"There is little you could ask of me that I would deny, Christine."

There was utmost sincerity within his voice as he laid raw and exposed, then shifting his eyes from her, he studied the door way again before stepping in that direction. He paused briefly, looking back to her to ensure she wasn't going to end up collapsing. That wouldn't bode well. But he wouldn't allow her to drop to the floor, either. Upon this bare stone she could severely harm herself should her weight go down by full and without restraint. Christine had to wonder what little she might ask that he would refuse. What sort of thing might overstep his seemingly endless giving? Of that.. she would have to question and find where his limits were.

Following him as he made his way, she moved into her room, tapping off her slippers and pausing for a moment before she removed her robe. It just then dawned on her how inappropriate it might be to wear such things in his presence. At least, now that he had stated in actual words that she was more than just his student. But she really didn't keep those thoughts for too long as she lay the robe along the edge of her bed and pressed one knee to her mattress to hoist herself up and into the large bed, sliding her feet underneath the blankets. Sitting up for a moment, she watched Erik as she lay herself down, turning to her side. "You'll sleep too, won't you? In a bed?" As the last time she'd seen him sleep, he'd done so at his desk. Even so, she had forgotten that he had no bed but a coffin.

Taking a hold of a candle as he wandered into her room, he drew close to her lantern and lifted the glass from the small dias. Tilting the flame to the wick, he turned up the dial slowly, allowing the glow to heighten before he blew the candle's flame out. Glancing back toward her as she removed her robe, he brought his gaze down to the lantern again as he replaced the glass. The dial was then turned to bring a dim haze of light into the room, then approaching the bed as she climbed within he brought over the chair from her vanity to set it next to the bed. Lowering he tried to regain what comfort he had lost ... sometime around while being in the library. "It would be possible, if I had a bed, my dear," he paused a moment, then continued. "What would you like for me to sing to you?"

Frowning desperately as her thoughts turned to that awful coffin of his, her eyes implored him. "I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean to ..." But he didn't look as sorry as she did that he owned the thing and had to sleep in it. In fact, he never looked remotely troubled by it. How could he not see how morbidly strange it was? She glanced up, noting the quiet smile and the shake of his head, provoked by her apology, indication that she didn't have to backpedal, but she did nevertheless. "I ... I would like anything, really," she whispered, lowering her gaze from his, a few stray curls tangling gingerly around the column of her pale throat. "A lullaby? Something soft."

Rolling his shoulders back to force some looseness to the muscles, he leaned forward, resting his forearms across his thighs just as he had done before. With his fingers laced he thought over what he could sing to her. A simple lullaby came to mind and he nodded to himself. Glancing up to ensure that she was snugly tucked in, he closed his eyes while 'looking' forward again, and though his was leaned over, there was absolutely no strain within the ethereal voice. "How many stars are up in the sky? How many grains of sand on the shore? Though we may count, there will always be more. We could count miracles all night long, one by one. On and on we would never be done. So go to sleep, my dear one ..."

It was much, much easier for Christine to relax herself, especially as his voice seemed to pet down every last trembling, anxious nerve. The words were simple, and reminded her of the way she liked to hear stories - on and on, ever wanting more when there was always more to give. Her eyes closed as she turned to lay half on her back and half on her side, drawing the blankets up a bit higher to huddle in the warmth. Lips parted, it wouldn't take long with this luscious treatment for Christine to fall to a quiet sleep. She was already beyond exhausted.

"How many blades of grass in the field? How many birds fly up in the air? How many shells on the ocean floor? Life's many wonders abound everywhere." His eyes slowly drew open again, and he tipped his chin down to look upon her as he sang, a faint smile found against the corner of his mouth. "We could count miracles all night long, one by one. On and on we would never be done. So go to sleep, my dear one." Sometimes it was easy for him to simply pretend that all was okay, especially during moments like this. He leaned forward, gathering up the second blanket that laid folded at the foot of the bed, then easing it up along her already covered form, he draped it across her shoulders. "How many berries hang upon the vine? How many seeds does the spring breeze sow? How many leaves are up in the tree? Just when we know more new ones will grow. We could count the miracles all night long, one by one. On and on we would never be done. So go to sleep, my dear one ..."

But it would be okay - all of it - if he kept her here, wouldn't it? In time, she would forget about Raoul and the way his lips felt against hers. It would be even easier to make her forget the operas and busy rehearsals and the stench of alcohol near the staircases leading to the roof, her own personal escape. If he caged her, forced her hand a little, she would grow to enjoy herself, especially in moments like these, where he soothed her. When he bought her chocolates because he remembered she liked them or dresses in her favorite colors. When they read together and she laughed with him. When she made him breakfast. Some dreams weren't easy to achieve, and others are just not meant to be. "Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep, my dear one. For one thing I know is true ..." He broke off with just a slight inhale of breath as his eyes shut again. "The sweetest miracle is you. Yes, one thing I know is true; the sweetest miracle is you."

Slowly, but surely, his voice died off, becoming nothing more than a lingering memory, drifting within the dream scape she may be beginning. He remained sitting, his eyes opening to rest upon her anew. She looked so peaceful while she slept. If only it would remain that way. Where she would be comfortable in his presence without fear of what he might do should she say or do something wrong. Did she truly fear him as much as he believed? He wasn't sure, and often he wondered if she would have agreed to stay if she wasn't afraid for her life, or that of the Vicomtes. Another lean and he adjusted the blanket, leaving his hand lingering upon the cloth, long enough to feel the subtle warmth of her skin seeping through.

Quietly, he heard her breath passing through her slightly-parted lips, and if he left his hand where it was, he might even be able to feel the rise and fall of her body as she slept. So unaware of everything around her, it would have done him well to fall in love with someone else. Someone who could at the very least answer a comment like his from earlier, someone who wasn't afraid of her own shadow if it came upon her suddenly. Sound asleep, she appeared untroubled by anything, and perhaps she would have looked so always if she'd actually grown up properly. Too many little picnics in the attic to keep her mind forever childlike. Damn Raoul for that. Even that boy wasn't fully grown. It was he that wished to keep Christine as a childhood friend, but something a bit more. Erik ... Erik wanted a woman - mind, body, heart and soul - wanted her to become that woman. But it was so hard to have her be what he wished, when he was so unsure of himself.

It was in his thoughts to remain there, maybe even lay down on the other side of the wide bed. But that was just ... unheard of. Stupid, even. Especially after the reaction she gave him when he told her what he felt. Thank the Gods that he didn't express everything. But that was just ... so very discouraging. If she had that reaction with only part of his feelings, he could only imagine how it would be if he expressed it all. He didn't want to think about it, for all it did was bring a chilled knot within the pit of his stomach. Instead of laying near, he settled upon the bed's edge, and sliding his hand from the blanket, he pressed her hair back from her face and neck, letting it rest behind her in dark coils.

Erik was altogether right not to sleep beside her on the bed, for she might have screamed and come up with all sorts of images which said virgin mind couldn't begin to understand. He had made the mistake once with touching her when he believed she was sleeping, and he wasn't so quick to make that mistake again - give him a day or so when the urge was so strong it couldn't be resisted. He had already gotten a taste of it, and even now, sitting so close, he was itching to sate that growing addiction that couldn't be denied. It was only her hair that he caressed before he pressed to a stand, and brushing his trousers back to his ankles, he leaned to turn down the lantern, then made his way to the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back, then closed the door behind him quietly. He had a pattern to life, it seemed, for when he left the first thing he did was freshen up with a long hot bath, then donned his slacks and robes before going into the library. Lighting a few candles to be easy upon his eyes, he settled down at his piano with his manuscript, and splayed the pages out. The happenings of the night had assisted within the addition of a few more pages. Longing dripping in each crimson note. There he'd stay, even as the day drew on, and her eyes fluttered to an opening.

It took her a few minutes to realize she wasn't still dreaming, for through the walls, she could hear a dreamy sort of music, rich in tenderness, the longing in the sustained notes drawing her heart out of her chest as she sat up in the bed, rubbing her cheek warmly. Feeling half-asleep still but actually as awake as she should be, just a bit lethargic, she climbed out of bed and, forgetting her near-resolution about wearing such clothes around him, pulled on her robe and fastened it about her slender waist as she padded silently out of her room and towards the music, tilting her head to peek in the library as she stayed close to the door's frame, not wishing to disturb Erik or pull him from it. Whatever it was he was writing was beautiful. Hauntingly sad, but beautiful.

There were eyes upon her ... well, an eye, actually. Hollowed out and beset within surrounding porcelain. During the night he had removed the mask, allowing his flesh to breathe. While the material used was smooth to the touch, it was annoyingly hot and tended to rub him raw. His back was to her, thankfully sparing her the horror. Pausing within the measure, he took up his quill and tapping it against the bottom of the near empty ink well, he smoothed the angled end of feather along the edge, then began scribing down what had gone through his mind. It was a realization. An amorous man coming to terms with this constricting sensation that set about him. Warm yet frightening. Erik wrote about what he knew, and while he could never truly express Don Juan's sexual nature, he knew all about longing, and confusing love. Tucking the quill away he rubbed his fingers against his eyes, then dropped his hand back to the keys, beginning from the mid of the song, languidly making his through the melody without pause. This change was added, and he seemed to approve as he closed his eyes, swaying slowly, letting the song draw him into its tentative hold.

Like a small child looking in on something she knew she shouldn't be, Christine stood at the threshold of the library, peering around the frame that she tentatively leaned against to watch him. Or at least to watch his fingers and arms and the way he moved against the music, for she couldn't see his face at all except enough to know the mask wasn't there. That and she saw it sitting on the piano beside him, staring at her as if it could dare her to enter. She wouldn't though, despite the urgent pull in the music that made her weight shift from leg to leg, as if holding her feet back. It held such ... longing in it. The anticipation of each note, the repetition in others at just the right moment, the chords that grated her heart - it all built inside her. It was too much perhaps, for she drew her bottom lip between her teeth to worry at it.

As he continued playing, his mind had allowed a different set of lyrics come to his mind, and for a moment his fingers slowed within their rhythm. Tilting his head a bit, he glanced upon the parchment he had set up, then lifted his hands to begin shuffling through them. Pulling a few leaflets free he placed them upon the stand; empty. Curling his fingers, he lowered his hands to the keys again, and drawing from the melody that he used within Don Juan a different song began. Though it seemed jovial with the lighter lilt of higher notes, the addition of bass clef brought the melancholy feel. Longing remained within every chord, but it was changed, just a bit. A plea. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers go where they wished, his soul directing them across the black and white ivory.

It was a plea that Christine felt burn within her heart. The fresh hint of new tears crisply pecked at her eyelids, but they only made her eyes glossy and watery. A few measures later, she had drawn closer, then a little closer still, heart thrumming uncontrollably in her chest, pulsing with each sensual wave of music that fell over her. Until she stood quite close to him, just behind. Eyes closed, the poor creature began to hum the melody line. Maybe he didn't mean to add vocals here, but it pierced the core of the song like a spark of fire against the shroud of night. Her voice hadn't come as a shock, mostly because while he had heard it, he wasn't completely aware that there was a second entity there. The harmony was added in, a delicate balance as to keep from overshadowing the original melody that she was humming. And just that quickly.. the solo became a duet. He started the song again, looping it seamlessly with the end of it, and for the moment his voice laid silent, listening to the softer, gentle caress of her own. He enjoyed this change, it was more than obvious by the ghost of a smile that rested upon his lips. It remained there for the passing of a few measures, then faded away as he allowed himself to be wrapped by the almost entrancing quality of her voice.

Still, from this angle, Christine couldn't see Erik's mask-less face, and though she knew he was without it, she couldn't begin to think about that when his voice was once more tangled with her own. Christine had not sung for days, so her voice was by no means perfect, but the almost raw, just-roused-from-slumber quality gave something more to it. And just as he was entranced by her voice, she was just so by his, as always seduced by voice, spirit, and pitch. As it was, she stood so close to him that he could smell her. Considering he slept with that likeness of her in his room it wouldn't be a surprise if he had her scent memorized. At least the one he had purchased for her; but when did she wear anything more around him, besides earlier. The one Raoul had purchased her. That scent was removed from her rather quickly, thankfully. It was far too strong in his opinion - even if it was actually a light scent, he was just biased. The longer he played, the more fleshed out the song was beginning to become. He was supposed to have paused to write them down, but he couldn't bring himself to allow it. Not with her voice and scent adding to this dream scape. The lyrics were coming strongly, most settled in stone where he just couldn't bring himself to change them.

Christine would have to be guided into the lyrics if she sang any at all; for now, she left them at the softness of her humming, taking irregular breaths in her attempts to keep up with a melody she didn't exactly know. But it came to her somehow, easily so after a few moments, until the harmony was enough to drive her mad. There was a strange tug against their voices, and it was enough to have made her scream in frustration - instead, she sang through it, chest heaving and voice soaring above his, lips parted so that a strong 'ah' sound replaced the lip-clenched hum she had begun with. He ... wasn't imagining, he realized. The voice was too perfectly feminine to be his imagination. As many times as he had dreamed of her voice within his dreams, there was always that small touch that would have him know it wasn't her.

This was her ... And it was that fact that was drawing him closer to surface thought instead of simmering in his subconscious. He cracked his eyes open slightly, but never ceased the movement of his hands across the keys. It was a perpetual loop, a song that was never ending. With this round it was changed, at least vocal wise. She was left to sing the beginning - in truth, it was because he had come to realize that she was there, other wise he would have added his own humming. He glanced over toward her briefly, fighting the temptation to snatch up his mask and put it on again. Instead he exhaled slowly, relaxing and closing his eyes again. The melancholy melody was picked up with his deeper voice; in his mind it was the second part of the duet.

Singing alone, Christine began to, on the inside, really realize what longing meant - she missed the sound of his voice accompanying her own, curling around it. She very nearly opened her eyes, as it seemed he might let her go on alone forever, and then he joined, and she physically released a deep breath, taking in another to continue with him, her mind beating wildly against him. The song continued around their voices, merely in the background of what mattered, which was the emotions that lay bared between them when they sang. Raw with the plea of his solo that she had curiously happened upon. All good things had to come to an end, but he truly didn't wish to stop. Not while she rested so close, not drawing back in fear of his face as she had done before.

He wanted to sing the lyrics, and not just give a wordless hum, but they spoke so much. He had told her enough within the library the night prior. Told her, only to be rejected. He didn't have the earthly knowledge when it came to wooing women through mundane ways. He only had his music to speak for him. "Christine ..." he whispered gently, perfect timing to the words that were traveling through his mind. It wasn't part of the lyrics before, he was speaking to draw her from the enshrouding wrap the music had upon her, but now that single word was there. It was a good thing that he wasn't playing a harsher song, with the way he continued the loop, his fingers would've been sore by now.

The sound of her name seemed to fit right into the song, and so she wasn't called out of the spell yet at all. If anything, it drew her in further. He would have to say it again, in a different tone, or stop playing altogether, if he really wanted her attention drawn. Didn't he realize it would be better to keep her in such a spell for the rest of her life? Once she saw his face, what did he think would happen? Did he imagine she had noticed already and didn't fear it at all? Didn't wish to run from it in fear? Did he really think she was there because of it? That she ever would be? To look upon his face and see something more than deformity? Poor, misguided Erik. Keep her like that forever or come to terms with reality.

She was still in a waking dream when she let herself sing like this. It was as if she was a different woman entirely when she sang. As disturbingly intelligent that thought would be, it was something he couldn't bring himself to do. He couldn't keep her in an imaginary world and watch her sanity slip away as she would begin to believe that the dream she was in was real. He had destroyed one person's life like that already, and it would kill him if she sank into the same oblivious abyss. He was determined to win her love like a normal person. But oh, he just wasn't someone that could be considered normal, now was he? She gave no answer, and he continued on as if he hadn't said anything to begin with.

"Sit with me," another whisper of words, a gentle caress of singsong, though it was hardly his intention. He was still humming when he had decided to speak.