Erik bellowed in self loathing and rage. His unrelenting fists again and again came down upon his wall. A large hole began to form. The crevice was doused in blood. Blood was a funny thing to Erik. He had seen so much of it; His victim's as well as his own. Still he could not seem to understand it. Erik was always cold. Christine wasn't. She was warm, soft and smelled of roses, sunshine and vanilla. Erik thought he was cold, rough and smelled strange…Possibly like Death. But what made Christine's blood so warm and him of the opposite? It baffled and angered him to no end. Sleep tugged invitingly on Erik's eyelids. He didn't want to sleep though. That's when the nightmares came…That's when he would relive Christine's look of sheer horror. That was it wasn't it? She wouldn't love him because she feared him. A pang of guilt shot through Erik's heart recalling the last meeting he had with Christine. He reluctantly climbed into his coffin. Then a voice, her voice sobbed:
"I'm sorry Erik, I'm sorry I was confused, please, please…" Damn you, Christine. Erik thought. You've managed to make me actually hear your voice. Damn you, Damn you, Damn you.
Madame Giry was worried. Very worried. Christine had gone missing after Il Muto. Like the mother she was, she looked high and low. When finally she had located her, she was hysterical and violent. She was in a crumpled heap on the floor bringing her bloodied hands pathetically unto her vanity mirror. She was sobbing so hard that all that Antoinette could make out was a distorted version of, "LET ME IN! Please Erik, please! I was so confused, I was afraid. Don't leave me angel please! I'm sorry Erik, I'm sorry; I was confused, please, please!" There were much crying, sniffles and gibberish accompanying her words.
