All right, if this one doesn't need a foreword, then I'm a carrot. I have never seen a story that takes this turn of events, and that in itself was enough to make me want to give it a shot. This whole project has taken me about a month, and you have no idea how I debated over posting it after all. So, let me put it this way: If for ANY reason, you have a hard time seeing Erik as a bad guy capable of bad, bad things, don't waste your time reading this. Please don't. Feel free to state your opinion, but remember to critique, not criticize. Enjoy!

For months, it was all I could think about, the words I'd heard them say to each other when they thought they were safe, unaware that shadows have ears that hear and eyes that see...and that image was scarred onto my memory until I was out of my mind with it. My Christine, my beautiful, beloved Christine, in the arms of another man and allowing him to kiss her perfect lips.

All I had wanted from her was her love and I'd offered mine in return, only to have it so easily cast aside like a child's toy. Christine, Christine, how could you play with me like that? Didn't you know that you held my heart, my soul and my mind in the palm of your hand? I could no more take them back from you than I could fly, and you crushed them and threw them away.

Why did that madness have to come crashing down upon me so completely, sending the chandelier to the floor that night and leaving as clear a mark on our destiny together as if it had been carved there? The line in the sand was drawn, if only she could have seen it.

Six long months I hid from her, trying and failing to force her out of my spirit, to exorcise her like some demon sent from Hell to torment me, but all I could do was fall farther down the slope towards insanity. How easy it was! I lost my balance that first night she was with me, then she pushed me off my feet when she ran to her vicomte and there was no saving me. Perhaps I was destined for it all along, but Christine! Christine, there had to be an easier way to destroy me, something kinder and more merciful! Your love alone would have done it in time, and at least then we might have known some happiness! No! Instead, you gave me this, and this is more than I can stand.

I could feel myself hurtling towards disaster with no chance of stopping it. I don't know what happened to me, but as my sanity devolved, my turn for connivance and anarchy came to power. Try to run from me, would she? Scorn me, reject me, and drive me mad? I didn't think so. Someone was going to suffer for it. She would be mine or the world would pay.

And so I worked, composing as furiously as I'd ever done in my life, driving on relentlessly as I wrote the ending to our story. Seduction, deception, lust and surrender...no one said it would be a fairy story, did they? I wanted everything to be clear at last with no more games and lies. They would see her as I did, she would see me as I am, and at last she would know where her heart lay. It wasn't with that boy, but with me.

Oh my dear, I never wanted it to be this way...

I watched her from the shadows at the New Year's ball as she danced and laughed with him, granting him all her smiles and wearing his ring around her neck. Did she think no one would be any wiser as to who had given it to her and what it meant? Could she really be so foolish? Could she have forgotten me so easily?

Perhaps not...her eyes were troubled even then as she was separated from her young man, lost in a myriad of strange faces that leered and grinned at her. Was she suddenly frightened that one might appear before her to steal her away forever?

Come now, Christine, I have more style than that.

Stepping from the fringes of the activity, I asserted myself into the crowd as silently as the ghost they termed me. They were disguised with their ridiculous masks of paper and paint, yet I arrived as I was, further infuriated that the only way I could be accepted among them was when they could assume the ghastly sight that met them when they looked at me was just pretend. If they suspected the face they saw was no mask at all, they would flee from me as she had done, cowering in horror. Their masks were part of a game; the game for me lay in my lack of one.

Heads turned as I made my way through the room, the uninvited guest and attired as such. Every eye was upon me, including those of the managers. I had no business with them tonight—tomorrow morning, or maybe even later that very night, they would find the manuscript I had left in their office along with a note telling them in no uncertain terms to begin rehearsing for the production of my opera or face the consequences. No, they weren't the reason I was there. I was there for her. Desperate to see her after half a year's total absence, to torture myself watching her with him, and to punish her for her inconstancy, reminding her that while I had left her alone these past six months, I wouldn't allow her to forget me.

And finally, there she was, white-faced and shocked when she saw me. Her hand flew to the ring on its chain; why? To draw comfort from the thought of her fiancé, though he was nowhere in sight? Or to hide it from my eyes? Why was that? Was she afraid I might just lunge forward and tear it from her neck, or was she ashamed of yet another deception, yet another dagger plunged into my heart?

She needn't have worried. I had no intention of coming near her, not when I understood the power one glance held. I stood filling my eyes with her, and she was frozen to the spot, unable to move and unable to look away. She still hid that ring, but she couldn't not look me in the eye.

The boy appeared again and spoke to her, but she paid him no mind and just kept staring. He followed the path of her gaze and gave a start when he saw me. The other partygoers wouldn't think twice about a man looking as I did at a costume ball, but he had been there at the Perros graveyard, and he knew the face he saw was the face I bore. I had to give him marks for courage; he didn't turn away or give any sign of fright. On the contrary, he started forward as if to approach me—but you wouldn't let him, would you? She seized him and held him back as if he was walking into the arms of the Devil himself.

I'd seen enough and done what I'd set out to do. The boy was threatened by my presence and she was properly shaken. But the sight of her doing so much to keep him away from me, to protect him as though she feared demons, no longer concerned with keeping the ring out of my sight, enraged me, and if I remained there any longer there would be hell to pay.

Jealousy is as powerful as any narcotic, you see, and when it consumes you so utterly, it can make you lose your mind...it can make you do things you'd never believed yourself capable of.

I spun on my heel and made to disappear as quickly as I'd arrived. Some drunken fool staggered forward and laid his hand on my arm, but I clutched his wrist tightly and twisted it back, imagining her precious Raoul's neck in my grasp instead. I would have broken it then and there, but the lout's exclamation of pain and surprise brought me back to myself. I released him and left the hall.

The sounds of the party grew fainter and fainter in my ears as I sped back down to the catacombs. I was no stranger to madness, having spent most of my life on the edge of it, but I don't think I'd ever been so far down the rat hole before. Had I been even slightly rational, it would have terrified me, but fear was the last thing on my mind. I could still see her with him, and it was as though the fury that had pushed me to drop the chandelier was only a prelude to what I would do next.

I wanted her, and I would have her as mine. And God help the fool who tried to stop me.

It seemed the managers had learned their lesson—or at least how to go along with my orders. They began rehearsals and cast Christine in the lead, but I was aware every time one of the gendarme came in and out of the Opera House and vanished into my managers' office. They had yet to learn anything like subtlety and cunning.

She had never looked so terrified as she did moving through rehearsals, a fear she refused to name staring out of her eyes and her perfect face blanched and strained. I had no sympathy for her at first. She had brought it upon herself and I would have been disgusted with her stupidity had she not been afraid when everything said she should be. But the first time I saw her alone backstage, crying helplessly where no one could hear her...oh, Christine...I turned that disgust on myself. I hated to be so extreme when it came to her, but—I just didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to lose her and couldn't countenance the possibility that I'd never really had her to start with. The Angel she'd given her heart to just couldn't be.

I couldn't stand the sight of her tears, but was too afraid and ashamed to try and go to her. So I remained hidden in the flies and did what already came so naturally where she was concerned. I sent the Angel to her again.

"Please, Christine, no more tears," I entreated. "You know it always gave me pain to see you cry."

She started violently, looking left and right for me and her sobs stilling for one petrified moment, certain that I had come to steal her away forever. Maybe.

"Don't be frightened," I soothed, pitching my voice gently and comfortingly. "It's only your Angel."

"Erik?" she asked in a startled whisper.

"No, Christine, your Angel," I insisted, hoping she would understand. I had come as her old friend and confidant. She was free to leave, but she had nothing to fear if she stayed. "It's only your Angel."

She hesitated a second longer, then sighed and I saw her stance relax slightly. "Now, why are you crying?" I asked.

A pause, uncertain what to say or what to think, feel, or even believe, then, "I'm so scared, Angel."

"Why?"

There was a sniff followed by a timid reply. "There's—there's a man; no, two men. One is a very dear friend from long ago."

I burned to demand just how dear he was and get the truth from her own lips at last, but I didn't want to end this yet. I settled for, "And the other?"

She hesitated again before she went on. "He scares me. He tells me he loves me, but-he's done terrible things. He's a liar and a murderer, and—"

And what of the way you murdered my heart? I nearly asked, restraining myself just in time. "What does your heart tell you about this man, Christine?"

"I—don't know. I think, more than anything, he needs to be loved, but—I'm not sure he knows how to love in return."

No, she couldn't have murdered my heart, because it was still alive. I knew; her words were crushing it slowly and digging harsh claws deep into it. "You could teach him," I replied. "Show him how to love. No one ever has, but he can still learn if...if you just teach him."

She shook her head. "I can't, Angel. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because that would mean I'd have to love him and I just—can't."

Don't say that! "You could learn as well, Christine, if you would only give him a chance." Please, just give me a chance! My heart was being wrenched to pieces again and again, crying in agony, and I could do nothing to fight it. "Try, Christine," then, slipping back into my own voice, "for my sake."

Her eyes were alert again in an instant. "Erik—"

"Christine!"

I felt a rush of jealous hatred through my body as that boy appeared at her side, so solicitous and so allowed. Yes, Christine, he's allowed to take your hand in his and to kiss you on the cheek so tenderly, whereas I'm only accepted as the voice of a nonexistent angel.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "You just vanished after the rehearsal; I was afraid something had happened to you."

"Afraid of what, exactly?" I demanded, letting my voice reach down to the both of them. "Did you think she'd been carried off by malevolent spirits?"

He gave a start and looked up into the flies above his head, his eyes peering uselessly into the shadows. "So you are there," he said, sounding largely as though he was unafraid but with a trace of hesitancy in his voice. "Why not come out and face me like a man?"

I chuckled, sending the laughter directly into his ears. He spun around in search of the source, but met nothing. I flung it to his other side and laughed some more to watch him whirl and twirl, looking more and more uneasy. "Why, don't you know, monsieur?" I told him, the words laced with mockery. "I'm no man at all, but a ghost."

"I don't fear ghosts," he replied, moving to set off further into the shadows, but she clutched his arm. "No, Raoul, don't!"

"It seems the lady disagrees with you," I said, moving my voice back up above their heads and then down again. "You might want to heed her warnings, monsieur." I sent the sounds back and forth, shifting all around like a chorus of specters merging with the darkness, closing in ever tighter.

"Erik, please," she pleaded, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Man or ghost, I will find you," her vicomte called. "Even ghosts can be banished."

"And so can you." With that, I unwound certain ropes from a wooden cleat and sent a series of sandbags plummeting to the floor. They landed with a crash and the burlap tore, spilling the contents at their feet. I was careful; I could never harm her and had no intention of doing so, and the boy was only spared because I couldn't hit him without putting her at risk. But she knew better than most how terrible I could be in a temper, and I made sure those bags landed just close enough for her to get the message.

The noise drew cast members and stage workers like ants to honey, and I departed unnoticed by anyone—except for her. I followed her eyes and for a moment I was sure she was looking right at me, guilty and shaken. I turned away and left the theater. No more games, Christine. The premiere was only a few short weeks away. I would give her that much more time with her young man before I claimed her forever.

I didn't speak to her again, but I watched every move she made, even following her out of the Opera House more than once. I was the unseen shadow, but she sensed me with every step she took. I could see it in the way her eyes darted around in search of a certain, familiar face. Yet she poured herself into the rehearsals, reluctantly at first but soon giving herself over to the music. She had always been powerless to resist my music, and this was the most powerful, beguiling, seductive work I'd ever written. There was nothing she could do to fight it, and it pleased me to see the passion and ecstasy it brought out in her. In time, with music to lead her there, she could come to love me. She would come to love me; of that, I was certain.

And as for her vicomte's plan to capture me, well, I had plans of my own. But...how was I to know, Christine? How was I to know the night would close in around me like a waking nightmare? If I had, I would have done so many things differently. I didn't want it to happen, but all it takes is one breath of wind to send the house of cards falling.

The premiere night came, and while the vicomte was staging his brilliant scheme, I was watching and waiting. The orchestra filed into the pit. The crew readied the stage. The actors were all warming up, teasing each other, gossiping, anything to take their minds off the anxiety. She stood apart, toying fretfully with the shawl of her costume and not meeting anyone's eye. The managers had spread the story that she was to be the heroine of the night, offering herself as bait to apprehend the villainous Phantom, but she looked more like a frightened school girl about to be reprimanded in front of the whole class, and none of the cast had forgiven her for bringing the Phantom's wrath down upon them in the first place.

The stage was set, in more ways than one. The time had come for this farce to be played out to the end.

Music erupted from the pit as the orchestra began my overture. For a moment, I forgot all about Christine; I am first and foremost a composer, and I was curious to see how the audience was responding to my work. I peered out into the auditorium.

My eyes widened in surprise and shock. There were roses everywhere, filling the seats where people should have sat and spilling out of the boxes and flooding the stage where the chorus had just appeared. There wasn't a human in sight, just the roses running wild. They danced and shrieked and capered about like evil sprites escaped from some dark fairy tale, their leaves a sickly green and their petals ebony black. Even as I watched, the blooms began to weep and ooze, and when I reached out to touch one my hand met warm blood.

A single, pure voice broke free of the cacophony and I glanced up to see her take the stage, walking right into those malevolent flowers. Dread filled my heart and I tried to warn her to stay back. "Christine!" I called, waving my hands and flinging red droplets from my fingers. "Christine, keep away from them—"

She stepped into the bramble and they began to grow around her, wrapping her in thorns and vines. I could still hear her singing, but the sound was growing fainter and fainter. "Christine! Christine!"

A pool of dark crimson spread across the stage, and my heart hammered in terror. "Christine!" I looked down into the puddle of blood now at my feet, and it seemed I could see her empty, lifeless eyes staring up at me—

"No!"

I woke with a start, drenched in sweat and my pulse racing. Her eyes still watched me in the darkness; I could almost feel them upon me as I strove to make sense of my thoughts. It was the night before the premiere. I had only dreamed it. She was safe and out of danger.

Danger? I asked myself. From what? What danger could she possibly be in?

Ah, but the vicomte holds the belief she's in danger from you, came the reply.

Ridiculous! I scoffed. He really is a fool if he believes that! I would die before I hurt her!

It was still and silent in my house, and I imagined I could hear those terrible roses singing my music again. I put my hands over my ears, but that did no good when the music was inside my head.

To drive it out, I rose from my bed and sat down to the organ, laying hands on the keys and conjuring a tempest with the mania of my playing, anything to drown out those roses. I saw them dancing and spinning again, and I focused more urgently on the notes in front of me. That nightmare had shaken me, far more than I cared to admit, and in it I feared some omen.

Nonsense, I assured myself. Roses don't dance, sing, or bleed. And black petaled ones don't exist at all.

I held to my plan as preparations were made the next day. To all appearances, it was an ordinary premiere of a new opera by an unknown composer. But if you used your eyes and your brain, you could spot the gendarme stationed everywhere in the theater and the grim, sober expressions of the staff, and surmise from there that something was afoot.

Everything was just as it had been in my dream—the orchestra, the audience, the cast, even the way she stood alone and nervous, even more nervous than usual. When the time came, she would play her part as was expected of her. I hadn't needed to train her to act, as it already came so easily to her. Tonight, however, she wouldn't pretend. I would make sure of that.

The music stared and...it was like I was asleep again, or at least moving automatically like a clockwork toy. I watched as the chorus left the stage, heard Piangi sing the lines I'd written for him—the only lines. His role in this drama was a small one, and his last performance. Poor bastard. I'd never had much against him, but he was in my way.

As soon as he was out of sight, I sprang upon him, casting the lasso I held ready around his neck and tightening the knot. His eyes widened in alarm and horror and he opened his mouth to shout for help, but I drew the noose even tighter and covered his mouth with my hand so he couldn't make a noise. I heard her sing her first lines out on the stage, and in that instant Ubaldo Piangi became Raoul de Chagny, and I finished the job with glee, dangling his corpse to be found later. Then I joined her in front of the audience.

Oh, Christine, I must be dreaming... It couldn't possibly be me out there with her, it just couldn't. Only in my dreams had I felt her body so close to mine, and it was only in my imagination that she had ever trembled with longing that way, guided by the music I had written to what I knew were her true feelings. She invited my every touch, responding so instinctively and powerless to fight. And then she sang, and I felt her touch in my turn. Oh, God, Christine, if jealousy isn't the fastest road to madness, then this burning need for you is. It couldn't be real...but my heart told me it was.

Until—

She yanked the rug out from under my feet again. She betrayed me and our love once more, and exposed me like an animal. She had no idea that the animal she and her boy thought they'd cornered had only just been set free, and there was nothing in my power to control it.

Amid the screams and chaos, we vanished, and I vowed she wouldn't get away from me ever again. This time she'd be mine forever.

But what she'd done snapped the last thread connecting me to reality, and the animal within me was out of control. I was filled with rage and passion and agony. The grip I had on her wrist as I pulled her along behind me was so tight my knuckles shrieked in pain, but I wouldn't let go no matter how they ached or how she pleaded.

"Erik, please!" she cried. "Please, stop!"

"Why did you do that?" I demanded, my voice raised to a harsh shout. "Why did you do that to me, Christine?"

"You're hurting me!"

"And what about the way you hurt me? Christine, how could you? It wasn't enough for you to rip out my soul and throw me away as if I meant nothing; you had to shame and humiliate me before God and man like a monster!"

"I'm not a monster!"

"Oh, but you are!" I seized her by the hair and yanked her face up to look into mine. "Look at me!" I yelled. "This is what lurks in your soul, Christine, and the soul of every member of the godforsaken race that calls itself humanity! You're all as much of a monster as I am, you just hide it better!"

"No, I—"

"Yes, Christine! You all made me what I am! You wanted a beast, and now you'll have one!"

We arrived at my house on the lake and I hauled her to her room, still maintaining my grip on her hair. She hurried along as fast as she could, but I could still hear her little cries of pain when I moved faster than she did, and I felt no compassion for her.

I opened her door and flung her inside. She stumbled slightly and gasped as her eyes fell on the bed, where a wedding gown and veil waited for her.

"Put it on," I ordered.

She turned back to me, her eyes begging for mercy. "Erik, please—"

"Put on the gown!" I shouted. "Do it! Or I'll do it for you!"

She hesitated, but when I started forward she raised shaking hands to the fastening of her costume, shooting terrified glances at me as if she expected me to storm over and force my anger and lust upon her. But I was determined everything would be perfect for our wedding, and that included a virginal bride. I turned my back and left the room, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

My heart was pounding painfully in my chest and my breath came in rapid bursts that hurt almost as much. I had to get myself under control again—but it was no good. I wouldn't be easy until we were married as I'd planned, until she was mine completely, beyond the reach of any other man who'd steal her from me.

I forced myself to wait until she'd had time to change, lurking directly outside the door and pacing restlessly. I flexed my hands again and again to keep them from shaking and concentrated on taking deep, steadying breaths. At last, I ran out of patience and opened the door again.

For a moment I forgot my anger, my misery, even my own name. She was just so beautiful...every thought was driven from my mind the second I looked at her. Robed in white, wearing the dress I'd chosen for her, looking every bit as perfect as I'd imagined she would. Yet there was still an overwhelming sorrow and fear in her eyes that spoiled the fantasy, a pallor in her face that seemed more suited for the tomb than the altar, and it struck me like a rock thrown at my head. It wasn't supposed to be like this; she was supposed to be happy on our wedding day.

I stepped into the room and picked up the veil from the bed. I shook out the trailing lace and set the crown of flowers on her head. I let my hands linger for a time, feeling the silk of her hair against my skin and daring to run my fingers through her curls. I loved her...I loved her so much it would surely destroy us both.

"Come with me," I said. "It's time."

"Time for what?" she asked tremulously. "Erik, I'm—I'm scared. You're scaring me."

"There's no reason to be scared," I replied. "It's only natural to be nervous before the wedding, but we're going to be so happy, Christine. I plan on buying a little house somewhere quiet where we can gorge on music until we're drunk with it. I—I know you don't fully love me yet, but you will in time, you'll see."

She stared at me as if she didn't understand my meaning, or perhaps feared I had lost my mind. Well, if I had, it was her doing. Loving her was enough to drive a man insane, especially given what we'd had to go through just to get where we were, about to be joined in matrimony. It would be perfect from here on out.

I took her hand with more gentleness than I'd felt all night and led her from her room. A lakeside wedding would be romantic, with the stillness around us, the peace of the isolation and the sound of the water. I didn't even feel the chill as we went outside and stood on the shore and paid no mind to the odor of the damp and decay. Those were only trifling details. It was really quite lovely out here.

I kissed her hand and slipped a gold ring on her finger. "I, Erik, take you, Christine, as my lawful wife," I recited. "I will love, honor, and cherish you from now until death parts us. This I swear from this day forth." I nodded to her. "Your turn, my dear. Do you take me as your lawful husband?"

"Erik, this—this isn't right," she protested. "This is wrong!"

"I couldn't get a priest to perform a proper ceremony," I apologized. "But I don't think some improvisation will make a mockery of our marriage state."

"Mockery! This whole thing is a mockery!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Before two people can be wed, they have to be in love!"

"We are in love."

"No, Erik, we're not, and we never can be!"

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because I love Raoul!"

I waved that aside. "I'll allow that you have a fondness for him as your old companion, but it's just not possible for you to love him."

"And what makes you think it's possible for me to love you?" she demanded, on the verge of hysteria. Tears pooled in her eyes and she stared at me with a new feverishness, fear thrust aside for desperation. "Erik, I just—I can't love you!"

"You can learn to love me, Christine, if you'd only try." The calm I'd held briefly was slipping again. Why did I have to explain it so many times? We were destined for each other, and I would see to it we remained together forever. "Just try! You'll love me when you give yourself the chance! It's not acceptable for you to love me out there among society. I understand that, but I'll take you away from all that, then wait and see!"

"Just let me go," she begged. "Please, do the right thing and release me!"

"How can I do that now that you're my wife?" I demanded, seizing her hand and raising it to eye level so she could see the ring sitting so sweetly on her finger. "A perfect fit, my darling bride, and now you're mine until death do us part."

"I've agreed to nothing! To be your wife, I must take you as my husband!"

"Yes, of course, I nearly forgot! Do you, Christine, take me as—"

"No!"

"Why not?" I snapped, losing patience. "Why are you being so stubborn, Christine? It's as simple as 'I do,' and that's not difficult at all."

"I won't, and nothing can force me! I won't marry you!"

"You will," I told her, my voice hard and unyielding. "If I have to force you after all, you will be mine."
She shook her head slightly in obstinacy and disbelief. "You wouldn't, not if you really loved me. If you loved me, you wouldn't be such a monster."

"Monster! That's a word I know well, Christine, and I've played that part perfectly! But I'm tired of being the villain, and I want my chance to be the prince in the fairy tale who lives happily ever after with his true love." I seized her by the arms and raged, "If I'm a monster, it's because of you! You put this demon inside me with the thought of your love, and it won't rest until you love me in return!"

"I can't make myself love you, Erik!" she cried. "I couldn't even begin to try! That's not what love is!"

I tightened my grip on her, hardly registering her cry of pain. "Then teach me," I begged. "Christine, please—"

"Let go of me!"

"Teach me how to love, I know you can! Just stay with me, please—"

"I'd rather die than stay here!"

Something made me pause instantly. It was something I had never heard so strongly in her voice, except for when she sang: sincerity. She truly meant what she said. Whatever she might have felt for me when we sang together, she didn't love me, and she would leave me forever one way or another.

I—have no words for what happened to me then. If there had been fire in my veins before, then I must have been possessed by Lucifer as fury dark as sin and bloody as Hell itself consumed me. She wouldn't give me her love as long as she lived...as long as she lived...I felt the true reaches of madness take me as I moved my hands from her arms to her throat, barely aware of what I was doing. "Then let me grant that request," I told her, fearing the malice I heard in the words yet unable to hold it back. "If I can't have your heart, then I'll be damned if I won't have your death to call my own!"

And I held on.

She had wanted me to set her free, but I never would. She had pleaded with me to release her, but I refused to let her go. She had fought to break my power over her, but I clung even tighter.

She couldn't speak as I tightened my grasp, feeling her pulse grow faint beneath my fingers. I had given her her voice, and now I would take it back! It was mine! Damn her! Damn her for making me love her and driving me insane with want of her! Damn her!

Her knees sagged beneath her and soon I was supporting her by my grip on her neck. Her hands struggling vainly at my fingers fell limp and the spark of life in her eyes flickered, then vanished. I released her at last and she fell in a useless heap at my feet.

Leave me now, Christine. You're mine for eternity.

I stood staring down at her, my chest heaving; I'd been holding my own breath the entire time, maybe in some perverse hope that I could die along with her. Her eyes were blank and empty, already as glassy as a china doll's. Indeed, she looked just as lovely and lifeless as a toy discarded by a careless child...

A new kind of madness rose up in me, choking me and filling me with horror and terror. Oh God, what had I done?

I threw myself down beside her, drawing her into my arms and shaking her restlessly. "No, please no! I didn't! I didn't mean to, no! Christine, wake up! Please, please wake up!" Tears filled my eyes and fell down onto her face, rolling down her cheeks as if she was crying with me. God, please no! Please! I didn't! I couldn't!

"Christine! Christine!"

She just lay there, never moving and never speaking, her body still warm but already growing cold in the dismal air of the catacombs. A sob caught in my throat. "Christine, please...please..." I pressed my face into her curls and wept. Part of me still refused to accept it. I couldn't have, there was no way I could have! Yet my damaged heart knew the truth all the same. She was gone, dead.

And I'd killed her.

"Oh God, Christine!" Take it back, God, please! Kill me instead! Just bring her back and send me to Hell where I belong! Death is better than this! I couldn't take the feeling in my soul, that I had somehow ripped it to pieces then set them on fire. I rocked her back and forth, sobbing and pleading for it to be undone, but there was no erasing the atrocity I'd committed. This guilt was mine, and mine alone.

Rapid footsteps echoed behind me, but I didn't lift my head. I knew who it would be before I heard his call. "Christine! Where are you?" He came forward and saw me kneeling by the water. "What have you done with her?" he demanded. "Let her go, or—" I heard him halt behind me and knew that he could see her at last...could see what had happened.

"No!" he cried, his voice betraying his own tears. "Christine! What have you done, you monster!" He tried to push me away from her, but I lashed out at him and held him at bay. "Stay away," I ordered.
"Get away from her! I have to see her! Let her go!"

I struck out again with a snarl of agony. "Leave me be, boy!"

"You killed her! Oh, Christine, you killed her!"

No! "Yes!" I screamed, the sound of the truth so terrible in my ears. "Now go, before I kill you too! Go! Just leave me alone!"

"No, I won't leave her here with you!" He reached out as if he meant to take her from me, but I lunged and struck him down.

"You won't take her from me!" I shouted. "Now go! Get out of here! Go!"

He hesitated, took one long last look at her, then turned and fled into the darkness.

I brushed my tears from her face and clung to her. This wasn't good enough for her, and it was too good for me. She deserved to live and be happy; I deserved to live and suffer. It was my own selfishness that had brought us to this. I had destroyed the only thing I'd ever given my heart to. She had wounded it badly, but by my own hand I had ravaged it completely until there was nothing left. How could I have done this to her? She couldn't make herself love me, and I couldn't force her to. That wasn't her fault, and how was she to blame if I was a plague that decimated all I touched? She was only human, and I was less than that...a true monster.

There were more echoes, this time of a crowd of angry voices crying for vengeance. A mob...at last. Let them come and do what they would, but they wouldn't lay a hand on Christine.

I stood with her in my arms and carried her to the cavern wall behind which my house was built. I gently laid her down, adjusting the skirt of her gown and smoothing back her hair. I folded her hands over her breast, but she looked too much like a corpse laid for burial. I rested her arms at her sides instead and turned her head to look once more into her eyes.

Empty and lifeless.

I closed them with trembling fingers, then staggered away from her. I went out to meet the coming mob, and they closed in around me with fists and makeshift clubs. I hardly felt the first blows they gave me, then lost myself in the pain when it caught up with me. I glanced at her one more time. It seemed we were to die together after all. They beat me down to the ground, striking me again and again, and I knew they meant to kill me. Well, let them. I was already dead anyway.

I saw her fallen veil in the corner of my eye, trampled beneath their boots. The roses of the crown were still untouched, and in the shadows they looked black—black as the ebony keys of a piano, black as night with no moon, black as death. I felt it speeding towards me on silent wings and welcomed its embrace.

I'm sorry, Christine.