Christine was always a good girl. Christine was not a liar, or so she tried to tell herself. No, she wasn't a malicious liar, that would be closer to the truth of it all.

In truth, Christine was a liar. A dirty, dirty liar. She liked to shake the thought from her head, giving her husband sweet smiles and light kisses, trying, trying so hard to be the doting and loving wife that he deserved.

But she wasn't it. She saw the love in his eyes every time he looked her way, every time she gave one of her shy smiles. He thought it was sweet; she knew it was guilt.

At night, when they laid together, his arms tight around her, all she felt was coldness. Dead and cold, she though. How fitting.

She hadn't lied on purpose though, and she contented herself with this knowledge. Up until a few months ago she truly did believe that she loved Raoul, truly thought that he could be her savior in the world of darkness that had been thrust upon her by the strange man in a mask, the man who called himself Erik.

Now Erik was dead, and Christine was more alone than ever, even in the gentle embrace of her husband. Every single night she prayed for forgiveness of the atrocities she had committed. Every night she stood in the darkness, closing her eyes tightly and listening for the whisper of wind that carried the remnants of that voice that still called to her, even after his death. She would never be free of him.

And every night she would return inside, give her husband a strained smile and assure him that she was fine, that she just enjoyed the night breeze and it helped to relax her before bed. He would smile, kiss her and tell him how much he loved her, that he would always be there and care for her.

The words just left her numb. But she would smile, kiss him and assure him she was happy. 'Liar,' the cold breeze would whisper through the still cracked door, and she would swear that it was his voice.

Every night she dreamt of him, held him, spoke to him. In her sleep, she was truly happy. In her waking time, she would wander the world as a sleep walker, haunted and tired. Only a shadow of herself.

Many would ask why she would have gone through with the marriage she didn't truly want. If she had made her thoughts known, if she had been asked the question, she would have simply smiled a small, shy smile and say "Why would I keep looking for the one? I found him and now he is gone. Once, once I found him. Now he is gone."

When Erik died he took with him every chance at her happiness. With Raoul at least there was familiarity, comfort. And though she could never truly say she was happy, she allowed herself to be content.

And when Raoul would look at her, eyes brimming with love and pride, and tell her that he loved her, she would return the words softly, with that shy smile of hers.

Christine was a good girl, but Christine was also a liar.