I looked away from him at the white roses. Fading fast, but still beautiful.

I could not hold back my sorrow any longer. I had lost Maman, now I was losing Erik...the one person who been there for me when it seemed my world had ended...the man I had come to love.

"I will not leave you!"

I reached up and, as gently as I could, I removed his mask. He tried to cover his face, but I caught his hand and held it.

"I will not leave you, Erik," I repeated."

He pulled his hand free from mine and took a step backwards. Away from me. Mon Dieu, was there really fear in his eyes?

"No, Marguerite, I cannot," he whispered. His back was almost against the shattered mirror and he turned his head, trying to hide the right side of his face from me.

"Erik, please kiss me. I feel as if I should die if you do not."

He turned to me again and the flickering light fell full on his deformity, exaggerating it horribly. In those moments, I knew more than ever that I loved him. I met his eyes. There was disbelief there, mingling with the fear.

"Truly, Marguerite? Is this...is this what you want?"

"Trust me, Erik," I said and held out my hand to him.

Slowly, his trembling hand met mine.

I was in his embrace at last and he kissed me. When our lips parted, we were both in tears.

"Erik, beloved," I whispered as I caressed his face, "let me stay beside you forever."

When I awoke, many hours later, he was asleep in my arms. I almost wept with happiness when I thought of the night. How innocent and uncertain we were. I had seen it in his eyes as he carried me up to our bed.

"We will have to learn together, we will teach each other," I whispered as I clung to him.

As I held him, my hand trailed slowly along his shoulders. I could feel the scars there, old scars beneath my fingertips. Scars that went deeper than his flesh and left their marks on his very soul.

We left the Opera Populaire early on a Sunday morning. The strange little house by the lake was empty now. Piece by piece it had been removed; even the swan bed and the pipe organ had been dismantled and taken away. I did not ask just how he had managed this. I knew only that he was absent from the cellars for days at a time.

Nothing remained in the grottoes now except for darkness and silence. We stood there one last time, looking at the place that had been his home and my sanctuary.

Without a word, he laid two things on the steps to the old music room. One was a music box in the shape of a monkey. The other was the white wedding veil he had once given Christine.

He helped me into the boat and, for the last time, we crossed the still waters beneath the Opera House.

The theatre was all but deserted as we passed through the dim foyer. Our footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

As we stepped outside, the sun was just rising...illuminating us with soft golden light as we walked down the steps. The trees along the Boulevard were covered with delicate blossoms.

Erik turned and looked back. There was a silent farewell in his eyes as he regarded the ornate facade. Then he took my hand and helped me into the waiting carriage.

I did not yet know where we were going. I trusted Erik and my hand remained in his as the carriage reached the outskirts of the city.

Looking out of the carriage window, I saw that we were passing the remains of old gate posts almost lost amid the bright greenery and I recognized the path leading to the convent ruins.

A few minutes later, the carriage turned and clattered across a small bridge.

"Erik, you must tell me where we are going."

"Marguerite, you know curiosity can be a very dangerous thing," he said. His voice was ominous, but he smiled at me.

The carriage soon came to a stop. Erik helped me down and send the driver on his way. The man took a last glance at Erik's mask, looked at the generous tip, and drove off with a shrug. Before us stood a low stone wall with a heavy iron gate. Pushing it open, he led me down a gravel path.

I found myself standing before a small stone house; it was old and very pretty.

He took a key from his waistcoat pocket and, unlocking the heavy wooden door, led me inside. Standing in the simple foyer, I could see that all of the things from the Opera cellars were there; Erik's desk, his organ, his books, his violin

"Come, there is something else I want to show you."

He guided me outside again and into a garden. I realized that we were just across the river from the old convent.

The garden itself was filled with old rose bushes. It had been a warm spring and there were already dozens of buds.

One white rose was already in bloom.