I almost wished I had not witnessed the Vicomte's late night transgressions. Yet, I could not deny what my extremely acute sight had taken in that night. What an insufferable boy! And, he was exactly that, nothing more- a boy! He was not a mature man-the fact made more than apparent by his drunken carousing and harlotry, while he assumed the guise of the ideal young suitor in the presence of my girl. If I was unworthy of Christine for my past sins, and foremostly, my grotesque deformity, then surely, Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny was also inadequate of possessing her ethereal heart! He was handsome, according to the dandy proclivities of the day, and extremely wealthy; but did that make him impervious to decorum and loyalty, to morality!
Not that I was one to speak of morality. My crimes, in the deepest regions of my soul, filled me with a shameful but intense satisfaction-though fleeting. Yet, only moments after I sated my violent tendencies, the remorse set in as if branded upon my already marred and mottled flesh. But, I had never been a hypocrite; professing devotion and love to my amour in chivalrous glory, while bedding a trollop as Christine slept chastely in the evening hours, peacefully unaware. If Christine were to look at me in the same manner as she did that insipid fop- her eyes possessed of unquestioning adoration- I would never act as to cause her distress. But, I was not a normal man, as I perpetually reminded myself. Instead, I was a mystery to the remainder of the world, including my ingenue- though she knew more of me than any other human being- hiding in dark caverns while attempting to gain Mademoiselle Daae's love through the only weapons of seduction available to me. My voice, my knowledge, and the strange fascination that draws a person to another simply because he or she is allusive.
A pathetic enigma! Yes, an apt description for my person. Christine would follow her fascination for me as long as I did not reveal my humanity any further. If I exposed to her my yearnings, for her love, both carnal and sacred, the tenuous illusion we still fed, would completely evaporate. To speak to her of my consuming and wretched desires would enable the girl to solve the puzzle of Erik. The solution: a loathsome and deformed lecher. Any admiration she held for my music, and our friendship would vanish.
Yet, had I the visage of the Vicomte de Chagny, I would be acquitted of the stains of sin. Beauty and wealth- I was never ignorant to the truth that both pardoned their possessors from the condemnation of the world.
My love and concern for Christine Daae presented my conscience with a dilemma of sorts. I could relate to her all I had seen, every sordid detail. She might fall into my arms for comfort. It was also possible that she would not accept the truth regarding her precious childhood sweetheart, and pound accusations of deception upon her 'angel'. Though, the truth might very well provide a passage leading her soul to my own. In my memory, I held the power to expose and possibly eliminate my rival for the darling girl's affections. So, why did I not resolve immediately, as I made my miserable trek back to the Rue Scribe, to reveal the betrayal of her little nobleman?
As I had mentioned before, I was learning more, each day and never-ending night, the conflicts and dichotomies of the soul, of the act of loving another. I hesitated to confess my knowledge because I loved her. I loved her with an intensity and power that would force the passions of Beethoven's sonatas and Mozart's operas to bow down and acknowledge a lack of emotion in comparison to my feelings for that unwilling seductress!
I was at a loss. Divided in my mind as much as my face was from one profile to the other. The enormity of the situation nearly brought me to my knees. I would not sleep that evening, wrestling with the decision: to tell or not to tell. The information I possessed could quite possibly propel Christine into my embrace. I could know the euphoria above all other pleasures- the dream that was a requited passion. And why shouldn't I simply call to her as soon as she rose the following morning and discuss the matter? After all, the reality of Raoul's other life could easily prove to build a path to my happiness. My only happiness. And love. They were simply two elusive delicacies- so often taken for granted- of which I remained unacquainted. They were within my reach, I was forced to acknowledge, after that chill night of exposure. And, had the Vicomte learned of any less than noble action of Christine's beloved 'angel', he would not falter in spitting out his testimony.
I realized why I suffered from indecision, as I unlocked my passage from the ebon, rain-splattered Parisian avenue. Because I loved her, I could not hurt her. I could not bear to crush her illusions. I did not know yet if I was prepared to be the soul who would open Christine Daae's eyes, and illuminate her mind to the brutality of society. It was a responsibility that would inevitably fall upon my spine.
So, back and forth, to and fro, crescendo and decrescendo; the solution would not be simple. A chance at happiness and love- both ONLY possibilities- at the cost of my dearest girl's tears. With a few words, I could again scrape at her naive and benevolent mirage of life, as I had when plunging her nails into my abhorrent flesh. Erik, her angel, her teacher, even her guardian; yes, I could destroy the last vestiges of her eroding innocence, exposing her to the cruelties, and also the all-consuming pleasures of life outside the Opera House. Outside of her mind. To introduce her shy countenance to a tortured man's yearnings of the sensuality that could bond a man and woman. Did I dare disturb her universe?
Christine Daae, you bestowed upon this miserable wretch something he would not even accept from the Almighty himself, the ability to love and to show compassion. When hatred had been such a convenient remedy to living. Why should I not use it once more? Just once? For your love, Christine? For that. . .
But, I could not endure your tears again. I could not be the cause of your heaving cries and disappointment. True to my nature, the truth would hide in biting darkness, until reason or that monster regarded as 'love', forced it to smother in the light.