For almost 5 minutes, he just stared. His mouth was parted, and he never blinked, just in case the nightmare would get worse if he took his eyes away for one second.

His features gave away everything. Shock and terror. He held Christine's face with trembling fingers, studying her every tear, her every sob, for a different answer to this horrible conclusion.

If fate had decided not to twist their lives, he would have been a father. He would have been what he had wished for his whole pathetic life. To be normal. To be a man, with a wife and a family. He would have had a son or daughter to raise with his beautiful wife, and lived a life of peace and solitude.

"Stay with Madame Giry. She won't leave you, she will look after you. You won't be alone."

He spoke so calmly it was spine chilling. He even ignored Christine's furious head shakes, trying to keep her head still and focus her eyes on his.

"You won't be alo…Christine! Listen to me!"

But Christine had started screaming hysterically at him, and strangely, it scared him. He had seem the scared Christine, happy Christine, upset Christine, but never this. This time, she had tipped the boundary into sheer hysteria. Most of her words failed to sound like what she meant, and she dug her nails into his arms painfully, causing him to wince.

"NO! NO! NO! YOU HAVE TO BE WITH ME! ERIK, PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME! I CANT GO ALONE…ILL DIE FIRST!"

The police guards had heard her screams and ran over to the cell, dragging her back from Erik and began pulling her down the corridor.

Christine continued to yell, and struggled furiously against their grip. Surprisingly they had to use their full strength to keep her from breaking loose. The literally carried the mad Christine away.

Erik could only look on in horror.

"..Christine…"

He felt extreme guilt. Guilt that he had ever put himself in this situation. Guilt that he had put Christine into that state. He felt sick. He clutched a hand to his stomach and chest in agony, trying to let his lack of oxygen pass by letting his legs fall from under him. His breath was ragged and painful, and his head swam brutally. He brought his hands up to his face, where hot tears had begun to drench his scarred face.

"…I'm sorry." He whispered between his fingers.

--

Meg Giry shuffled into her mother's room gingerly. Her eyes where heavy with dark circles, and she rubbed them tiredly. Her mother sat at her dressing table, her chin resting in the palm of her hands. She was looking sadly into the mirror, and seeing the reflection of her daughter behind her, turned slowly and gave her a tired smile.

Meg smiled back, but the frustrated frown remained. She walked over to her mother's side and sat in front of her on the soft carpet. Madame Giry stroked Meg's head fondly, waiting patiently for her daughters worries.

"She can't sleep…she refuses to eat…I can't get a word out of her, mother, its…it's hopeless!"

Madame Giry shook her head and shushed her daughter softly.

"Now, now…it's ok. We will get through this."

"We might, Mama, but I'm beginning to doubt Christine will."

Madame Giry disagreed, but in the deep depths of her mind, she was beginning to feel that herself. The 2 women had taken up looking after Christine in their small town house in Paris, yet had been unable to get her to do anything. She lay in her makeshift bedroom in a nightmarish trace.

Her eyes were dark and her skin was dull, the usual life and youth that radiated from her had all but disappeared. Christine did nothing but stare into space all day and night, not even tears could be seen anymore. It seemed her entire soul had left her body, and she had become nothing but a lifeless shell.

Madame Giry felt sick at the thought of Christine falling deeper and deeper into her dark world. She had tried pleading with her, helping her to drink, and unsuccessfully trying to help her eat. Christine had once had a healthy, slim figure, and had now shrunk into a sickly thin, very dangerously unhealthy form.

The only words Christine uttered every day were the most reluctant subject Meg and Madame Giry had wanted to talk about it.

--

"Meg…what's the date…" Christine whispered and clung limply to her friend's hand. Meg looked helplessly at Christine, pushing her knotted hair from her tired face.

"Christine, it doesn't matt…"

"Meg!" Christine tried to sit up and look sincere, but she slipped back onto her pillow in distress. "...please…I want to know…please Meg!"

Meg sighed, and looked away from her friend's pleading eyes.

"It's the 17th."

Christine face fell, and looked on the verge of tears. She let go of Meg's hand and turned away on her bed. She pulled the covers over her shoulders, and ignored Meg's final attempts talk to her. Meg stood up, and gave one final look to the weak figure of Christine, before turning out of the small bedroom in despair.

Meg wandered to her mother's room, horrible thoughts creeping into her mind with every worry about Christine. Meg knew why she enquired the date every day. She waited for that dark day, the day when Christine's heart would finally die along with her already doomed soul.

The day of the execution. The 18th. Tomorrow.

Before opening the door to her mother's bedroom, she wiped a tear aggressively from her cheek.

--

The next day

The sun was contradicting the mood of the day. The hopeful ray of light broke through the darkness of the cell, showing up dancing particles that sombrely fell through the deafening silence.

Erik sat with his hands folded calmly in his lap. His eyes were closed, and his head was resting lightly against the cool stone wall behind him. Through his slightly parted lips, one would have not heard the songs that past so freely through his head and heart, his last comfort. His creative soul had yet to be extinguished, and it was the one thing that he had desperately kept alive, the only thing that had kept him alive in his days at the Opera.

But now there was one, or even, two other things that had her had reason to consider his fate. But now, what was he to do? There seemed little hope, every scheme, every plan for escape seemed more and more obscure and none seemed capable of accomplishing.

Still, there was always that little hope.

The bars to the cluster of doomed cells opened, and the noise jerked Erik from his dream like state. He sat upright, and waited calmly for his judgement.

This is it.

An escort arrived at the front of his cell, and bowed half heartedly. Erik stood and walked slowly to the bars. The man gave the obvious look of disgust at Erik's naked face, and Erik struggled with the temptation to cover his scars. The tall man chuckled cruelly, and rapped the bars, as if calling Erik to his attention.

"You! I have come to escort you…but firstly, not like you deserve it, you murderous rat! Do you have any outstanding last requests?"

Erik stood silent for a moment, his head hung and looking to the floor. Letting him go, would be one request. He thought of plenty of other requests, all he knew this man could not perform. No matter how much his heart was torn, he did not want to see Christine on this last day. He wanted to remember her in her happy days, not her times of pain, although their had been more than their fair share of them. No, he had asked her not to be there. A least he could die in dignity, without being broken by her presence.

His dignity…

"Yes, Monsieur, there is something you could do for me."

The man avoided looking directly at Erik, avoiding the grotesque side of his face. Still, the man sneered, and looked down his nose at him. Erik stared back in a deathly stare, with the stare of a man with nothing to loose. He saw the escort, although matching him in height and stature, winced under Erik's gaze. His face twisted in hatred and slight fear.

"…Bring me my mask, monsieur. My only request."