Morning dawned and I was at the opera as early as I could manage, attempting to avoid suspicion by telling anyone who asked that I was there to practice on my own before rehearsals.

I should have liked to leave a note for Erik in Box 5, but that particular box was locked these days unless there was a performance or it was being cleaned, and I had no wish to spark even more gossip by appealing to Mme. Giry, the box-keeper, to let me in.

And so I left a note on my dressing-room table, unsure as to whether Erik would even see it before rehearsals were done.

Rehearsal for Faust went slowly and made my head ache; the room seemed to buzz and in spite of the fact that I kept my wits about me enough to never falter in my delivery, I felt increasingly dizzy. At length I asked to be excused early for my health, and M. Gabriel deferred to me, although I heard Carlotta muttering to her friends about "simpering divas and their melancholies." She should talk, I thought with a little flash of anger, but my head swam too much to make a conscious retort, and I had no wish to bring her wrath down upon me for all that.

When I finally reached my dressing-room again, I locked the door and slumped into my chair. The note on the table was gone; I could only hope that it had actually been Erik who had found it, although I generally kept my dressing-room locked at all times when I was not there.

"I confess, I didn't expect you to want to see me again so soon." His voice sounded all around me, and I glowered at the mirror.

"My note said when I was done with rehearsal; rehearsal isn't due to be finished for another hour-and-a-half."

"Ah, but you yourself are by definition finished with rehearsal now, are you not?"

I rolled my eyes and fiddled with my hair-brush. An ordinary woman might have asked indignantly if he had been spying, but it was Erik; such a question would have been highly redundant. I already knew he had been spying.

"I can come back if you'd like," his voice said smoothly, and I shot a glance at the mirror again.

"No, it's all right," I sighed. "But I'm too tired to go down just now. You might as well come in." I was a little shocked at my boldness, but after all, my dressing-room was not so very different from his home, was it? It seemed somehow different, somehow more starkly intimate, but I saw no reason why it should. The only real difference was that here, we might be overheard – although with everyone at rehearsal and the maids working on the grand stairs rather than the halls at the moment, I didn't see that being an overt risk either.

Slowly, slowly the mirror swung open, and there he stood. There seemed a peculiar shyness to him now, a hesitance that I had not truly noticed the last time I had seen him.

I had only seen his face on two occasions; the rest of our acquaintance had been spent with him entirely masked, and as a result I had become rather unconsciously adept at reading his body language, rather than his facial expressions as I might do with any other person. That alone was a sobering thought indeed, realizing with a start just how well I had come to know the unspoken language of his hands and elbows, his hips and knees and ankles, the tilt of his head. Every positioning and movement of his limbs told a story, every stance and lean and shrug, every moment of stillness or sudden energy.

It seemed wrong to have such knowledge – there again was an uncomfortable intimacy, an unspoken bond that I did not and might never share in quite the same manner with anyone else. I wondered with a start if perhaps he knew me too, knew me and the language of my body even better than I knew his, for he could see my face and had double the advantage.

"May I sit?" he asked, and I gestured wordlessly to an extra chair, suddenly feeling very awkward. He sat uncomfortably with his legs drawn up beneath it rather than stretched out in front of him as was his usual custom in his home, and I thought it was probably a mark of how unfamiliar this was for him – for both of us. He swiveled his head ever so slightly toward the door. "Locked," I said, and he nodded, a little of the tension seeming to leave him.

There was silence between us for the better part of a minute; at length I cleared my throat. "Erik, I – " but at the same time he began, "Christine – " and all of a sudden we ceased speaking and stared at each other for a moment before I nervously laughed, and he relaxed a little more.

"You were not up to your usual standard to-day," he said, but not unkindly. "And you retired from rehearsal early. Are you ill?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I'm not ill. Merely…overwhelmed."

"Ah," he said gently. "I apologize."

"It isn't only you," I said without meaning to, and then my face blanched and I shook my head again. "It isn't…I mean…it doesn't matter. The other things."

Erik leaned forward a little in his chair, and it creaked beneath his movement. I became very uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. "What other things?" he asked pointedly, with all the air of a stern father, and my lips thinned. "Erik," I said, determined to keep my footing, "you do not need to know everything," and I saw a tightening in his shoulders, a clenching of his hands where they had been loosely laced together. I tensed, expecting a battle, but he straightened, took a breath, and there was an impossibly long moment of silence before he slowly exhaled.

"No," he said, and it seemed to be taking him a very great effort to say this, "I suppose not."

I closed my eyes. There were more layers to this man than I had ever dreamed; I had been dreading the seeming inevitability of his prodding and poking upon my foolishly inadvertent revelation, had expected him to demand the way he always did, but he had surprised me. I didn't suppose for a moment that this would be a regular occurrence, but I was touched that he was at least trying not to be quite so overbearing. It seemed he had taken at least some of my words to heart yesterday.

"And you?" I asked gingerly. "Are you…are you quite all right? To-day, at least, I mean."

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances of my health," he replied calmly. "Yes. I'm fine to-day. Upon my word, you are quite the mother-hen of late, aren't you, Christine?"

What do you expect? I thought furiously. You told me only yesterday you may not live to see the summer! Instead, I said, coolly, "If it bothers you for me to inquire about your welfare – or your health – I shan't do it."

"It isn't…" He sighed again, and rubbed his neck as he had yesterday. "It isn't that, Christine. It isn't that I don't appreciate…your concern. In fact, I do. It's only that I've never been fussed over in any capacity, even as a child, and…well…it is what I might genuinely term a new experience."

Poor Erik, I thought, and then quickly dismissed that thought. He did not want my pity; he had made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion.

"I should tell you," he said abruptly, "that if…if you decide in the…in the affirmative, you will not have to worry about seeing to my medical needs, even – and especially – when I begin to decline. The daroga and I have a bit of a system worked out. He is a capable nurse-maid when it suits him." He chuckled a bit at this, but I found nothing amusing about the situation at all. "And I?" I asked. "What would I be meant to do? Sit in the drawing-room sipping tea while you languish? Erik, I realize you are attempting to make this sound less burdensome for me, but I want to be of use. I want to help. I'm sure I should prove a perfectly capable nurse-maid myself, if the occasion called for it." A touch of sarcasm laced my tone, and I wondered at it. Erik was rubbing off on me, it seemed.

Erik was very still for a moment. "You speak as though your mind were already made up," he said, in a voice that seemed very cautious. It was as though he were expecting a blow at any moment to replace his hope, and I let out a breath as I contemplated what next to say.

"Not…entirely," I said, which was the truth. Erik gave a curt little nod. "Christine…I might as well speak plainly. Looking after me in what could be termed a medical capacity would be no pretty task, most especially when I reach my very last days, or hours. I do not wish you to feel obligated in any way to tend to me during those times, particularly…" He inhaled, and fidgeted. "I have seen what happens when an ill person is nearing death," he said, his voice shaking. "I have no doubt it will eventually happen to me as well. The utter lack of dignity the body possesses at such a time is…well, fascinating, in a sense, but also highly unsettling. I cannot imagine subjecting you to such a vulgar process."

I was slightly repulsed, but also horridly intrigued. "When you say 'lack of dignity,' what exactly do you mean?" I asked carefully.

He looked me dead in the eye. "That insatiable curiosity is going to get you into trouble someday, Christine." There was a spark of warning in his tone, but it was light, as though he were mildly impressed that I was asking him these questions.

"I don't care," I said flatly.

He sighed. "Very well. I will put it as plainly as I think prudent." He shifted in his seat. "Bodily functions can become almost entirely involuntary," he said, with a cold calm that belied something else beneath. "Soiled sheets and clothing are extremely commonplace. I cannot begin to describe to you the smell. The smell of not only bodily waste, but of approaching death itself. The smell of illness, of decline. It is…" He paused. "It is nightmarishly unpleasant, and that is putting it ever so mildly."

I became aware that my fingers were gripping the arms of my chair so tightly that my knuckles had gone white. I let go, but not before he heard my intake of breath and saw the expression that was no doubt on my face. He made a soft noise and turned his head away to lean it on his hand.

"It is not exactly suitable for a young woman to witness," he said quietly. "Particularly one as tender as yourself."

I let out a long breath I didn't know I had been holding. "Then why ask me to be your wife?" I inquired in a voice that I thought sounded mostly calm. "Don't wives take care of husbands just as husbands take care of wives?"

"You are a stubborn little fool, aren't you?" he asked rather vehemently. "I'm not asking so that you can nurse me. I'm asking so that I can be sure you will be financially secure when I'm gone, and…and so that I shan't only have the daroga and myself for company in my last months. I'm selfish, but not as selfish as all that, I don't suppose. I won't beg for your love, and I won't even beg for your kindness. I know I don't deserve it. You already know how I feel about you, Christine. I believe I made that plain yesterday."

If you care so much about my financial security, why is it contingent upon becoming your wife? I thought, but didn't dare voice it aloud. I sighed and massaged the bridge of my nose with two fingers, feeling my head begin to ache again. I had so many more questions for him. "Erik…you've talked of my freedom after…but what about during? How exactly would my days be spent when I'm not rehearsing?" I kept imagining the absolute dread and horrible monotony of being in his home all the time, helplessly waiting for him to grow sicker, spending my days milling uselessly about in my room or crying as the daroga tended to him behind a closed door. It was an awful thought; it made my stomach tighten and the blood drain from my face.

"I hadn't entirely thought it through…Christine, what are you thinking about?" he asked with some concern. "Are you sure you're not ill? Should I –"

"No," I said. "I'm not ill. I already told you I'm not." A thought occurred to me. "What if we went away?" I suddenly asked. "Just for a few months…would you be able to travel?"

He stared at me and tilted his head just a little. "Away?" he asked slowly. "Where?"

"Anywhere," I said in a rush. "Everywhere. There are so many places to visit, so many things to see. And you could show me. You could show me where you've been, tell me stories. Wouldn't that be better than staying here, just…waiting?"

His hands sat unmoving in his lap, loosely folded. He leaned back. "Yes," he said, his voice as careful as a rabbit avoiding the snare. "Yes, I suppose it would, at that." He shifted his weight, uncrossed one leg and crossed the other. "What about your boy?" he asked in a tone that seemed to be attempting calm flippancy but was layered with something far less charitable. He did not look at me, instead appearing to find the wallpaper most interesting. "Won't he object to your disappearing for such a protracted period of time?"

I pursed my lips. "Raoul is going away, too," I said. "To the North Pole. For a year, maybe two."

Erik cracked the knuckles of one hand, still looking at the wallpaper. "Ah," he said quietly, almost dangerously. "That explains a great many things."

My temper flared. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that," I retorted, "but there's no need to be an ass."

"Tell me," he said, "does he actually intend to wed you at some juncture, or are you simply a plaything to him? A pleasant diversion from his duties?"

I rose from my seat, my scalp tingling with a hot wash of anger. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner," I spat. "How dare you. Raoul has been kinder and more gentlemanly than you have ever attempted. I don't know why I'm even conversing with you. I don't know why I ever remotely considered this. I should leave you to rot. You deserve it."

"Fine," he said with just as much vehemence, and when he too rose from his chair, I visibly flinched. "Oh, spare me your feminine theatrics," he said venomously at this. "Have I ever physically harmed you?"

"Not exactly," I said, "although I imagine you'd be capable of anything in a rage. Besides, there was…" I didn't say it aloud, but I remembered it. His mask lying on the floor where I had dropped it in shock, his hands gripping my wrists. I had thought he was going to kill me. I had been absolutely sure I was going to die.

The anger suddenly seemed to leave him; his towering form seemed to shrink in on itself a little. "I may not be an ordinary man," he said, "but I do have some measure of pride. The thought of that boy pricks at my pride with a thousand sharp-pointed pins."

I rolled my eyes. "He's leaving, I tell you," I said. "And for quite some time, at that."

"But that's exactly it, Christine," he said, dropping back into his chair. "Exactly. Why do I have the overwhelming feeling that the only reason you're even considering this is because he is going away?"

I understood better now what he was getting at. "I was already considering it," I informed him sharply. "The revelation that he was going to the North Pole simply made the choice easier to make."

"But then you're not really choosing me," he said, sounding as sullen as a child, "you're simply choosing an alternative to pining for him alone until he returns."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my tongue moving with a will of its own again. "One," I said, "I thought you had made it quite clear that this was to be a marriage of convenience. You never asked me to choose you, specifically; you asked me to choose platonic companionship and financial security. Not that it matters to me very much – the money – although it would certainly help me. I want to make it quite clear that I wouldn't have been agreeing for the money; I would have been agreeing because I do actually care for you to some degree, but my point is that you didn't ask me to marry you because of that. Two, I got along quite capably without Raoul for years and years; I can get along quite capably without him for another year or two, or longer. The fact that you think otherwise demonstrates precisely how little you know me beyond my voice and my connection to you; have you ever actually bothered to find out who I am, what I want in life?"

"Christine," he said, but I pressed forward.

"You say you love me, but it's almost as though you merely love the idea of me. You don't want a wife, Erik, you want a talking, singing doll! Someone whose feelings and thoughts are merely an extension of your own, someone who won't argue. Someone –" I paused to catch my breath, and then suddenly felt very embarrassed indeed, and looked away, leaning the palms of my hands on my vanity table and letting my hair spill into my face, hiding me from him.

"You're wrong," he said, and his voice trembled. "I don't want a doll. I do want a wife, a partner, a mate, but I'd managed to convince myself all my life long that such a thing was impossible. Do you think I'm made of stone? I'm not! But I am more than willing to obey any conditions you care to set if you'll let me give you my name. I can't imagine you wanting to lay your hands on me in tenderness, and that's all right. I can bear it. I wouldn't dream of ever forcing you to do such a thing; the very idea is absolute anathema to me. But I do want you. Not just your voice, not just your conversation. You. I want to be near you, all the time. I want you to smile at me; I want to be the cause of your happiness. I know I've given you such an ungodly amount of grief, and you can't imagine how badly I've wished I could turn back the hands of time and do so many things differently. I've gone about this all wrong, from the beginning. I never should have lied to you, Christine. I'm sorry I did. He has never lied to you, has he?"

Sniffling, I shook my head. Oh, these revelations; they were eating me, piece by piece, and I didn't know how to sort them in my head.

Erik sighed. "I know I'm not the superior man. It galls me; you haven't any idea how much. But I meant what I told you yesterday. I can be better than I am; I swear it. You…I was not imagining it earlier, was I, when you said you cared for me, a little?"

I shook my head again. "You weren't imagining it," I murmured, feeling a hot squeeze of pain which made it difficult to breathe. It galled me that he mattered to me as much as he did. It galled me that I did not think I could tell him no, I cannot marry you. It made me feel ill to think of his imminent demise.

"I know you don't love me," he said in a voice tinged with despair, and I closed my eyes. "I know it. But if you care for me…even a little…that's enough. Isn't it, Christine?"

Was it? I hardly knew anymore. This was exhausting. "I don't know if I can manage this," I said quietly. "I don't know if I can manage you. What if you're lying to me even now? What if you have no intention of keeping to any of the promises you've made to me? How can I know, Erik? I do care for you, and I want you to be happy, but you frighten me."

"I told you I wouldn't beg for your love, or your kindness, but I will beg for your trust," he said in a shaking voice. "Please trust me. I'll do anything you ask of me."

I straightened up, swept my curls out of my eyes, and regarded him for a long moment before answering. "No more deceit," I said. "I know you already promised never to lie to me again, but this goes beyond it. No more secrets. No more unkindness or unfeeling words. No more unthinking cruelty. If you can promise me that – and I'll promise it too – then I'll consent. I'll take your name for as long as you remain on this earth."

"I promise," he whispered. "I swear it."

I wondered then what I was getting myself into. Was it too late to turn back? But his eyes shone at me through the holes in his mask with all the desperate hope of a child, and I felt my heart constrict. "Then I swear it as well," I said quietly. And I pray I won't regret it.