A/N:

YAY! Chapter 20 is finally here! In case you can't tell, I'm reeeeeeally happy. I honestly did not think I would ever get this far. Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers, followers, and readers in general. You guys are the reason I got this far. So without further cheese, CHAPTER 20!

Raoul's POV:

"She did what!?" Raoul exclaimed, horrified at the words that just left his older brother's mouth.

Philippe seemed not to notice the panic in Raoul's tone, for he continued to smile just as brightly as before when relaying the news to the viscount. "Oh, it was simply outstanding!" he guffawed. "Of course, I knew that neither La Carlotta nor Christine were performing tonight, but I was curious as to who the new singer would be. Imagine my surprise when I saw Clarie on that stage!"

"Are you certain it was Clarie up there?"

"Why, as certain as I am that it's you standing before me!" the Comte laughed. "She sounded wonderful! You should have seen the way she gazed at the ceiling!"

Gazing at the ceiling. Raoul's heart sank, as he recalled the way Christine too had gazed up to the ceiling in ecstasy during her own moment in the limelight. After everything he had learned from Christine just an hour previous, there was no doubt in his mind as to how Clarie was chosen to sing the lead role.

Clarie was in terrible danger.

"I have to save her," Raoul muttered on his way out the door, leaving a still very cheery Comte behind.

Erik's POV:

Erik did not cry over Clarie. He did not allow himself that. It would be selfish to cry over her, when he knew she deserved so much better than he. That loathsome, rich young fool could offer her whatever she desired: jewels, riches, grand dresses with intricate designs…a handsome face to wake up to each morning. All he could offer her was a dark, secluded lair that never saw the light of day. All he could offer her was a new reason to scream, a new thing to fear, a hideous face to haunt her nightmares.

His vision blurred in the dark. He glared icily at the wall of the passage that he had not bothered to leave since he saw Clarie. No. He would not cry for her. He should be happy. Happy that she finally was getting all that she deserved.

Even if he was not one of them.

But he wasn't happy. That was the undeniable truth of the situation. No matter how hard he could try to convince himself, he could not lie and say that he was. He loved Clarie, so of course he was not happy. He probably would never be happy again.

Maybe that is okay, he tried desperately to convince himself, After all, she made you happy once, if only for a moment.

It took a while, but Erik slowly began to convince himself that he was right. She did make him happy. When she sang for him on that stage—for there was no denying that she did sing for him—he had never felt so alive and free. If just for a second, she had made him the happiest man in the world. Was that not enough? Was it not enough to have even been able to glance at her, to have her sing when she never thought she would sing again? She sang for him. Was that not more happiness than he had been given in a lifetime?

He sighed miserably, burying his appalled face in his hands. That face! If it weren't for that horrid face, he might have had a chance of happiness with his beautiful Clarie! He might have been able to give her anything! Because of that traitorous face, he would never live again.

Erik sat there and wondered how he would be able to live without Clarie; knowing he could not. No, the simple truth was that it was not enough. He hated himself immensely for it, but no. It was not enough. He was simply to selfish to imagine being able to spend the rest of his lifetime without that beautiful angel that he called his. She wasn't his and he knew he could not live without her.

He needed to leave. He needed to go where she would never see him again. He knew it was the only way to give her the life she deserved. After hearing her, the opera was sure to make her famous. All she needed now could be provided by someone else. Someone she deserved.

Maybe if I just saw her once more.

Once the thought entered his mind, he began to obsess over it. If he could just see her again, maybe that would be enough. He tried push the dark thoughts out of his mind reminding him of the fact that he was bound to never leave if he did see her. He needed to see her.

Before he could act on this wish, however, a crash sounded, echoing through the passages. Erik's eyes widened with horror. One of the mirrors had been broken.

And somehow, he knew the room it belonged to.

He ran blindly through the dark halls, not even flinching when he hit the corners. He was in such a hurry that he almost forgot to slip back on his ever-present white mask.

He found Clarie lying on the floor amidst shards of glass, unconscious.

"No," he whispered, trying to comprehend the situation. For a long moment he stood there, frozen and speechless, much longer than he should have. Her eyes were closed, and her body was paler than a corpse. Her hair fell in waves around her. Previously wept tears were still wetting her face.

Erik did not pull himself out of his stupor until he saw the growing puddle of blood underneath her head.

"No!" he shouted, louder this time. He fell to his knees, glass cutting though his skin, but he didn't care. Wasting no time, he picked up Clarie's limp figure in his arms. When he touched the back of her head, he immediately yanked his hand back, as if it were on fire. Hot, horrible blood covered his hand.

"This is all my fault," he whimpered, gently shaking the poor girl, "Clarie…Clarie, wake up."

Clarie drooped against him unconsciously, still breathing, but not waking up. For the first time that night, Erik allowed himself to cry for her.

"Clarie," he wept, "I'm sorry."

It was all his fault. He knew that. He didn't know the cause of the shattered glass, but he knew it was his fault. She had been upset, probably because he had not been there for the most important night of her life. He realized for the first time how much he had hurt her, and hated himself all the more. He should have been there with her. If he had, none of this would have happened.

"I'm sorry, Clarie," he whispered.

Erik knew what he had to do. A new wave of determination flooded his veins, fueled by the anger at himself and everything he had done to Clarie.

Scooping the girl up in his arms, he stood gently to his feet. Even in his terrible self-rage, he made sure of this. He walked toward the hallway he knew would take him to his lair the fastest. For his lair was all he had to offer her.

Clarie's POV:

"Clarie."

Softly, Clarie was stirred from her sleep by the most gentle voice she could remember ever hearing. It sounded sorrowful, yet soft and sweet. It was warm, a nice change from the eternal coldness Clarie was feeling. Intrigued, she attempted to find the source of it.

"Clarie, I am so sorry."

Suddenly, the voice was placed. She knew who it belonged to, and gasped with the realization as her eyes flew open. The vision, though blurry at first, began to clear itself. And she saw him. A man with a white mask covering half his face was looking down at her with worry flooding his chilling icy blue eyes.

It was her angel. And her angel was nothing but a mortal man.

Even as the lie spread itself before her, Clarie smiled sleepily.

"Hello, Erik," she murmured, and as she allowed the cold, invisible hands to once again pull her into an ice-filled sleep, the last thing she saw was the surprise and horror on his face.

A/N:

I KNOW. This is a super short chapter and I'm sorry. I feel like it's a nice way to end chapter 20 though. R&R!