I tried my best to make the Persian titles etc. as close to reality as possible, but research can only get you so far. If you know anything more, I would be more than happy to learn as well, and, as always, if you see any related mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out so I can correct them! Thank you for reading the story, you're the ones who keep it going!


She moaned, as she cracked her sore neck. Sleeping in the armchair was a gloriously terrible idea, yet she could not care too much about her well-being at the moment. Unvoluntarily, her eyes darted to the side to catch a glimpse of a peacefully sleeping Erik, who remained tightly tucked underneath the bed covers. In an attempt to satisfy her incessant curiosity, she abandonned her seat and joined him by the bed, resting her chin on the matress next to his masked face. She noticed how his mask seemed to appear and disappear at random, even though she rarely saw him remove or replace it on his own. Usually, it had been her who insisted on him keeping his face bared, especially during his illness.

His hand had come to rest next to his head on the pillow and, as the soft light fell on the crooks of his mask, giving him a sweetly innocent yet awfully melancholic frown. Her eyes trailed on his bony arm, where small bruises around the veins and endless scars and scratches decorated his sickly transparent skin. The side of their arms next to each other lead her to the inevitable comparisson between his marks and her single scar, which she had acquired the night this whole nightmare had begun.

Softly, as if she were touchng an infant, she placed her lips at the small line of forehead reavealed at the top of his mask and was ecstatic to realise his temperature had dropped significantly, since his skin was almost too chilly against her warm face. It wasn't cold, by any means, only...Erik chilly.

She brushed his black hair away from his face and rearranged the pillows, mindful not to wake him up. She thought she even heard him sigh in content in his sleep and her heart swelled with joy at the hope that soon they'd be able to leave this entire mess behind them. She held up har hand and looked at her engagement ring in adoration, hopeful that someday soon, she'd have replaced it with a proper wedding band, with its twin around the spindly finger of the man who had reminded her how to live again.

In truth, after her father had died, any human interaction, any attempt to continue living seemed senseless. Despite herself, she had caught her mind wandering off the edge of Maman Valerius's balcony rail more than once, but quickly recognised she was in no way ready to commit this sin. It was in such a state that Erik had found her, when their lessons first began. She was only a wailing child, back then, unable to even stand and accompany her maestro in his divine melodies the first few times. The rest of their relationship was history, both for them and their closest people. Monsieur Khan, la Maman... Suddenly he realized that if she were to consummate their marriage, only two people would ever find out, while to the rest of the world, she would remain the chaste and secluded singer and Erik, well, only the ghost of a rumor.

The man who had done so much for her. The man who had done so much to her. She had weighted the odds long ago and decided against the later, for it was possible she would not have been sane today, were it not for his intereferance, even through less than gracious means. The exploitation of her father's memory was something she would always hold against him, but was willing to set aside, since he had showed his sincere remorse for his actions.

"Mademoiselle," a deep voice resounded behind her back, where she found Erik's friend standing, holding a steaming teacup in either hand. "I heard you and thought you'd might want some tea."

Smiling, she raised to her feet and accepted the hot beverage, setting it on the bedside table to cool down. "His temperature has dropped. I hope he's getting better,"she whispered softly, looking down at her beloved.

Nadir nodded, although not entirely convinced. "He woke me up last night in a particularly confused state."

"It could have been a nightmare. He suffers from them quite often," Christine reminded him, needing to hear it more herself.

He shrugged, drawing her attention to the coat hanging from his arm. "I must be leaving you for the day, I'm afraid. There is some business I need to attend to."

"Yes, of course," she turned to look for her own coat. "I thought I could go out for some time in the morning, while he's still asleep. Would you care to accompany me above?"

Surprised that she would leave Erik, Nadir agreed silently, and the pair, forgetting their drinks behind, made their way to the surface, where they parted once they'd reached the rue Scribe door. Christine felt more comfortable knowing she could be left alone for a few hours. Not that Monsieur Khan was an unpleasant companion, but she needed some time by herself to collect her thoughts and process everything happening around her.

The Parisian sky was miserable, thick gray clouds covering any chance of sunlight she had hoped to get during her venture to this outside world. The streets were remarkably empty, with an occasional drunken company passing by her, without seeming to notice her presence. Of course, this was a common occurence in the early morning hours, when the convives of the local pubs were sent on their way by the owners. What was less common, however, was the couple of stares she earned from the few respected women she crossed on her way to the florist. Curious herself and embarassed beyond belief, she dared to seek an answer in the glass of a pastry shop. Indeed, her reflection was not exactly pristine, her once large dress deflated and winkled and her face dull, with large dark shadows around her glassy blue eyes.

She finally found the flower shop she'd been looking for, thinking some fresh flowers would refresh the atmosphere of the cellars, adding a burst of colour in their dark house. Strangely, the local shop was bursting with clients, some even ordering large and elaborate bouquets, adorned with ribbons and accessories of any kind and cost.

"A bouquet of lillies, please," she simply said over the noise and the lady helping her seemed almost relieved at the simple request. In a matter of minutes her order was complete and she payed the small sum at the busy counter.

"Happy New Year, Mademoiselle!" the flourist wished her as she exited the shop.

It was new Year's Eve! How could she have forgotten?

The daroga had never been near the Grand Mosque de Paris, despite having spent almost a decade now in the French capital. Yet, here he was, trying his best to mingle with the rest of the pious men in prayer. After performing wudu at the courtyard of the Mosque, he silently advanced towards the inside, when a small whisper behind his back made him freeze on his tracks.

"Allah! Nadir Bey, Daroga!" the masculine voice exclaimed.

He turned, his face stone cold, prepared to meet the hostile face of one of his coutrymen, who still accused him of treason to the Padishah. However, the man before him was bowing in respect, not daring to lift his eyes towards Nadir.

"Do not bow to me in the house of Allah," he ordered and the still unknown man hustled to his feet.

"Do you not recognise me, Nadir Khaan?" A twinge of disappointement was hinted in his deep voice.

Nadir felt a sting of guilt, as this man's friendliness exceeded usual respect. "Do forgive me. It has been long since I left my homeland..."

"...under suspicions of high treason. I know, Your Excellency. I am Gazsi Akhtar, Daroga. I served under your commands for fifteen years."

The repressed Persian inside him sparked to life and Nadir streched his hand to shake his soldier's heartily. "Gazsi, of course! Allah, how could I forget my best soldier! What brings you to Paris?"

His face darkened and he looked around suspiciously. "After your arrest, Daroga, the Khanum was merciless. Wanted anyone who knew of the Angel's plans to be questioned and, if found without information, executed. You need to know, Nadir Bey, your whole army supported you. We knew you could have not betrayed the Shahanshah. But the man...you understand, we couldn't risk our lives for the Khanum's puppet assassin. Is it true, Daroga?"

Nadir hung his head in regret. "I'm afraid it is. I helped him escape Her wrath. I was imprisonned and tortured, but soon, my silence tired Her and she ordered my exhile. My family name was the only thing that secured me a wealthy pension, enough to live here. And you?"

The man had been on his way out when they met and was now preparing to leave. "My daughter is getting married to a Persian immigrant and we'll live here from now on. It was my honor to see you well, Beym."

Nadir gave a weak smile. "A daughter? Last time I saw you, you were so very young. May Allah protect her and her new family. Good day, Gazsi."

He placed a hand over his heart, gesturing his gratitude for the wishes. "Inshallah, Daroga. Good day to you."

This sudden encounter made Nadir worried. His faith was lost to him since the tragedies in Persia, but now he felt the need for guidancec from a higher power. After so many years, he needed to pray and reflect, and Gazsi reminded him of who he truly was, no matter how far he disappeared from the gardens of the Golestan Palace. He was Nadir Farhadi Khan, Son of the Prince Abdul, Daroga of Mazandaran.

In deep concentration, he leaned forward and started mumbling his prayers. Rookheya was there, beside him, more beautiful than the day she became his wife, and Reza, his beloved boy, who lived so little yet loved so vastly. He prayed for his friend, asking Allah to protect him, since no man could.

"He's not a believer," he reminded himself, "but he's not any less of a human."

He prayed for Christine, noting her Catholic beliefs, yet begging the Almighty to help her through her grief and pain, for she must truly have been one of his Angels. How could a girl so small, so innocent in life, go through so much all alone? Erik had told him of her past, so he knew it was not an easy one. Yet she remained strong and hopeful, without being brutalised with loss.

She deserved happiness. They all did. In the end, they were all human. They all wanted to be good people. And they needed a soft epilogue.