Paris, March 1881

The days slowly turned into weeks, and March arrived with its usual non-commitment of spring. Paris witnessed the snow turn into slush, a few days of blissful warmth would pass, only for the snow to return in heavy drifts. The opera house continued its production of Faust, with Christine still not certain if she truly was the prima donna or if it was only a matter of time before Carlotta returned. Erik remained buried beneath the opera house, working on his opera more diligently than ever and keeping his head down with Lisette's advice. Lisette had returned to the surface, no longer feeling she needed Erik's watchful eye on her every move as the count had all but disappeared from the public eye. She no longer saw him at evening performers or wandering backstage with Sorelli in between rehearsals. Lisette was wondering if two had finally split.

The only two people Lisette saw on a consistent basis was Meg and Erik. Meg complained that Christine no longer had time for her, as she now spent every free moment of her day with the viscount. When Lisette had pressed for more information, Meg had merely shrugged, commenting that the pair were acting mysterious and rarely out of one another's sight. In the rare times that Lisette was able to see Christine during rehearsals and performances, she could always see the gold ring glistening on her finger.

She was thrilled to find page after page of Erik's opera left for her to edit and revise on the days she visited Erik in his home. They had continued organ lessons, but they were more like musical collaborations as they spent the majority of their time as equal competitors, performing four-hand duets and their most difficult organ repertoire for one another. It was these times that Lisette treasured the most. Now that she was working full-time at the opera house and part-time at the Conservatoire and church, she barely got any time for herself. Her days usually consisted of waking up well before the sunrise and going to bed after the entire city of Paris had retired.

One morning, Lisette woke to another dark Parisian skyline, knowing it must barely be past five o'clock. Usually, she would drag her feet through the abandoned streets to her church, where she would practice hymns, preludes, and anthems for that week's services. However, she had been working with Erik on a particularly delightful passage of Don Juan the previous day that she was eager to return to.

She soon found herself sitting at Erik's organ, carefully marking revisions in his latest work, her heart swimming with music as she poured over the page in front of her. She could hear Erik's gentle breathing from the nearby bedroom, a sound that was extremely rare for him. She could count on one hand the number of times Erik had slept in her presence. Her lips twitched into a smile as she reached the end of his progress on the current page. Her fingers grew restless as she set the pen down, but resisted the urge to play, knowing she should honor whatever little sleep Erik was receiving. Instead, she picked up a fresh piece of manuscript paper, praying Erik wouldn't mind, and continued the piece where Erik had left off.

She was so enthralled in her work that when one of Erik's hands rested on her shoulder, she jumped a foot in the air.

"Guten Morgen," he said, clearly amused. "Good morning."

She let the pen in her hand carelessly fall to the organ, trying to hide what she had been working on. However, Erik was too quick. As he passed over her work, she was shocked to see him in only dark pants and a loose fitting undershirt that bared his chest in the front. She blushed, surprised at how well built he was despite his thin stature. His eyes remained focused on her work, almost as if she wasn't there, and she held her breath as she waited for him to speak.

At last, his eyes met hers.

"Lisette, this is marvelous."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I wrote it on separate paper. You do not have to use it if you don't want to."

"Don't want to?" He stepped closer to a nearby candelabra to examine the music under the light. "It's… so fitting for my opera. This style is what I've been seeking but unable to create myself. This whole opera is filled with rage, passion… but this music is so sensual. It's the perfect addition to my score."

He looked at her, a rare smile playing on his lips and a pleased expression on the exposed side of his face. "You are such a gifted player but I never guessed… I should have known…"

It was unlike Erik to struggle for words and she couldn't help but let a smile cross her face as she watched him fumble over his sentences.

"I want you to live down here," he said, taking her by surprise. "I want you to help me finish my opera. Not as an editor anymore, but as a joint composer. With your scheduling and living so far from the opera house, I fear we may never be able to collaborate if we are not in the same quarters as one another. I can turn the sitting room into a bedroom, you'd have full access to this house… anything so we can find time to work together."

Lisette bit her lip, doing her best not to look at his exposed chest. "Wouldn't it be rather… suspicious?"

Erik laughed. "You were with me for nearly a week and no one noticed anything. You're not like Christine who went around telling stories about where she'd been."

The thought of being in Erik's underground home was not exactly enticing to Lisette. When she had been living down here a few weeks ago, she spent most of her time wrapped in a shawl to keep out the damp and cold. But he had a point… if she lived in the Opera House she would have more opportunities to collaborate with Erik, something she had missed terribly since her return to her apartment.

She nodded. "Very well. But again, I must be allowed to come and go as I please."

His eyes lit up at her agreement. "Danke, Lisette."

She smiled. "Bitte."

"I can copy this to my score," Erik said, pacing as he continued to study her music. "We can discuss tonight how we want to split up passages. You know the story of Don Juan, correct?"

"Of course," she said. "Perhaps you should let me know where you need inspiration or any ideas you have you're not sure of how to communicate."

He nodded, returning the manuscript to the organ. She watched him carefully, drawn to the way the muscles under his shirt flexed with every movement.

"Erik," she said. "You do not have to wear your mask while I'm with you." Tentatively, she reached towards his face, and was surprised that he let her brush her fingertips against the white material. What surprised her even more was that he took her hand in his and held it against the mask, closing his eyes as his breathing quickened.

"I'm a coward," he said. His hand tightened around hers and she could feel the heat from his contact radiating throughout her entire body. "You gave me such bravery before you went to Germany. I've never willingly bared my face to anyone before you. But I was a fool for not understanding why. You are the only person who can truly sympathize with me. I became careless and bared my face to Christine, but she is not you. She didn't understand. And she left… leaving me for her vicomte with a perfect face and leaving this darkness."

He opened his eyes and released her hand from his grip, which fell limply to her side.

"I've grown afraid once more," he said. "Her rejection was such a vivid reminder of why I'm here in the land of the dead instead of the land of living. I can't bear for anyone else to see me for who I truly am."

"Who you truly are?" Lisette said. "A musician whose talent is far superior to anyone in the Conservatoire? Whose voice could bring grown men to tears? Who built this entire home and passageways with his bare hands? A man who has sworn his life to music? That is who you are, Erik. Not the Opera Ghost, not the Red Death, not even the Angel of Music. You are simply… Erik."

Boldly, she closed the distance between them and brought one of his hands to her face. "Feel my scar," she said, guiding his fingers along the bumpy flesh. "And please, let me take off your mask."

His expression was unreadable as he traced the scar from her jawline to her forehead, his eyes blazing into her soul. She had never let anyone touch her scar so intimately, let alone invited them to do so.

When she reached up to his face and grasped both sides of the mask, she felt his touch roughen against her skin. But to her surprise and utter delight, she felt his stance relax and watched his eyes closed as she removed the mask from his face.

And then she knew she was seeing the true Erik.