More incredible, incredible reviews came in over the past few days. I can only say—wow. I'm humbled and truly grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It's such a joy to know that some are having fun my little tale here.

Nora found herself back in Erik's quaint little parlor, almost entirely of her own volition.

Surely, she must be mad. Had she not decided, just three days ago, that she could not save Erik? That it was foolish to even try? That she would not allow herself to be drawn in to whatever melodrama he was starring in? But she now sat with Erik, sipping on a sparkling Riesling. Erik, of course, did not have a glass. He was still in his full mask, which she imagined was quite uncomfortable. How did he even breathe?

That he was nervous was abundantly clear. He sat uneasily and paced jerkily by turns. He poked at the already blazing fire. He was vigilant in making sure Nora's glass was never empty—he had 'topped it off' twice before she had managed to take more than a swallow.

"Christine Daaé's voice is exquisite," he began, still pacing. "In all my years, in all of the opera houses I have visited, all of singers I have heard— I have never encountered a single soul to match her raw talent. Oh, she had trained at the Conservatory for years, but her voice was still hidden when I first listened to her, concealed by shoddy technique and insecurity. But her tone—her timbre—her texture— you have never heard a voice like Christine's. I was compelled by that voice."

"To love her?"

"To teach her," Erik said. He came to sit very near to Nora, eyes wide and intent. "You must believe me, that when I first heard her, my only desire was to help her gain mastery over the exquisite instrument of her voice. She was young, yes; beautiful, yes—but her voice was my only interest. But how could I—I?—approach such a creature, even if my motives were wholly pure?" He launched off of the couch again, and started pacing.

Nora felt herself growing a little lightheaded. She blamed it on the hour and the wine, but she knew it was because of Erik. He moved and spoke with such tension that Nora was sure something would snap. She remained silent, not-quite watching Erik, trying to allow him a measure of privacy to collect himself in.

"Her father had died," he resumed his tale. "But before he died, he had filled her head with the most sensational, supernaturalistic nonsense—though I doubt the man knew that his tales would one day be so exploited. I thus presented myself—rather, my voice—to her as her long awaited angel of music, sent by Daddy Daaé to train her."

"You do have the voice of an angel," Nora whispered. She remembered how Erik's voice had even led her to believe for a brief moment that he might have been a ghost. What havoc could it have wrecked on the mind of one inclined to superstition?

He sounded like he was smirking, "and you have not even heard me sing." His tone immediately changed from ironic and rueful to utter remorse. "I cannot quite describe what followed. She viewed me as part mentor, part father, part agent of God! She trusted me as no one has ever trusted me before, she loved me as I had never been loved before. And while I knew—I knew —that her love was an innocent's love, a respect rather than a romance, I could not help but return it a hundred-fold. Her voice, her purity, her trust—" his voice cracked. "And so I pinned everything in my life on this one girl. Do you not think that was unfair of me?"

Nora could not help but answer directly. "Yes."

"Oh, Nora. I think you've always answered me honestly," he sighed, "which is why, when I have finished related these events to you, you must judge me, and I will take your judgment as the truth."

Dread spread through Nora's body and she set down her wine glass to keep from dropping it. Awkwardly, she looked away, smoothed out her dress. "That is also very unfair, Erik."

"Yes. But, as you see, there is precedence for such behavior from me." His courage seemed to fail him for a moment, and he sighed. It amazed Nora how he could seemingly collapse upon himself, his bearing changing seamlessly from that of a king to that of tiny child. He seemed to lose half his height in such moments. "It went well for some months, as well as it could go. I brought out the best in her voice and, I flatter myself, the best of her confidence. There was an opportunity for her to sing at a gala— we took it, and she was a seraph. At the time, it seemed as if we were unstoppable, that we would be together forever. She was devoted to me, and I believe that her devotion could have turned to deep love—" he cut himself off with a sharp gesture. "I won't go down that path, however. I will simply tell you that things got out of hand. She encountered a childhood sweetheart, my jealousy was excited beyond imagining, but my faith that Christine was destined to be my bride was cemented. Until—" he gestured to covered face. "This ended all of my hopes."

"Is it really so dreadful?" Nora asked.

Erik was immediately in front of her, on his knees, gripping her hands in his. His yellow eyes forced her to hold his gaze, and his voice was dangerously low. "Never ask that, Nora. Never ask that. Because if you start asking that, your curiosity will grow, and one day you will make a terrible mistake—and then you will never be free of me."

Nora wanted to laugh at his dramatics, to joke that he had been too long around theater folk. But his eyes prevented her, and his iron hands lent an ominous note to his final statement. "All right, Erik."

He nodded once and released her, but stayed on his knees. "I went mad—mad with envy, mad with desire. And Christine suffered for it. I made her miserable with my love. I knew I was going to lose her to her little viscount, and if I wanted to prevent it, drastic action was needed. It culminated in my... abduction of her. I gave her a choice—marry me, or—" he cut himself off again, this time laughing. He laughed long and hard, and Nora chuckled along with him nervously. "She could either marry me, or I would kill thousands."

Nora's laugher died instantly. "What?"

"My cellar—right near where this excellent Riesling was—was filled with gunpowder. Christine had the ability to either ignite the powder, or flood it. No, she would not marry me; yes, she would be my bride. The grasshopper or the scorpion." He laughed again, softer this time. "I do have a penchant for dramatics."

"I agree," Nora murmured. Grasshopper? Scorpion? Gunpowder? Perhaps Erik was far less sane than she had previously believed.

He vacated the parlor for a moment, only to return with two small boxes. He held them out to Nora. To her surprise, they contained two exquisitely detailed figurines in Japanese bronze. A grasshopper and a scorpion.

"As you might be able to see, these were at one time connected to a greater system—they acted as a sort of knob. Grasshopper for the flame, scorpion for the water." He lowered his voice further still. "I made her turn them with her own hand."

"And she turned the scorpion," Nora surmised.

"She did. To save half of Paris, but I think more so to save the viscount—you see, I had him here, as well—but I cannot speak of that. Already, I see how your opinion of me is slipping into the depths of Hell."

"No, Erik," Nora said. "Right now, I have no opinion. I am… overwhelmed." Nora had never spoken truer words. "What happened after she turned the scorpion?"

Erik finally stood, waving his hands. "This and that. I released my… captives, save her, of course. Then we just sat, sat dumb. I kissed her—just a tiny kiss on her brow. She let me do so. And then we cried—oh, how we cried." He looked to be on the verge of tears at the moment, but continued on. "What else could I do when confronted with such goodness? I let her go. I returned her to her boy, with the single charge that she return after I died, to bury me, bury me with the wedding band I had given her. And so she returns—for I thought that I was surely going to die, and so sent notice. She is late in coming, but she has come nonetheless." He sat down and did not meet Nora's gaze. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Was that how this entire confession had begun? Had Nora been curious? She supposed that she had been. She had said that she would not speak to the Countess de Changy without knowing more of the story—was this the story she had been expecting? Certainly not! "Well. I still don't know what I would say to her."

Erik laughed briefly and bitterly. "It was a mad idea, Nora—Christine always makes me mad. But tell me, tell me true—" her turned to face her, posture brave, eyes fairly bleeding agony— "how do you judge me, Nora?"

How did she judge him? She scarcely knew. "I could lie to you," she said, "I could say that only God judges. And perhaps he is the only one who should judge, but we all know that every man and woman alive does their best to commandeer the duty." Nora looked away from Erik, suddenly interested in the pattern of her dress and the tick-tock of the mantle clock. Nearly one o'clock. It seemed that Erik was a permanent fixture of the too-early morning hours for her. "I'm not fit to judge you."

"Not fit?" Erik hissed.

"No. Not fit. Not competent," Nora flinched, "and you should know, that is not something I never like to admit."

"I forgot the other side of your honesty," Erik murmured, "your silence. I can only take it to mean that you really do see me, and so abhor me, as well you should."

"And I would thank you not to speak for me," Nora snapped. What an accursed position Erik had put her in! To lay bare his sins—which were as strange as they were grave—and then to place her in the position of jury and judge. How far did he expect her to play in this role? She picked up her deserted wine glass and drank the contents too quickly. "It seems to me that your greatest crime is—" abduction, deception, attempted murder?— "loving too intensely and not knowing what to do about it."

"A pretty turn of phrase," he murmured.

He was threatening to mope, and Nora did not know if she could handle that. She turned to him seriously, shoulders square and chin tilted up. "Erik. I judge that you have been very foolish man in the past, which is a crime every person on Earth is guilty of. Your sentence—" his downcast face shot immediately upward, eyes horrified— "is to do better next time."

"I'll do better than that," Erik replied. "There will not be an encore performance. The show has closed."

"Oh, you see, now you're being foolish again. The key to success in these sorts of ventures is predetermination. So I charge you—if you are occasioned to love again, will you do a better job of it?"

It sounded as if Erik snorted, but Nora could not be sure with his mask. "I shall serve my sentence, Madame la Juge."

Nora nodded once, mentally adjourning the strange court she had been dragged into. "Which returns us to the original question of—how shall we avoid having you buried alive?"

Erik shook his head. "I shall think of something. And you—you should probably go to bed."

"My own bed?" Nora asked. "Not that your guest room isn't very comfortable—" never mind that I don't think I could go in there without seeing the drama of Christine Daaé play out on every surface—

"I think you might be more comfortable in your own home," Erik said. He stood and offered his hand. "Besides, I've already opened you up to enough commentary."

"Oh, Erik," she came to her feet easily and smiled, "my life has never been closed to commentary."

As Erik prepared to take Nora back up to the street, she once again made her offer of sanctuary. Erik could not deny that it was an appealing notion. What a novel experience it could be—to be the guest of a charming woman at some grand old country house. Coffee and newspapers in the morning, walks around the grounds in the afternoons, music in the evenings. Surely an estate like the one Nora had spoken about would have had a music room. What a pretty little dream, what an impossibly pretty dream!

Erik reminded himself that there had been a time, not too long ago, where he would have thought sitting in Box Five with a companion was an impossible dream as well. Instead of the heartening him, such a thought brought to mind the realization that he had best not expect too much more out of what world was willing to give him.

He demurred. "I cannot help but see taking your offer as a sort of coward's ploy. Running away like a scared child—does that sound like the right thing to do? I cannot imagine that it does."

"On the contrary—" Of course Nora believed the contrary— 'I believe that there are occasions when running is the absolute best thing one can do."

"And what do you know about such a thing?" He challenged. Nora never seemed to mind when he did such things.

"I consider myself to be a sort of expert on the matter," Nora said. "And you are correct, at times it is simply a coward's move. But on other occasions, I think it is—" she cut off mid thought, and remained disconcertingly silent and distracted for some time. "Let me give you an example," she said at last. "You mustn't be scandalized."

Erik eyed her with suspicion. He recalled how she appeared on that one, lengthy Sunday walk as she shared her various anecdotes and tales. She had been lively and chatty at the time, and had used that phrase—you mustn't be scandalized in much the same way. Let me tell you a secret, and we shall laugh at it. That was not the tone she used now. There was actual concern in her voice, and her eyes did not glitter like he had come to expect. Well, Erik was nothing if not a curious man! "Very well."

She quirked a smile, barely visible in the half-light. "I suppose I ought to tell you something of my… one, true love," her voice was not bitter, but supremely ironical. "Of course, it's nothing like your story. Not a grand romance, by any reckoning, very little of the drama that seems to have plagued you."

"Something to be thankful for," Erik said. His blood had run cold as soon as she mentioned her love, but he attempted to vanquish the feeling. Of course she had loved. If Erik, deviltry incarnate, could love, surely Nora with her careless kindness had, as well. He reminded himself that it was an oddity that she was unwed, and that his state of cursed singleness was not the norm.

She continued, unaware of Erik's turmoil. "Perhaps. I'll simply say that I really did fall into love with this man. I was not looking for it. We were friends first, and the idea of romance was a slow one in occurring to both of us. But we had much in common, and we would delight in making up wild plans of the things we would do, and most particularly, the places we would go. We were both travel-mad. During our courtship and our engagement—"

Erik disguised his exclamation of surprise as a distant echo. Engaged? He could not help but look down at her hand, as if he would still see the evidence there.

Nora caught his frantic glance, and she quirked an eyebrow. "As I was saying, during that time, we started to really cement our plans. I was particularly thrilled, because I had already been most everywhere that a young girl could go with a lady chaperone and I was desperate to move on to more exciting ventures. And he—well, he was game for anything, as they say. He would gladly serve as my protector in the wilds of the world. It was in this spirit that we decided to honeymoon in Egypt."

"You must be joking," Erik replied.

"Why? What's so unbelievable about it? It was actually quite the fashion at the time," she smiled at him a little sharply, "which you might have known if you hadn't been living underground."

Erik grew slightly indignant at the insinuation, but merely tapped his chest. "Touché. At what point did you run away? When you arrived in Cairo and discovered how dusty it is?"

"I'll hurry to the point, if I'm so boring you," Nora said, "when the engagement fell through, I found myself at something of a loss. I had been rather invested in that relationship, and to find the future I had spent years building up for myself simply gone…" she grew quiet. "Well. I decided to go and travel for a bit, which my family and friends generally thought to be a good idea. My mother particularly encouraged me to go visit my late father's family in England. She determined that she could live with a Protestant son-in-law if he was in possession of a decent title. But the more I thought about it, the more repellent the entire situation became to me. Therefore, I ran away."

"To England?"

"To Egypt," she said. "I hired a dahabeah, a crew to go with her, a staff—and I sailed the Nile, just as I had always wanted to do. I did so alone, without a matron of good breeding or a Christian husband to protect me. I stayed there for over a year. In the meantime, I lost a good deal. I lost many friends who viewed my actions as irresponsible. My mother died, and I only spared the event a telegram. Of course, that bit of familial infidelity put a seal on my reputation as being quite heartless. But I also gained something, something dearer to me than all of the friends or family or faithless lovers in the world."

Friendless, relation-less Erik could not fathom what she could possibly put so high a value on and told her so.

"Autonomy," she replied. "I returned from Egypt as a wholly autonomous person. Oh, I had always had money. I had always had the recklessness one associates with youth. I had always thought that I had done exactly what I pleased to do. But never had I known the true exercise of free will until that moment when I returned home to Canada, looked around, and saw that I was quite, quite alone. Some people would take it as a tragedy—but it is the best thing that has ever happened to me." She smiled suddenly, breaking the solemnity of the atmosphere. "The moral of the story, dear Erik, is that, at times, running away is a very good thing to do."

They immerged on the Rue Scribe, and Erik led Nora to where the taxicabs usually loitered. He picked up a sober looking driver and helped her to get situated. Before closing the door, he said, "I'm going to be impertinent, Nora."

She smiled in return, "as just deserts for my plays of impertinence these past few days? Yes, I imagine I do deserve it."

"How did it come to end between you and…" Erik waved his hand aimlessly to indicate Nora's unnamed former fiancé. "The two of you?"

"Ah," she lost some of her gaiety, "well, I think it was rather my own fault. I had the misfortune to be the second love of a very loyal man, and the audacity to believe I would be equal in his heart. But when he was occasioned to choose between us, I was the one found to be lacking." She smiled again. "I will admit to one point of perverse pleasure in the whole ordeal."

"Which is?"

"He's still travel mad," she said, "and his wife gets terribly seasick and so refuses to go abroad." She leaned out of the carriage and gave Erik her now-habitual peck on the cheek. "Goodnight, Erik."

"I'll see you on Sunday, Nora," he replied and shut the door.

A little word of warning—I know how this story is ending, and I know a good many of the points we'll encounter before we get there. But this particular part of the plot is still a little murky to me. If something seems a little 'off' to you, either in terms of pacing or the development of Erik and Nora's relationship or what have you, please do let me know. I'm always keen on constructive criticism and, of course, want to keep the story going strong. Thanks!

Final note, the chapter title is an oblique Shakespeare reference. It sort-of fit.