Erik fought the urge to reach out to her, afraid that one moment of hope would be dashed by bitter reality. He forced his hand down, forced his heart to settle when he truly wanted it to run wild.

She was sincere in her words, but he knew kindness was not long-lasting, especially not toward a creature such as himself. Perhaps the music in the background bewitched her, perhaps the thrill of being swept away into their dark fairytale enticed her.

He couldn't bring himself to believe she truly cared for him. Too many times before he had thought he'd seen wonder and love in her gaze, but had found out that he was incorrect. Her fear had never turned to love. No one was capable of being in love with him.

She was too perfect a woman, too innocent and angelic. She deserved something more, someone better.

"You're not here alone," he said quietly.

Christine wiped away the rest of her tears. "I'm here with you," she said.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he argued impatiently.

Her shoulders dropped, posture indicating defeat. "No, I'm not here alone," she told him. "But I don't have to leave with him."

"With your fiancé?" he asked. "Whom you have taken up residence with in his estate."

"How did you know that?" she gasped.

He clasped his hands behind his back to prevent himself from touching her. "I didn't until now."

She looked frustrated with him. "You're a coward," she accused. "Pretending you don't care for me one bit when you know…" her voice trailed off. "I can feel it in the air."

He stood rigid, wanting to tell her he did more than merely feel the electricity between them. With each breath he smelled her perfume and with each glance in her direction he recalled the feel of her soft flesh beneath his gloved hands. Every time she spoke she allowed him one more moment to memorize her voice and the acute pain that would accompany her departure.

"I've been honest with you," she added. "Why won't you say anything?"

"Because you make petty speech unbearable," he said. "What can I say to you that would not be a waste of breath?"

He turned away from her and cured himself. Words had never been his strong point, least of all when spoken. He had sent plenty of notes over the years, not all written in the most amiable nature.

Music was his best form of communication. What he couldn't say with words, he could tell her from the depths of his soul note by note. If anyone would understand that language, it would be Christine. As much as he wanted to push her away, he knew that no one in the world would be able to hear him the way she did.

"Tell me anything," she suggested, her voice so low he could barely hear her. "Anything at all."

I love you, he wanted to say. With his eyes cast down, he turned to face her and stared at her boots. Taking a deep breath, he looked up to meet her eye and found her standing impossibly close.

"Why?" he asked.

She looked surprised by his vague question. There were too many answers he sought, too many questions he'd asked himself over the last few weeks.

"I-I don't understand," she stammered.

"Why did you kiss me?" he forced himself to ask.

Christine blushed. "Because I cared for you," she answered. "Because I still care for you now as well."

"Pity?" he demanded. "To save your fiancé?"

"Yes," she admitted. "For every reason you could possibly imagine. I did it because I saw how alone you were, because I feared for Raoul's life, and because I cared deeply for you. I kissed you because I wanted to." She stepped in closer to him, so close he could feel the heat of her body. "And do you want to know something? Do you want to know what I regret?"

His chest ached, devastation pounding through his heart like a stake driven through his body. He made no attempt to nod let alone speak. Just as he knew, there were no words to offer.

"I regret returning to you that night and giving you back the ring," she said, her voice strained with emotion. "I regret that I didn't ask more of you over the years. Most of all, I regret that you never gave me reason to stay."

"Reason?" he murmured.

"How many years passed before I saw your face?" she questioned.

He pulled away from her. "When you saw me, you recoiled."

"You led me away after my performance, you took me away from everything I knew without warning," she argued. "What did you expect from me in the grasp of a stranger?"

He gawked at her, realizing she was correct. "I didn't know what else to do," he admitted. "I knew what would happen once you saw him again. I didn't want to lose you."

"Why didn't you just speak to me?" she pleaded, clearly frustrated with him.

"Because I knew the moment you saw me, you would turn away, Christine, and I was correct. This face…"

"The face of a stranger," she told him. "Not a dear friend, not a suitor, but a total stranger. That is what frightened me the most. I had no idea what your intentions were or where I had been taken. If you had said your name, if you had told me who you were…"

Erik hung his head in shame. "A circus freak," he said under his breath. "Unwanted by my mother, traded for a mule by my own father when I was just a boy," he said without looking her in the eye. "Your father, Christine, he loved you, didn't he?"

He saw her head dip further down.

"Mine didn't. Neither did my mother. She would run away from me and tell me I was a monster. My father would tip my chair back at the table and laugh when I fell on the floor. I thought leaving their home would be a blessing, for surely life could be no worse," he told her with brutal honesty.

She didn't reply, but he hadn't expected words from her. He knew there would be complete silence, as what he said was beyond anything she'd ever heard before.

"There were many aspects that became worse, but do you know what made my life tolerable? I learned to play the violin by watching others," he said, recalling how he was mesmerized by music and envious of those who could play. "When I was freed from my cage, I found myself surrounded my music…"

Christine took a shuddering breath, which made him grunt.

"An iron cage," he told her, his tone filled with venom. "A cage fit for a tiger. Oh, and I was labeled a dangerous beast, the son of the devil, they said. Found in a deep, black hole with singe marks on my clothes, they told people when they entered. Beaten twice daily for the purpose of entertainment, Christine, spit on when they walked away. You should have seen the crowds. You really should have seen them."

Erik struggled to meet her gaze, his vision blurred by tears. He refused to allow a single one to fall. That life had hardened him, not weakened him. He had learned to clench his jaw, hold his breath, and grow numb while onlookers stared at him. He'd learned to shut out the world, to block out sight and sound until the crowd shuffled away and the laughter and shrieks ceased. Twice daily, he mastered the art of leaving his body behind.

"That's who I was," he said, his voice still hollow. Other than Madame Giry, no one knew his past and that was how he preferred it. "Not a day of my life has passed without doubt, without looking behind and expecting to be dragged back into that hell. I know the consequence of being seen and I have chosen to disappear. The world has never wanted me and I realized I didn't want the world either."

Unexpectedly Christine took his hand in hers. She laced her fingers with his and grasped hold of him with greater strength than he could have imagined.

"Who are you now?" she asked.

He exhaled and stared at their joined hands. Earlier in the day he'd felt quite confident that he was a different man at last, an artist focused solely on his music. Seeing her again had changed him, reversed the tide once more.

"If only I knew," he answered.

Christine searched his eyes. She reached up with her free hand and gently touched his left cheek. "You don't look like a Purcell to me," she said. "But perhaps I've just grown tired of your new moniker."

"What do I look like to you, then?" he asked bitterly.

She thought a moment, then a wide smile spread across her lips. "Like an Erik," she said thoughtfully. "I like that name much better than Purcell. And I am so grateful you aren't dead. I truly am grateful you're here and safe."

He looked down at her, knowing his happiness was fleeting. When it came to Christine, he had given into his romantic side, believed with all of his heart that he would find not only true love with her, but acceptance and friendship.

In a way, he longed to just have someone to speak to well into the night more than a physical relationship. He had enjoyed her company more than anything, a moment to share part of his heart even if they only talked about music.

Then again, all he had was his music. Aside from their one kiss shared in a chaotic moment, no one had ever been intimate with him. Not even his own mother had kissed him or embraced him.

"What now, Christine?" he asked sadly as he focused on how beautiful and delicate her hand looked in his. Even if she walked away a second time—a final time—he felt more at peace speaking with her. Perhaps now she would know why he had deceived her, why he was certain she would not accept him for his miserable self.

"Will you speak with me again?" she asked.

"When?" he asked, feeling as though his breath had been punched from his lungs.

"Tomorrow. The following day. Whenever you wish."

"Where?" he managed to question.

She looked around the dusty room. "Right here."

He couldn't stop himself for feeling hopeful and renewed. For the first time in his life, someone had asked to be in his company—and it was none other than Christine Daae.

"Tomorrow. Here," he confirmed, feeling a rise of panic cause his heart to stutter.

Christine nodded. "Noon," she said. Without another word, she smiled, turned, and unlocked the door. Just before she pulled the door open, she glanced back. "I will see you tomorrow, Erik."

He stood alone for a long time after she left, convinced this had to be a dream, certain his name had never sounded sweeter on anyone's lips…and wondering what she would tell Raoul de Chagny.