It was the first Sunday in June. It had been some weeks since Moncharmin had approached with his proposition, and Erik was still undecided. His conversation with Nadir the night before had been less than helpful.

He had to admit, it was a fascinating idea. Erik rather liked it after a fashion. Would he live like an ordinary man? Perhaps not, but he would live, wouldn't he? He walked his Sunday route, distracted by the possibilities of the future. It really would be quite something, wouldn't it?

Summer meant that dawn broke early in the day, but Erik did not much care. Why would an ordinary man with an ordinary job care about walking in broad daylight?

He almost walked right past her.

She stood by the railing, looking out over the Seine. She was dressed in one of the white cotton gowns ladies were wont to wear in the summer months. Angel? Bride? No, simply Nora.

Erik approached her side slowly and stood silently. They watched the water for some time before her eyes flickered over to him. Somehow, he had remembered them to be greener—he had imagined them as stunning emerald—but his mind's eye had never been able to recapture the spark of life that made her so spectacular.

"I'd like to speak with you," she whispered. Why was she whispering? Why should she whisper when Erik felt like shouting? "Do you mind?"

Did he mind? Did he mind?

Why would he mind, when he had dreamed of her every night for months? He did mind, though, didn't he? There was something about seeing her here that burnt a hole in Erik's heart. He offered her his arm and they started off towards to Opera Garnier. They tried to chat for a short while. Erik asked if she was planning any trips, and she replied that she had been thinking about Greece.

"Perhaps by way of Turkey," she said. "Didn't you say that you had been before?"

"Yes."

"I'd love to go to Constantinople. Do you think you might ever go back there?" Her eyes flickered up briefly, and if Erik wasn't mistaken, there was an invitation of sorts in them.

"Unlikely," Erik said, "the Sultan ordered my death."

That ended all attempts at speaking until they arrived at Erik's home.

She smiled at him as they came up to the front door. Her eyes—her eyes! They danced over him, like they used to, with such fondness. He tried to delight in that look, but he found it terrified him. He released her when they entered into the parlor. She floated through it, looking about. Was she seeing how things had changed? Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

He wondered if this was what it was like when a man lifted his bride over the threshold of their home. It felt rather more like a funerary procession.

She looked at the couch, but did not sit down. She was nearly pacing.

Erik leaned on the door jam, suddenly very tired. "You appear to be in hurry."

She did not startle, did not turn to face Erik. "I hardly warrant your hospitality." Only the frigid undertone to her voice stopped Erik from offering her a seat, refreshment, and perhaps all of his worldly goods on top of it. "It's difficult to know where to begin."

The sadness in Erik's heart finally shattered, replaced with anger. He crossed the room in three steps and stood too close to Nora. Let her feel discomfort for once!

"How did you find Canada?" It sounded like a reasonable enough question, but Erik watched Nora flinch at the tone. "Dull, was it? Weather not to your liking?"

"No," she replied. The ice in her voice melted for an instant.

"Ah, then perhaps you returned to Paris to see me," Erik pressed, clapping his hands in mock delight. "Did you come to see your poor Erik? Do you find him suitably melancholy? Or were you perhaps expecting a far more graphic display of agony?"

"I would that you were never melancholy," she whispered. "I wish all your agony to be in a distant, unremembered past."

The anger turned to fury and the fury made Erik bold. He ran a finger along Nora's jaw and turned her to face him. "How kind of you."

Nora's downcast eyes flickered upwards for a brief moment. Ah, now that was new. Her eyes were red and glassy with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you?"

She nodded rapidly. She looked so young, so uncertain.

"For what?"

"I don't know if I should have come," she said.

"No?"

"I think I've already handed you too much pain. It's not fair to ask you to take on mine, as well." She made to move away, but Erik prevented her.

"You're right. That would be most unfair." How simple to be rid of her! Erik was sure he could kill her with one hand—a collapsed windpipe, a broken neck, nothing! His fingers slipped down onto her throat, feeling her pulse. It was slow and steady and he found his anger fading away with the touch of her skin.

She reached up, still looking at the floor rather than Erik. Her gloved hand ghosted over Erik's fingers. "I am sorry."

He wondered what she was sorry for. Not for refusing him, surely? "So you came to ask for my forgiveness?"

"I could never ask that of you," she replied. She seemed sincere.

Erik leaned down closer to her. "I'll give it to you."

That earned him direct, startled eye contact. "I—"

"You needn't ask for it," he continued, "you simply have to sit down and tell me why you came."

She nodded mutely and allowed Erik to lead her to the sofa. What could she say? She couldn't possibly have reconsidered her previous position on a relationship with Erik? If she had, what would he do?

"For most of my life, I've been running." Her voice cracked after her long silence. She coughed once. "But you know that, don't you?"

Given that Erik had intermittently relived every moment of their acquaintance over in his mind over past several months, he had to answer, "I do." He sat next to her and kept his eyes fixed on her.

"When I was younger, I ran towards the future," she said, "In recent years, I've simply run away from the past. I'm very good at it, you know. As soon as I leave a place, I leave everything behind. I was foolish enough to think that I could leave you behind, as well. I was… wrong about that. For better or for worse, I believe that I have lost some part of myself to you—I think, quite irrevocably. I did not mean to, but somehow, I've managed to pin all of my happiness on another person. You." She chuckled nervously and shrugged. "What can one say? It's rather unfair, isn't?"

Erik rested his chin on his palm, critically examining the woman sitting next to him. She appeared to be fascinated by the stitching on her gloves. "Ah, poor Nora."

Didn't she once say that she had never forgiven a man who had referred to her thusly? Apparently that was a forgotten prejudice, for she laughed and suddenly embraced Erik. He stiffened and nearly pushed her away. Sarcasm seemed to be beyond her comprehension at the moment. "And that's the damnedest thing! I don't think I'm poor Nora at all! Rather, poor Erik, because, as far as it depends upon me, I am at your side now. Forever, if it can be managed."

Erik did disengage himself then and came to his feet. What was she saying? "Poor Erik! Poor Erik!"

Nora quickly resumed her introverted posture, hands folded in her lap. "God, I'm a fool right now. Let me be as plain as I can be."

"Please," Erik said. His head was light. Was this a dream? Had his powers of illusion finally managed to conjure up a life from the smoke and the mirrors?

"I wish to be with you," she said, "you once offered me marriage— I have no expectations in the regard, whether you might be willing to renew that address or not. But regardless if you want me on a bridge every Sunday or in your bed every night, I am yours."

Here now was that one perfect note. Erik had never heard it sung—not by Christine, or even himself. It had never been played—Erik did not think that the instrument necessary to create it had yet been fashioned. But now—how was it that she could speak music? One haunting note, pain and perfection, drawn out to astounding lengths?

Like every note, perfect or imperfect, it faded away.

"Erik?" His name was practically discordant, even coming from her lips. "Erik?"

Erik paced back and forth, trapped in his own thoughts. I am yours. I am yours. I am yours. He could see his Nora now, dressed in her white openwork gown, with that lace veil she had worn last Christmas, looking up at him with such unwarranted adoration. He supposed it would only be appropriate to marry at Notre Dame. Would they walk afterwards? Would they simply walk together, arm in arm, forever?

…Given that little comment about bed every night, Erik dared to think not. But certainly every Sunday morning, for the sake of nostalgia.

He would build her a house, a lovely house, and they would fill it with such sweet memories. He would compose his greatest works there—would they have a family? Nora was hardly past the bloom of youth, and Erik wasn't quite in his dotage… Would she be happy to be settled down then?

Would she ever be happy?

…Would he ever be happy if she was not?

He came to stand in front of her, knelt before her as he had that morning when everything had started to go so terribly wrong. He took her hands. "Dear Nora…"

She smiled at him so brightly, as if she was playing the role of ingénue. What did that make him? Certainly not the hero. "Dear Erik."

"What of Turkey?" he whispered, "what of Greece?"

She blinked and her smile faltered for an instant. "What of it?"

"I would not want you to go without me," Erik said slowly, "I would not go myself."

"I know," she said, "I won't go."

"Won't you, though?"

"If you tell me not to…"

"I could never ask that of you," Erik said quietly. She brightened for a moment, but Erik continued, "nor could I ever stand for you to go off like that."

Ah, yes. He could see realization dawning in her eyes. She breathed in deeply, and reached up. Erik winced and closed his eyes as she took off his mask. She kissed him—it wasn't quite like the other brief, bewildered kisses they had shared. She kissed his ruined brow, his cheek, his lips, loving and lingering.

"I think that you are attempting to stop me from saying anything more," Erik whispered.

"Hm," she kissed him again, "Certainly not."

"Then you're attempting to seduce me."

She laughed at that, and Erik was obliged to laugh with her. "'Attempting?' It's only an attempt if it fails. …It is failing, isn't it?"

"I would hardly know," Erik managed to say. He imagined that it was working rather too well. "I've never found myself in such a position before."

Erik stood and held out his hands to her. She looked at him and then his hands. After a slight hesitation, she took them and allowed Erik to pull her to her feet.

She put one hand on Erik's bare face. "I did not know how this day would go—but I certainly did not imagine it taking this shape. How will this end, Erik?"

"It simply ends," he said.

"No," the tears that had been playing at the corners of her eyes on and off for some time finally escaped. "Whatever you want me to be—whatever you need me to be—"

"I want you to be happy," Erik said.

She quirked a smile, though the circumstances made Erik deem it a 'brave face' rather than any real indication of pleasure. "I will never be happy without you," she replied solemnly.

Children promised like that, Erik mused. Children promised the most extraordinary things, quite seriously, truly believing that they could one day deliver the moon. It was up to adults to determine what merited faith and what didn't. Erik determined that this did not. "I will take you back up to the street."

She did not reply. She merely closed her eyes and pulled Erik into a closer embrace. Her head leaned against his breastbone, one hand slipped under his vest to rest above his heart. Could she tell that it only beat for her now? Only the purest love could move Erik to put her happiness above his own, he was sure.

He held her, until he felt her tears seep through his clothing and chill his skin.

She certainly did not seem particularly happy now, but he was sure that she would be eventually.

They made their way through the underground passages silently. Nora clung to Erik, and he allowed himself to hold her until they arrived at the gate. Why did it seem so wrong that their parting should take place on a warm summer morning? Why did sunlight stream through the bars of the gate, backlighting Nora like one of her holy icons? Shouldn't there have been rain? Thunder? Erik unlocked the gate for her and stood to the side. What more could he possibly say?

"Do you know," she said, "that I decided to love you? Just a little bit, I thought. But once I decided to love you just a little bit, I found that I could not love you with any less than my entire heart." She pushed the gate open a little and looked up at Erik. "If you ever have need of me… contact Daniel. He'll always be able to find me. I… you'll find me to be constant." She stepped toward him quickly and kissed his mask, as she had always done before. She gave Erik one of her curious half-smiles and nodded slightly before stepping out onto the street. "You will find that I am very constant."

She walked away, a vision of hope, light in a dark world.

"I'm sure you are," Erik whispered once she was too far to hear. "I am sure that you are."

Monsieur Moncharmin,

I find your offer of the position of artistic advisor to be acceptable. I have drawn up a contract detailing the role I will assume in the management of the Palais Garnier. I will bring this to your office for consideration Tuesday morning. I will also bring a few pieces that I think will be acceptable for the charity gala this October.

Regards,

O.G.

DANIEL TREMBLAY

6 OSTERGARD PLACE

OTTAWA, ONTARIO, CANADA

PARIS NO LONGER SUITS. GOING TO GREECE VIA SWITZERLAND – AUSTRIA – TURKEY. SENDING YOU A DETAILED ITINERARY BY POST.

NORA