Christine didn't know what to say now; she had known of his mother's cruelty, of course, but the rest… She was shaken to her core, recalling every detail he'd told. She was not sure if anyone else, in his place, would've lived to tell.

So it was not just Piangi and Bouquet his hands had killed; no, it had all started with a gypsy man when he was but a boy. Then he killed so many more when he couldn't have been older than she was now, for a ruler equally as mad as the audiences his suffering had once amused. He had mentioned the line the gypsy man had crossed once before, and she could only pray with all her being that what she could infer from the full story wasn't what had nearly happened. Oh, what she couldn't bear to think of – Erik, a little boy, locked in a cage, beaten on the daily while being ridiculed by sick souls who paid for such twisted entertainment.

She had sworn to herself to be strong before he had begun speaking, and so she breathed deeply to maintain herself collected. He had not sounded willing to commit murder, when he had narrated his adolescence and subsequent years in Persia, yet at the Populaire…

"Why did you kill them?" she asked, shattering the silence. "Piangi and Buquet."

Erik glanced down and away, as he often did when he didn't want to meet her eyes. "I did not think of anything but myself in those moments. In fact… I hardly believe I was thinking at all. I only realized what I had done when it was far too late to turn back."

A shaky sigh was her answer. She was not used to speaking of murder as he was and, dearest God, she hoped she would never be, but she couldn't help but think: what could have been of him, had his father lived - had he been born with a face like anyone else's? His talent, his genius, both outstanding qualities not taken into account as soon as he was looked in the eye, all because half of his face was found to be unpleasant to look at.

"Christine," he said, and she turned to see him looking at her. He looked broken again, terribly so, and it reminded her of the night of Don Juan; she loathed to see that look in his eyes. "I don't know what to say. My actions have no excuse."

"You needn't say anything." She took his hand, extending hers slowly. "They're in the past now, and it is a good thing that you recognize them as bad. Most in your place would have given up long ago, but you haven't. Would you?"

"No, I could never… for you." His words weren't all-too clear, but his message was. Her characteristic soft smile came back.

"Then it truly does not change anything. Circumstance alone does not make your past crimes right, because they weren't, after all, but you recognize those misdeeds. Neither of us are excusing or forgetting your actions. I believe in forgiveness for the right heart; do you, Erik?"

"I don't know, Christine." Not the answer her hopeful soul had expected, but a truthful one nonetheless.

"You have finally let yourself become human, which shows you do have the right heart to find that forgiveness," she spoke tenderly. Her arms were now around him in a similar fashion. "I love you."

Those words, freely given to him whenever either one pleased, still felt surreal. "I love you," he echoed.

Christine separated from him, then continued. "What of your aunt, Erik?"
"I don't know. I never saw her again, and I suppose she must have perished quite a while ago – I can remember she used to be a sickly woman." She sighed and then he continued with a question of his own.

"I never did ask… what of Madame Valerius, Christine? Were you still in contact with her?"

Erik knew he had upset her as soon as her grip on his hand faltered and she looked down to her lap. "No. She passed away last year, two months after Il Muto."

He froze and managed to get an apology out, but she dismissed it immediately. "Please, don't worry about it. I mourned her for longer than she would have liked, already, and she prepared me thoroughly for her death. Mamma was elderly, bedridden, and never could stop missing Professor Valerius; it was only a matter of time. She left in her sleep, fortunately. It was hard at the time, but I have found peace with her passing."
"Did… did she know of your engagement?"

"When I last saw her, I was only in courtship. Mamma knew Raoul's family and he once accompanied me as I visited her, yet I wouldn't doubt that just with that single instance she knew his plan to marry me - she was incredibly perceptive. Though," the hint of a laugh came to her. "I cannot help but think she would have liked you; she would have surely given me an earful, had she learned of the way I ran to and away with you, but after that..."

He doubted it.

"Don't look so grim, Erik," she smiled. The strong, steady grip on his hand came back. "I truly mean it. She also had a talent to see through hard exteriors. Now I do wish things had been different and she could've met you."

Ah, if only things had been different indeed. Every passing minute with her made him regret his rash choices more than he did before. Perhaps if he had been destined to be a normal man, their story would have been one without any kind of fear and darkness. Perhaps then it would've been he beside her as she saw her Mamma for the last time, getting her blessing to continue their relationship.

"Thank you, for telling me what I was missing." Her eyes, so full of life and warmth, held no pity in them. He didn't answer, seeing as his words felt unnecessary and underwhelming. "I believe I should retire now, if there is nothing else you would like to speak of. Goodnight, Erik."

A kiss and she was gone, his mismatched eyes following her every move. The last hour had been draining, and there had been a hollowness in his chest all day before that, yet he found himself bursting with the need to create. This time, however, it was not music he yearned for, and he was sure of what he had been considering lately when pondering Christine and himself; what he had only wanted before to grasp at a sense of normality was now something he truly desired, more than anything.

If he begun now, he'd have the design by morning and what he desired in about a month. He went to his work room, grabbed paper, and began to sketch the night away.

A/N: I wonder what it is that he is designing... I loved reading your reactions and comments about my Erik's backstory, so thank you for those and for reading this chapter, as well.