A/N: Okay, this was only going to be a two chapter stab at a phic, but once I started, I couldn't stop! It's almost all done now actually, but I'm not sure how long the last chapters are going to take. I don't think that this will be a very long story (unless people prefer otherwise) so if you like it please, please, please let me know by reviewing. I really do appreciate everyone's input. This might feel a bit rushed in places and for that, I apologize in advance. I'm just one of those people that try to avoid pointless "fillers" in stories. I don't like to read them and I don't like to write them. So know that just about everything you read will most likely come up again in some way or another. I think it makes it more fun to connect the dots that way.

I did rate this as "M" for some pretty graphic injuries and violence and possible future romantic content. Again, let me know if you would like to see it in the story. The first chapter is more of a prologue. It's going to be short, but I promise they get longer!

As I said in the summery, I promise you a happy ending if you can get through it. You'll hate me at parts and I know that. I won't hold it against you. Just give me some time and put a little faith in me. If you are disappointed in the end, well, I don't know what I'll do. I'll compose a poem for you or something.

It goes without saying that absolutely none of these characters belong to me, if they did, I certainly would be making a whole heck of a lot more money than I do now! I have added a few characters of my own, which do belong to me, as I am sure you will notice. I did take the liberty of changing the ending so I would ask that you forget the nifty little scenes in the movie/book/play that do not jive with my story. :-)

So, without further ado, I give you . . .

God Give Me Courage to Show You

Chapter One

"You try my patience. Make your choice!"

He savagely ripped on the rope around Raoul's neck, causing him to choke and sputter. I watched in wretched helplessness from the shore of the menacing underworld that Erik called his home. I had been so torn those past few days. I wish I could have split myself in two and given one to the safety of Raoul's arms and the other the darkness and Erik's dangerous passions. But that was not possible, and so there I was, watching Raoul paying the price for his chivalry. He had come to rescue me from what he was certain was a crazed murderer, and in this particular moment, I couldn't disagree with him. A strange fury burned in Erik's eyes. It was as though he had changed into another person, one who not only had no problem killing another, but seemed to relish the opportunity.

I had to think fast. I did not want to spend the rest of my days in fear for my own life if I chose to stay with Erik, but neither was I willing to sacrifice Raoul's life to achieve that. I took a shaky breath and made my decision.

With tears streaming down my face, I gave Raoul a long look that begged him to understand. I could see it in his eyes that he knew what I was about to do, as his own eyes begged me not to. I mouthed the three little words that I had no hope of ever hearing again . . . I love you.

Then I turned to Erik, the odd fury still burning brightly in his eyes. I had to make this work or Raoul was as good as dead. I stepped into the murky water, no longer caring about ruining the elegant wedding dress that Erik had me wearing. I clutched tightly to the ring in my hand. My ring. The small little symbol that would seal my fate forever. I had heard it described as being a representation of love, with no beginning and no end. To me it was a symbol of my sentence, I would live in Erik's darkness, a prisoner of an angel, until death released me. At what point I had fallen willingly into his trap I wasn't sure. Just like the ring. No beginning. No end. Somehow, I knew that even in death I would not be able to escape from the mangled face before me.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."

Each step brought me closer to him, and with every word, I somehow felt strangely calmer. I knew what I had to do, and I could not have any regrets. I slipped the ring onto my finger and, wrapping my hands around his neck, drew him down towards me.

The first sensation of his lips on mine was quite unlike anything I had ever felt before, nor did I ever wish to feel it again. It was like kissing death. He felt cold and his body was rigid from the shock of my boldness.

Then a strange thing happened. As though stealing the warmth from my body, his lips thawed and began to return the pressure that I had placed upon him. I slowly became aware that his arms had hesitantly wrapped themselves about my waist and was holding me very lightly to him. I pulled back and looked at him, his eyes had lost the angry glow and was replaced with something that closely resembled agony.

I forgot completely just what I was doing down there. I forgot that my fiancée was bound with ropes and had a lasso tied around his neck. I forgot the fact that I was standing in an underground lake with a man who two minutes previous had been ready to kill another human without the slightest inkling of guilt. All I knew was that I longed to take away all of his pain, all of his hurt, and all of his longing and loneliness. All I knew was that I wanted to devote the rest of my days to making sure that he was happy. I wanted to show him that more than his world of darkness that he had plunged himself into was awaiting him.

And so I did.

I kissed him again.

That was three months ago. I won't lie, I hated seeing Raoul leave. It ripped my heart out to see the look on his face as he watched Erik return to me after freeing him from ropes that bound him. As Erik led me out of the water and to the shore with his arm around my shoulders, I looked back. I shouldn't have, it was a sight that will haunt me for eternity. I might as well have stabbed him through the heart, for I fear the hurt that that would have inflicted would have paled considerably to the pain I had caused by leaving him.

He knew why I did it, but I am quite sure that he would gladly have given his life for the knowledge that I was safe and that I loved him beyond anything else in the world.

The truth though was that I had begun to doubt. I had tried to convince myself that I still loved Raoul like a proper future wife should, but even before I had made my choice to stay with Erik there was a nagging in the back of mind that told me the horrid truth. I no longer loved Raoul as I used to. I did love him, that was plain by the ache in my heart that was a result of his absence, but it was the love of a dear friend or even brother, not of a fiancée.

Erik and I had not kissed since that night. Indeed, we had barely touched. He seemed to try to avoid that almost as desperately as I did. I spent most of my days going about my work with a morbidly blank expression on my face. I cleaned and read to pass the time. I attempted cooking, but sadly, I am not skilled in that area. I did try as an attempt to pass the time but I always failed exceedingly. Erik never complained. He had never even made a comment about the wretched smell that often permeated the catacombs after my attempts. He would simply take the utensils from my hand and complete the task with annoying perfection. The only thing I have managed to create in the kitchen without completely ruining it is tea, though I still fear that I make it wrong. Once I caught Erik adding something to it when he thought I wasn't looking. I made a mental note to discover what it was so that I could add it for him.

The need to make him happy had not left me since the night of our kiss, but I was so unsure how to do it. I had not even seen him smile. At times I was not sure he even knew how to smile without having his catgut lasso around someone's neck.

One day, a few weeks into my voluntary prison life, he sat reading one of the many books from his rather impressive collection while I was cleaning. This was nothing knew, as he spent the vast majority of his time reading. The grand organ sat as silent as the grave, it's presence ever pressing on me as the days went on. He had not asked me to sing for him and I had not volunteered. I believe we both realized that music would have to be something to work back into the remains of our lives. I do not doubt that he was waiting for me to ask him, but I was still far too preoccupied with my ever increasing depression to bother.

I was daydreaming about the world that passed ignorantly by above me and dropped the cloth that I had been using to wipe the dust from the shelves and it landed just behind his chair. I bent to pick it up and instinctively put a hand out to brace myself. It wasn't until I heard the sharp intake of his breath and what I must assuredly have confused to be a moan that I realized that when I had grabbed the back of the chair, I had accidentally brushed my fingers against his shoulder. I hurriedly pulled my hand away, but I had the distinct impression that he wouldn't have minded if I hadn't.

He did not cringe from my touch or pull away. Could it be something as simple as a gentle touch that could reach his black soul? The problem was, to touch him caused something to stir within me, something that scared me even more horribly than living in this hazy hell.