The sound of her own humming after so many years existing in and beneath an Opera House made Arabella cringe in shame. Still, she didn't let her shame keep her from creating the soft low music. She had offered Erik a way to continue being certain of her presence. Like all her promises, she was determined to keep it to the best of her ability.

It took several endless minutes to start the fire within the ridiculously oversized hearth of the parlor; but it was the best source of heat in the entire house. There was a tiny one in the room Erik lay in, but it wouldn't be large enough to help warm him. Also, the large size of the fire she was building would make it easier to brew him a large pot of tea without having to work with the samovar or kitchen stove. She knew how to use these things – at least in theory – but didn't want to waste time with possible trial and errors.

I don't understand... she admitted to herself as she quickly prepared the necessary things to help Erik begin regaining his strength. But whatever – whoever – did this… thank you!

All these years of silence and loneliness… She hadn't spoken to another soul since the very day of her death. There had been nothing to do but linger near Erik, taking in every aspect of his life on a level that probably would have made him insanely uncomfortable. There had been no God, no angels, demons or devils. There hadn't even been other deceased spirits in any recognizable form. There was nothing to suggest Heaven, Hell, or even a limbo. She had simply existed in a space that seemed to be Erik's… but wasn't.

It had been so lonely… and futile… but her promise had kept her steady. At times she felt that she would lose her mind; particularly when all she could do was observe Erik and the people around him in moments of their greatest stupidity. Her sanity had been pressed not so much by the isolation and boredom in and of itself… but the occasional despair that accompanied it.

Realizing she'd been lost in thoughts of the past years, Arabella blinked to see that the pot was boiling, and nearly burned her hands off while hurriedly pouring it into a china cup and beginning to stir in the vast amounts of sugar she knew Erik needed. She'd forgotten just how things felt over all these years! It made her particularly cautious as she carried the sugary supplement between the tips of all her fingers into the bedroom. It didn't even cross her mind to use a saucer so that her flesh wouldn't be scalded by the heat emanating through the frail china. Even years of observing Erik and those around him couldn't break all the habits she'd once lived with.

"Here we go…" she murmured quietly, her voice intense with concentration. Her eyes glanced up to see Erik hadn't moved much. His eyes were opening from a doze at the sound of her voice, and they seemed warier than before. "It'll have to cool for a little bit… but you'll at least have something decent – if only barely - in your system."

The atmosphere was different than it had been when she left the room. It made her feel instantly nervous, causing her to put the cup on the night stand by the – finally - completely burned down candle they'd both nearly knocked down several times.

It was a good thing she'd already lit lanterns and other candles around the room. The soft glow should have been comforting; banishing all shadows and any cause of suspense. But Erik's eyes on her nearly made her begin to tremble, even though his pupils kept shifting around the room so he wouldn't be caught staring. She hoped the anxiousness wouldn't remain. It overrode the sheer giddiness that kept trying to overtake her.

Then again… anxiousness was probably less embarrassing than giddiness.

"Why are you here?" he demanded uneasily.

"I told you. I don't know why-" she began, her voice catching and cracking twice with the dual emotions warring within her.

"-I don't mean how you came to be here." He interrupted; his impatient voice still weak. "I mean; why are you still here? Why did you stay near me for so long after all I've... How much did you actually see? I buried you the right way, didn't I? I never spoke your name again, and I did everything the way your people wanted!"

Well… if she wanted to be particular about it, the fact that he'd named a character in one of his opera's after her would have been enough for a Romani spirit to haunt him. That ghost would probably be the spirit of a real bastard to take such random offense, but it was possible. But she had already been there quietly haunting him, and she never would have thought it worth offense if she hadn't been. There were rarely true lines of family names that went back for generations because it could cause the dead to linger nearby; but Arabella wasn't even sure Erik remembered that Aminta was her true name. He'd only heard it once - on their wedding day. There was no reason to be either offended or honored.

Slowly straightening, Arabella stared at Erik in a moment of confusion as she braced herself to search for an answer. She had understood the question… but she didn't know exactly how much he wanted to know. There was a flush on his face now that the question had been asked, and he still wasn't meeting her gaze squarely. Her silence only seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. He was asking so many things at once. Where did she start?

"You did everything perfectly. It wasn't that, Erik. I just… I… I don't…" she began uncertainly. "I made a promise. I kept it… I never left. I mean… there were times I would wander… but only into other rooms or other nearby spaces. When you slept, for instance… I couldn't very well sleep. All that time, I was unable to sleep; so I'd wander, and I would pass the time in nearby streets or gardens. Sometimes there would be activity to amuse myself with… You spent so much time in cities that never seemed completely quiet…"

Erik looked at her slowly, the effort seeming to be painful for him.

"You… never left…" he whispered in pure horror. "You saw all the things I've done… Every heinous act… all my shame…"

"Well…" Arabella smiled weakly. "I had a promise to keep."

"Now I understand…" He closed his eyes and turned away. "I may not be dead yet… but that's why you're here. You are to be my judge!"

Blinking rapidly in shock, Arabella tried to wrap her mind about this concept.

"N-no." she denied. "No! That can't be it. I won't let that be it!"

He wouldn't turn back to her, but a wry smile twisted his already unpleasant looking face.

"Afraid to examine all these years too closely?" he asked. "I'm not surprised. Retrospective just might let you see what a waste of time keeping your promise was."

"That isn't it!" she denied immediately. "Even if it were true, I'd be the worst possible judge. I'm far too partial where you're concerned."

"You've seen it all!" Erik replied disgustedly. "You're the perfect judge."

Sighing, Arabella cautiously pressed her fingertip to the surface of the tea to see how it was cooling. It seemed to need a few more moments and a little help; so she leaned down and began gently blowing into the steamy liquid. Erik's efforts to remain awake and speak with her - along with his apparently strong emotions - were only going to weaken him further.

"I don't know how or why I'm here." She reminded him. "But I will not judge you, Erik. Not in that capacity. Here…"

She turned with the now endurably hot liquid and guided the rim of the mug to his mouth. He allowed her to lift the back of his head up gently in her palm, but she could feel how he tensed at the contact. It was so different from how much easier they used to be with each other that it made her frown sadly. She watched as his gaunter-than-usual face puckered into a grimace of disgust at the taste of his black tea; but neither said anything about it for a long time. He seemed to be deeply lost in thoughts of his own, and she was having trouble not becoming lost in her own mind as well.

It didn't help that she'd become so accustomed to being unobserved over the years. It made her nearly fall back from the bed as he eventually took over holding the cup as he raised his body onto one shaky elbow. It would have been so easy to stand silent in a corner, watching as it had been her self-inflicted habit to do.

"What if you're wrong?" he suddenly demanded, holding the nearly empty cup over to her. Apparently there was a puddle of semi-solid sugar on the bottom he simply refused to ingest. "What if you're here to judge me… and by not doing so…"

He didn't have an accurate way to finish this thought. She could read it in the way he refused to meet her eyes, and how his already vague voice drifted off mid-sentence. He had no idea what the consequences of avoiding his suspicion could possibly be. She chose not to reply to the nonsense, stubbornly refusing to even think it was the possible reason for her return to life.

"What if someone… or something… decided you'd had enough pain in your life?" she countered after a long moment of her own thoughts. "What if someone thought you might deserve a little bit of something at least close to happiness?"

"And you are the instigator of this near-happiness?" Erik's voice was bitterly sarcastic, making her flush hotly. "When were we ever given the chance to be truly happy?"

Arabella opened her mouth to nearly scream in protest, but held herself back before she could rail at him. His words hurt as though they were an accusation of all her shortcomings in their brief time together. But she couldn't let Erik get to her. She couldn't let him waste his strength. Yes, they'd experienced extremely little actual happiness together… but it had existed. Maybe he couldn't remember after thirty-some-odd years of near misery, drug addiction, and suppressing so many horrors of his past. But, maybe, he also didn't mean any cruelty toward her.

Decades of having no choice but to keep to herself had taught her well how to stop instantly reacting and lashing out in agitation. She forced herself to remember that he'd just been through two truly traumatic events. First, Christine had left him. Then, out of the blue, his long-dead wife had returned from the very grave. Surely that would be exactly the type of circumstances to throw anyone off of their usual emotional balance… and Erik never did have a particularly good sense of emotional balance.

"I'll make you another cup of tea." She said coolly. "When you are done with it, I'm going above for food. Should I steal it from the Opera, or would you rather I take from your purses?"

"My pur-"Erik began to splutter in indignation… then seemed to remember that he was dealing with a woman who now had nothing of her own. All of her things were long gone. Slowly, he forced himself to take in a deep breath, and the attempt to reassert his logical state of mind made Arabella slowly relax. "No… of course I don't want you to steal. You don't have the experience I do. You'd never get away with it. My money is-"

"-I know where it is." Arabella stated calmly. "Let me make you another cup of tea… then you can get some rest."

She didn't give Erik a chance to respond this time. His emotions seemed to be in a state of constant fluctuation just now. She imagined he'd feel more in control of himself once he had some of his strength back. Beyond that; responding would have included a retort about how he'd been teaching her how to pick pockets before he died, and that would possibly only lead into a debate they didn't have time for.

It only took her a few moments to pour the next cup of tea, since of course she'd left the hot kettle by the fire. When she returned, Erik already looked a little better. Of course he was still far too malnourished and weak for a single cup of sugary tea to make a massive difference; but the single cup had already helped enough to make it noticeable. She wouldn't count on that help lasting long without infusing him very quickly with even more sustenance.

"You can't go out like that." He noted when the second cup had been quickly drained. Closed his eyes and seemed almost to become a part of the bed. "You don't have any shoes on… and you'll stand out for blocks in that dress."

"I'll wear one of your cloaks." Arabella shrugged.

"What about shoes?"

"I'll wear a pair of your boots. You have surprisingly small feet for someone so tall. I can stuff them if I have to."

"Can you manage the boat?"

"Erik!" She let found herself laughing at the sudden surge of aggravation in her system. "I'll be fine! Go to sleep! I'll be leaving one more cup of tea for you. If you wake up while I'm gone, you drink it."

"Cold, disgustingly saccrine tea... Lovely..."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Erik's face, and she watched as he nearly fell unconscious rather than asleep. He'd been holding on to every ounce of strength he had in order to remain conscious. But obviously he saw the wisdom of resting while she was gone. It would do him absolutely no good whatsoever to remain awake, wasting his strength worrying.

The first thing Arabella did was to make the promised cup of tea she would leave on the night stand. Then she began the search for clothing that would allow her to go above mostly unnoticed.

Erik was so much taller than she was. Wearing any of his cloaks would make her stand out a mile; and his boots were nowhere near her size in spite of her observations to his foot size. It would be like watching a child who was playing dress up stumble about the streets if she went out like that. Still, it was better than risking Erik's anger if she took anything of Christine's. Those things had been bought specifically for his soprano. She wouldn't touch them and anger him – or disgust herself. After all the pain Christine had brought Erik – even if some of it was through no fault of her own...

She couldn't even quite bring herself to consider doing such a thing. The idea repulsed her. She didn't understand quite why… but it did…

Well… that was a thought for later. Right now, though, Erik needed food.

She hadn't even thought about going across the lake. Not until the moment came when she had to climb into it and row the little vessel beneath the low ceiling beneath the fifth cellar. She sighed heavily, removing the oversized cloak she'd chosen to wear and folding it into a cushion where she'd sit. It had been truly frustrating to get the thing under control and begin rowing steadily. She'd never really been in a boat before and been required to row it!

She had no way of guessing how long she toiled on the lake. All she knew was that her back ached as her arms shook with fatigue. It was rather frightening, actually. She had no idea how she would carry food and drink back below, and then manage to get back across the lake without collapsing. Who would have thought rowing a damn boat could be so difficult? It was no wonder Erik seemed so much stronger than he should be; carting himself back and forth on a near-daily basis!

At least she could remember her way out to the Rue Scribe. Still panting a little and regretting the slight necessity for the cloak she had to put back on, she nearly stumbled out into the street. The sky was a strange brilliant orange in the East, what she could see directly overhead painted with what looked like finger streaks of lovely pink.

Morning, then. The shops will be-

Motion from a nearby alcove caught her eye, and she whipped her head in that direction to see a rather familiar face peering at her from a very badly chosen hiding spot. The older gentlemen with skin darker but much richer in tone than her own stared in absolute shock at her, and then cried out in a tongue she only knew bits and pieces of from watching Erik over the years. She understood the question in context, though.

Who is that?

She didn't have time to answer questions. Darius – Nadir's man servant of all people! – didn't speak French anywhere near well enough for her to go on for the ages it would take. She, herself, had never practiced the language in a conversation - although she'd been learning it over the years. The lannguage barrier would make things take almost literally forever, and then where would Erik be?

It seemed silly to flee her husbands' underground house like a thief in the night, but she hoisted up her skirt and billowing oversized cloak. Light on her feet but clumsy in the too-large boots, she clunked her way up the street faster than she thought possible given her fatigue. Darius probably wouldn't chase her, but she wasn't certain of it.

Nadir must have been waiting for Erik... unwilling or somehow unable to invade the house on the other side of the lake. He'd only found his way into the torture chamber because of Erik's planning, after all. No doubt he hadn't wanted to enter through that passage again! So after a month or more without any contact – knowing his friends' despair over Christine's abandonment - she couldn't blame Nadir if he was concerned. She only wondered – almost with a bubble of surprised giggles – just what his reaction to Darius' news of seeing a stranger would be.

Well... at least she'd been seen leaving the area of the house. If she'd been seen going in - with or without Erik - she knew the old Persian would be deadly suspicious of Erik's latest machinations. She hoped he wouldn't come rushing back to the Rue Scribe in order to confront her upon her return. She wasn't prepared for conversations with anyone about who she was and why she was coming and going from Erik's home. If it weren't for his cloak and boots, she could get away with claiming to be a beggar taking shelter next to the lake - but only just barely. With Erik's clothes? Not so much.

She would let herself worry about it when the time came.