If it had been a different time, the flighty girls in the Palais Garnier ballet corps might have described a face like a dead channel on the tv set-a fried, pixelated mess of mixed-up and pointed shapes. Those talks which used to amuse Christine Daae now filled her with unbearable dread, even as she lived with both-the face and the dread- and had not had a talk with the ballet corps for several weeks.

Erik was not horrible. Christine had no wish to end their friendship, but she very often wished they might be pen pals of a sort, and only see each other through written notes. Their friendly interactions passed unwillingly into the surreal when Christine watched-with some morbidity-a mournfully-dressed corpse squirm neatly into a plush, pink chair and read, or hum, or do any typical thing that a typical man would do.

It was a little horrifying how Erik could pervert the most normal things. Christine imagined it might be similar to a snake wrapping its cold, slimey body around her arm and then giving her a little kiss.

But he still wore his mask. She thanked him silently for that.

Christine woke up most days preparing herself for those dreadful things. Keep calm breaths. It is no dream. And on one day, as she stepped into the parlor and had a look around, she realized this:

She was alone.

"Erik?" she called. She wondered if he had slept in, though that didn't seem like him at all. She had never heard him get up, and Christine sometimes wondered if he got up early, or if he ever slept at all. The thought made her shudder.

"Erik?" she called again. He was not in the parlor; seemingly not in the kitchen. No music came from his room either, and in fact, there was no noise at all. Nothing but Christine's own breath, and her own voice.

"It might be a blessing," she said. "He probably went out. He might have left a note."

But she made no effort to look for one. She sank instead into a nearby chair, which groaned under her and, curiously, did not groan again when Christine tested it. Just as she had settled in, she heard the same low groan. She realized that it had not come from the chair. She stood.

"Erik?" she said more urgently. "Are you here?" She walked quickly toward his bedroom door. It was closed, and no light came from underneath it, so she knocked softly.

"Erik, are you inside?"

She pressed her ear against the door. The sound of rustling cloth and a few shuddering breaths reached. She heard a hoarse voice.

"Yes, I am here."

"You sound ill," she said.

"I am not."

Christine stood and thought a moment, her hand on the door knob. She felt very exposed standing outside the room. "May I come in?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I am not-not decent."

She heard the noises of a person shifting around. "I am coming in soon," Christine warned.

"Don't please."

"I promise not to look." She waited for a minute, listening at the door. "Are you ready?"

"I am not dressed!"

"Are you not dressed, or are you not dressed nicely?" She listened for his response.

"...I am not dressed nicely," he said.

"Then I am coming in." The parlor light lit the way as she pushed open the door. Erik's noises of disagreement were lost in a harsh coughing fit. She averted her eyes.

She had not entered Erik's bedroom since the first day he had shown it to her. In a way she was grateful for the large, almost ordinary door which hid so many dark things-coffins and spidery writings. But the door was always in sight from any seat in the parlor, and sometimes it was the thing she could not see which became the most frightening. She came closer to Erik's...bed. She saw that his face was bare, and his eyes were closed, so she kept her eyes at a point just above his head.

"Don't come in," Erik said.

"...I'm already in, Erik."

He made a small noise and turned his face away, pushing it into his pillow. "I don't have my mask," he said.

"I'm not looking. You said you were well."

"I am."

Christine looked Erik up and down. A thin blanket was thrown clumsily over most of his body, but a thin, spindly hand poked out from underneath it. A layer of sweat shone on Erik's skin, and his breathing was heavy. Christine forced her eyes up to Erik's face. She closed her eyes. She opened them again for a quick look.

She waved her hand before his eyes; they moved, but lazily.

Finally, she sighed. "You don't look well to me."

Erik huffed weakly and brought his hand up to cover his face. "Don't look," he said.

Christine reached out and placed his hand back on the blanket. "How long have you been ill?" she asked. "Erik?"

Erik kept his face turned away. He sighed. "Erik...went to bed ill."

Christine remembered. Erik had gone to his room so early last night, she had assumed he must be getting ready to compose. He had been quiet all evening. She felt a little more concern.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked.

Erik shook his head bluntly.

"How do you feel?"

He huffed and groaned and shifted in the bed. "Please go away. I feel nothing at all."

Christine leaned forward and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. Erik immediately stilled; he didn't even breathe.

"You have a horrible fever," she said.

"It's alright. I don't mind."

"Have you eaten? Did you have anything to drink?"

Erik was uncooperative. He huffed and whined.

Christine closed her eyes and scratched her hairline, sighing. "It isn't right to be ill in a coffin," she said.

"I am fine."

The two sat stubbornly in silence for a while. It was no contest-Erik's deep-sunk eyes fought to stay open and alert.

"Do you want to sleep?" Christine finally asked.

"Yes!" Erik said. "Yes, thank you. I'd like to sleep."

"Well you won't sleep here. Not in a coffin. You'll sleep in a bed."

Erik laughed and then coughed. "There are no guestrooms," he said. When he smiled, he looked more and more like a skull.

"Then you'll sleep in my room."

Erik's smile disappeared. "Christine, no," he said.

"I'll make you something to eat, and then you'll sleep in my bed." She began to walk to the door.

"But I-I am completely drenched!" He gripped the side of his coffin. "I will ruin it! Erik will make it all smell."

Christine looked at him with great seriousness. "Then you will have a bath."

The color drained from Erik's face. She closed the door.