring I had ever seen in my life.
The solitary diamond in the center of the gold band sparkled like a star in the firelight and I realized I
wasn't breathing. Taking a deep shuddering breath I risked a glance at his face.

You could not read the expression because of the mask which covered three quarters of his face but his
eyes were sharp and piercing. It was then I realized that he was testing me, seeing if I would falter here
at the edge. He was testing my devotion and my ideals, my soul. Subconsciously, I knew that I should
resist, go back upstairs to the world of light that Raoul could give to me. Erik was a promise of trials and
intensity.

No, I told myself, you have come too far. Remember your promise. Slowly, maintaining eye contact as if I
looked away I knew I would fail, I lifted my left hand out to him. As if it was a dream I felt the cold band
slide onto my ring finger. Now free to look away at my hand, I saw the diamond glimmer and shine.

"Christine," his voice called to me from above and I lifted my gaze back to his. His eyes were shining with
some unreadable emotion as he held out a hand to help me stand. Face to face, it suddenly occurred to
me what this might possibly mean to both of us. For him, it was his opportunity to possess, to be like a
normal living man. For me, it signified submission and hardship.

I had past the point of no return.

When I awoke the next morning, I was in the Louis-Philippe room tucked safely under the soft sheets.
After he had slipped that ever-heavy ring onto my finger- as I stare at it now the weight of it feels to
break my finger, so lovely but so threatening, just like his voice- he had allowed me to retire to my room,
saying that when I awoke I would be alone in his house.

"I must make preparations," he said as he walked to me to my bedroom door. "I should like to be married
as soon as possible. Perhaps the day after next." I had assented and gone inside, finally away from his
incessant presence. With calm I never knew I possessed, I had made it into the bathroom and had
started the water long enough to slip to the floor, dissolving into tears.

Oh, what I had gotten myself into, and I could not help but shamelessly think of my dear safe Raoul. I
unconsciously wondered if he pined for me the way did for him at that moment. Then I caught myself.
Thinking of Raoul would only further add to my pain and I realized that I belonged to Erik now. Pining
away after a lost love would only make my days harder. I would see Raoul again, I knew, but Erik only
had a short time left. How unfair and cruel of me to long for another when he did nothing but long after
me. If I could not give him my heart, I would at least give him the honor of being the only man I thought
and dreamt about, not mater how vivid the images were.

Numbly I had bathed and gotten to bed, falling into a light sleep with no dreams. And as I sat now
staring at the bindings I had created, I would not allow the regret to strike at me.

It was mid afternoon before Erik returned and I was sitting on the bench of his organ, reading The Birth
of Tragedy. I had never taken Erik to be one for mythology and the books in his very extensive library
only furthered to prove at how wide his intellect traveled.

He had come up behind me, quietly as ever and unnoticed by me until he spoke from over my shoulder,
surprising me. "You'll find that even some of the most criticized work holds the same weight as other the
more well-liked. That story holds a very good image as to what is considered rational."

"I'm afraid I can't understand it, hard as I try," I reply as I realize that I have spent the last two hours
only confusing myself. My lips twitch as I turn to face him. "I'm afraid I don't have the same sort of grasp
for these things as you do."

"Nonsense," and I sense a change in him, one I never thought I'd think I'd see. His attitude was almost
bordering cheerful, a very unErik-like emotion. I felt a surge of conceited pride as I believed myself to
have brought on the change. "Perhaps later I will help you find a book more to your liking than," and he
gestured at the book in my lap, "that."

This is the Erik I adore, accommodating and kind, not enraged or terrifying. However I sense a change as
he grasped my hand before speaking. "I have made preparations for our wedding today," he said and his
tone was wary with hesitation. I tried to hold back from holding my breath. "Can you be prepared to
leave by three tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes," I reply and his hand clenches mine. Making an effort of my own, I grip his back and offer him a
small smile. This seems to please him as he brings his other hand to touch my cheek, no hesitation this
time.

"Shall I play for you?" he asks and I nod, standing as he pulls the bench away and sits. I kneel on the
floor beside him as he sweeps me away as only he can, the first time in two days that I can truly say I
felt at peace.

Again, the first thing I noticed when I woke the next morning was that I was alone at the house on the
lake. As I sat up on the bed I heard the crinkle of paper and turned to see an envelope resting on my
pillow. There was no doubt as to who it was from, the childish handwriting in blood red ink shouting
loudly off the paper.

My dear Christine,

Please forgive my absence this morning. There would appear to be a tradition in which it is bad luck for
the groom to see his bride on their wedding day. As I have little intention to play with fate, I shall return
at one to collect you. I remain—

Respectfully yours,

Erik

Numbly, I let the paper slip through my fingers to the bed. I turned my attention to the night table beside
my bed where he had laid out a luscious platter of fruit to the dressing table where layers of white fabric
lay calling to me. Draped over the chair was the wedding dress he had made me wear that night. No, it
was not the dress or the veil on the dressing table that made me shiver with fright. Next to the veil, still
on its chain, was my golden crucifix and Raoul's ring.

Oh, how that ring mocked me! - shining brightly in the candlelight. It was a symbol of what I would have
to wait for and of the things I would never be able to give. Finally, it occurred to me in the back of my
mind that Erik had seen the ring and was not here.

It all suddenly fit. He had known all along about this farce and said nothing, excepting my sacrifice while
knowing my heart dwelt elsewhere. The pain I must have caused when he saw that promise ring and I
silently berated myself for being so careless.

The air was so close in this room that it was hard to breathe. I panicked. The need to escape
overwhelmed me as I rushed from the room and through the house. My feet carried me to the fake dock
before I regained my senses.

I fell to my knees, face in my hands yet unable to weep. All I could hear dully was the gently lapping of
the water against the dock. He had placed that ring there on purpose, testing me- always testing me!
And what pained me the most was that I deserved to be.

Slowly I walked back to my room and picked up the chain, watching the glimmer of light off jewel and
metal. Sadly, clutching the chain to my breast, I headed back to the dock, separating ring and chain. It
looked so large in my palm as I turned my left hand over to stare at the ring Erik had given me. So alike
yet worlds apart, Raoul's with hope and Erik's filled with despair. Gripping Raoul's ring tightly in my right
hand, I walked to the edge where water met shore.

I let Raoul's ring go, watched as it soared into the air and splash down to the floor of the lake. I could not
hold onto that ring while married to another man, one who deserved so much more than my pitiful
promise of six months. I could show Erik no happiness, no real affection with constant reminders of the
one I truly wanted haunting me.

Again, I went back to the Louis-Philippe and laid the wedding gown across the bed. Sitting down in the
now vacant chair before my dressing table, I fingered the lace of the veil, so unfeeling that I did not
notice the trail of tears down my cheeks.

I was sitting on Erik's piano bench when he finally came back to collect me. I had spent the past five
hours readying myself for the wedding. My hair was fixed in loose curls hanging down my back, light
make-up adorning my face. The dress had taken some time to get on, with no one to help me in my
corset and do the difficult lacings on the back of the dress. When I had looked in the mirror, I knew Erik
would be pleased. I was beautiful, I knew. But the dress was white, and I was feeling particularly black.

The loneliness I felt as I gazed at myself in the mirror made me want to weep but I held back my tears.
There was no mother fussing over my hair, no maid of honor to comfort my unending nerves. I stood
alone with no one to share my day with, a day meant to to be shared with another. I pitied myself for the
last time before walking out my bedroom door, knowing I would return with another.

I had put off all thoughts of my wedding night. I would not, and could not, think of what would possibly
be when I was already so close to losing my sanity. Whatever happened I would deal with when the time
came, no matter how frightened and repulsed I was.

I did not hear him enter but I felt him freeze a few steps behind me, eyes heated on my back. He was
waiting for me to come to him, I knew, and I would not keep him waiting. Taking a deep breath, I stood
and turned, looking upon my soon-to-be husband for the first time today.

He was beautiful in all sense of the word. His evening wear was more formal than usual, his black cloak
swirling around him. He radiated power, a king of all kings. His posture was tall and proud as ever and
the white three quarter mask he wore to hide his face only made him more mysterious and alluring.

His eyes were hungry as he look upon me, feasting on me in all of my bridal glory. Those two
mismatched orbs, I thought, would never leave me and his breathing was rather rapid as he held out his
hand to me, beckoning.

How to resist him when he commands? You don't. I placed my hand in his with no hesitation as we stood
inches apart. He overwhelmed me and I could do nothing to prevent it.

"You are a vision, Christine," he said to me and in spite of myself, I blushed. Leading my as if in a dream,
he drew me up and out of his lair to a carriage waiting for us outside the Rue Scribe.

I do not know where he took me for the official ceremony nor do I remember the journey there. All I
know was that it was a small church and when he opened the church doors for me, the inside was empty
and sparse. A priest stood in front of the alter, conversing with two elderly nuns. Seeing us enter, he
opened his arms in welcome, beckoning us to come forward.

The only thing that kept me from sprinting out the door was the gentle pressure of Erik's hand in mine
and I swallowed back to urge to sob. Erik gave no outward heed of my struggle but I was sure he could
sense it. To want me so much as to say nothing, even when he knew the whole truth! Still, I fought back
tears.

The ceremony was quick and uneventful. Part of me desperately prayed for Raoul to push through the
doors, saving me from my terrible choice. But he did not come because he did not know and the love and

devotion Erik stared down at me with when he spoke his vows shall torment me until the day I die. He
did not deserve my fake proposal but it was what he wanted so he accepted it.

I held my voice as steady as I could when speaking my vows, trying to give Erik every shred of hope at a
loving bride as I could. Forgive me, I silently pleaded with him as he slipped the ring on my finger and I
did the same for him.

I was so paralyzed with nerves and overflowing emotion that I did not hear the priest pronounce us man
and wife, our only witnesses before God being two elderly nuns. I held back a shudder as Erik lifted my
veil, those eyes so beautiful and flowing with love for me, and when his cold lips touched mine, I felt
ready to faint.

It was only a slight brushing of his lips over mine, made much more difficult with the mask, but it spoke
of everything, what I wanted and did not want. In that moment, I knew I would be cherished, loved by
someone in the passionate sense forever, but it also was knowing, sacrificial.

It was in the same dream-like state that he had taken me to the church that he sped me away from it.
We were bound in a marriage of one-sided unrequited love that I would never be free from, even when
he was gone.

It was not as if I could not and did not love him, because in some ways, I did love him. In some
unexplainable way, he had taken my soul and he would hold that forever, a part of me Raoul could never
touch. If I had not had that innocent love for my childhood friend, I might have loved him enough to
marry him with no conditions. But that was not the case.

As he silently caressed my hand once back inside the carriage, I began to cry and he brought my head to
his shoulder. I took his comfort with no hesitation because it was what I needed, no matter who it was
from.

"It's done, beloved," he whispered, making me sob harder. "We can finally begin." He believed they were
happy tears falling down my cheeks, but hard as I tried to convince myself, I could not believe that they
were tears of joy.

When we returned home- the word makes me shiver that has nothing to do with the coldness of the
house- he led me to sit on the divan while he stroked the fire to life. He left me momentarily and
returned with two glasses of wine. His fingertips brushed mine and I nearly dropped the glass as he
handed it to me, sitting down beside me.

There were no words to express our feelings at that moment so we sat silently, both watching the flames.
He was basking in the aftermath of his victory, and I was cold, overcome with my loneliness and despair.

We must have sat there for over an hour and suddenly he was taking the glass from my hand, gesturing
for me to stand. The clock showed that it was somewhat after ten and I knew what was about to occur.
There was no talking still as he drew me to my bedroom door, quietly humming with his ethereal voice.

We stopped before the door and he stopped humming. Slowly, he raised a hand as to cup my cheek
before he froze. Whatever passed between our eyes then I do not know. All I know that is when he
touched my cheek, I panicked. It was like the ending to a beautiful dream only to find out it was only a
nightmare. His anger was swift and terrible, frightening me more than I have ever been.

"So the truth finally comes out!" he bellowed in a great voice of the devil. It was the Phantom before me,
not Erik, my husband. I found myself thrown to the floor of my room, his huge form towering over me
like a shadow. "I see it now! So this is what it has come to- a farce marriage made out of pity!" He was
pacing before me, a dark storm cloud complete with rolling thunder and flashing lightening.

"Erik, please," I begged him to stop as I found my voice. "Stop-"

"Where did you hide it, Christine?" he was on me again, hoisting me off the floor so I could be inches
from his masked face. Somehow, that mask was instantly worse than what lied beneath it. "Where did
you hide the ring from your handsome lover?"

I flinched from the pain of his grasp on my arm. Mistaking it for disgust he threw me to the bed where I
lay still, utterly terrified.

"You are mine now, Christine!" he yelled, seeming to be getting taller in his anger. "You made sure of that
when you swore yourself to me in front of your God! Now I will never let you go! Never!" He slammed the
door behind him with a loud bang.

I lay, shivering on my marriage bed. I was so stunned, so hopeless numb that when I had dressed in my
nightgown and got underneath the soft sheets, I laid awake for hours, hearing nothing outside my room.

So it was that I spent my wedding night: bound, cold, and completely alone.

There was no sound as I made my way out of the world of unconsciousness to reality. As I dully regained
my sight of my surroundings, I realized that I don't think I actually slept at all. All night I had bounded in
and out of a light slumber, too afraid to see the rage of that face in my nightmares. Rage that I had justly
caused, and would have to face in the morning.

He was right when he said I was now his in his blasphemous statement. There was no escape from the
hell I had willingly placed myself in.

His anger, though invariably terrifying as I massaged my arms from where he had grasped me- there
were light bruises on the skin- had been provoked. I had betrayed him again, still clinging to a world I
had given up in marrying him. How dreadful I was, when all I had to last was six months, to deny him
the fulfillment of his husbandly rights. But the idea of that face beside me made flinch in disgust. No, I
could not let him have me yet, but perhaps in time, as I believe was his hope all along, I would learn to
appreciate him.

I took my time in bathing, in no hurry to go out and face him yet. Massaging the soap in my hair, it was
almost peaceful now. In here I could allow myself to forget everything and have the privacy to stretch out
my tense muscles, to think without fear. Oh, how foolish and fearful I was of my husband- I shudder at
the word! In all my fantasies as a little girl, along with all those of Little Lotte and her Angel of Music, I
had never imagined being terrified to the death of my prince charming (who is nothing like a handsome
prince at all).

Fantasy, it seems, is no more than the ideas we burden ourselves with to ease the pain of what we lack,
only to have the pain intensify when we see the reality of it.

In all my memories I have left of my mother and father (which are few enough as it is and continue to
dwindle as time goes on) none of them show anything besides their love and devotion to one another, no
flinching or heated tempers. Comparing Erik to my father is preposterous, I realize that, but I have
nothing else to compare this experience to.

Finally, my stomach tells me I have stalled long enough. I have not eaten since before we were wed
yesterday and the pain is beginning to become a tad intolerable. Drawing up enough nerve, knowing I
would have to face him anyway today, I dressed relatively quickly and straightened up.

This was Erik, my husband, and I would not be afraid, I kept telling myself as I reached for the door
knob. Erik, my Angel of Music who has shown me no real physical violence other than what I deserve.

Erik, the Opera Ghost, who appeared to not be in the house at all.

To say that I let out a tiny sigh of relief was an understatement. I even let out somewhat of a silly little
half-giggle, half-shout of joy. He was nowhere in sight, neither in his room nor at his organ as I almost
skipped my way into the kitchen. I felt so unlike myself, unmistakably giddy, and I had no explanation for
any of it. Then, upon entering the kitchen, my heart sank at the sight of what was before me.

Upon the little table was a beautifully presented breakfast on very pretty china plates. Erik had laid out
strawberries and other assortments of fruit with cream along with croissants, meat, and cheese. A pitcher
of water was next to it all. In a narrow crystal vase in the center of the table was a blood red rose, a
letter perched up against it.

Ever so slowly, I reached out for it, bottom lip trembling, and unfolded the paper. Tears slipped down my
cheeks and overwhelming guilt and self-disgust washed over me.

My dearest Christine,

I feel it is my duty to apologize for last night's events. My momentary anger was wrongly placed and I
must apologize for frightening you.

There was a noticeable pause here, where he must have stopped writing for a moment. The rest of the
note was scribble in even a worse hand than his usual script, as though he wished to say what he had to
say very quickly to ease his pain.

I find that I tend to forget how very young you are and you do not realize the consequences of all that
you do. You have done the unthought-of and unspeakable for me, and I shall always be eternally grateful
for your goodness. I remember telling you that this marriage was under your conditions and I must have
overstepped them.

This house is yours now and I shall be away until this evening. I beg you eat and feel comforted in your
own home until I return. Forgive me for whatever harm I have done to you as I am forever in your debt.

Respectfully yours,

Erik

The tears would not stop as I wrapped my arms around my stomach, rocking slowly back and forth. I felt
like a demon, a witch, the devil, and the list goes on. I thought I would simply die from my own
wickedness. He spoke of my goodness when it was I who should be on my knees, pleading desperately
for his forgiveness.

I did not deserve him. I never had or will it seemed. He, who had given me a voice of heaven and so
many beautiful things, needed someone who could look beyond his horrid face to the beauty of his soul.

I had never been so disgusted in myself, never felt so utterly wretched. If I had been looking in the
mirror, I would have probably flinched from my face more than I ever did from Erik's. But how do I rid
myself of this feeling? I knew how, but the thoughts still made my stomach churn even more.

It took me several minutes and a glass of water to calm myself down enough to think properly. Nibbling
quietly on a croissant, I thought over the past two days with no emotion. I didn't take me long to realize
that if I was going to last these six months- it was not forever, I told myself over and over again- I would
have to be unattached with my normal feelings.

If Erik truly wanted a bride to look on him without repulsion, I would do it if it indeed would kill me.
Everything he asked or wished of me would be granted to him in his marital rights, no exceptions- I still
was unable to repress a shudder at those thoughts yet.

Why oh why did I agree to this, I silently berated myself as I picked up a book to read, decided upon
waiting for him. This truly is a farce! The damnation of it all! In my solitude I could allow myself to
wallow, I considered, but when he returned, I would be his to do what he pleased.

Six months, it seemed, were going to be all I had left in me too.

I was sitting in his armchair when he returned, simply staring around the room, not wanting to be
surprised by his entrance as per usual. He entered at exactly half past nine and he did not look at me as
he came in, swirling his cloak off his shoulders and hanging it up next to the door. I stood quickly, almost
clumsily, and waited for him to approach, eyes on the floor. I had already prepared tea for us like a
proper housewife, after taking about an hour to light that dreadful samovar.

Then I saw his polished shoes before me and I slowly looked up into those piercing mismatched eyes and
almost gasped at what I saw. It was what had been laced so discreetly through his note and now to see it
before me broke my heart in two.

Defeat.

At knowing I was his but not truly and truthfully. Having me but not having me. My hate for myself
returned in full force as he whispered, "Christine," in his defeated tone. What I had done to the poor
man! I knew I had to do something quickly to erase it from my memory and his. Erik, defeated, never!

"Erik," and I allowed my voice to show him joy at his presence. His eyes flickered in confusion as I forced
back a recoil to take his gloved hand in mine, squeezing it softly. What was I doing? I didn't even know
and neither did Erik as he pulled his hand away quickly.

"What are you doing, Christine?" he asked sharply, eyes still showing his confusion and what I thought
was a flicker of hope.

I tried to mask the actual hurt his own withdraw had brought me and I realized that this was what he felt
every time I shrank back away from him. He must have seen it in my face for he took a step back and
cleared his throat softly.

"I made tea," and without looking him in the eye, I motioned at the table beside his armchair.

"Thank you," he said in his now controlled tone and he made to sit down in his chair, slipping his gloves
off his graceful hands.

"Here," I took them from him, our fingertips brushing- why I shivered I never knew- and set them down
on top of his organ before going and pouring us both tea.

It was a very awkward time for the both of us and when I had handed him his cup, avoiding physical
contact, I allowed myself again to look him in the face. With the mask on, I could not tell if it was a quick
upward quirk of his lips to forma smile but he delight in his eyes at having his wife serve him tea was
clearly evident.

Relief flooded over me and I allowed myself a small smile before seating himself on his footstool. I waited
for him to speak and after some time he did not disappoint.

"I trust you found your breakfast satisfactory," and I knew he was hinting at the note.

"Yes, thank you," and my eyes flickered to the floor before meeting his again. He stared at me for a few
moments through the holes of that white mask before speaking again.

"Christine, I-" but I had interrupted him for the first time, something that didn't go unnoticed and I'm
almost sure that behind the mask he raised a possible eyebrow.

"No, Erik, you must forgive me!" and I let my horrible feelings for myself come out. "You have done
nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. Please forgive me!" and I held back tears as he reached foreword
slowly, cautiously to cup my cheek.

"Oh, Christine," he said and I found myself leaning in to his touch, not even a glove between my skin and
his. He must have noticed for his eyes glowed again with delight.

Our past feud now forgotten, we sat in comforting silence together, the maestro and his muse, husband
and wife. Only a few more words were passed that night but the future seemed just a bit brighter. But it
would do for now.

The first month of our marriage went by surprisingly quick. No longer worrying about Raoul and my time
in the Opera (Erik would not let me out of his lair and I vowed when I left to never return here again), I
was able to enjoy the small intricacies of our time together. For the first two weeks we fell into a bit of a
routine, you could say, and I could shamelessly say I almost enjoyed every minute of it.

I would wake up in the morning to a lovely, tiny breakfast which he had prepared for me. Some days he
would sit across the table from me and we would speak quietly; other days he would be away, tinkling
away on the keys of his piano all morning until it was time for lunch.

About a week into our mutual bonding, he approached me and asked, in a hesitant voice so unlike him I
still wonder at it, if I would like to continue my voice lessons.

"As it is that you do not perform upstairs in the Opera," he began and there was something very wary
about his tone, "I would still like to keep your voice in good condition." He had paused for a moment to
think of the best way to continue. "So I would like to continue our lessons, with your permission, of
course," he added at the end.

The overwhelming joy of our times together of the past flew before my eyes and with no hesitance did I
quickly respond my acceptance. His response was to grasp my hand tightly and lead me back into his
room near the organ, his aura crackling with joy around me.

So from that day foreword we spent our afternoons singing, the angels laughing above us at our
contentment with song. While I would rest in between songs, he would play famous tunes or let me listen
to some of his own compositions. I was astounded at how many new melodies he came up with during
that first month. One day when our lessons were over for that day, I summoned up enough courage to
ask him about it. His reply was simple and I will remember it the rest of my life.

"Because," he began slowly as if he weighed every word he spoke, "you, Christine, are my music and
now that I have you with me, those beautiful, never-ending melodies refuse to stop." Then he had
excused himself quickly from my presence and I was forced to consider what he had meant alone, sitting
on the floor beside his great organ.

After dinner he usually would sit in front of the fire with a book, reading as I knitted on the footstool in
front of him. (There really was not much to do besides from music down here in the house by the lake
and after the first two weeks, I had gotten quite efficient at it.) Other nights I would lean back against his
chair as he read stories from his vast library or tell me his own, stroking my hair softly with those
beautiful, long fingers. Again, one night when I was feeling particularly giddy, I told him that he should
have his stories published. He laughed his musical laugh and surprised me by kissing my hand gently and
looking deeply into my eyes for a long time. Again, after that, he left and disappeared into his room,
leaving me alone and confused.

He never mentioned our wedding night again or suggested anything other than our simple out-of-the-
bedroom relationship. I did catch him a few times gazing at me with those hooded eyes full of their desire
for me but said nothing. I continued to chide myself from keeping him from his husbandly rights. I knew
it was the right thing to do but I was still only adjusting to our relationship.

I was afraid but grateful. Still, I don't know why I let it bother me that he was always the one to pull
away.

On the night of our one month anniversary (who was keeping track? Certainly not I!) he surprised me
again by leading me along one of the many passages of his underground habitation up to the Opera a
little before six o'clock. My heart filled with some unknown emotion as he led my up to Box Five and
when I looked at him he simply brushed his glove hand against my cheek and helped me settle down on
the footstool before his armchair.

So we watched Faust from his box, hidden, and it was then that I understood why he had always
demanded this particular box. The view was spectacular and when it was over, I was breathless and
misty-eyed. Part of me wished he would have taken me here earlier. He was so wonderful! He sat
foreword on the edge of his seat sometimes to point out certain things ("See how she stands! If La
Carlotta would have paid more attention to her subordinates, she never would have been forced to
leave!" "I shall need to leave a note about the brass section. Remind me, Christine?") and was so
attentive, I could hardly believe it.

Erik was acting like the perfect suitor and if I could just forget the mask, I could have this whenever I
wanted. My failings made my head hurt so I never noticed his grip on my arm grow tighter as we made
our way back home (yes, I considered it home now) nor how his steps faltered slightly. It wasn't until we
were at the front door did I hear his staggered breath and did I cry out in frantic worry.

"Leave me, Christine!" he barked roughly as he almost stumbled with as much dignity as he could
manage back towards his room. As much as my mind told me to listen and go to my room, I ignored it
and helped him ease onto the divan. I felt so unlike myself when I rushed to find a wet rag and when I
knelt before the divan, staring at his weak and almost pitiful form did my heart break in two.

"Christine, I-" and I knew I would pay for this when he was well enough to show real temper, I shushed
him and steeled myself for what I was about to do. Pushing away his hands, I reached foreword to the
edge of his mask when a surprising strong grip latched onto my wrist.

His eyes were pleading, begging me o desist and let him wallow in his pain. But I knew this was the
moment we would change forever and looked back at him firmly.

"You can't breathe properly in that mask, Erik," I said with an intensity I never knew I possessed. "You
have to let me take it off." It was then I realized that that wasn't the only reason I was asking him to
take it off.

I wanted to see his face for myself, as his wife.

I think I shocked him with my determination to contend with him, so I felt him release my arm and close
his eyes. He was steeling himself now for the inevitable, I realized with a stab of pity and self-hatred. He
must have known this would happen someday.

Slowly, I reached foreword and peeled back the mask. He flinched slightly when I let my finger run down
he side of his deformed cheeks but did not open his eyes to see the disgust which not once flashed across
my face.

Yes, it was horrible; the thing of nightmares, really, but it did not frighten me like I had before or
probably should have. Instead, when I looked upon his deformity, my heart constricted with an emotion I
didn't believe at first. But I knew what it was. Yes, I knew.

Running the damp cloth over his face softly I watched his eyes open in surprise and meet mine quickly,
shocked and terribly beautiful. When he saw no revulsion, no terror in my perfect face, I think it shocked
him so much that he let slip some of his tightly-rung control. With one last look of disbelief, followed by
one of joy and then- my heart thumping wildly- love, he sank into a light sleep.

And I, his wife, stayed there beside him in the dark for him to wake up. All night and would do so until
the end. As I gazed upon my husband in what was now for him a peaceful slumber, tears fell unknowingly
from my eyes at my new realization.

And so I cried, quiet and soft, for that which I now knew, what I had tried to prevent, yet what would
come anyway.

I was by his side when he woke the next morning, shivering and still weak from the aftereffects of his
attack the night before. I had not left his side at all, unconsciously caressing the back of his hand as I
held it tightly in my own. All night I had stared at the face God had cursed him with, feeling no fear or
revulsion in the slightest. Funny, how months ago it was the very thing that had torn us apart, yet was
now the only thing that held us together.

Well, not the only thing. Not anymore.

How to put in words what I had discovered during those long midnight hours? It was more difficult than I
had ever imagined it to be, more complex than anything I had ever felt for Raoul. But this was real and
growing, even though at the surface I tried to deny it with all my might. As I had knelt there thinking,

trying to throw it off as pity, I knew I was lying to myself even then. Oh, how could I admit this terrible
feeling to him when I could not accept it myself?

The first thing he did when he saw me sitting beside him, my hair a bit bedraggled and make-up runny,
was grab his hand from mine and raise both of his to cover his face. The horror at the air against his real
cheek shown brightly in his mismatched eyes and again, all I wanted to do was blame myself for making
him believe that his face had ever mattered so.

"My mask!" he barked in a tone laced with fear and despair so powerful that it shook me to my very core.
"Give me my mask!" The command in his tone almost made me comply without thinking but as my
fingers touched the cold porcelain I bounded back into my own senses.

"No, Erik," and I could tell that my resistance was taking a toll on him, his temper rising. Reaching out to
him with my newfound strength, I grasped his wrists tightly and he flinched. He had stopped his struggle
now, eyes still blazing at me however, and he threw my hands off of him and lowered his hands.

"Then look!" he yelled and I did. His deformed features were even more terrible twisted with rage yet I
did not show any emotion at all. "Look at the face of the devil! Look!" His breathing was ragged too and
the way his chest was rising and falling rapidly could only mean he was working himself into another
attack. I knew I had to stop this quickly before it killed him.

Quietly, when the only sound in the room was his uneven breathing, I looked him steadily in the eyes and
raised a quivering hand almost touching his left cheek. "I see, Erik," I whispered and his eyes, still locked
with mine, widened in surprise. "I see."

And for the first time, I allowed myself to actually touch his face. I mean, really feel it. This thin layer of
skin that covered both his cheeks was surprisingly soft and very smooth. I knew if I pressed any harder,
the skin would break and I ever so gently traced the blue veins visible. I ran a finger along the edge of
the hole where his nose would have been and outlined lightly the edge of his malformed lips.

His breath was cool against my fingers.

Before I could touch the bone of his forehead, his hand came up slowly and gently grasped my wrist.
Eyes still flooded with welcoming disbelief, he laced his fingers with mine and asked the question that was
forefront on both of our minds.

"How?"

"Because," and my voice wavered and tears started to fill my eyes, "I am your wife."

And the meaning behind it was more than enough for both of us.

Finally, after a bit of a struggle where he fought me off to keep some of his dignity, I got him sitting in his
armchair before a blazing fire, a blanket across his lap. He had protested to my coddling him but deep
down I knew he reveled in it. To think, and he was much older than I was, that no one had ever taken
care of him when he was ill. While on the outside I saw self disgust at his own weakness (and Erik never
showed any weakness ever), I did notice him leaning into my touch more often than not, even if it was
just to hand him a teacup.

After about an hour of silence while he simply sat reading a book, feet up on the footstool, he closed his
eyes for a moment and I thought that he was in more pain. When I asked him about it, he shook his
head and sighed. There was real self disgust in his eyes now and I grabbed his hand firmly, kneeling next
to his chair.

"You shouldn't be forced to do this, Christine," and his voice was tired, almost hopeless. "You don't
belong here in this darkness I created." And I knew he what he was going to do before he spoke again.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said firmly, eyes narrowed, and instead of protesting as I thought he would,
a wry sort of grin crossed his malformed lips.

"This is not my Christine," he said and ran a finger down my cheek. "This," and the grin spread for a
moment, "is a fierce lioness. Tell me," and his tone was as playful as I had ever heard it (I didn't think
Erik could ever be playful), "where had she disappeared to?"

"She grew up," was my cryptic answer and when it appeared to him that I would speak no more on the
matter, he was silent but pleased. Again, after a pause, he spoke.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to do something for me, Christine," he said and I was puzzled. "Today, I was
supposed to meet an old friend of sorts to," and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "This
man like to know how I doing, so to speak."

"Who? The Persian?" I said out loud suddenly and he looked quickly at me.

"Yes," and his eyes were narrowed. "You have meet him?"

"I've seen him from afar," I said cautiously and watched as Erik shook his head slowly.

"It matters not," he said and continued on. "If he doesn't see me today, he will reach certain conclusions
that are completely unnecessary. If you would be so kind as to bring him here..." and he trailed off,
looking uncomfortable with the fact that anyone else need come to his home under the Opera.

"Of course," I said and listened carefully as he explained as to how I would find this Nadir he spoke of.
Retrieving my cloak and heading for the door, I looked back once at him. He sat, book in his lap, gazing
almost straight through the fireplace, and my heart twisted in my chest.

But I would think no more on that subject now.

When the Persian first came into view on the bank of the lake, I could tell he was shocked to see me
coming towards him. He walked with powerful strides to meet me and with confused dark eyes.

"Mademoiselle Daaé?" he asked and I nodded, not really knowing how to react to this man. "Are you
alright?" And his mind did seem so leap to some sort of thought. "Where is Erik?"

"He asks you to come with me back to his home," I said very softly and the creases of the man's face
tightened a bit with this. "He was not well enough to come to you so I was sent to bring you to him."

I was well aware I was babbling now but there was something about this man that made me very
nervous. He seemed to understand my hesitation towards him kindly, however, and gestured for me to
lead the way. The first part of our journey was made in complete silence and I could tell he was paying
very close attention to which way we were going. Letting the silence get to me, I was the first to break it.

"How do you know Erik, Monsieur?" I asked and he gave a small smile that I could see with the torch I
was holding.

"Call me Nadir, please, Mademoiselle," he said kindly.

"And you must call me Christine," I replied, feeling a little more at ease now that formalities were not in
the way.

"I met Erik in Persia many years ago," he said softly, as if remembering something he did not want to.

"When he was commissioned by the shah?" I kept on. Talking seemed to keep me calmer. Nadir seemed
taken aback that I knew such information. "He told me," and my voice took on a darker tone,
"everything."

Taking a gentle grasp of my arm, we both stopped almost twenty feet before the door. "Mademoiselle,"
he began, "Christine, if Erik is keeping you here against your will..."

"He isn't," I interjected quickly. Looking down and blushing for some reason, I went on. "I'm his wife."
The wedding ring on my finger flashed in the firelight. He seemed to know this already but looked at me
piercingly. I tried not to flinch under his hard gaze and motioned at the door.

"This way," I said and worked the mechanisms of the door quickly, his gaze still on my back. I nearly
jumped when I enter the room to see Erik standing, as dignified as a king, waiting for us. He had clearly
gotten up and changed, the white porcelain back in place upon his face. There was no weakness in his
stance now as he went out to both of us, helping me out of my cloak and speaking welcome to his friend.

Nadir immediately switched into his native language as soon as he saw Erik and I saw both there eyes
flicker towards me. A bit put off as Erik responded in kind, he held out an ungloved hand to me, which I
took with no hesitation.

"My manners have escaped me," Erik said in his usual tone, nothing like the one he had spoken in this
morning. "Nadir, I believe you've met my wife, Christine," and there was something like a challenge in his
voice. Nadir kissed the back of my hand gently and smiled now fully at me.

"I'm afraid I must apologize for my aloofness, Madame," and Erik stiffened and I'm sure almost smiled
behind the mask. "I had heard I great many things before coming here."

"Indeed," Erik said sharply then and we all made our way to before the dying fire. I made tea, finally
being able to light that wretched samovar, and listened to them both talk quietly as I knelt next to Erik's
chair. They would both try to include me as much as possible but I preferred listening to them both
almost banter back in forth.

Nadir brought out a side in Erik I had never seen and in turn I could tell Erik respected him greatly for it.
They spoke briefly about the Opera and old memories and when Erik got up to fetch something from his
room, Nadir focused all his attention onto me.

"Madame," he said and took a look back at the door Erik had gone through. "I have something for you
that it would do you well to keep secret." And from a pocket he pulled out an envelope, addressed to me
in handwriting familiar enough to make me jump. "Monsieur de Chagny wished for me to give this to
you," and there was a bit of displeasure in his tone as he looked down at me.

Shaking my head, fighting back the confused tears that wanted to come, I pushed the envelope back at
him, trying not to touch it. I had forgotten about Raoul for a time and the fresh thoughts of him made my
head spin in confusion. Not now, I told myself as Nadir repocketed the letter.

"Please tell Monsieur de Chagny that I do not wish o receive any letters," I asked and my voice shook.
Nadir was looking at me strangely now and it made me want to flee quickly.

"Do you love Erik, mademoiselle?" he asked seriously and I stopped breathing for a moment, the impact
of the question being asked so bluntly hitting me right deep down in my heart.

I could say nothing but hold his gaze, letting my eyes speak for me, saying the words I could not utter
aloud. For an eternity, this foreign man and I connected and when Erik came back into the room and our
eyes separated, I knew he had found the answer he was looking for.

Excusing myself and leaving them to speak of things beyond my comprehension, I went back into my
room and sank warily onto my dressing table's chair. For the first time, true realization swept over me
and my discovery only made it more horrible than ever before.

I finally understood that I loved Erik.

Six months never seemed more tragic.

How does one define love? How could something so pure and undoubtedly good cause so much pain one
moment, and in the next, make you feel like you could die from the sheer bliss of it?

I went through all of these feelings and more during the next few months, these dreadful ups and downs.
Once Erik was up and about again, I could not help but feel gloriously happy and deathly afraid all at
once. His last, and I'm assuming most damaging attack, had left him physically much weaker. When he
thought I wasn't looking, he would allow himself a wince as he moved his arms and almost unconsciously,
his hand would often go to cover his heart. But I was always watching, watching and waiting.

It was not his weakening that hurt me the most, however. I had changed since that night, which suddenly
felt like years ago, and he was definitely perceptive enough to notice it. However, my acceptance of his
face seemed to unsettle him rather than do him comfort. Every time I saw him, the mask was securely in
place and his eyes looked on me with wary disbelief.

I had assumed that he would be more open towards me, more affectionate. Instead, after he was well
again, he seemed to avoid making any physical contact with me at all. While it confused and hurt me at
first, I was able to understand his thinking behind his distance. (I found myself, the more time I spent in
his presence, picking up on his thoughts and habits. Indeed, years later, I still found myself doing the
little things he used to do, such as leave my gloves on the mantle piece or tap my fingers lightly on my
leg when I sat, although never to the same exacting beat as he did.)

Oh, if I could take back all those months where I feared his demanding presence, anything to add to the
ever-dwindling time I had with him now. If I could only find the courage to tell him how I felt! But that
courage was replaced with a mind numbing fear of the inevitable absence of the face that had once torn
me from his side. This was a whole different kind of regret than before, and I knew it would kill me if I
could not find the strength to approach him soon, before it was too late.

So much suffering over three little words!

There were times in those two months that passed that they almost came out, when I felt strong. Once,
as I stood watching him play his organ with those nimble fingers dancing across the keys, I had
approached him with a strange feeling in my heart. I had almost touched his shoulder, my mouth open,
when he shifted his shoulders slightly. The sudden feeling of admiration had vanished as quickly as it had
come, and my hand fell back to my side. He had turned and questioned me, sensing my discomfort, and I
had quickly fled to the confines of my own room. My self-loathing (which I had become accustomed to
feeling in those six months) returned a full force. No, it was no sporadic moment that caused the dam to
break. It was the very thing that had brought my love to my own knowledge.

I was sitting in Erik's armchair when I heard the crash from his room and I don't think I've ever moved so
fast in my life. When I saw him kneeling next to his coffin, clutching at his heart and broken glass

glittering around him, I think my heart stopped beating. I was at his side in an instant, ignoring the glass
digging into my skin, and tearing the mask off his face so he could breathe.

Oh, there were actually tears of pain in those mismatched eyes and how they tore at my soul like nothing
else before. The pain, which made his face twist to look more terrible than normal, was so great! I knelt
in front of him as he breathed heavily, great gulps of air at a time, and felt completely useless. All I could
do was sit there and wait!

Finally, after ten minutes, his breathing went shallower and quicker, but I could tell the pain had
lessened. He was so weak that he fell against me and I held his head to my breast, giving him time to
regain some strength.

It was then that the tears came. In my fear, I had pushed my despair aside. Now, as I ran my fingers
softly through his hair, a few tears fell down my cheeks and into his dark locks. He looked up at me then,
head pulling slowly back until we could see into each other's eyes. There were so many struggles in his
always heavy gaze, the thought of me seeing him weak making him even more miserable.

Moving very slowly, I got him to his feet. Where to put him? His coffin was out of the question. I would
shudder just thinking of the dreaded thing. We walked slowly to the door and I led him to my room. If he
was confused or surprised by my choice, he did not show it. The moment his head hit the pillow he was
asleep.

And I was beside him, both of us moving very little. Then I prayed.

It must have been three or four hours before he moved again. My neck stiff, I had bent all my thoughts
towards God, begging him to make Erik strong again. I begged Him to give me the chance to tell him
before he was torn away from me. I barely noticed as Erik's hand moved slowly and his eyes fluttered
open. Only one tear fell as his surprisingly steady gaze met mine. I had stopped breathing completely,
just getting lost in his eyes, when I felt gentle pressure on my hand. My lips quivered, his eyes smiled,
and he drew me to him.

They were dry sobs that filled the air now as he pulled me to lay across his chest. He gently rubbed my
back as I cried heartbreaking sobs of my concealed fear and despair. I muttered nonsense to his chest,
unable to control myself when it slipped.

"I love you," I whispered quite raggedly and his hand ceased to rub my back. His entire body went stiff
and it was then I realized what I had said. Pulling away slowly, I lifted my eyes to his and saw, for the
first time, a wholly different light in them than before. Again we stared, I not knowing how to continue.
Then, he spoke.

"Do not mock me, Christine," and there was a heavy dejected and ragged quality to his voice as well.
"Not now."

He thought I did not mean it! I could see the pain clearly in his eyes! Immediately I clasped his hand in
mine and brought it to my lips, covering it with little kisses. He shuddered and tried to pull away, but I
would not let him. I had said it, was free of the bindings it had placed on me, and took great strength
from it. His eyes went wide as I placed his hand over my heart, where I knew he could feel its wild, rapid
beating.

"Do you feel my heart, Erik?" and my voice was shrill and laced with confidence from my newfound
freedom. "It beats for you! I have been a fool, Erik! A terrible fool! But I have changed, have grown up,
and have uncovered my love for you!" He tried to turn away, his horrible face contorting with agony at
my outburst (and not from that physical pain in his heart), but I would not have it. I placed a hand under
his chin, forced him to look me in the eyes. "You must believe me, Erik! You do not know the pain I have
gone through, holding back from you! It is over now, my dearest," and his eyes were growing softer now.
"I am yours now, now and forever! Can you not see that?"

He did not say anything at all, just looked over my face as if memorizing every line, every curve. It was
his turn then to take my hand in his, and bring it to his malformed lips. I did not shudder as he expected
when he kissed my palm. Instead, I laid myself down next to him, and he held me close.

"Christine," he muttered softly into my hair as he caressed my hand. So it was that I spent my first night
next to my husband. There was never more bliss than this!

For the next three weeks I was his caretaker, his nurse, and we spent the time relearning each other.
There was an ease that was between us now and neither could be happier. The first week I would not let
him get out of bed. I brought him food, ink and paper, whatever he asked for. The music that he
composed during his two weeks stay in bed was the most beautiful I had ever heard, outstretching his

past works beyond comparison. When he spoke, his voice was different, changed, and even more
majestic. And at night I slept beside him and kissed him before we fell asleep.

After two weeks he was physically able to move up and about again. He was such a changed man; his
spirits were soaring. If you could only see it! He disappeared one day and came home that night with
strawberries and cream along with a small box. Inside was a golden chain with beautiful heart pendant
and when he clasped the chain around my neck, his fingers caressed my shoulders and I felt a feeling as
I never had before. It was one that felt stronger than love and when I allowed him to kiss me, I found
myself wishing for more.

Nadir showed up one morning shortly after, and he and Erik disappeared into Erik's study. He even
noticed the change in Erik upon entering and his face lit up quickly, a satisfied smile upon his lips. I do
not know what they discussed and declined their invitation to join them for tea. I had other thoughts to
sort out.

I sat on the edge of my bed for the longest time, thinking over these new feelings. I knew what they
were (I had been a dancer in the ballet corps after all and was not completely ignorant or deaf at what
they spoke about) and I was surprisingly not afraid of them. The only thing that troubled me was the way
Erik had lashed out the first night of our marriage. Would he respond in the same way now? I must have
sat there longer than I thought for when Erik entered, he informed me that Nadir had left and began
readying himself for bed. I did the same, not speaking, and laying down next to him in the bed.

"When I came in," he said as he pulled me close, "you seemed troubled." When I still did not speak, he
went on in a slightly softer voice (which sent shivers down my spine). "Have I done something to
displease you?"

Breaking out of my silent revere, I propped myself up an elbow and looked down at his uncovered face. I
cupped his cheek and he leaned into my palm, placing a kiss there. "Of course not," I replied and was
surprised by the boldness (my, how I had changed!) I felt at his response to my touch.

"Then what has you troubled, Christine?" his eyes stared up at me and I acted without thought. I brought
my lips to his and kissed him with more passion than I thought I possessed. When I pulled away, our
breathing ragged, his eyes were wide as the looked into mine. (My intentions were only too clear, even to
Erik who had never known love of any kind before me, especially this kind.) We continued to stare at
each other and, nodding slightly, he drew me down to him.

I gave myself to him that night, fulfilling the wifely requirement I had been so afraid to give, had long
since avoided. But even long after, for days and weeks, there was a pain that lingered on.

I was running out of time.

Oh, how beautiful those days were, where it was only Erik and I! How I wish it could have always been
like this! I had never known love to be this beautiful, for life to be so full of color! For a month, Erik and I
spent our time in our own personal heaven. We were one, a whole, and the fulfillment of our mutual
desires had brought us to a land of beautiful flowers and fresh, clean air.

And there was hope! The fifth month of our marriage passed without any attacks, and it seemed that Erik
was getting stronger. We would leave our underground labyrinth at night, taking walks in the park or
touring the city by carriage. The fresh air was wonderful, and I think it improved Erik's health and spirits
significantly. How joyful he was to have a wife on his arm in the open like any normal man!

There were times where we would sit in the carriage in silence, he gently holding my hand, and I would
reflect on all the changes that had occurred, of how much stronger I was. From a frightened, little girl, I
had blossomed into a compassionate, dutiful wife. Erik had blossomed as well. No longer always brooding
and menacing, he was kind, gentle, and no longer afraid of being seen by the likes of the men above
ground.

It was in that time that I came to believe that Erik would survive his illness, that my love was enough to
keep him strong.

I was wrong.

When I woke one morning about two weeks into our sixth month, the first thing I felt was cold. Still
unwilling to open my eyes, I reached out next to me, hoping to curl up next to Erik for some extra heat,
but all I grabbed were sheets.

This was unusual, you see. Although Erik was usually the first o rise, my body told me that it was still too
early for even him. Grudgingly opening my eyes, I was met with the pitch blackness of the room. Blindly
shuffling for a match, I managed to light a candle on my bedside table, allowing me to move around the

room. He was not in the bathroom and the moment I exited our room, a strange dread filled me, a
knowing that at the time I could not explain.

As I moved foreword, the little light that I had illuminated a dark form hunched over his great pipe organ.
With a sudden lurch, my heart breaking (for there was no movement) I rushed to him. Huddled over the
keys, facedown, was my Erik, eyes closed. I retched at the sight of his horrid face for the first time in
months, all ashen and looking more deathly than ever. There was a trickle of blood coming from the
corner of his mouth and dripping onto the white keys where his fingers would touch no more.

I took my solace in Nadir those days after. I had done what I could for Erik and words will never be able
to describe the relief I felt as I noticed the little weak breaths that passed his lips. In the minutes I had
stood, dumb and staring, the alarms Erik had set for his home went off. It was only a few seconds after
that Nadir had rushed in, out of breath and his servant on his heals. He took one look from my stiff form
to Erik lying still over his organ before moving into action.

I remember very little of those long hours that followed; it was such a blur. Nadir and his servant had
managed to carry Erik into the bedroom, I following aimlessly behind. His mask removed (Nadir did not
flinch or hesitate at the sight of his twisted features), I simply sat in the chair in the corner, watching as
Nadir went about tending to my husband. At last, Erik was finally settled (his chest rising and falling yet
still unconscious), Nadir bent down before me, his eyes filled with gentle concern.

"He's fine now, Madame," he said, his tone kind. "Just resting." I took one look deep into his eyes and
understood where this conversation would lead to.

"How long?" I asked and I braced myself for the thing my subconscious had always known.

Nadir's eyes were downcast and solemn. He took both my hands in his, squeezing them gently. "A day,
perhaps two. I'm sorry, Madame."

There were no tears in my eyes as he told me this. I had known it was the end the moment I had woken
up alone. He seemed to understand me and my sudden wish for solitude, standing and releasing my
hands.

"I will be in Erik's study, Madame, should you need me," he said as he looked down on me with
compassion. "I will take care of Erik's documents, you need not worry yourself with them."

"Documents?" I asked dumbly.

"Erik asked me to look after you once he was-" he did not finish, nor did he need to. "He's left his fortune
to you, and your safety and well-being to me."

My mouth was dry as he headed out the door. Just as he had crossed the threshold, a thought occurred
to me for the first time. "How did you know about Erik?"

He turned and looked at me sharply for a long time. Finally, he answered while speaking very slowly and
quietly, "It was a dream though I do not remember its content. I woe up suddenly, and I knew, so I
hurried here. Erik had feared that this would happen."

"He knew?" I asked, looking from the still figure on the bed to Nadir at the doorway. "Why did he not tell
me this?"

"He did not want to worry you," was my only reply as he disappeared from the door. I couldn't help but
wonder what else Erik had not told me.

Getting up from my chair, I moved to his bedside, staring down at him with a mixture of pity and despair.
Kneeling on the floor next to the bed, I took his cold hand in mine, waiting and hoping for the chance to
be able to say goodbye.

All through the night and into the next morning, I stayed by his side. Sometime past midnight, he had
started to seizure, throwing me into another panic. Nadir and his servant (whose name was Darius, and
had sat in the chair in the corner the entire time, watching over me) did their best to hold him still, and
when the seizures had finally subsided, there was blood all over the pillow near Erik's head.

Nadir had quietly explained to me while I wiped away the blood from Erik's face that the blood coming
from Erik's nose was from bursting blood vessels. I had almost broken down right there, my poor Erik,
dying before my eyes. He, who had always been so unbelievably strong and resilient, was being defeated
by his own deteriorating body. Nadir must have sensed my distress because he placed a comforting hand
on my shoulder, trying to turn my attention from a now again unconscious Erik.

"Perhaps you should go get yourself something to eat?" he said softly, speaking to me as if I was a small
child. When I refused, unwilling to leave Erik's side, he tried again with a different tactic. "Erik would not
wish you to see him like this. Go rest; we will look after him."

"He wouldn't want you to see him this way either," I replied stubbornly and he turned away, knowing
himself to be defeated. They left me alone with him again, just the two of us in the house he had built for
himself, in the house he would die in.

Some time later, I was awoken by the feeling of movement in my hand. Stiffening up quickly from where
I had been leaning over the bed, I cursed myself repeatedly for falling asleep. The movement continued
as Erik's fingers moved very slowly and I watched with rapt attention as his eyes flickered open, then
close, and then open again.

Oh, those mismatched eyes! How they used to burn, scorch me with their intensity! Now, as he looked
upon me, even inches from death, the intensity remained. Instead of burning, they chilled, the sorrow in
those beautiful orbs freezing what was left of the soul I possessed of my own. Erik had always owned my
soul, every piece, and it was slowly coming back into my own possession along with his own. For the first
time, his life was now mine.

"Christine," I could barely hear him, his magnificent, majestic voice reduced to a cruel whisper. I placed a
finger to his lips, bidding him not to talk, as I called for Nadir. He came in quickly, and seeing Erik awake,
came to his other side.

I could see what he was thinking as he watched the two of us hover close to him. The only two people
who had ever cared for him, loved him, with him at the very end and he was overcome. For a person who
had come to expect nothing in life, that God had forsaken him and cursed him to live in a world of scorn
and masks, to be able to end his life not alone was the greatest mercy he had ever received.

He turned to Nadir first, and it suddenly occurred to me that this was the last time he would ever be
awake. I watched in silent awe as he clasped his hand weakly in Nadir's and whispered, "Keep your
promise," so softly that I was almost just reading his lips. Nadir seemed to understand him perfectly
though because he smiled down on him, and nodded.

"There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is his Prophet," he whispered softly as he stood up from his
spot nest to Erik and left the room without another word. It was only the two of us again, as it had been
intended all along, though in the beginning I could not see it.

"Christine," he murmured and I squeezed his hand lightly. I did not shush him or try to break in with
what I was bursting to say before he left me. This was his moment, his final hour, and no revelations on
my part could stop it.

"Muse," he whispered still more quietly, "You will always," he coughed and you could hear the fluid filling
his lungs, "be my," another cough, "music. I love," another cough, "you."

"And I love you," I said, willing myself not to cry in front of him, to be strong even as I watched the light
fade from his eyes. "Always and forever."

It was a curious thing, what happened next. He looked on me one last time before closing his eyes,
taking two final deep breaths before his chest stopped moving. There was a smile on his lips as he left
this world, one that I had never seen before. It wasn't a grin or a full smile, but what looked to be the
beginning of one. Music filled my head as I clasped his cold, dead hand in mine, and it was music like I
had never heard before. It was as if a choir of angels had been waiting for him, and had received my
maestro with open arms.

I did not regret anything I had not said to him before he died. I never had the chance to ask his
forgiveness once more for all the harm and pain I had once caused him. I realized that I had no need to.
I knew he had already forgiven me of all my past sins, and I of his. I never got to tell him of the child
already growing in my womb, who I vowed would know his father even if he was never physically there.

I was content with saying 'I love you,' and would not harbor any lamentations of not saying it more often.
He died knowing that he had my eternal love, and I his.

In a world where words can be mistaken, deceitful, and a mask of their own, those three little words can
make a difference. Erik had painted me a rainbow, and I would forever live in a world of those radiant
colors.

Erik was buried in the same cemetery as my father in Perros. It was just Nadir, Darius, and I with a priest
as he was laid to rest in the coffin he had slept in for years. It drizzled through the entire ceremony, and
we linger there for a long time in the rain, just staring at the fresh earth that covered his grave. His

tombstone was very simple, as I had no doubt that Erik would have wanted it that way, when we finally
left, I swear I could hear a violin playing in the distance, forever calling to me.

I would not stay underground any longer, and I had Nadir find me a home on the outskirts of Paris, far
enough away to be rid of the shadow of the Opera. He would be remaining with me, he told me, for he
had promised Erik to look after me. I never argued, and Nadir soon became my greatest friend. When I
told him of the child inside of me, he just smiled and got a faraway look in his eyes as if remembering
something long ago.

The day before I left Paris, I made one last stop. As I walked up the steps of the Chagny mansion, a
familiar dread filled me. Nadir had not questioned me when I requested to stop, for he knew what I was
going to do.

I was allowed in and old o wait in the parlor, the splendor of which had me in a slight awe. Shaking my
head once, I waited and soon heard hurried footsteps and looked up t see the doors thrown open.

He was as handsome as he had always been, in his rich fabrics and flawless face. The moment he saw
me, he froze for an instant before rushing towards me, embracing me with an enormous intensity.

How terrible I felt in that moment as he held me! For I was not here to become the next Chagny bride;
instead, I was hear to do something I should have done six months ago.

"He is gone, then?" he asked me, pulling away and cupping my cheek. The happiness in his face made
my stomach turn.

"He is dead," I replied solemnly and when he grasped both my hands in his, it took all my self-control not
to tear them away.

"You are free, then," and his face was lit with a boyish smile that went from ear to ear. "We can now be
married-"

"No, Raoul," I said softly and he stopped talking immediately. The confusion on his face was clearly
evident and I stepped away quickly, my hands falling from his.

"What do you mean?" he asked and took a step toward me. I took a step back and held up my hands,
stopping him from coming any closer.

"I cannot marry you, Raoul," I said and the confusion intensified, my heart breaking further with each
look.

"But-" I held up a hand to silence him and he complied, the look in his eyes one of devastation as
comprehension sunk in.

"Things have changed," I said and willed myself not to look away from his pitiful eyes. My dear, sweet
Raoul- you have no idea how much this pains me! "During those six months, I- I fell in love, Raoul."

"With him?" and his tone was sad and small.

"With him," I answered. "I'm not the same girl you knew before I married him." My voice got even lower
as I continued to speak. "I'm not the little girl whose scarf you fetched from the sea."

"I know that!" he said, his voice desperate and earnest. "I love you, Christine, as you are now!" He put a
hand on my shoulder as I turned away from his pleading. I looked him straight in the eye as he begged
me. "Please, Christine."

It suddenly occurred to me how young he was, that I was, and the difference between us. He, who had
been indulged all his life, was never forced to grow up the way I did. I felt old and weary as I looked into
his face, so much the same as the young boy who had rescued my scarf.

"I'm sorry, Raoul," and backed away slowly, his hand falling to his side as he let go of m shoulder. It was
the same look that crossed his face when I told him I was marrying Erik. I felt wretched wicked, but
could not force myself to fall prey to it. Erik's love had changed me, made me unique in a way that only
Erik, himself could reach me.

Now that Erik was gone, I was alone.

"Too much has happened," I went on, and unconsciously, my hand went to cover my stomach, where
Erik's child grew within me. He noticed the movement and an understanding came over him like a wave, I
saw it in his eyes. There was revulsion there, that another man had touched me, and a sadness, for he
knew I too far gone.

We stared at each other for what seemed like hours before I turned away first. I did not say anything as I
walked past him and out the parlor doors. I heard no footsteps behind me as I exited the Chagny
mansion for the last time. I did not turn back at all as we passed through the gates to the house and out

into Paris and beyond. My last image of Raoul de Chagny was one of defeat, and every time I thought if
him, there was always a pang of regret.

I had grown up, and I was no longer haunted by any ghosts.

Epilogue

I never saw Raoul de Chagny again. I once asked Nadir of him a few years later, and he told me that
there had been an arranged marriage and that he had joined the Navy. I pitied him and loathed myself
for the lifetime of misery I had caused him. I never forgot the boy from the seashore and the man he
could not become. I did not think of him often, but when I did, it was never with remorse.

The house Nadir had found for me and my unborn child was small and white with a garden and two
floors. He and his servant lived with us there as well, watching over my child and me as part of his
promise to Erik. Whenever I would ask him about it, he would smile and shake his head, a faraway look
in his eyes of days long past. I was eternally grateful to him and all that he did for me; when I had no
one, he was there, reminding me of how Erik would have wanted me to live.

It was not an easy pregnancy. The intense bouts of sickness hit me in waves and very often, so much as
I did not leave my bed for days. When I moved, there was an ever present sharp pain in my back and
neck, and there was more than one day where I wished it all would end.

It was the worst at night, when I lay in my bed alone and forever cold, no matter how many blankets
were piled up over me. These were my darkest moments, the ones where I was alone in my thoughts, no
one to pull me out of them. My dreams were vivid: I ran through the Paris Opera, never alone, calling for
Erik, and he never came. I was chased by a shadow of unknown origin, threatening to devour me whole.
When I awoke, sometimes screaming, others with silent tears, I would clutch at my bulging stomach and
sob quietly until daybreak, a victim of my own mind.

In the last month before my child was born, I barely left the bed at all. Nadir had taken to sleeping in a
chair outside my door, ever waiting for a sign. The doctor blamed my petite, weak body; I had never
been very strong. There were nights when the doctor would stay as well, fearing as my condition
worsened. I was fed simple things: soups, breads, never anything heavy and there were times I would
wake up, not remembering when I had fallen asleep.

The pain of giving birth was extreme. The feeling of being ripped apart nearly made me give up. Nadir
held my hand as I pushed, the midwife calling out instructions to me over a foggy haze. I don't know how
I made it through; perhaps it was the majestic voice in the back of my consciousness that pulled me
through. The voice told me to continue on, almost like a song, and I had no intention of disobeying it.

My son was a very small baby but healthy; more than anyone could ask for. When he was placed into my
arms the first time, I cried both from exhaustion and overwhelming joy. A perfect face looked up at me,
with soft, rounded cheeks, and dark hair on his head. I knew at once that my son would grow up to be a
very handsome man, with the face Erik had never had. The perfect child whom I named Charles, a name
I had considered long before his birth. It fit him in a way I never grew to understand, and as time went
on, he filled the loneliness inside of me I feared would never disappear.

Oh, my love, if you could see him now! You and I combined forever, you genius never to be erased.
Winter is not such a terrible season after all, for it always ends in spring, and even in the coldest and
darkest of places, there is always a little light.

Charles's POV

The day we buried my mother was bright and warm, a cruel contrast to the event of which I was
regretfully forced to oversee. The wind had blown very gently around Nadir, Darius, the priest, and
myself, lulling me back deeper into the memories and the emotions I had tried to keep from spilling over.
We buried her next to my father, of whom I had never known, and I had just been able to make it back to
carriage before the dam broke.

She was a wonderful woman, my mother, whose eyes relayed the darkness of her past, one of which I
was never told in full. Of my father I have no memory, for he had died before I was born. My mother's
world was a secret, and there were things she never told me about herself that I heard of after she died
from Nadir. She had her habits, of course, but she was always very closed about herself, leaving me to
guess or interpret her feelings.

I remember times when we would sit together at the piano and I would play. I was born with a deep
affinity for music, which I am told came from my father. When I played, it became everything to me, and
I was overwhelmed by the sheer sublimity of it. Most of the time, she would sit in the room with me as I

played and I tried hard not to notice the tears that would fall silently down her face, and I felt like an
unwelcome intruder to some sacred place not meant for my knowledge.

I knew better, even at a young age, not to question her about the whimsicalities of some of her actions.
Whenever I sang or even brought her flowers, she would get a strange look of remembrance on her face
before it vanished into nothingness. I cherished those little looks she gave when she thought I wasn't
looking. It was as if I was someone else to her, someone dearer, and although I always felt loved, there
always seemed to be something missing. I learned more about her from Nadir than her in person. He was
the one who praised her beyond it all; told me of her struggles and her unwavering spirit.

As long as I can remember, we had visited the cemetery every year on her birthday. It was the one thing
that she always wanted, no fancy dinners or extravagant presents; on the occasions when I would
accompany her, she would stand before my father's grave for hours, just staring down at the plain
headstone. She was like an angel, carved in stone and forever unreachable by man.

He was the one that was always spoken about in my childhood. She would tell me stories for ours of him
and I never grew bored. It was my way of knowing him and her way of making sure his memory would
live on. Musician, architect, composer, magician- all of whose traits she said were passed onto me. I felt
proud even without knowing him, and it made me closer to the man whose face I never saw.

She told me about the mask for the first time about a year before she died. I had always asked to see a
likeness of him and then the subject would always change. She did not go into great detail over the
deformity my father possessed but she did show me one of his masks she had hidden deep within one of
her drawers. I remember holding the cold porcelain in my hand as she whispered the tale of their first
meeting, and I felt a strange feeling I could not place at the time.

I was away at school when she died; I had known that day to be coming soon, had seen the anguish on
her face when we had last parted. She had never been a healthy woman. Even as young as she was, she
was weaker than most and as the years passed, I watched her fade away from us all. I was told she died
peacefully in her sleep, one finger touching her wedding ring. We had her buried in that position, and on
the many cold, sleepless nights hat followed her passing I always felt a strange peace.

When I did sleep on some nights, I would always dream of her pure, untainted voice mixed with the
magnificent tone of another, forever entwined. The Phantom and his protégé as they were meant to be at
long last.

FIN