Author's Note:

It has been a HOT minute since I have updated – or rather, 5 months. In that period of reprieve (also known as exams, Christmas, New Years, starting a new job/s, I feel that I may have lost my already amateurish writing skills. I had planned the chapters out beforehand already and this chapter may already be a little dry so please bear with me. One more chapter (after this) and then it's the end of Part 1! I hope this isn't moving too slowly, but there should be about 30 chapters (3 Parts).

Christine saw Erik in a new light. Gone was the Phantom of her nightmares, lurking in the shadows of her mind, and instead was barely a man with the tortured heart of a boy, yearning for the love of a woman. This distorted form of a man had never known such love and had confused the yearning for a mother's love with the love of his living bride.

The thought twisted the insides of Christine's body. On the one hand, it made her sick to think that she might be the replacement of his neglectful mother, taking on the role of caretaker of his emotional development. On the other, the sweetest part of her heart that truly still believed in the goodness of humanity wanted just that – to make Erik fully human and realise love, kindness and compassion. Perhaps then he may shed the Phantom once and for all, finally stepping into the light. In order to save herself, she must first save Erik from the Phantom.

She had long realised, and especially realised it that final night in the lair, that Erik was indeed only partly human, though not for the reasons he had convinced himself of. He was indeed a Phantom, not because of his ghastly malformed face, but in the distortion of his soul and the stunted development of his heart. He had been denied love and thus was incapable of feeling a real selfless love for others. Erik's understanding of love had grown to be one that is selfish and self-serving. With himself at the universe, he had grown to hate the world, believing it to be as deformed as his face.

Yet there was hope. The world had not been completely ugly to Erik as he had found beauty in music and art, and indeed in Christine. His discovery of music had offered an escape from the ugliness of his immature soul, allowing him to peek at the wonders that the light illuminated. And it was beautiful, wonderful, and he wanted more. Erik suddenly saw the world with child-like wonder, wanting to learn all its intricacies and mysteries. It was this Erik that Christine felt drawn to, and that inspired her to feel the same beauty in a time of her own darkness. He showed her the beauty that he saw, an alluring yet distant light that one reaches to in the shadows.

It was this child-like innocence that shone through his soul now as they travelled. Christine had never seen Erik so at peace before. Even in the throes of his music there was something guttural, painful and passionate as he played. There was a desperation that gutted her heart and entranced her. But now there was nothing but a serene stillness in the air. She felt her guard lowering. The man in front of her was incapable of harm.

Did the peace come from knowing that he had won, Christine thought. She had lost Raoul, lost her freedom, and abandoned her life for his whims. In doing so, Erik had gained a wife, and now rode onto a life where he may enjoy all of life's pleasures. The winner was clear, the battle was over.

For some reason, it felt wrong to disparage Erik for his sins. There was no doubt that he had sinned, but now that Christine knew he was truly a pitiful creature, could she really hold him to them? Was it right to hate forever, to live in anger and resentment for wrongs that were committed due to fragile desperation? She wanted to scream, 'Yes! He took your life away from you! This Phantom all but murdered you and extinguished the life that kept you going!' Yet she couldn't. This was Erik. Poor, miserable, lonely Erik who needed her to grow and love.

Christine eyed the quiet man walking alongside Govad. A silence had come over them over the days since their marriage had been made known to her. Erik Durand and his wife, Christine Durand. Only a month ago had she envisioned herself to be Christine, Vicomtesse de Chagny, wife to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. A sigh escaped her, longing for the life that could have been. Wary to not reveal any signs of displeasure, Christine sucked in her breath, once again keeping an eye on Erik.

The said man had heard her intake of breath and turned briefly, instead thinking that it was due to weariness of travelling.

"We shan't be too long on the road, wife. We pass the border soon," Erik spoke, prompting a cock of Christine's head.

"To which border do you refer?"

"Switzerland, my dear."

Switzerland! Was that to be their new home? Christine had worried that Erik would lead her half across the world for he was quite the traveller. From Persia to Paris, Erik had travelled across continents for safety and Christine was sure he would do so again.

"I suppose I could live in Switzerland. Life there couldn't possibly be entirely different from the life we are used to. Though, you and I have indeed led quite different lives in Paris as well. I'm sure there will be a degree of living in the shadows as you are comfortable with that. But it's not as if we are travelling to the Orient. After all, we are still in the continent. And of course, I am yet to master the language and learn new cuisines," Christine babbled. After days of silence, words seemed to pour out of her like a burst dam.

Erik merely smiled and shook his head.

"I assure you, my love, that you will not need to master the language or learn the cuisines at all. We are not staying in Switzerland."

Christine blinked.

"We are not?"

Erik shook his head in reply, "No, we will travel quite a way further."

Christine felt her shoulders slump. They had been travelling for days on end, and while Erik had been gracious enough to grant them brief breaks in towns, she tired of sitting atop a horse and sleeping upon the grass. She longed for a bed, but not just any bed – her bed. Or at least, a bed that belonged to her and could rely on to return to each night instead of laying upon sticks and crunchy leaves or bedding that had been used by other travellers before. Such was the life as the Phantom's wife, she supposed. One must live in the shadows, unseen and untraceable.

"We aren't going to the Orient, are we?" She asked her husband carefully. Christine was still subject to her whims, but perhaps if she let him know that such a long travel to such an unfamiliar land would make her unhappy then Erik, as her dutiful husband, would concede to her tender feelings.

Erik chuckled at his wife's grumbles. He supposed that he should have felt incensed by her challenge, instead it appeased him that they could have light quarrels as any married couple.

"No, Christine. Our destination is Rome. But for now, we travel through Switzerland. I would like to stay in inns without fearing a trail for the Parisian militia."

Christine agreed to his conclusion and was pleased to know that a bed of twigs and fallen leaves would not appear in her near future any longer. Together they rode on for the nearest town, once again shrouded in silence.

"Thank you, madam," Erik spoke to the matron of the inn as their supper was delivered to their room. He had ordered a single room, fit for a husband and wife, yet again. Only this time, Christine was much more nervous than the first night they slept in an inn together. Erik may have held onto the anger of the Phantom last time, but he had assured her he would not resort to rape. Tonight, he could invoke his husbandly right and demand that she performs her marital duties.

Christine's hands grew wet with anxiety. Her heart pounded and she unknowingly backed herself into the corner, her eyes following the sweeping movements of her husband across the room. Her rigidity did not go unnoticed by Erik and he frowned to think that she was once again wary of him. Was his face to haunt them forever?

Sighing, Erik untied his necktie, exposing the pale flesh of his throat, and reached for a piece of bread. Christine's eyes widened at his bare flesh and clutched at her skirts, as if to guard her virtue. Erik eyed his nervous wife again, noting the hands that protected her skirts. He swallowed his bread, finally realising the cause of her anxiety.

"I will not bed you tonight, wife," he said. "I am much too tired. I have walked all this way in order to save your delicate feet, and even a man as powerful as I can tire in my old age."

Christine let out a breath of relief but maintained her rigid stature. She felt awkward to have been exposed as a blushing bride. She did not know what to do with her hands, nor her entire body for that matter. Fatigue took over her body, but the thought of sharing his bed worried her.

"Sit and eat, Christine. Or if you are too tired, feel free to sleep," Erik commanded, gulping down the ale in front of him.

It was when he was eating that Erik looked most human. The rolling skin on the deformed part of his face tightened each time he opened his mouth to consume the bread and butter. It was both horrific and mesmerising. No Phantom eats as heartily as her husband.

Erik slumped in his chair, his frame and mien reflecting the tiredness he assured of Christine. As his eating slowed, so did his movements, signalling to Christine that the fatigue is winning the battle over his body. She let herself into the covers of their bed, watching him grow drowsy.

"Will you join me in bed, Erik?"

Christine blushed, realising how forward and inviting that may sound. But Erik paid no mind, his mask slipping through his fingers and onto the floor, the muscles of his face drooping in tune with his eyes.

"No, my love. I'll stay here tonight. Sleep comfortably tonight," he murmured before sleep finally overtook him.

There sagged in a chair was a man she had never seen before. Yes, Christine had witnessed Erik sleeping before. But then he had been the Phantom, a dangerous man with pain and anger radiating from his body. Here sat a man, Erik, overcome with exhaustion, succumbing to the solace that sleep assured, at peace. His physical age was apparent to her. Though a powerful man, he was still a man of middle age. His years had begun to catch up with him as the contorted contours of his deformity was paired with the natural lines of age around his eyes and mouth, creating an unlikely but fascinating duet.

Yet his evident old age, there lay that childishness that Christine had spied before. It was there in the quirk of his mouth. A mischievous wonder that worshipped beauty and tormented his oppressors. It was in his eyes, when they were open, that twinkled when they gazed upon her. It was in the way he held himself as he slept, out of protection or to give a semblance of the love he was denied, she did not know. But there in his own embrace was that child-like vulnerability that pleaded for Christine's affection and warmth.

She had to save him. If not from the world, then at least from himself.