Erik watched from a window in one of the many abandoned bedrooms on the upper floor as the carriage drove through the gates, hiding behind the heavy curtains to ensure the girl would not see him if she should happen to turn back and look in his direction. He knew giving her permission to see her father had been the right thing to do. Still he could not dispel that one unbearable thought that kept haunting him: what if she did not return?

Not only had he grown used to her company, he found he had even started to enjoy it. The evenings they spent together in the music room had become a point of light in his otherwise dull and meaningless days. Music had been his only solace in these past few decades of solitude, but it was not until now that he had realized how much he had missed someone to share it with, someone who understood the importance and the true beauty of music.

Unfortunately, the fact that Christine understood and loved music as much as he did, did not necessarily mean their lessons would always go as planned. Erik took music very seriously, striving for nothing less than perfection in both his composing and his playing. Naturally, he expected the same dedication from Christine, but her performance the night before had been anything but perfect. She was clearly not focused, had seemingly forgotten everything they had discussed in their previous lessons, and her singing lacked any kind of emotion. Her performance could be described as half-hearted and lacklustre at best. The sound she produced hardly merited the name music and he could not bear to listen to it for another minute.

And so he had messed up. He had promptly forgotten every promise he had made to himself about being kinder to the girl and not scaring her away, and had let his temper gain the upper hand once again. He had shouted at her, said such appalling things… It was a miracle she was still there after the terrible insults he had thrown at her. When he saw her crying because of him once again, he realized how badly he had ruined everything. He should have seen it coming. He was a monster after all, and monsters did not deserve that little spark of joy he had begun to feel during these lessons. It was only a matter of time before Christine would realize that too.

To make matters worse, rather than being mad with him and telling him she wanted nothing more to do with him, which was what he deserved for treating her so horribly, she had apologized and begged his forgiveness, as if she were the one at fault. How could she not see that he was the one who needed her forgiveness?

She must possess the patience and kindness of an angel, for she had in fact forgiven him. She had even said she did not think him a bad person – a temporary lapse of judgement, to be sure; she would come to her senses soon enough – and thanked him for helping her and her father.

Her gratitude was undeserved. He had been nothing but cruel to her. From the very first night they had met, when she had pleaded with him to grant them shelter for the night so she could look after her sick father, it had been clear how much she cared for the man. How could he not have offered her the chance to visit him then? How could he have been so selfish as to keep her away from the one person she evidently loved so dearly?

He could not change the past, but he could at least try to remedy this mistake. Allowing her to see her father was the only right thing to do, he knew that, but it felt absolutely terrifying. Part of him was still convinced that once he let her out of his sight, she would use the opportunity to run away and he would never see her again.

As he had expected, she was ecstatic at the prospect of being reunited with her father. He thought maybe she would thank him again and be off to her room, but then she had come to him – close, she had been so close – and she had touched his hand! She had taken his long, eternally cold fingers in her soft little hands and squeezed them gently and she had not recoiled! He was still not completely convinced that it had truly happened. Maybe it had all been a particularly vivid hallucination. That would make more sense. But if he had not imagined it, if she had actually touched him willingly – however unlikely that may be – then maybe she did not hate him. Maybe she would be true to her word and return after all.

After she had left, he decided to spend the day in the music room, hoping to divert his attention to something productive rather than wondering anxiously whether or not she would return from her trip into town. He had recently started working on a new composition and was hoping to finish it today. Unfortunately, his efforts soon turned out to be fruitless. However hard he tried, none of the notes he put on paper sounded right. After a while he could not even make out his own unruly handwriting anymore. He threw down his pen in frustration, leaving a big blot of red ink in the middle of the page in front of him. It did not matter, it was nothing more than gibberish anyway. He ran his hand across the unmasked side of his face, trying to figure out what to do with his time if composing was not an option.

Unable to sit still for much longer, he stood up and wandered out into the hallway, pacing along the corridors for lack of anything more useful to do. He had just decided that maybe he should take his horse for a ride and was making his way across the entrance hall towards the door when he almost literally ran into Nadir.

"Erik! Is everything alright? You look somewhat distracted," Nadir remarked with a worried look.

"Good to see you too, Nadir. Forgive me for not expecting to find you at my door unannounced."

Nadir ignored his sarcastic comment. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought I would come by to see how things are going with Mademoiselle Daaé."

"Well enough not to need your interference, although I doubt you will take my word for it. I would tell you to ask her yourself, but she is not here."

"What do you mean, she is not here? Is she outside?" Nadir asked.

"No, I mean she is not here, on the estate."

The initial confusion on Nadir's face was quickly making way for a look of alarm. "What happened? Did you hurt her? Did she run away? How long has she been gone?"

"Why do you immediately assume that I have hurt her?" Erik asked, irritation clear in his voice. It was certainly not unthinkable he would do something to chase the girl away for good sooner or later, but it stung more than a little that the only person he considered a friend thought he would ever use physical violence towards her. "No need to jump to the worst conclusion, my friend. She simply went to the village to visit her father."

Nadir opened his mouth to speak, but seemed unable to find the right words, and he stood there gaping like a fish for a few seconds until he finally managed to utter an embarrassed "oh".

"You need not look so surprised. I may not be the most experienced host, but I am aware one is not supposed to treat one's guests as prisoners."

His friend did not look entirely convinced.

"What else do you want to know?" Erik sighed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Spit it out, Nadir. I do not have all day."

"Erik, does she know? About –"

"No," he snarled. "And she will never find out." He did not need Nadir to speak the words aloud. He knew what he was referring to.

Nadir was about to say something more, but Erik did not give him the chance. "I forbid you from ever mentioning it in her presence. It does not concern her."

"Don't you think she might find out eventually? You might not be able to hide it from her forever, Erik."

"Well, she will not be here forever, will she?" he snapped. "Once her father is better she will be on her merry way again without ever knowing what kind of monster she was staying with."

Although Nadir clearly had more to say on the subject, Erik's expression made it clear that the discussion was at an end. A tense silence hung between them until Erik spoke again.

"I was about to go out riding. You can join me if you want."

"Riding? When was the last time you went riding in the middle of the day, just for fun?"

It was true that he usually did not go riding unless he had somewhere to be, which was almost never, but it was a better alternative than sitting around doing nothing, waiting for Christine to return. Not that he was about to tell Nadir that. "My horse needs the exercise and so do I. Now will you join me or not?"

For a moment it seemed as if Nadir was about to question his motives further. In the end he just shrugged and accepted Erik's invitation.

They returned several hours later. Erik bid Nadir goodbye at the gate before returning his horse to the stables. When he entered the house, he was struck by a sound he had not heard in many, many years: women's laughter. He looked up and the first thing he saw was Christine. He could hardly believe it. She had returned.

She was standing at the bottom of the white marble staircase talking animatedly to Madame Giry, and if Erik had not been so consumed by the simple fact that she had returned, he would have paid more attention to the beautiful smile gracing Christine's face.

The sound of the door closing behind him alerted both women to his presence. Christine looked at him and for a moment he imagined he saw her smile grow a little wider.

"You came back." He spoke the words aloud without meaning to.

"Of course I came back," Christine replied, somewhat puzzled. "Why would you think I would not?"

"I, uhm, I meant to say I did not expect you back so soon," Erik hurriedly explained. "How is your father?" he asked, hoping to divert her attention.

"He's not doing worse, which is a good sign according to his physician. He was asleep the entire time I was there, but I'm still glad I saw him. He is in good hands." Her smile had all but disappeared, but she did look a little less worried than before. She seemed lighter somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Good, that's very good. Shall I inform the hospital you will be back the same time next week then?"

Ah, there it was again. Her radiant smile reappeared and he knew he had done something right for once.

"I would like that very much."

"Very well. I will write to them to arrange weekly visits from now on." He turned around and started walking in the direction of his study. He suddenly felt in desperate need of a brandy.

"Erik?" She spoke so softly he almost thought he had imagined hearing her calling after him. He stopped in his tracks and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said. The genuine kindness in her eyes was almost too much to bear. He could never be worthy of it. He nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.

Over the next few days, Erik started noticing small changes around the house. Vases full of flowers from the garden started appearing where he was convinced there had not been any before. Curtains which he was sure had always been closed were now open. He knew Christine must be behind it all. The staff was well aware of his thoughts on open curtains in any room but his study – and that was only to satisfy Nadir, who had complained about the lack of light there on multiple occasions – and Madame Giry was not the kind of woman to decorate rooms with colourful arrangements of flowers. Christine on the other hand very much enjoyed the sunlight and was not afraid to let it in, and apart from Jean she was the only person who ventured into the garden on a regular basis.

If it had been anyone else, Erik would have spoken to them and told them in no uncertain terms to stop, pointing out that if they did not appreciate his tastes in interior design they did not need to feel obliged to spend another night under his roof, yet knowing it was Christine he could not bring himself to do it. Surely she was not doing any harm. He even had to admit the flowers and the additional bit of natural light lent the house a certain charm for which he had not seen the potential before. Whereas the dark and gloomy atmosphere of the old mansion fit him very well when he was alone, it somehow did not feel right anymore now that Christine inhabited these rooms too.

Sadly, the changes did not last very long. Summer was at an end and soon the flowers started to wither and the bright blue sky made way for dark and heavy clouds full of rain. Because of these less than favourable weather conditions, Christine was forced to abandon her gardening expeditions with Jean and spend more time inside. On these dreary days, Erik would often find her curled up in one of the bay windows on the upper floor with a book. Once, he managed to catch a glimpse of her book's cover in passing. It seemed to be a collection of folk tales from her home country.

As the days passed, he spotted her several times, not always in the same place, but he noticed she was always reading the same book. When he walked by for the tenth time in as many days and she was still reading those same stories, he could not hide his curiosity any longer.

"Do you never grow tired of reading the same thing over and over again?" he asked. She had not heard him walking up behind her and jumped a little in her seat at the sound of his voice so close by. Even though he was standing a few feet behind her, he knew it must have sounded to her as if he had been speaking right beside her ear. Throwing his voice was an amusing little trick he had taught himself many years ago, and although he certainly never meant to frighten the girl too badly, he was secretly glad to have found a new victim to use it on. Nadir had grown used to the trick over the years, had even come to expect it, and hardly reacted to it anymore. There was no fun in that.

"Well, it is my favourite, so I do not believe I could ever grow tired of it," Christine replied when she had recovered from the fright he gave her. "But I must admit I have more practical reasons for rereading it so many times as well. It is the only book I own, you see," she told him, her eyes cast down in embarrassment.

How had he never thought of that? He had seen the satchel with her belongings she had carried with her when she arrived, and from the size of it he could tell there was not much room for books.

An idea struck him.

"I believe I can rectify that situation. Follow me," he said, turning to go, but on second thought he turned back and added "if you please" in his melodic voice, the corner of his lips tilting up slightly in a playful little smile, before walking on. As he made his way towards his private quarters, he heard the heels of her shoes clicking against the stone floor, indicating that she was indeed following him. He stopped in front of a door right across the hall from his bedroom. He opened the door and gestured for Christine to go in first.

Her audible gasp as she took in her surroundings was rather satisfying. He had secretly hoped to impress her at least a little and was pleased to know he was succeeding.

She stared at the walls lined from floor to ceiling with books in in every size and colour imaginable in obvious delight.

"This is unbelievable!" she exclaimed. "I have never seen so many books in one room! Are all of these yours? Have you read all of them?"

He could not suppress a soft chuckle at her infectious enthusiasm.

"Yes, they are all mine, most of them came with the rest of the estate when I inherited it, and no, I do not think I have read them all, but quite a few, nonetheless. You can take a closer look if you wish."

She hesitated for a moment, not quite knowing where to start, before going over to the row of books closest to her. Erik stood with his back against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest, observing her as she studied the titles intently. After a few minutes he went over to her and guided her to a different section of the library.

"I think you might find these to your liking as well," he said. The look of surprise on her face when she realized what he meant was priceless.

"But… these are all in Swedish! Why do you have Swedish books in your library? Erik, talar du Svenska?"

"Ja," he confirmed, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as she positively beamed at him. "I have a lot of time on my hands and a rather extensive library at my disposal, with books in just about any language you could imagine," he explained, "so when I grew bored with books in my native tongue, I started studying foreign languages. I may not be as fluent in Swedish as I would wish, but I am capable of keeping up a conversation."

He wondered briefly if maybe he should speak to her in Swedish during their next singing lesson. Only because it would be good for him to have someone to practice with. Definitely not because he was trying to think of ways to make Christine smile at him like that more often. That did not have anything to do with it.

"I know you said you could not ever tire of your favourite book, but if you ever feel you could use some variation, you are free to come here and borrow any book you like," he offered.

"Oh Erik, I would love that," she said, "thank you so much."

Suddenly she threw her arms around his middle and hugged him. He was so stunned that he was unable to react, his arms hanging limply by his side. When she had held his hand that one time in the music room he thought he had felt some kind of spark, but that touch had been so light and brief he might just as well have imagined it. That was nothing compared to what he felt now, with her arms wrapped around him. It was as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning, setting his body on fire.

Then she let go of him, ending the embrace as quickly as she had initiated it, turning back to continue browsing the large collection of books as if nothing had happened.

If he was silent and reserved for the rest of the evening, it was only because he could not stop thinking about what had transpired. He could not comprehend it. An embrace like the one she had so generously bestowed upon him was a sign of affection he had not received in the many years since his mother had died. Could that possibly be what Christine felt for him? Affection? Or was it simply gratitude?

Who was he kidding? Someone like Christine would never feel anything but revulsion for a beast such as him. No, he must not read too much into it. In fact, he must forget about it altogether. The girl had been overwhelmed, she probably did not realize what she was doing until it was too late. The best thing to do was to pretend it had never happened at all.