Christine could hear Erik playing the organ as soon as she walked through the door.
Now that they were married, he played less, but music was still his passion and whenever she left the house, he would pull out the sheet music to his secret work and begin composing again. Usually he would be done by the time she got home, and the music would be put away in a locked drawer with the key in his pocket.
This time, however, he must have lost track of how long it had been, for even through the many rooms separating them she could hear the faint sound of his playing. Curious as to what his music sounded like, for he never let her listen to his secret composition, she took off her cloak without a sound and hurried quietly through the rooms of the house until she got to the room where Erik was playing.
Slowly, so as not to attract his attention, she opened the door and put her ear to the crack, listening to his music. Immediately, however, she slammed the door shut again, shocked by what she had heard.
The music Erik was playing was loud, with violent cadence and harsh dissonance, and it seemed to her to speak only of extreme brutality and cruelty. Even the small part she had heard seemed to tear her to the heart, rip her open, bring her out of a peaceful world and place her in one with such horrible things in it as she never desired to know. She remembered once asking to hear the piece, and recalled Erik's reply, that it would strip her to the bone, tear her apart, and now she realized that it was true, and regret that she had ever heard it filled her.
But suddenly she thought that she could hear something else beneath all the horror of the piece: a theme which was filled with despair and sadness such as she had never known. Opening the door once more, she listened again to the music which poured from the room; and now she could hear it, the anguish, the grief, the utter hopelessness with which the piece was filled, and now instead of horror she felt only sorrow, her eyes filling with tears at the sound of pain which filled the music.
Suddenly the music stopped, and she looked up to realize that she had fully entered the room, and saw Erik standing above the organ's seat, his gaze on her filled with horror that she had heard his secret piece. She could not say a single word; instead she walked up to him, and with tears on her cheeks wrapped her arms around his thin body, pulling him as close to her as was physically possible, until it seemed as if their bodies were melded into one. Only a moment passed, however, before Erik's voice, cracked and so mournful that it was utterly unlike the golden voice which had caused her to call him an angel, broke the silence.
"Christine… I never meant for you to hear… I should never have continued writing it now that we are together… Forgive me, please, forgive me the horror I have caused you…"
Christine looked up at his masked face, tears blurring her vision. "It is not horror you have caused me, Erik, but sadness. Why, why is your music so unbearably sad? What is it that made you feel that way?"
Erik's voice was quiet as he replied: "It is my life, Christine. You and my music are the only things which have brought any joy into my life, and even then… I know that I am not like other men, however I may try. I do not belong among the ranks of vibrant, living beings such as you. I said I only wanted to be loved for myself, but who I am is not who you are, who any man is. My music is so full of pain because I know that I am not human." As he spoke he caressed his mask with thin fingers, and Christine knew that he was thinking of the contorted flesh beneath. Reaching up, she placed her hand on his, taking his icy fingers in her warm ones. Gently, she removed his hand from the white porcelain, and touching the edge of the mask, slowly took it off of Erik's face. Only once did he try to stop her, but he was prevented by a look from her, and silently he allowed her to continue. Once the mask was fully removed, she reached up to touch his twisted flesh, her fingertips tracing every line in the pale skin.
"You are not like other men, Erik," she said, looking into his pale yellow eyes with her own bright blue ones, smiling despite her tears. "But that does not mean you are not human."
Stretching up, she put her lips to his, and after a moment Erik melted into the embrace, and for what felt like hours they stood there, tasting each others' tears as they cherished the moment with both joy and sadness.