Erik closed his eyes as he played the violin. It wasn't his own violin, it felt strange in his hands, but he was able to coax the music from its form even still.

He didn't look at Gustave Daae, who lay in bed, too weak to get up. If he didn't look at him, he could pretend that this was a day like any other when he would sit with his friend and play and speak of music and any and every topic, happier days before the illness took over, before his frame wasted away to almost nothing and Erik could barely stand to look at him.

His friendship with the violinist had spanned years and now it was almost at its end. He wished he could close his eyes to this knowledge as well.

The song, too, came to an end, one Erik tried to make longer as long he could. But he was no magician. All things end.

The strings slowly vibrated their last as the music died out of them. Erik opened his eyes as his friend clapped his hands in gratitude.

"Thank you, Erik," Gustave said, a slight wheeze in his voice, "for letting the music live once more. You don't know how much I wish I could join you in a duet, you know."

Erik smiled kindly. How many times they had played together, a friendly rivalry or two voices supporting each other. At a certain point, they had played their last duet together and not even realized it.

"It's a fine instrument," Erik offered, turning the violin over in his hands. "But it'll never sound quite the same as it did in your hands."

"I want to talk to you about—after," Gustave said, slightly out of breath.

Erik took a seat in the chair next to the bed. He always used to wave away Gustave's attempts to talk about after, as though he could delay it by ignoring it. But he was listening now.

"You've been my dearest friend for ages now, Erik. Not many spare a glance for a poor man who makes his coin by playing violin on the street corner."

"Not many spare a thought to treat the masked man like a man," Erik mused, and Gustave smiled.

"And it's because of that, that I want to have my violin when I'm gone."

"Oh, Gustave—I'll take the utmost care of it. I promise."

Gustave nodded.

"You're a good man, Erik. A man of your word. I'd trust you with anything. And that is why I also want to leave you Christine."

Erik's soft smile faltered. Leave him Christine?

"What?"

"I want you to marry Christine. I'm not just wishing it, Erik, I'm asking you to do this. For me."

"She's—she's just a child—"

Gustave shook his head.

"She's turning twenty this month. You know Professor Valerius has her at university on a scholarship, but once she turns twenty that scholarship runs out."

Erik listened gravely. Gustave's daughter had been away at school as long he'd known him. Sometimes he would talk about her and what she was up to, but Erik had never met her. He only knew whatever Gustave had said about her, which, when he got down to it, wasn't very much. She was a singer, she liked reading, she was a hard worker. How could he marry someone he didn't even know?

"I have no money to leave her. If I could have one wish granted, it would be that she was safe and secure for the rest of her life. You can do that, Erik. For her. For me."

Erik shook his head slowly.

"She'll be afraid of my—my mask."

"She knows to look past appearances. Look, if you don't marry her, what do you think will happen to her? A young woman, no money, no place to live, no way to earn money except—"

Erik swallowed hard. Him? Married?

"I don't want that life for her. I want her to be married. Financially secure."

"Why me?"

"Because. I trust you. You'll be kind to her. You won't divorce her. You have enough money to keep her comfortably. I don't want her to be at the whims of some man who could turn her out at a moment's notice or abuse her. I don't want her to have worry about where her next meal or roof over her head is coming from. Besides. It's not just for her."

"Oh?"

"You need a wife, Erik—no, no, don't laugh. I don't want you holing yourself away from humanity after I'm gone. I know you don't have much in the way of friends, no family. You'll need someone to be there for you, someone to help you. Christine would be a good match for you, I think. Don't tell me you've never dreamed of a wife, now."

Erik couldn't even protest. He had always dreamed, secretly, of a wife, of someone who loved him for who he was, someone to be by his side. That the very concept might actually happen nearly made him giddy. A wife. For him.

"I think your illness has affected your mind," he joked.

"I'm serious."

Erik took a deep breath. It was possible that Gustave truly had lost it and didn't really know what he saying.

"Promise me, Erik."

It wasn't fair to Christine. But what was the harm in telling him what he wanted to hear?

"I will."

Gustave closed his eyes and nodded, peace coming over his face.

"Good, good. I'll write to Christine."

"What if she doesn't like me?" He was surprised to find just how concerned he was about this.

"She will, I think. Maybe not at first. But she'll come around, I'm sure."

"She's twenty?"

"Yes, almost. Here, there's a photo of her up there—just there on the shelf—"

Gustave gestured to a little framed photo up on the shelf in his room. Erik stood and picked it up, looking at it.

"That was taken on my last trip to see her, earlier this year."

Erik brought it up to the light to peer at it. Christine was smiling at the camera, her dark hair in cascading curls, her face pretty and delicate. His eyes swept over her form, youthful but most definitely not a child. He tilted the photo slightly and caught sight of his own face—or rather, of the mask that covered all but his mouth—reflected in the glass. This was a bad idea. He placed the photograph back on the shelf. He should tell Gustave that he couldn't, that he was wrong, that he could provide for the girl without having to marry her, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was—

"Are we not to court first?"

Gustave's brow furrowed.

"I said I wanted her married, not courted."

Erik's brows raised under his mask.

"What I would like most of all is to see her married," he continued. "But the doctor says—well, it would have to be very soon."

Erik gave a curt nod.

"I'll write to her and let know that you're coming," Gustave added. "You'll fetch her from university, bring her back, you'll get married in a church, and I can rest in peace knowing she'll be okay."

Erik's head was swimming. He was getting married. It was ridiculous. He was terrified that she might say no but equally terrified that she would say yes. But, he supposed, when it came down to it, her say didn't really matter. She had no other viable choice.

"Gustave, you're mad," he protested one last time.

"No, I'm not. I've given it much thought." He studied Erik's expression, or what was visible of it. "She won't turn you down," he added softly, as though he could hear his secret fears. "If I ask her to do this for me, she'll see the wisdom in it."

Thoughts swirled in Erik's mind, something about reprimanding him for calling folly wisdom, but none of the thoughts congealed into words.

"Now," Gustave said. "Can you get me some paper and a pen?"

Erik sighed. The tragedy of himself, he realized, was that he had ability to spot a folly but had not the ability to stop himself from committing it.

He found the requested items and brought them to Gustave with trembling hands.