He is so still, now. So silent. He has often been silent, keeping his own counsel, but she never expected – never once anticipated – that she would see him so still.
It is so very wrong to see him like this.
Her eyes trace his pale face. He has been pale for as long as she has known him. It is to be expected, really. Living underground, wearing a mask. How can he be anything but pale?
But now. Now the paleness is icy. Now it cuts her to her core to see, but she cannot take her eyes away from him. To take her eyes away would lose him, and she cannot lose him. She needs to remember him, always, needs to imprint him deep in her memory. It is the only way she can keep him within her grasp, the only way she can still have him.
(But he's gone, he's gone and left her and she cannot follow and her heart lurches but she swallows hard to keep the twisting pain inside. She has already struggled so hard to compose herself, and so help her but she will not be undignified before him now.)
His fingers are so cold against her lips. She presses a kiss to them, as gently as she can, but there is nothing she can do that would hurt him now. He has gone beyond anywhere that could bring him pain, gone beyond all suffering, and she will not believe that he has gone to the fire. She will not let herself believe that.
How could he go to the fire? When he is the one who saved her? He gave her her life back, gave her her music back, and she has not had music, not truly, not since Papa died. It is only thanks to him that she has any hope of a future.
(Though the thought of a future without him in it is almost enough to make her stomach heave. She fights down the bile that burns her throat, and kisses his fingers again.)
Even with what happened, with Raoul, with the Persian, that whole terrible nightmare of an ordeal, even with that his presence in her life has been a gift.
"God gave me you and took you back," she whispers, "and I know you didn't believe in him. I know you didn't believe you were worthy of anything, but you were worthy of so much, Erik, so, so much, and I hope you have peace now." Her voice cracks, and she swallows to try to steady it. "I know you have peace now." And she kisses his fingers again, another kiss, and sighs. "He cannot punish you when he made you this way. I do not believe he will. But I will pray for you, every day of my life."
And caught in her throat are the words she cannot speak, that she has never spoken to him and now never will. The three precious words that she has cradled close. Let them live within her heart, her own hidden secret. No one can ever take them away from her now.
A/N: Up next - An impulsive Pharoga kiss