The evening was a cool one, an occasional breeze lowering the temperature even further with each pass. Gray clouds filled the sky, lighting up the world below by reflecting the light of the moon.

It was going to snow, decided a lithe man standing near the back of the cemetery. Numerous tombstones threw shadows about him, leaving little to be seen aside from the white mask upon his face… Pulling away from one such stone, he strode forward, gazing about at the morose scene.

The living dead amongst the nonliving; how very fitting.

The swish of a cloak could be heard as Erik began down one of the stone covered paths, heading towards the newer area, where people were most likely to be found. Few came to visit those long passed.

As the night watchman, it was his duty to protect the dead from desecration, to insure that their everlasting sleep would not be disturbed. At the same time, they protected him from the prying eyes of the world, away from those who would mock and jeer…

Sighing softly, he raised a hand to the cool face that rested upon his own. A face within a face, his never to see the light of day again. It had taken nearly forty years for him to realize it, to realize that he was meant to be alone… At one point, he'd placed hopes for a normal life in a young girl, yet she too had turned against him as his mother had.

His hand pulled away suddenly, as though having been burned. Rage filled him, momentarily blocking his vision and drawing an inhuman sound from his lips… As quickly as the anger had come, it was gone again, leaving the calm and aloof man behind. He had little now, but no less than he had had before… He would survive with only his music to keep him company; he knew that it would never betray him.

Sinking down at the foot of a familiar stone, he gazed straight ahead, his eyes blank and his mind wandering. There was so very little to do at night, and Monsieur Daaé was certainly not going to keep him company as a good host should.

The sound of soft footsteps was heard against the dirt path leading towards him; no, towards the grave. Erik flew to his feet, dark eyes narrowing. Who would be out at such a late hour?

His hand delved into his coat, fingers brushing briefly against a strand of braided cat-gut. Although he doubted the Punjab lasso would be used, it did not hurt to be prepared. After all, the world was full of predators…

Cautiously slipping behind another, taller stone, his dark eyes silently peered out, focusing on the supposed visitor. They widened as a familiar face came into view and his heart forgot to beat. Although he knew her presence was inevitable, nothing could have prepared him for her sudden arrival.

Drawing further back, he fully intended to make his way quickly to the other side of the cemetery, back where Madame de Chagny would never be found. No longer did he wish to watch her from afar; no longer did he wish to revel in her beauty.

Closing his eyes against his inner pain, Erik soundlessly began away, only to be stopped when she spoke.

"Erik?" came a hesitant call, sounding so wonderful upon her tongue.

But how? No doubt a coincidence of sorts… Perhaps the cemetery reminded her of him, after all, he had tried to spirit her away near this very grave only a few short years before…

All too willingly, Erik found himself halting at summons, his traitorous eyes returning once more to her. As he stood there, he took in her heavy garments, grimacing as he saw she was with child. Of course, that too was inevitable; she and the Viscount loved one another more than life itself, didn't they?

The pain was growing too much to bear and he felt as though he were being crushed beneath the weight of his past and his emotions. He made to move forward yet again, but her voice rang out once more.

"Erik? Are you there?"

How did she know? Perhaps this was some sort of nightmare, or perhaps a hallucination. Maybe Nadir was right when he said that he was wasting away…

"Erik, I know that you're there. Nadir told me that you would be here."

Damn that man! He should have killed him as well as Raoul when he had them so snugly in the torture chamber!

Reluctantly, Erik withdrew from the shadows, now facing Madame de Chagny. He did not speak, afraid that he would be unable to due to the constricting of his throat.

A serene smile drew across Christine's face and her eyes softened on seeing him. "Erik…" she murmured, slowly stepping forward.

Ignoring, simultaneously, the urge to rush forward and the urge to retreat, Erik remained silent and unmoving.

Her smile faded and hurt filled her eyes. Really, what could she expect as she had turned him away so long ago? Although she had loved him then, the security and fondness she'd held for Raoul had led her away from her Angel of Music.

"What is it that you want, Madame?" Erik finally managed to ask, the music from his voice missing and his tone seeming dead.

"I…only wanted to see you…" she murmured, gaze shifting to the ground.

"You have. Should you not be returning to your husband? I'm certain he wouldn't want his wife meeting strange men at so late an hour. Especially in a cemetery. He might begin to question your loyalty to him."

Inwardly, he grimaced at his harsh words, wishing he could keep a more civil tongue while in her presence. Despite his love for her and despite his acceptance of her decision, he could not help but be somewhat resentful… When she left, she had taken him with her, leaving only an empty shell of a man behind.

Christine's fists clenched at her side and she struggled between tears and anger. "Do you want me to leave?" she demanded.

He sent her a cool look before nodding once. "If you wouldn't mind, Madame, I have so very much to do, ensuring that the dead stay where they are supposed to."

"If you insist…" she murmured, defeated. How could she think that he would treat her as before?

"I only wanted to tell you…to tell you…"

"To tell me, what?"

"That my son has taken an interest in the violin."

"Wonderful," he replied dryly, "perhaps he will become the next Herr Mozart. Tell me, Madame, what is your true reason for coming here? If your purpose was to twist the knife you placed in my back, then I assure you that you have succeeded."

She visibly grimaced. "That isn't what I meant…" she protested.

"What did you mean?"

"I mean… I was hoping… I was hoping you could teach him…"

Anger flooded through him and he felt the familiar constriction of his chest that usually arose when his pulse quickened. Without another word, he spun on his heel and began to stiffly walk away.

"Erik! Wait!"

This time, he ignored her.

"Erik! Please, wait!"

He continued forward.

"Erik, there is no one else I can turn to!"

The note of pleading in her voice caused him to turn, confusion further contorting his features behind the mask. Why was she so insistent? Why had she come here to ask so foolish a thing?

"Erik... He is… Nicolas is…"

"He is what, Madame? You are trying my patience."

"He is deformed." she whispered.

-----------------------

What do you think? Is it worth continuing?