I lay, rigid as a corpse, for uncounted hours. My eyes planted on the ceiling above me, though I was not looking at it. Barely conscious, my breaths were cataleptic, serene even. No thoughts within me, for I dared not to think. Dared not to reflect on what had happened earlier.

I struggled, in vain, to sleep. But, try as I might, I could not force my eyes to close. For when they did, I would impulsively open them again, in alarm that I would miss His slinky form sliding silently into my room. Moving through the shadows, until He was near enough to smell the lingering candle smoke that absorbed into His overcoat. Into His crisp, white dress shirt, and onto His…

Perturbed thoughts awoke me from me sleepless slumber and coerced me out of bed. I knew it was irrational, dangerous even, to leave my temporary sanctuary, but I felt that familiar sense of curiosity rear it's ugly head.

Hours, yes! I'm sure! Hours! had passed, without a sound. Without a single noise to indicate that Erik was still here.

Guardedly, I slowly opened the door, careful to avoid any squeaks that would alert Him of my presence. I peered around the frame to find that most of the candles had burnt out, plunging the Great Room into a velvety blackness that, strangely enough, did not disconcert me. I felt an odd peace of mind knowing that even Erik was human and would not be able to see me through the cover of darkness. I nodded, assuring myself, for I did not want to ponder the alternative.

I slipped around the door and waited several seconds for my eyesight to adjust, before beginning my venture around the room. I treaded lightly around the pile of papers, now blood stained and soiled, that I had created earlier. Remembering my hands, I brought them up to my face to examine them. From the throbbing that radiated, I was happy to find that they were still attached to my body. The blood had clotted, and the crusty remnants crackled over my palms as I attempted to brush it away.

A faint snap startled me, and my head shot up. Eyes wide, I scanned the room for the creator of the sound. I felt my pulse quicken, and I contemplated making a dash back to the safe haven of my room. I began to turn around when a hazy glow caught my attention. It was leaking out from the bottom of a door, near the very corner of the Great Room. A door, a rather simple looking one, that I had managed to overlook earlier.

Drawn to it, I stepped forward and placed my hand atop the exterior. My mind was at war with itself, wanting so desperately to open it and find out what it was that produced the glow, but terrified of what I might discover. A small moan, barely audible, drifted to my ears. Now it was impossible to resist. That small noise, that so tempted my curiosity, sealed my fate. With a deep breath, I began to turn the handle. With painfully slow precision, I swung the door out, and glanced inside.

"Erik?" I breathed softly.

I instantly regretted making any sound.

He was there, spread out across an elaborate Persian rug, on the floor of this, this…room. If one could call this tomb, a residence. Black velvet was draped everywhere, covering the walls were staffs of sheet music were not haphazardly tacked on. A few candles, were dimming upon Gothic candelabras, casting flames that were low, and almost mournful. A coffin taunted me from the corner of the room, but before I could even begin to fathom the strangeness of these surroundings, I felt myself jump back in dread.

"Oh God!"

I gasped, finding myself staring face-to-face with the one thing that filled me with hatred, yet enthralled, me the most.

Christine.

The woman that had tormented me from the hundreds of sketches Erik had strewn about, was now before me. Though I had never physically seen her before, the resemblance was uncanny.

And now she was here, living, breathing flesh.

I felt myself jump back, sending several papers to the floor as my back hit the wall. I stammered, thinking of something to say, thinking of anything to say. But what would I say to her?

Should I scream at her for being so utterly foolish? Should I pity her, and comfort her for the hardships she has had to face?

She stood across from me, as still as a statue. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her face, placid and devoid. Her perfect porcelain skin glowed from beneath the thin veil she wore over her face, her chocolate curls cascading over her shoulders. An elaborate ivory gown clung to her curves, yards upon yards of lace. She looked every inch the perfect doll I had always envisioned her as.

I was nearly wheezing from the shock of finding someone else in the room, yet she remained calm and composed, her mouth never moving from the slight frown itseemed eternallyset in. I stepped forward, nearing myself closer to her tiny frame that stood in the corner of the room.

As I drew nearer, I noticed that something was not quite right. Covered in shadows, it was hard to distinguish what exactly was off about Christine. I stopped several inches away from her body, and with a voice that was nary a whisper, uttered her name so softly.

She did not move, she did not even blink. Her eyes stared straight ahead, looking directly at me, but not seeing anything.

When there was no response, I asked again, amplifying my voice.

"Christine?"

Still, nothing.

Perhaps, she was in shock. Maybe something terrible had happened whilst I was feigning slumber in my room. I gave a quick glance to Erik, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully upon the floor. He lay on His stomach, arms folded under Him. His hair hung chaotic around His face, bits of white mask showing through in random places.

Whatever had transpired certainly could not have been pleasant, and with a grimace on my face when that morose coffin passed by my line of sight, I turned back to the woman in front of me.

I reached out my arm, to bring her back to reality and out of this peculiar trance she was currently in. When the sweaty flesh of my hand came in contact with her bare arm, I screamed aloud.

Her skin was cold and hard. And not skin at all.