Sorry, sorry, sorry. I've done it again...

I have a good excuse this time: I was home quite literally four days during July (first working at an over night camp then a trip to Jolly Ol' Italia) so I had no time to use the comp. I need to do some serious updating on my Van Helsing fic so it may be a while before the next chapter on this one... Sorry (again...)!

Deaths-Seduction: You are quite correct in saying that I misspelled "masquerade". In English. However, en Français c'est "mascarade" écrite in French, it is spelled "mascarade"! And since I insist upon being a high-flown moron, that is how I spelled it. Ha. Haha. Ha.

One last note; I saw Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last night and I'm inspired to write a fic. Would anyone be interested if I chose to follow through? Answers and ideas are more than welcome!

Have fun (This chapter will answer Queen of Perfectionism's question pertaining to Erik and Marie's relationship. Sort of...cackle )

Pax

I feel confident in saying that I have always been one who never hid from reality. If I had not entered the world with such a talent, I most certainly learned quickly. It would have been near impossible to do otherwise; every time I saw myself reflected I would have writhed and wept, filling my head with pleasant images of beauty and happiness to numb the pain. But actuality is something that can not be veiled; my mother rejected me, and I did not try to win her back. People cried out and crossed themselves at the sight of my face, and I did not try to change their opinions. Ballet rats whispered twisted fables about me, and I did not reprimand them. I am what I am, and I know that it can not be changed.

It hurts, sometimes, to realize what must be. I made a fist and pressed it to my mouth, watching silently as my angel slept. Never once had I left her bedside since I had first arrived; it was now near four in the morning. Ayesha woke and moved to my lap, purring when my hand began to stroke her fur. I looked down at her fondly, then returned my eyes to Marie, a feeling of emptiness resonating through me. I did not often hate the truth, but I did now. For two days I had broken my credo and denied reality, ignored what must eventually occur. My period of childishness had to end this morning, had to end now. I had known the truth all along. Marie must return.

I felt like I had spent entire days sleeping in the past week. Particularly since I came to Erik's strange house; once inside, I was either singing or resting (with the occasional meal in between). The feeling of having nothing especially important to do was a lovely one, I must admit.

There was a time in my life when rest had to be limited and quick. When I night fell I would stumble into a poorhouse if I was fortunate, or under a bush if I was not. Never did I think of it as a hard life; it was just my life. Abel had told me, when I was still quite young, that in times of hardship we must be strong and take what comes with grace. I had tried since that day to do as he said; to keep his memory alive.

I had struggled to keep aware as I leaned on the sofa; but Erik was a great musician and his music very soothing. I couldn't help it after a point, and eventually let myself drift off. I thought he might be angry when he woke me; instead he led me off to the snug bedroom. I felt guilty in realizing he might have spoken to me, for I never replied or even took notice of him speaking. I shall apologize in the morning….

But sleep did not immediately take me as I thought it might. I lay silently, thinking. Did Meg know where I was? The thought brought sudden fear and unease. It had never truly been an issue if someone knew where I was; for years I had been my own mistress. But things have changed, I thought; Now I have connections. Now I have people who care about my wellbeing. I felt warm at the prospect. Someone cared about me.

Snuggling into my bed, my thoughts drifted to Erik. What was I to him? Why had he brought me to his curious home and sought to train my voice? What purpose would I serve him? Against my will, I thought again of his peculiar and beautiful eyes. They had enthralled me with their unusual and intensity, the way he looked at me. I did not fully understand his odd mannerisms; with others discovering the meaning behind an expression was quite simple for me, but it was not the same with Erik. He was a mystery to me, even now.

Particularly so concerning his mask. He had never once removed it in my presence. Why? What did it hide, and why did he hide it? My mind had managed to create several wild, irrational explanations: he had an unsightly birthmark (or perhaps a wart), there was a scar spanning his right cheek (the result of a heroic knife fight with a hired gun, no doubt), he was a notorious criminal and wished to conceal his true identity. None of my stories made a scrap of sense, but I suppose it was just their formation that sated my curiosity I resolved, however, never to vex him with questions pertaining to the guise. I knew that if he wished to explain it, he would. I sighed, closing my eyes. Everyone wears masks of one kind or another. Just because I can see Erik's does not make it right to talk of it.

I felt the earlier warmth spread to my face; it would be lying to say that it did not intrigue me slightly. That he did not intrigue me. His features were pale but strong, framed by jet black hair which contrasted sharply with the starkness of the mask. His clothes were very fine, and the body--- warmness changed into a heat--- the body beneath was tall, lean, and powerful. It was true that Erik intimidated me, but at the same time I always felt safe with him.

My cheeks seemed to be burning with color; I buried my face into the pillow. I was tired; it was my sleepiness that motivated such thoughts. And so, removing all contemplations of Erik from my mind, I sought, and found, a light sleep.

But something new came along to distract me. Through the haze of faint slumber, I felt it butting gently against my hand; soft and warm. Hardly daring to believe it, I opened one eye and spotted the handsome, cream-colored cat with the jeweled collar. Tentatively, I stroked her back; she mewed, nestling upon the blankets. I felt delirious with joy. She was such a fine creature! I smiled and continued to pet her delicately.

Through the darkness, I could see her massive blue eyes gazing placidly back at me as I began to drift. The sound of her low purr lulled me into sleep.

It was perhaps, a good thing that she was so tired when she awoke. Though there was no visual indication within the walls of my subterranean home, dawn was yet unbroken. The trip across the lake felt surreal; the still water, disturbed only where the boat glided, cast a strange bluish light. This was not an unusual thing, but today, as it played off the white of Marie's nightdress and the paleness of her skin, the light made her look mysterious, almost spectral.

I shuddered, hating to think of her as dead. Yet with the chilling combination of her natural coloring, her attire, and the deep shadows about her eyes, the blue glow made her appear a ghost. Watching her closely, if not a bit fearfully, it became clear to me that she would not stay awake for the remainder of the voyage. I hardly cared, steadying the movement of the scull so we would glide more smoothly. In time, as I predicted, her long lashes brushed her cheeks (the contrast between their respective shades is heightened in this light…I must remember the image to paint…), head sinking to the side. Even as I silently admired her, an icy stab of fear pierced my chest. She looked lifeless. Utterly and completely. My eyes became frantic as they sought for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. There it was. She is well. There is nothing to fear.

I looked away from Marie, heart pattering strangely. If she was a spirit, what then was I? Was I no longer Erik, the Opera Ghost, or even the Phantom of the Opera, but Charon, rowing a poor lost soul across the river Styx to the world beyond? The thought chilled my heart. I never wanted Marie to fade, never wanted her to wilt. Never wanted her to die.

I felt cold. My deep and putrid obsession with death was beginning to ensnare her. And why not? Half of my mind thought bitterly, Every other person to come near me has suffered pain and loss. Why ought she be any different?

Because she is different. The other half contended, She was born to be with us, and we were born to find her.

The idea thrilled me; could it be that we were brought into this world to discover one another? Was that the reason I had been suffered nothing but rejection? Because my Angel was yet to come to me? The bow nudged the wharf upon the opposite bank, announcing our arrival. Scarcely noticing, I placed the scull aside and descended upon Marie. Still she slept; all the better. I lifted her out of the boat, moving to the path with her cradled in my arms. She would meet the Pottok another day.

The way was uphill on this half of the journey, yet regardless of the fact that I carried a young woman, I had never felt stronger or more healthy. Marie awoke a fire within me, inducing a deep passion, but also vitality and even contentment. When she was near me I became a different person. No longer the skulking, brooding Opera Ghost or the vengeful magician; when I saw her soft curls and large, beautiful eyes, I converted into the creature I ought to have been, and would have been if not for my face. I became a man in love.

I never wanted the passage to end. Allowing my legs to find their own way, I fixed my gaze upon her. My little love. Unconscious in her sleep, she nuzzled into my chest, one hand gripping my lapel. A small, silent gasp bubbled in my throat. I reminded myself, through my suddenly foggy mind, that she knew not what she did. But I was a man possessed. Her touch intoxicated me. Staring down at her face, the uncertainty that had been seething within my mind vanished, and a decision was made. Stopping in my trek, I carefully bent my head and placed a soft kiss upon her cheek.

Emotion hit me like a steam engine. Her flesh felt like nothing I'd ever known against my mouth. Tears blurred my vision as I pulled away. I'd kissed another but once. Christine Daaé, moments before she left me forever, had leaned forward and allowed me to touch my lips to her forehead. The contact had been brief, but heavenly. She had been my living bride in those wondrous few seconds. That had been, in a way, a farewell gesture; we both knew, at that time, that she would leave.

Marie would never leave me. I would not allow it. A smile, both jovial and twisted curled my face as I moved on. As the end approached, I sited several more kisses upon her face, savoring the warmth and softness of her skin. Mine. Upon reaching the mirror, I paused. It was not too late to turn back. It was not too late to bring Marie back to my lair and never let her leave. But I knew that she did not deserve such a verdict thrust upon her. Marie de Voisins would determine her own future. For now.

And so through the hidden door I went, to the récamier. As gently as I could, I placed her delicate body down and pulled the eiderdown beneath her chin. Straightening, I looked about the room. There were obvious signs of a search; the bureau stood open, the drawers on the vanity and bed cupboard drawn out. The Girys, no doubt, had noticed Marie's absence. I sighed, gazing back down at her sweet, placid face. They will be glad to know she is safe.

But the time had come for me to leave. Daylight would soon come. Pressing my lips once more to her forehead, savoring the taste and texture, I drew back and whispered:

"Farewell, my angel."

Feeling exceedingly hollow, I left her room behind me. When would we meet again? I did not know the answer. All I knew was that we would be reunited. It was our destiny.

Yes! MORE SCHIZO ERIK! Hooray!

"Everything in this room is eatable. Even I'm eatable. But that is called cannibalism, my dear children, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies. " - Willy Wonka Johnny Depp