Chapter Ten - She Was No Longer His

Erik let the portal slide close behind Christine...no, Madame de Chagny.

He should never have left the panel open. Tomorrow, he would close off that entrance, too.

Leaning hard against it, he couldn't bear knowing that she was there...just within his reach. Just beyond his reach.

He had only to open it, to call to her, to draw her back to him.

He yanked the velvet curtain down and went back to his place at the organ. The ink was still damp on the page. He'd written the melody while she slept there in his bed...before she'd awakened, before the storm of desire caught them full-force.

He tore the paper in half and held the pieces to a candle's flame. If only he could burn away what was left of his soul. Only then could he ever forget her.

"Damn you, Christine," he screamed over and over, "Damn you..."

He slumped down on bed. He could still feel the heat of the passion that had almost been. The warmth of her, the unfamiliar scent of her perfume surrounded him.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture her there in those frenzied moments. But the image was blotted out by another one...

-

How many nights had he done it...ventured out from his sanctuary beneath the Opera House to watch over her, to see her come and go...safe and happy...a beautiful new wife.

How many times had he stood in the shadows of her garden, watching for her as she passed the windows.

Then there were the nights when his need to simply be near her drove him too far and he stood there on her balcony, knowing only the glass and the darkness separated her from him.

He knew that beyond those thin panes she lay in her husband's embrace, but he could force himself to forget what he did not see.

Until one night...one night when the summer moon's light illuminated the room within and he saw her entangled in the Vicomte's arms. Her eyes were closed, her thin white dress twisted around her body...

She was no longer his, she was no longer the wandering innocent that he loved past the edge of sanity.

She was Madame de Chagny.

-

"Damn you," he screamed again, his hands twisting into the scarlet cushions, his shirt and robe soaked with swear.

But even as he let himself fall into a feverish sleep, he knew he would not seal the door against her...