Part Two: Candlelight and darkness

When Christine woke, the pain was gone. As was Erik.

On her nightstand stood a solitary candle, yielding just enough light to recognize her room and the white satin draped over the chair at her dressing table. With a heated blush, Christine realized that Erik must have removed the wedding dress and her corset while she was ill. The momentary burst of mortified anger vanished with the realization that it would have been quite impossible for her to recover while fully dressed—and impossible for him to take care of me. She shook her head slightly. Such thoughts were frightening and she pushed them away.

The world no longer seemed to be at the end of a dark tunnel. Her hands were no longer shaking from cold and her head felt relatively normal again, though a cautious foray with her fingers revealed remnants of pain in her forehead, most likely lingering bruises.

Those moments of insanity flashed again before her—the utter fury and hatred in Erik's music after he'd left, telling her to put on the wedding dress. She had still been half dazed—it had seemed not even moment ago that she had been singing Marguerite's invocation to the angels, drowning in helplessness in regard to her own angel and in guilty relief that Raoul had spared her the decision…And then everything had spun out of control, like being swallowed by a shattered kaleidoscope. Erik, who she had believed would never hurt her…Not even the first time she had seen his face had she ever been so very afraid of him! The morass of fear, grief, and panic had swirled and pulsed inside her skull, in time with the violence of what she heard Erik playing, and suddenly the only thought in her mind was to make it all stop

She shut her eyes tightly. The memories of those hours were blurry, as though seen through a haze of heat, or underwater. And things had gotten worse after that. Raoul had been there, and there had been the scorpion, and the grasshopper, and…

Christine froze. Oh, God, what have I done?!

She remembered turning the scorpion. For there had truly been no choice.

And now? What did she do now?

I turned the scorpion!

She had consented to marry Erik.

It might have been seconds or hours before Christine came back to herself, fingertips still at her bruised forehead, still half panicked at the implications of what she had agreed to.

Would he really…?

He would. She knew he would. Erik would see to it that she kept her promise. But dim memories began rising before her, half visible shadows of what must have occurred during her illness. The anger had vanished as though it had never been… He had been pleading with her not to leave him, she remembered that. Had she truly been so ill?

It was difficult to sort out what had been real and what was the result of fever dreams. Erik had sat with her, helped her to drink something that sent away the pain, she knew that. She thought she remembered being gently rocked in his arms—he had been singing a lullaby and weeping, with his face buried in her hair… And then falling asleep in his arms, only he really was the angel of music with beautiful, feathered wings that had cocooned her in a warm embrace… A nightmare in which she was alone in a freezing void, but the sound of his violin had been a golden thread to bring her back…

But now he would force her to marry him, he would once more be the dark Phantom and her Angel would vanish again. Had he killed Raoul? She remembered asking what had happened, but she couldn't recall his answer. And if Raoul was still alive, what would become of him? If he could find his way to Erik's house once, surely he could do so again… And this time she would escape with him, they would escape the Phantom…

But the scorpion had been turned and she had consented. But what would happen? If she could only be sure that he was still her Angel, perhaps she could persuade him to let her go. And even if he refused, she would find a way. Her Angel would never hurt her…

If he was angry, though…

And he had cause to be angry, she realized. She had lied to him, had intended to break the promise to return to give him an answer…

Will you promise to come back and tell me, Christine? Even if the answer is no?

She had hurt him. But she couldn't—She didn't want—

The pounding in her head was returning and her fingers moved to press against her temples in hopes of stemming the ache. She hissed at the rising tide of pain…

The door opened and Darkness entered.

Past her doorway the hall lay in shadow… it seemed the only light in the world came from that solitary candle, and even that faint light was beginning to stab at her eyes…

Erik was suddenly at her side, easing her hands away from the needle-like pain in her temples, lifting a teacup to her mouth filled with something that smelled vaguely of rosemary, and she heard reassuring words through the pain.

"It's all right, it will pass… breathe deeply…"

His body blocked the candle and the pain faded somewhat as she drained the cup. He moved to set the empty cup on the nightstand, but that made the candle visible again and a soft cry escaped her.

Once again, his hands were at her temples, moving gently over her head. "The light pains you?"

Grateful that he spoke softly, that he didn't seem angry, she nodded. A fresh wave of pain washed over her with the movement, and she gasped, eyes squeezed shut, and clutched at his hands.

"Be still," he murmured, moving one hand to lay it across her forehead. "It will fade, just relax." Erik eased her back onto the pillows, pulling the blanket up and tucking it around her shoulders. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, "Do you want me to put out the light?"

Fear of the dark fought against the pain… "Please." She whispered, clenching her fingers around his, her eyes closed even more tightly. One of his hands left hers for a moment, then the piercing light was gone and the soft darkness surrounded her.

Erik began to slide his hand out from hers, unwilling to cause her any more distress. She had been so ill…

But Christine moved quickly in her fear, struggling up from the pillows, for the darkness would no longer be healing if he left, and then the pain would return… She caught his hand in both of hers, dismay and fright flowing over her, and her trembling whisper stopped him. "Please, Erik, don't leave me!"

He froze, disbelieving, but she was trembling, whether from terror or pain, he couldn't tell. Gently, he took her hands in his.

Christine clutched tightly at his fingers. She shivered, and then she couldn't seem to stop, the tears came, and all she could do was cry…

His hands left hers, but then his arms were around her, stroking her back, her hair, and she pressed closer, desperate not to be alone, and amazed, in a far corner of her mind, at her actions, at her fists wound tight in the fabric of his shirt, her head resting over his heart…

The tears abated and Christine rested in Erik's embrace, still clinging tightly to him. One hand continued to stroke her hair, drawing the pain out of her head. The soothing, repetitive motion combined with the warm darkness calmed her and left her clear-minded once more. She should be afraid of him, he could turn on her at any moment, he might become angry with her again…

But in the quiet darkness his anger did not exist. Neither did his hatred… nor hers.

Questions swirled through her mind and she remembered once again that she had promised to marry him. But she was far too relaxed to be horrified, for her cheeks to blush, for her stomach to twist. This was so peaceful after the pain… just for another moment, and then she would ask what he intended to do…

In the darkness, Erik rested his head against Christine's, his eyes closed, and tears trailing under his mask. She had promised to stay, but her illness had given him time to think, and he was once again drowning in sea of grief and self-hatred…