Helene lay quietly in his arms and Erik found that by tilting his head just a little, he could see her sleeping face.
He brushed his fingers carefully against her cheek, remembering the first day he'd carried her down into his lair…how he'd reached out, wanting to touch her and not daring to.
Did I know it would come to this?
He tried to remember if there had been a time in his life when he'd felt this peace. Looking back across the years of rejection and abuse, of anger and bloodlust, of hate and obsession, he could not remember a single moment.
There were fleeting times when he'd come close…when he was lost in his music or in the senseless haze of opium.
I wonder…does happiness feel like this?
He felt her sigh, her breath so soft against his bare skin, and knew she was awake. He whispered her name against her neck to be certain. She responded by entwining her hand in his.
"How long can you stay?"
"One more night. I told them I was going to visit a friend. I wouldn't want to alarm them with too long an absence. But I will return as quickly as I can."
"Thank you, Helene," he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. He knew this time he had no reason to doubt…that she would indeed come back to him.
"Erik," she said, squeezing his fingers gently, "when I'm with you…when you make love to me…I feel as if you were the only one…and I wish to God you really were…that there had never been other men in my life."
As she spoke, she curled closer to him. Her face rested against his own disfigured cheek, he could feel her lashes flicker against his ravaged skin.
He took a deep breath, unsure how to answer such a bittersweet confidence.
"Helene, don't say things like that…"
But he felt her relax against him.
"Go back to sleep, Erik," she said, smiling and kissing his forehead before she let herself drift off again.
He had no choice but to do the same.
Helene's second sleep was not as easy.
She had meant what she said to him…she truly wished that he had been her first and only lover.
She had loved Theo, despite his almost incessant infidelities. She had not loved Stefano Scuderi, the lover she had listlessly taken in a fit of spite.
Both men had been handsome, wealthy, admired by their peers. Both men had said they loved her.
And she found herself regretting them both, wishing she could even forget them.
Her hand was resting on his wrist and she could feel the steady pulse of his life beneath the skin, beneath scars so thin she could have only imagined them.
It no longer matter that Erik did not love her, that he never would. He cared for her, at least, and he wanted her love. She would not be greedy and hope for what she could not have.
Two weeks later…
She was in the library alcove, examining the endless rows and piles of books. So many of them…French, English, Italian, German…some in languages she did recognize.
She selected a book from a pile…an Italian translation of Lord Byron's works. As she flipped idly through the worn pages, she felt his arms around her waist as he quoted the poet.
"She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and light meet in her aspect and her eyes."
She leaned back against him, turning to look up at him. He had finally given in to her requests that he not wear the mask when they were together.
"Will you read to me again, Erik?"
The previous evening, he had read to her from a book of ancient Persians poems until they had fallen asleep in each others arms on the settee.
"No, not tonight, Helene. Come with me."
He led her up the stone steps behind the organ to a smaller chamber which held an old piano…a beautiful rosewood instrument with mother-of-pearl keys.
"Do you play, Helene?"
"A little. Enough to amuse Theo's dinner guests. My cousin, Bethe, and I took lessons together when I was a girl."
"I should like you to play for me."
"Oh, I couldn't. It's been so long."
And how could she play for him? By now, he had played for her many times…his own compositions for the violin and the organ.
"Play for me, Helene," he said with false menace in his voice.
"Very well, Erik."
She choose a simple piece, a German love song that she had always been fond of playing for her friends.
As she played the melody on the luminous keys, the words played in her head.
Until that night, they had meant nothing to her.
Through these nightmares I go, desperate, shattered, lonely…but I must not give up…I will go to the grave like a sacrificial angel who will not let you go….
She looked up at Erik, but he was watching the movement of her hands. His head was slightly tilted, his eyes dark with concentration as he let himself learn the unfamiliar notes.
"Whatever happens, Helene, do not stop playing."
He picked up his violin and accompanied her.
Author's note - The song lyrics were borrowed from the song "For Sarah," from the English demo of "Tanz der Vampire."