Hello, I'm trying something new for a change. I'm dedicating this to a good friend of mine: Mac, because she's helped me out of a lot of trouble lately. There is some serious Raoul bashing in this, so if you love Raoul, please go elsewhere, I can guarantee you will not like this phic. I myself do not hate Raoul, I actually sort of like him, and I know why Christine loved him and not Erik. PLEASE do not post reviews defending him; because I am not attacking him, it is just necessary for the story. For the rest of you E/C shippers please read and I hope you like it. Leroux based. I do not own Phantom of the Opera.

-Heir de Erik

Erik paced about his home, agitated and miserable. He could think of nothing but Christine and he constantly replayed all that had happened in his mind.

Erik had had her. She should have been his, would have been his! She had consented to marry him, she was practically his wife! He had saved the Daroga and the boy, gotten the Daroga to his home, and put the boy in the communard's passage. When he had returned, the most wonderful thing in the world had happened; Christine had let him kiss her. He had placed his cold, dead lips against her perfect forehead, and she had let him! It was too much. He had fallen at her feet and bathed them with his hot tears. "Poor, unhappy Erik!" she had said. He was merely an object of her pity, she did not love him. How could she? So he did the only thing he could have done; he let her go. He released the boy and showed Christine and her young man out of his house.

It had been three weeks since all this had happened. Erik now knew all that he had done wrong. He was vicious and unpredictable, unstable, frightening. He had scared away the woman he loved. If only she would come back to him, he would be the gentlest creature that ever lived.

But she was gone, away with the Viscount, soon to begin a life in the aristocracy all because he could not control himself in front of Christine.

Erik moaned as despair set its claws into his heart. He clutched his chest, feeling very much physically injured by his broken heart. He couldn't live like this for long, wishing for things that could never be. He had made up his mind; if he didn't die soon, he would take his life. He would lie down in his coffin with Don Juan Triumphant and sleep for ever. This would have to be done in short order, for he felt that he could not live another day enduring this kind of pain. These had been the longest three weeks of his life for one reason; he had no music.

Before, Erik had always had his music. He had been hateful, joyous, despairing, lovely, and jealous, but he had always had the company of the melodies forming themselves in his mind, but no more. Since Christine had left, not one note had come to comfort him in his misery. He had pulled out pieces that he had previously written and played them, but it had been as if they were hollow. No longer did they have any meaning, for their source had been carved out.

Erik was completely alone, wallowing in his pain and sorrow. No, Erik would not torture himself any longer. It was time to sleep forever. But first, he had to see Christine one more time.

Erik donned his cloak and left his house, the chilly night of the city enveloping him as he stepped away from the Palais Garnier. He breathed in the cool air and the light breeze ruffled is cloak. With a sigh, he stepped into the shadows and made himself invisible.

Erik made his way through Paris, blending into the darkness and never making a noise. He knew where the Chagny manor was, and he climbed the drainpipe to stand on the balcony of a large room of the house. He was careful to stay out of sight, for he had been shot at the last time he had stood on this balcony. Fortunately, the boy had misfired and the bullet had grazed the shoulder of a stray cat which proceeded to dash away as he slid down the drainpipe. Besides, Erik did not have to worry about his golden eyes betraying him this time, for the room into which he looked was brightly lit. Certain he could not be seen; Erik looked in on the scene that was taking place behind the glass doors of the balcony.

As he expected, he saw Christine and the Viscount, as the siren had killed his brother, and the Viscount was to inherit his title. What he did not expect to see was that the two were having an argument, for they obviously were. Christine's eyebrows were knit together in a frown and her arms were crossed over her chest. The boy was gesturing wildly with his arms as he spoke. Erik could not hear what was being said, but neither of them was happy about it. Whatever the boy had been saying had obviously struck one of Christine's nerves, for she uncrossed her arms and straightened them out by her sides, he hands balled into fists. Her mouth moved quickly, and what she said obviously had great meaning. The boy lowered his arms, which had been raised in a gesture of exasperation, and set his jaw as he lifted his chin to glower at Christine.

Christine's expression had changed as well. Her eyebrows no longer met and her eyes searched the boy's face pleadingly. Her hands were now shaking and she held them in front of her stomach lightly clasped together. She looked down at her feet, apparently ashamed of what she had said. The boy's shoulders sagged and he turned away from Christine while shaking his head and rubbing his temples. Christine looked up and took a step toward him, then another and another until she stood just behind him. She lifted a hand and placed it on his back, just between his shoulders. The boy started as she touched him, and turned around sharply. Christine quickly pulled her hand back. They both seemed to relax as they saw one another. It had been as though they both expected a specter to appear before their eyes, but were pleasantly surprised to find out otherwise. Relieved, the two seemed much more at ease. The boy tucked a loose lock of Christine's golden hair behind her ear. They both seemed to regret what had been exchanged.

Erik watched with curiosity and sadness as the two of them argued, then seemingly made up. That could have been him and Christine, but in his mind, Erik had never imagined himself arguing with Christine. Erik's dreaming was cut short as the boy opened the door that led out to the balcony. This would be hard to deal with. The boy and Christine had just walked out onto the balcony and were looking up at the stars. Erik was about to slip away when he heard the sound of Christine's voice.

"Raoul," she started, and then paused for a few seconds before continuing to speak. "You can't keep me from going."

"Christine," the boy sighed and looked at her. "I don't want you going, and that is final."

"I am not asking for permission," Christine kept her voice level. "I am going."

"I forbid you to go," the boy's voice rose.

"I don't answer to you!" Now there was silence between the two and they simply stared at each other.

"I promised," Christine whispered and looked away.

Erik finally realized what they had been arguing about. He was overjoyed that Christine felt obliged to keep her promise, but he had always known that the boy would keep her from coming back. However, Christine had only promised to return when he was dead…so why were they even having this discussion? Erik was answered by a newspaper lying, open to the obituaries, on a small outdoor table to his left. Printed on the newspaper were these words; Erik is Dead.

Oh Daroga, Erik thought. You are an idiot.

Or was he? Erik really had no way of knowing whether he was alive or dead. For all he knew, he could have died as soon as Christine left, which would explain many things. But how could that possibly be? It was all nonsense, and Erik refused to dwell on the subject. He would deal with the Daroga later, but for now he was anxious to see the argument progress.

"Why do you even want to go back there Christine?" the boy implored, bewildered. "If you recall, he nearly killed…"

"You," Christine cut him off. "He nearly killed you, Raoul. Besides, he is dead, how could I worry about my own safety?"

They were silent for a while, the boy looking at Christine and Christine looking up to the heavens.

"Christine," the boy spoke in a gentle tone. "You said it yourself. He is dead! He can no longer threaten you and hold you to your word! You are out of his control! You are absolutely free!"

"I'm not asking you to come with me," Christine spoke up. "But believe you me, I am going back. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

"We shall see," the boy rose to his full height and strode back into the room, leaving Christine on the balcony.

Christine put both of her hands on the railing of the balcony and gripped it until her knuckles turned white. The wind blew her hair and it whipped around like a gold banner. She sighed and looked up at the night sky, her blue eyes reflecting the moon's light.

"I'm coming Erik," she whispered. 'I promise."

With that, she turned and went back into the room and shut the glass door behind her. A quick glance told Erik that the boy was no longer in the room. Forsaking his hiding place, he stood before the glass door and looked in on Christine. She was sitting on a small stool in front of her vanity, looking at something small in her hands. Erik strained to see what rested in her delicate hands. Finally, he caught a glimpse of it; it was the gold ring he had given to her. She held it in her left hand, and then would take it in the right hand, constantly placing it from one hand into the other. Apparently tired of this repetitive practice, she tucked the ring safely into a small drawer and then locked it.

Erik Gazed in longingly and placed the fingertips of his left hand on the glass, but did not press hard enough to leave marks where they had been. He would leave no evidence of his being there. He sighed and smiled to himself. Christine was coming back! He had a reason to live and breathe again, and as he thought of this, a soft melody filled his head. The music was back, and Christine was soon to return. They were, after all, one and the same; Christine was Erik's music, and one could surely not exist without the other. In high spirits, Erik climbed down from the balcony and merrily returned to the Palais Garnier, his heart soaring and a song forming all the while.

Thank you for reading. Please review. I don't mean shower me with compliments, really. I'm bloody tired of 'constructive criticism'. Please tell me if I am doing something that you don't like, and I don't care how rudely you put it, just let me know. There will be more to this story soon, and I hope to please all of you readers.

Your servant,

-H.E.