Hey guys! Look! I updated quicker than usual! Yay!

Erik: I'm back by the way, if you hadn't noticed that I've been gone for a while.

Me: I noticed.

Erik: Of course you did. . .Well anyways, I suppose I have to hug all of the reviewers. Yes, guest reviewers as well. *Hugging all reviewers* And anyone get a hug from me, as long as they review. . .And as long as it isn't a flame. If it's a flame, you get Punjabbed.

This chapter is named after Stop and Stare by One Republic.

I do not own Phantom of the Opera or anything by One Republic. I only own my OC's!

Enjoy!

. . .

Erik's POV

I swiftly left my box, feeling a small satisfied smirk pull at my lips from beneath my mask. The bumbling managers managed to do something right for once. I thought to myself, feeling the pleasing and refreshing weight of my salary in my hands. And of course, Antoinette had successfully delivered my salary from the managers, as always; well, as she used to, anyways. I was pleasantly surprised that she followed through with it. She must had done it out of loyalty, and for that, I left her five francs for her in return.

I could get used to this again. My mind smiled rather fiendishly.

With that mischievous thought that loomed through my mind, I wondered just what Clare would think if she knew that such an event was taking place; an event that was going to accumulate every month. Would she disapprove?

Who wouldn't disapprove? My mind sneered, proving a point.

Of course, I would eventually have to reveal to Clare just how exactly I received money. After all, it couldn't appear from no where. My only concern would be her displeasure from my criminal-like acts. The old Clare that I had been introduced to from the beginning, would have been aware of this. For that, I could only hope that Clare could relearn to accept the things that I took part in, in order to survive. That's exactly what it was, too. Everyone needed money in order to survive; in order to buy necessities. My home however, had necessities and far beyond. In that sense, I was living very comfortably. Although, the average person needed to frequently buy food and water. I was lucky that Antoinette was kind enough to run simple errands for me, for I knew that no store owner would wish to help a customer who bore a hideous deformity, or an intimidating mask. With that said, no one would wish to hire someone like me either. Living beneath the opera house was ideal for me.

Time had slipped by quickly, and before I knew it, I was walking through the dark tunnels that led straight to my lair. I didn't bother to light the pathway to and from my lair; I was the only person who ventured down here, and I knew the tunnels like the back of my hand. The entire way back to my lair, my mind was fixated upon Clare. Once she entered my mind, I knew that it would be long before my mind would ambled off into something entirely different.

Sometimes I was nearly convinced that she was far too good to be true; how could such a soul have stumbled upon the ruins of my desolated life? Though she seemed too pure to exist in my life, she continued to linger, which I greatly relished. Sometimes, I was nearly convinced that she was merely a figment of my imagination; a cruel, cruel trick. However, even if she was an illusion, then I would still be willing to be wrapped within that fantasy that would have plagued my mind. She would have been the most deceiving hallucination; so realistic. I wouldn't have cared if I never awoke from such a blissful dream. For this blissful dream was the closest to happiness I could ever reach. Probably the only heaven I would ever be accepted by.

The only proof that she was indeed real, were her letters that resided upon my pipe organ, back at my lair. I found myself often rereading her letters fondly. The words she wrote before her memory of living here had been shattered. I was ecstatic that she was beginning to rediscover old memories. Little by little, piece by piece, she was regaining the old knowledge she once grasped of me, while living here. I was well aware that it would take time for her memory to be fully rekindled; that is, if she regained all fallen memories.

However, even with her memory distortion, I found refuge in her heart. I was extremely fortunate to have her in my life. Things wouldn't always remain entirely the same; I knew that she would struggle trying to recall all that occurred here, when we first met - when we both fell in love. When I found a reason to live.

I often cringed at the remembrance of when I was left mentally broken by Christine when she abandoned my heart, where it would be consumed with coldness. And it would have, if Clare hadn't been there to mend the deep wounds in my heart. I cringed, not by a pain of being rejected by Christine, but by feeling foolish for not identifying Clare's desire for my acceptance of her very own feelings. So many times, she fondly thought of me - it was evident in her letters. Yet I failed to realize it until it was practically too late. However, I think even if someone had told me, I would have denied it, simply because it was unheard of.

Where was I when Clare was yearning for me to return such feelings? Where was I when she was homesick? Where was I when she needed me the most? I was sitting at my pipe organ, submerged only in my grief of Christine choosing the Vicomte, rather than me, who had wanted nothing more than to settle down in life with a bride of my own; all while Clare was comforting me, even when I failed to realize just how much torment she had to undergo while away from her home. Reading her experience through her own words, and feeling the deformed spots of the page where her tears and landed, ripped a hole in my world. I read her words the day she had disappeared from my life; the day we confessed our feelings to one another, and cried tears of relief; crying that the very worst was over, and joyful that we could start a life together as a couple. She disappeared before my eyes, moments after we shared a real kiss together. She completely disappeared from my very own arms.

The worst truly hadn't been over at that point. And I cried tears of pain when I read her confession of loving me in her letters. There was nothing more sickening than losing someone you could have lived with for the rest of your life. It had dawned on me before that I was middle-aged for a man from my time. I noticed in Clare's time, just how much longer people lived. People from her time were blessed for that. Though in my time, I had already lived half of my life. I was eager to settle down in life. I desired to. . .

It's too good to be true. My mind reminded me. Though I trusted Clare, deep down, I feared that she would never be willing to marry me. I deeply yearned for her to remain in my life. She was now, sincerely, my one and only reason to live. Just when I thought I had been buried alive in grief, she retrieved me from it.

From a young age, I had assumed that my life would be nothing but torture, for that's the world I had been brought into. From the instant hatred I received from my mother, to the bitter beatings I endured from the gypsies, my only goal was to seclude myself from the cruelties that the world relentlessly gave me. From a young age, my mind was dominated with negativity. It deteriorated my innocent soul, and replaced it with bitterness. For years, I wanted to shut the world out; I wanted the world to cease existing long enough for my injured heart to recover. But the world had other plans in mind, of course.

I had to crawl through every possible pain - both physical and mental - before I could get a taste of heaven. . .And with that said, I wouldn't change a thing from my past. Once Clare entered my life, all my past misery had been set right. However, my life would only remain mended if she stayed in my life. If she accepted my hand in marriage. I wanted nothing more than her approval. I was certain that she was the only one for me; the only person I desired to claim as my other half. The idea of sharing my heart with someone else sickened me.

Entering my quiet lair, I realized that several candles had burned out. It was time to relight them; a regular routine of mine. I wasn't foolish enough to only rely on candles to keep my home lit, though. I had many gas lamps throughout my lair; I just also preferred to use candles as well. I found candelabras to be a likable home decor. There was something comforting about having lit candles around me. It lit my lair up with an admirable radiance. I pulled my cloak off from my shoulders, and draped it upon the back of a chair.

My mind returned to Clare, thinking how she had saved me from a lifetime of solitude; from a life of utter madness. It often astounded me when I would think of just how much I had changed since I met her. I once bore an impulsive rage when having my limits pushed, or simply by being unmasked. However, after being soothed by Clare, without her being forced to look away from my face, I found myself relishing her touch; the great deal of affection she would pay to my face.

Perhaps God isn't all that bad. I thought to myself, as I peeled my leather gloves off from my fingers, and sat them down upon a table where I kept my wigs and masks. For once it seemed as if God had shown some mercy to me. I truly didn't deserve Clare at all, due to the past sins I had committed. She was a great blessing in my life, and it astounded me that someone would find acceptance in me after being exposed to my face. It shocked me that she found it tolerable, let alone beautiful. It would shock me if she actually accepted my proposal. Who would be willing to spend the remainder of their days with someone like me? Who would smile upon waking up beside me, greeted by my deformed face? It was something I simply could not fathom. However, I knew that I had to push aside my doubts at least this one time.

Clare was the only one I could imagine spending the rest of my life with. If she didn't accept, then no one would. The only way to determine her true devotion in this relationship, would be to ask for her hand in marriage. If I wanted this to happen - if I wanted us to be married, I had to at least try; I had to propose, and brace myself for the possibility of being refused. If she declined my one and only offer, that had been built upon my adoration and devotion in her, I knew that a new dark void would consume my heart. It would be the very end of my happiness; it would suck away any and all possibilities I would have shared with her. The very idea made me hesitate upon the idea of proposing.

What if she would have rather been proposed by my doppelgänger that lived in her time? For her, it would be ideal; he was someone who truly existed in her own life, while I was merely a ghost in her time. Her future held so many wonderful opportunities, while mine held very limited ones. Her future was far more marvelous than my own time. Even if I, myself, wasn't fond of the new fashions and so-called music from her time, I knew that the future most likely held far more prodigious things that I had yet to be introduced to. I didn't want to cheat Clare out of living her life. It wouldn't be fair to her. . .

That's a decision that will be up to her. I told myself as I relit several candles that had burned out.

I could only hope that Clare would be here soon. In the meantime, I would just have to occupy myself with music. Playing the violin seemed it would be nice to play, for a change. I couldn't get too rusty with my talent for it, after all. After weaving through a few turns in the hallway, I entered my dark bedroom, it's somber air greeting me. The idea of carrying Clare into my gloomy bedroom seemed unlikely to happen. And even if it did happen, I knew that the thick ominous shadows that clung to the walls of my bedroom would turn her away. It's dark appearance itself would look intimidating to someone like her, who became uneasy when surrounded by too many shadows. My entire bedroom looked to be dressed for a funeral. My bed was draped with black sheets. I suppose it was far more merrier looking than my original bed, which was a dire coffin.

For years, I slept in a foreboding coffin, back when I was obsessed with the idea of never awakening. My life at the time was still consumed with depression and hatred. The idea of falling into an eternal sleep seemed comforting. While most people were spooked by the idea of sleeping in a coffin, I realized that that was where most people would last lay. Why not grow accustom to it years in advance? Then my coffin would merely be my bed. If I died there, I would simply forever lay in my comforting bed, many levels below ground. It would be as if nothing had ever changed, if my body one day refused to awaken.

Although this seemed like an idea at the time, I later decided against it, especially when I began to fall in love with Christine. That was when I got rid of my coffin and replaced it with a real bed. However, even then, my bed took on a dark appearance, anyways. My bedroom was furnished with an ebony colored rosewood book shelf, with a matching desk and a chest of drawers.

I retrieved my violin that resided in it's case, that had last been left tucked underneath my bed. As I lifted the violin and it's bow, I froze upon a thought that suddenly seeped into my mind.

A ring! My mind cried, causing me to feel foolish for not thinking of it sooner.

Surely, if Clare were to accept my marriage proposal, she would indeed fancy a ring to symbolize my love for her. A ring that was a notification that she was not open to be accompanied by another man looking for love. A ring that warned other young men that her love belonged to me, and only me. Not all couples could afford an engagement ring, but I would be sure to get one to occupy her bare finger.

If she accepts. My mind hissed as a cold reminder.

However, before I could continue to envision what the ring would look like for much longer, I realized, to my dreadful dismay, that I did not know her ring size. A small part of my mind nonchalantly suggested to emerge into her world while she slept, to determine her ring size. I knew that that was ridiculous however. I wasn't willing to leave my lair while she slept, for that was when she became a guest in my own time. Also, even if she didn't travel to my time while she was asleep, I wouldn't want to risk startling her awake. It would be a terrible way to wake up to feeling an unseen force fondling your fingers. Surely she would faint or scream in fright. I didn't want my poor cherie to be tortured anymore than she already had been before.

It quickly came to my attention that retrieving a ring would be more challenging than I had anticipated; that is, if I were to buy a ring to present to her while proposing.

I may have to wait to buy a ring after proposing. I realized, to my horror. After all, I didn't know her ring size; hell, I didn't even know what type of ring she would admire. Besides, if she refused to marry me, then I would have saved myself from buying something that would have become useless; an item that would have forever haunted me, until my dying day.

I have to ask her soon. My mind urged. After all, I didn't want that dreadful doppelgänger to steal Clare away before I could even be given the chance to claim her as my bride.

I carried my violin out into the main room, hoping that I would see Clare walk out from the swan bed soon. The swan bed that currently remained vacant. I emerged from the dark hallway, my eyes greeted with the sight of my calm lake. I passed the pipe organ, feeling strange to neglect it this one night. Instead, I made my way towards a certain chair I always sat in when playing my violin. It was located directly outside the swan room. It seemed like an appropriate place to wait for Clare's arrival. Sinking into my welcoming chair, I began to play my violin, pondering over how to propose to my beloved cherie.

. . .

Ahh, so Erik's thinking about proposing to Clare! What do you guys think of this? What do you think will happen? You'll find out soon!

Erik: Thanks for reading, and if you review, you'll get a hug. Also, she insists that I remind you all not to forget to check out her face book page. Her creepy, stalker, face book pag-

Me: *Slapping my hand over his mouth* That's enough, Erik! We just love to look at you, that's all. . .It's not even remotely creepy. . .

Erik: As long as you don't make a wax figure of me.

Me: Don't give anyone ideas.