A/N: This chapter just did not want to cooperate. I sat down with one idea how it would go then my fingers had something different in mind. That comes from never having an outline for a story or any idea what will be in a chapter until I sit down to write. Just happy to have it done. Hope there aren't too many errors. I am forgoing any editing so I can get this up. It is driving me nuts not to have finished it by Christmas.

Chapter Ten

Mind Over Matter

Erik's POV

Long after I returned Isabella to her coach thoughts of her linger in my mind. The past two days have had a surreal feeling to them. Every moment replays over in my mind as if it were happening now. I do think letting my intellect win out over my lust gave me a better return in the end.

Isabella's soft sighs and moans sounded like the sweetest musical notes ever played. What I lacked in skills I feel I made up for in patience and a willingness to seek her pleasure first. At first shy of my gaze, Isabella let loose the sensual woman beneath her shy blushes, under my persuasion of course.

Now I must turn my mind how best to approach the matter of Isabella's deformity, scars, flaws, whatever she wishes to call them. During those few times I did turn our conversation to her appearance all those terms were used as well as much harsher ones as well. Often it felt as if she merely repeated something told to her many times. Recollection of hearing the young boy I was referred to as monster, demon and Devil's Child for several years on a daily basis give me insight into Isabella's psyche. Those memories return with painful clarity after being buried for over two decades of dedicated control over my emotions.

Christine told me I was not a monster or demon but I did not believe her, could not let myself believe it for the longest time. Pitiful creature of darkness, words she spoke with such pity still haunt me on days when my guard is down. Why does the mind remember hurtful things more easily than kind gestures?

It is hard to wrap my mind around the fact that anyone finds Isabella less than acceptable. Only the cruelest of natures could take a small child and instill in them the belief no one can bear to look at them let alone touch them.

It is to be hoped the last two days spent making love and looking without reservation at Isabella has in some way given her some sense of her true self. My eyes see nothing but perfection but then I am looking at her through the eyes of a man in love. Even that is something I feel Isabella cannot believe in with her whole heart. To her it is incomprehensible that anyone can love her much less bear her ugliness for any length of time. No matter what I say or how I express my feelings in words doubt still clouds her eyes.

Unable to bear a lengthy separation only a day passes until my pen is writing an invitation to dinner. I do oh so subtly imply there will be an actual meal. Love sustained us for most of the last two days. More of these nights of unending passion will have Isabella and I looking like the skeletal persona many claimed to see throughout my days haunting L'Opéra Populaire.

I must forgo my own needs for now so that Isabella begins to let the scales fall from her eyes. In reality I know she is not perfect but then what person truly is? Perfection is relative when it comes to how a lover perceives the one they feel a great passion toward. It is not my duty to linger over imperfection only praise the positives I see. Years of watching from the outside I have seen and heard many things, human nature on its rawest terms being one helpful observation.

Living among humanity may not be something I have experienced personally but I do feel able to hold my own should I ever wish to move from my present home to something more conventional above ground. Isabella takes every opportunity to compliment the wonders found in my home but I would not expect her to live as I do. Not for her a lifetime buried alive.

Just when the idea of our relationship being permanent entered my mind I do not remember. All I know is that to contemplate a time when she is no longer a part of my life is untenable. When I look into her eyes I see the same emotion reflecting back at me. Healing of her soul must come before making any open declarations. Anything said in the heat of passion may not be believed. Countless chorus girls and ballerina's lost more than their maidenhead following some young man's promise of undying devotion.

Tonight Isabella seems even lovelier than the last night I saw her. Still she is covered almost entirely in black but there is an attractive lace overlay that adds a bit of seductiveness to an otherwise dour color. The scoop at the neckline reveals the swell of her enticing breasts. I alone get the pleasure of seeing her thus bared as her evening cloak covers what the veil does not.

This evening I have placed a rose on the pillow in the boat. Lips spread wide with pure delight is all I need to know I have made my lady happy. In the hours to come I will give her even more to smile about. My confidence in my skills in the art of lovemaking gives me something to smile wickedly about in my own right. Isabella I am sure blushes as her neck has a crimson tide flowing upward.

Lifting her into my arms feels almost commonplace, something which I had not thought I would apply to anything pleasant. When she closes her eyes after the veil is removed I reprimand tenderly, "Isabella, open your eyes."

Without question or even a token protest she complies. As I bare her arms I place kisses on every spot I know gives her distress. "I love your soft skin Isabella. Your hands are so delicate it is a shame not to let the world see them."

"Erik, that is kind of you to say but you know as well as I do…" My lips silence her words of self-deprecation.

Taking her hand I lead her to a large floor to ceiling mirror. I installed it specifically with this moment in mind. Placing my hands on her shoulders I turn her to face our reflection. "Look with my eyes Isabella. See what I see. Your face to me is soft and flawless. Your arms, how graceful they are. Every movement rivals the gentle swaying of leaves in a fresh spring breeze. Your hands have the light touch as if butterfly wings are fluttering. Not to forget the most glorious part I will only say your body is that of Venus or Aphrodite. A goddess, that is just what you are. My very own goddess."

My usual flair with words fails me as I am distracted by the very woman I am trying to wax poetic about. Isabella does not appear to find fault with my amateurish phrasing so I will let that issue seep away into nothingness.

Getting down on bended knee slowly I raise the hem of her gown. Lips and hands are paying homage to smooth thighs and the particular spot behind Isabella's knee that makes her wriggle in the most delightful way. I know how reticent she is about this part of her body and that of her torso. Lingering over those places marked by blemishes Isabella cannot think of as anything but horrendous, I will not allow her hands to draw me to my feet. I will do this my way, one lovely inch at a time.

"Erik, please. How can you bear such ugliness? I will not mind if you forgo…if you do not touch me….down there," she mutters with something close to anguish in her tone.

Looking upward I command in a voice never before used within her hearing, "Look at me Isabella. Do I appear disgusted, displeased or repulsed?" I only wait for her the shaking of her head before continuing in the darkest, most persuasive Phantom voice I can bring forth, "Touch here, feel how smooth and supple your skin is. Look in the mirror and discover the beauty beneath that I see every time I look at you."

Knowing it is of little use to continue trying to convince her that her disfigurement is not what it seems I will try to get her to see something worthy beneath that ugliness in her mind's eye. It took me this past year of soul searching and recalling Christine telling me the true distortion is in my soul rather than in my face before I could see there is something beneath my outward appearance that could be seen as acceptable. I had to accept my cold black heart held more repulsiveness than any physical deformity my mirror reflects. Changing the inward me also changed how I perceived the outer me. I cannot say I still do not see a repulsive face when looking in the mirror but what I can say is I am trying to look at it differently. I can no longer let how I see myself rule how I relate to the world.

Removing the remainder of her clothing we remain standing looking at our reflections intently. "See how perfect we are together. Touch and know all of my flaws as I will know yours. Tell me what you see and feel. I want to know how your eyes see me. Ask me what you want about how I see you and I promise I will speak only the truth."

"Erik, when I look at you I see only…Erik. I do not see a monster, phantom or ghost. You are only a man with flaws just as any other man might have. I see beauty," she says then quickly adds lest I feel unmanly, "Not that you are feminine in any way. Men can have beauty the same as a woman. Your music is beauty in the purest form. Your voice…."

Letting her mire herself down with seeking to find the many ways I am beautiful without any feminine connotations amuses me but I take pity on her rambling to bring us back to the present. As a last bid in this game of revelation I ask Isabella to find one thing about her that is even slightly pleasing in her eyes,

Giving careful consideration to my request at last she tentatively offers, "My…my hair. It has a healthy sheen and falls into natural waves when allowed free of pins and combs. "

"Ah, yes, your lovely hair. I suppose it has not escaped your notice how often I bury my face in those soft fragrant strands." To prove my point I bring a fistful to my face. It is like a black cloud without the promised storm to come. Heaven is in those silky tresses.

"More Isabella, tell me more."

Biting her lip nervously she visually inspects her reflection. "My eyes are not unattractive," she states more as a question than a fact. I must make her believe in her worth.

"Every time I look into your eyes I feel as if I am drowning in blue pools. I find comfort in the calming cool depths. I love how that cool calmness changes to heated molten fire when we make love. Just before I bring you to fulfillment they catch fire giving off heat that in turn fuels my own passion. You burn for me just as I am certain I burn for you."

"Oh, my. Well in that case I suppose my lips are passable. I am not an expert on such matters but you do seem to enjoy exploring the inner depths of my mouth," she concludes blushing furiously. At least my efforts were not so untutored as to go unnoticed or heaven forbid, prove my incompetence as a lover.

This small victory gives me hope that Isabella is inclined to believe in me and in herself. Pushing her too hard might drive her back in her shell or in her case beneath a voluminous veil. Some day soon I hope to have her proudly walking among her peers with head held high.

Having held my own needs in check so all my attention would be on Isabella comes to an end when Isabella turns to me with a need that will not be denied. In truth I am not of a mind to resist. Eagerly we stumble our way to my bed. My home resounds with the unfamiliar sound of laughter followed my cries of ecstasy.

Plans are temporarily pushed aside for the moment. Later holding Isabella in a lover's embrace as she sleeps I begin to form a new idea how to get my love to see what I see when looking at her. Contacting Madame Giry is not something I thought ever to do again but to make my plan work I will need all the help I can find. Old grudges and hurts must be given their proper due then put firmly behind all concerned.

If that cannot be done then there is always notes and my deadly Punjab.