Raoul awoke to the sound of crying.
It was a sound that was not unknown to the young man's ears. He turned to see Christine huddled in their bed, her small hands covering her face, and her frame shaking with barely suppressed sobs.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I just can't sleep." Her words were muffled, and dripped with torment.
It was a week or so after their terrible experiences within the bowels of the Paris Opera. They had run away from the bright city lights of Paris, and found a quiet place to be married. They were alone, but as they had one another, they did not mind too much.
While Christine was not the only one left with scars from the experience (for Raoul's sake, there were no mirrors in their small, secluded home), the former opera star's experiences from the past months left her in an almost debilitated state. Raoul did his best to comfort his young wife, but he was not much older than she, and both were naive and unsure in everything except their love for one another.
And the former viscount sometimes doubted even that.
"Do you wish to talk about it, Lottie?" He placed a hand upon Christine's back, his look worried, but reassuring. "You can always talk to me."
Christine uncovered her face, and looked up at her childhood friend. Black rings outlined her eyes, and she had lost weight. A mixture of unhappy emotions covered her haggard but beautiful face. For a brief moment, Christine's sunken eyes reminded Raoul of the face of...But he would not dwell upon that thought. His Lottie finally spoke. "I don't wish to burden you. I don't want to hurt..."
Having heard these exact words everyday for the past week, Raoul embraced her, and interrupted. "Shhh. You will not burden me, and even if you do, is that not a part of my job as a husband? To carry a few of your burdens?" He cupped her pale face with his hands. "Do not be afraid of me, Christine."
A look that was almost filled with pity covered the young woman's face, and with a sigh, she sat back upon her heels. While her look of anxiety and despair did not disappear completely, a little of that strong, yet compassionate, determination returned to Christine's features. I hope she will recover fully to the strength she was filled with before... Raoul thought.
"It's just that...Raoul, I do not know what I feel sometimes. I said that to you before, many months ago, but it is different now. I do not know whether I feel relieved, afraid, guilty, or..."
"Regret?"
Christine gasped. "Raoul, what you mean? What do you mean 'regret'?"
Raoul shakily covered his face with one hand. "I-I am sorry, please go on. I meant nothing."
"No, Raoul, you must tell me. What regret do fear from me?" Christine, compassionate creature she was, had turned to comfort her own husband, and ignore her own anxiety.
Raoul's face crumpled, but he did not cry. His countenance spoke of apologies, though no words escaped his mouth. "Do you regret choosing me?"
Christine's shoulders slumped, and she rested her hand upon her husband's. A few tears dropped upon their entwined hands. "Oh God, Christine, I'm sorry, I just...please..."
"No, Raoul."
"What?" Confusion, fear, and disbelief sunk into his words.
"I don't regret choosing you. I would never regret that."
Raoul looked at their clasped hands. "How can you be so sure? While full of madness, and despite his face, he was a genius, greater than I ever could be."
"Raoul, you asked me once if I could love Erik if he had a normal face. I told you then that I did not, could not. It matters not what Erik could have been. What I am feeling for Erik and our time together is not love, or regret for not staying with him. It is...I think it is guilt."
Raoul gave a confused look. "But...does that not imply that you regret not staying with him?"
Brief anger flashed in Christine's eyes. "Do you not understand? If I had stayed, I would have died!" Raoul looked up, terror radiating off of his body. "I would have either committed suicide, or simply withered away, from lack of light, freedom...and you. And even now, I am not sure I would not have died at the hands of that poor, fallen angel." She began to sob in full, and her voice rose in panic. "And Raoul, what is so terrible, if he had killed me, he would have done so in a fit of madness, only to awaken to find me dead! Each time he hurt me, he was not himself. It was as if he was possessed by a demon, and frequently could not believe what he had done, and he would cry in remorse! How could I put myself in that danger? And how could I have left him to such a fate? Was it not more merciful to have him remember me alive rather than dead at his own hands? But..." Christine paused, her grief overcoming her.
Raoul placed his hand on top of hers. "What?"
Gasping for control of her emotions, Christine replied, "But by leaving him, I have condemned him to death! I have left him to die alone beneath the ground! Despite every wretched thing he did to me and others, he taught me so much! And even in deception, he delivered me from a death of the soul. My soul was shrouded in darkness over my father's death. Did I recover from darkness by entering into darkness? Oh God, Raoul, he told me he will die! I am a murderer!"
As his wife shook apart, and her sobs almost turned to shrieks, he grabbed her shoulders to stable her. "Listen to me. Listen to me! You are not a murderer. You are not a murderer! You did what you could! More than anyone could! Do you remember what you did, love? You told me! Remember?"
"I-I...held him. And I said, 'Poor, unhappy Erik.' And I gave him his only kiss!"
"And?"
"I mingled my tears with his own!" Christine cried.
"Even though his actions were horrible, and even though he might die, you saved that man from utter darkness. You saved that man's soul."
Christine simply rested her head in her young husband's lap and cried. After what could have been an hour or a few minutes, she said, "Thank you, Raoul. I don't know if this feeling will ever go away, but thank you."
"I only spoke truth. I will do anything for you," he replied, patting her blond curls.
"And Raoul, I chose you because I love you. Please know that."
They did not sleep that night. They simply held on to one another and grieved for something they did not quite understand.