Shade: I know I changed the lyrics slightly, but just for the chapter's purposes. I don't own it and . . . yeah, OK, I'm done! Also, the rating has been bumped up to M for gore now, and for the stuff you guys have been asking for later. Sorry, it had to be!

"In dreams

She came . . ." -The Phantom of the Opera

Chapter 22: Born in Blood

I stormed up the labyrinth, stumbling and almost tripping into my own traps. I was delirious, exhausted . . . and haunted . . .

I hadn't slept well since Nasrin died; and that was five weeks ago. My eyes were red and my limbs shook. I was an utter and complete wreck. I lurched forward, driven by my unwavering will and my gelatinous legs.

"Madame Giry!" I called, now knocking on her door with a limp fist. I felt as though the slightest loss in balance would send me to the ground and I prayed Madame Giry could assist me.

"I'm coming!" she said back, her tone betraying that this interruption was not welcome at such an hour of the new morning. As soon as she opened the door, the color drained from her face and she stepped aside, just enough so that when I collapsed to my knees in her doorway, she was not hurt. I completed my fall with the utmost clumsiness. My head struck the ground and I prayed for a dreamless slumber to take me, no matter what that would lead to. But my head throbbed and I groaned as she pulled me farther in so she could close the door.

"Erik, good God you look . . ." She hesitated.

"Terrible," I spat, dragging myself to my feet. She sat me down in her chair and pursed her lips at me. I pulled my weighted eyelids open and focused my bloodshot eyes on her.

"What has been happening? Has Daevas been preventing your sleep?" She looked concerned, yet passive in the same moment.

"In a way yes, but not in truth. The Daevas who mysteriously resides in this theater has not yet taken up her oath and sought revenge on me. But my mind works harder at ensuring my unhappiness."

She became pensive. "How so?"

I sighed. "I have had the same nightmare every day for five weeks; five weeks, Madame. I cannot keep myself guarded if I can't distinguish between the five hands in front of my face." I put my palm in front of my face as blurry black gloves tainted my vision.

"What is it you dream, Erik? And what does Daevas have to do with it?" Giry asked, the tone in her voice implying that she somewhat dreaded the answer I would give. However she had asked, and I had come to tell her.

"It always starts out the same, Madame. That's when I know it will be terrible. No matter how I brace myself, it is just as haunting every time."

"What do you dream, Erik?" Giry pressed urgently.

I sighed and began . . .

"It is just after the Masquerade . . . Nasrin just ran out of the foyer. I can still hear her crying, that long wail of despair echoing over and over again through my mind . . . I watch her run, tearing her amazing outfit. She screams as if cursing the clouds and the heavens and I know I have broken her, shattered her heart into thousands of irreparable pieces. I know I have mutilated our love with my greed.

"I follow her, trying to catch up to her, and tell her how much I care about her, how much I need her with me . . . how like a fool I acted. But try as I might, she slips farther and farther away from me, her screeches of defeat still tearing from her throat. Her beautiful face is distorted with rage and I long to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Then . . . I see it . . . God damn it I see it only moments before it happens. You, by that time, are there, running beside me, trying to prevent the inevitable. Damn why does it have to be inevitable? Why can't Nasrin see the carriage?

"The carriage is drawn by two black horses with blood red eyes, foaming mouths, and the right side of their faces are pasty white. They charge seemingly at her, their black hooves thundering against the cobblestones and the driver urges them on. He is cloaked in shadow, but his laughter tells me that Nasrin is his target. Though I cannot see him, I know that laughter; I know it all too well. It is the laughter of the Comte de Lamarier.

"Then it happens. Oh God what will it take to make that vision stop? The horses rear and whinny as Nasrin's screams of anger turn to screams of fright and she holds up her arms to protect herself. The horses' hooves crash down on her, and I see her fragile shoulder bones snap, the snow-white bone protruding from her skin. Her head cracks on the ground and her skull splits open. She screams a final time before the horses trample the rest of her, shattering her ribs in a sickening crunch, and twisting her legs. The carriage moves a few more feet before stopping. Nasrin's eyes have clouded over, the blue green that I adore fade to a dead gray. Her legs are bent at awkward angles and her snow-white outfit is splattered with an abrasive red that even the rain cannot wash away. Her stomach is caved in from her broken ribs and she lies in an expanding scarlet puddle created by her own lifeblood. I see her spine broken and jagged underneath her, the vertebrae all but shattered.

The carriage driver gets out, walking fearfully up to the grotesque remains of what was once the most beautiful woman in my view. He takes her gently in his arms, and I vomit slightly as her body bends in half, sickly yielding to more power, her bones no longer holding any resistance. He carries her over to the Seine, which roars behind her. With a casual toss, he throws the body in, wipes his hands on his cloak and goes back to the carriage. I run over to the edge of the river while you scream and I see her sink, a lifeless mangled doll being swept up by the current. Just like that . . . she is gone. And that is on the good nights, Madame . . . the good nights . . .

"What?" she asked, aghast and pale, "is on the bad nights?"

"In the bad nights . . . she isn't dead when he throws her in the water. Then she is silent, but moving slightly, resisting death with all of her heart and mind, since her body has given up. Then, when he throws her in, she struggles. I watch her under the water, thrash to break the barrier to air, her body seemingly useless below her. Bubbles erupt from her mouth and she cries out once more before her collapsed lungs finally die. That's when her eyes roll back and, with one final grab to the surface, she mouths my name, as if she can see me standing above her, and then sinks."

"And then you wake up?" she asked pleadingly, and I saw tears streaking her face. I shook my head.

"No Madame, there is one final blow to this nightmare."

"What now? What can be worse than those visions?"

I breathed out deeply and finished that which had prevented me good night's rest for over a month.

"After she sinks and the driver thunders off, you pick up the cloth and run back in the direction of the opera. I linger, crying uncontrollably, for what I saw was the complete and utter annihilation of the one whom my feelings have delved deeper than I believed they could go. I walk back and, as I pass the puddle of blood that was my Fire Rose's true final resting place, I stop to stare at my reflection. Then, my feet become rooted in the ground and I cannot move. I don't know why I keep stopping, but each time I stop the same thing happens.

The blood begins to ripple and a screech sent from Hell meets my ears. Out of the crimson pool shoots a hand, covered in blood and it grabs frantically at the stone. Once it has a firm grip, another arm emerges, and the creature begins to pull itself up, its limbs shaking spasmodically, as if it were just a newborn demon. All I can see is something so veiled in crimson that features are not even distinguishable. The blood born creature rises to my level and glares at me in the eye. Two dark blue eyes gleam and a wicked grin curves the bloody lips upwards. It's Daevas, born of my Fire Rose's blood. She lashes out a claw-like hand and smears the blood on my mask. Suddenly, the blood expands, covering my entire being with the hot mess and I scream; I want to be free of this blood. I get dizzy, overcome with surges of tempestuous rage, fear, and sorrow, and the last thing I remember hearing is her laughter; her cackle is loud and long, triumphant and demonic. I hear the Devil laugh behind her, and all goes black . . ."

I looked up at Madame Giry; her hands shook and she wrung the hem of her nightgown, threatening to tear the fabric.

"Madame?" I asked, reaching out for a moment to see if she was all right.

She jerked back, startled at my advance, and shivered. "Erik . . . that dream . . . oh my . . . I can't . . ." She fanned herself and slumped on her bed. I approached her slowly, kneeling at her feet.

"Madame, answer me one question," I commanded.

"Yes, Monsieur?"

"Nasrin . . . she was dead when the driver threw her in the river, right?" She had to be . . . Please, let God have mercy and say that her death, though painful, was quick.

"Yes, Monsieur. She was dead when she was thrown in the river," Giry confirmed, and my heart sighed.

"Thank you, Madame, for listening to that."

"A part of me wishes I hadn't," she mumbled before motioning to the door.

I got up and strode to the door, still exhausted, but needing the comfort of my own bed beneath me. Stumbling down the labyrinth, I heard a strange noise. I heard the sound of a woman crying. It sounded as though it came from beyond one of my statues; the crying was soft, yet extremely saddening. I immediately dismissed it as my fatigue and continued my trek down to my lair.

Once I settled into my swan bed, I tossed and turned for endless moments, my disoriented self unable to capture the essence of sleep. I groaned, not even having the capacity to be irritated at such a thing.

Then, I opened my eyes . . . a vision from God, if he even exists. I saw, or thought I saw, Nasrin, dressed as she always was, sitting on my bedside, watching me. I couldn't distinguish her features, but I knew it was her. She wept and reached out her hand to me; she touched my cheek gently, her soft caress urging me into slumber. I wanted to touch her, I wanted to feel her one last time; and I reached out for her. My hand slipped right through her and a reluctant moan passed through my lips.

"Be still," she said to me. "Be not haunted such anymore." Her voice cracked as she wept. "I wasn't in any pain when it happened Erik. I didn't even know what was going on. Sleep, my angel, you need sleep." She ran her fingers through the tangled mess that was my hair and I found myself slipping into a content slumber, seemingly free of nightmares, blood, and death. My mask was gently removed and a slight brush of her lips met my accursed skin. She eased my head down again and my mottled skin twitched as the velvet pillows met its touch.

Just before sleep took me, I felt the slightest pressure upon my lips, and the smell of roses once again intoxicated me. The touch of her lips was chaste, merely a comfort, but I found myself thinking that this was the most beautiful vision anyone could have.

"Remember Erik," she cooed, her lips brushing mine. "I will only ever love you. Promise me you will always remember and know that, no matter what happens tomorrow; for tomorrow I resume being what has become of myself. Remember that the personifications of love and hate are not that different." She slipped out of my grasp.

"I'll remember . . . I promise . . . my . . . Nasrin," I mumbled incoherently as I fell asleep. My eyes dragged closed as I saw her fade from my sight once again. I wanted to remember the sight of her standing there, the sound of her voice as she told me that she loved me, even after what I had done. But it faded as quickly as my eyes shut.

The next morning, I awoke alone in my bed; there was no sign of Nasrin anywhere and my shoulders sagged in despair. Had she even come at all? Was it just my delirious brain creating an image of her before me? The truth sank in; it must have been for the dead do not kiss the living.

But there, by my bedside . . . my breath fled me. Sitting atop my mask on the table, seemingly flung there in carelessness, was a freshly picked black rose; tears stained the petals.

It felt as though my heart had stopped working . . .

Nasrin?

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers!

Jen Lennon: LOL, I know, the angst and revenge are sort of alternating. Don't worry; revenge becomes the creed of the next few chapters. Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Natsuki: XD! You may kick Jean as much as you like, Poozle. And yes, no head for Michael. (vomits slightly) That would NOT be yay. Ew. XD! Poozle you are everything BUT a lump on a pickle . . .wait that leaves worse things . . . ok, you are not a lump on a picke. There we go. MAY I ANNOUNCE THAT NATSUKI WAS THE ONE WHO DESIGNED DAEVAS'S COSTUME! OK, I feel better now. Thanks for the review and here is your update!

littledarkone: No, we don't quite want Erik dead . . . but as for loving Nasrin . . . the actions speak for what the mouth dare not say. (wink) Thanks for the review and here is your update!

VictorianDream: I agree w/ you. And I'm very happy you are hooked! That is very good to hear for me; I like to keep my readers in slight suspense. I hope no bad things happen now. O.o;; I updated! See? Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Mademoiselle Justicia: XD! I think Daevas's ears hurt after that. Don't worry, she'll get over it, lol. And I promise, Nasrin shall rock on. Nasrin?

Nasrin: (holding a guitar) (strums it fiercely)

Shade: O.O;; Not like that! (snatches guitar) Good LORD don't do that again!

Nasrin: -.-; FINE!; (storms off)

Shade: Oh! I love AIAOY reprise . . . maniacal laughter is SO hot. They should have SO had that in the movie. Butler would be HOT doing it. O.O (drools) Anyway, thanks for the review and here is your update!

Videociraptor: YAY! No Daevas bites! And thank you again for the compliment. (bows) Very flattering coming from one so esteemed on this site. Oh! (calls medic who saves Erik) Don't worry Vi, he fell down the stairs. (nervous laughter) Thanks for the review and here is your update! (runs with you)

Jessica: LOL, so how was your time with Erik? You have to tell me about it in your review! LOL. Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Corpse x Bride: Of course you can get a hug from Erik! Erik!

Erik: All right, I know the drill by now. (hugs tightly)

Shade: (claps) YAY! Wow, you used your comp time on vacation to read this? I am so flattered. (bows) Thanks for the review and here is your update!

xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: Glad you like Daevas; she is evil, but yay. Thanks for the review and here is your update!

DragonheartRAB: Good! Hate Jean with all your soul! YES! She is cool in her insane state, I do agree. (nods) Thanks for the review and here is your update!

GerrysISUChick04: XD! You want Erik to Punjab Jean? A righteous desire, I must say. Cookies are yay too! (eats some) Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Dragon-mage16: XD! Good! Death to the Count! The ring video? OMG! LMAO! That'd be hilarious; I'd bet Jean would pee himself and scream like a little girl! Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Bananas in Pajamas: (eats taffy) Thank you! Those were yummy. (gives tissues) Thank you so much! Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Norma Jean the Dancing Machine: Yes! Expect more Jean bashing in the future, as it is so much fun to do! Thanks for the review and here is your update!

LadyOfLegends: XD! You greatly amuse me my friend. I know you love them, and they know that too. (pats) I heart you Sunbeam! Thanks for the review and here is your update! –Shadebean

Ethalas Tuath'an: Thanks! Erik is stubborn, yes; and though he said "an act of love" it was at something done of spite, so, even if he does love her, Daevas doesn't believe him. XD! Yes, Jean is an idiot. And you're not supposed to like him, so YAY! As for the blood to be spilled . . . who said it was Erik's? I never specify whose blood, but you'll find out. Anyway, I mentioned that my posting schedule will be quite erratic. I don't know how many chapters will be posted in 4 weeks; so I guess it'll be a surprise, huh? Have fun! Thanks for your review and here is your update!