I was swimming through impossible currents, a numb and unfathomable blackness that was immaculate in its impenetrability. I was unconscious; my body was too far away, so far that I almost convinced myself I did not have a body anymore. I was aware enough, however, to know that I was lying down, to know that whenever I tried to move, I could not. I was aware that I could not make myself wake up; I was aware of the tickle in my skull that felt a little like pain.

Everything was quiet. I liked it, at first. I had become unaccustomed to quiet, for there was always something happening in our home. A girlfriend had told me that I would forget what quiet was, once I had had the baby; I had found it odd that I could not appreciate her words, for I had already forgotten.

But soon, the silence became stifling. It was so quiet that it hurt my ears, and I wanted to scream to shatter it, but I could not find my voice. I could not find my throat, or my tongue, or my breath. I was lost, drifting on a sea of torturous nothingness.

Was this what Erik felt, when he "lost himself"? He had tried to explain, once, what happened when he became so angry, or so sad, that he could no longer control his actions. He had failed, however; my mind was too convinced to be focused on sweet, happy things. I refused to allow it to speculate, to wonder, to accept what would only have frightened it.

Erik was its only exception, and I had intended to keep it that way.

But there was no ignoring this, no denying this. I was entrapped in something far worse than Erik's torture chambers; I did not even have the convenience of suicide.

My eyes—or, what I perceived as my eyes, for the human consciousness can only stretch so far before imagination fails it—caught sight of something glinting through the darkness. I drifted towards it by focusing on it, and soon it was dangling directly in front of me. The part of my mind that served as hands reached out and touched the golden thread, and a sensation ran through me, vibrating to my very core, pulling me into it with a power that could belong to only one person in this world.

The perfection of Erik's voice flowed through me, wrapping me in its cocoon and rocking me into contentment. I curled my fingers lazily around the thread, intensifying my contact with it and thus intensifying its ability to sway me. The more I concentrated on the thread, on the voice within the thread, the more I became aware of the pain in my head. It began to throb, wrapping its grip around me as surely as Erik's voice had. I struggled to escape it. I wanted the voice, but I did not want pain. I preferred the darkness and the silence to the pain.

Could I not have the voice and the darkness, without the pain?

Oh, what a question—what a trend, in my life. I am the Queen of Trade-Offs.

The golden thread tightened around my hand, of its own accord. The harder I fought, the tighter it became, until it was steadily tugging me upwards and into the sky, towards the brightness and the noise and the pain. I let out a cry, and heard it echoed above me in the light. Voices, dim and unrecognizable, drifted down into my pit of comfort. The thread on my hand wavered as Erik's attention was distracted; a frustrated cry was heard, and for a moment, that golden tendril turned to blood-red knives.

I screamed as they cut into my metaphorical flesh, and more voices were heard. They could hear me screaming? They could hear me...

Let me go! I wanted to say. Let me free! I don't want the pain!

They could not hear me.

Erik's song began to fill my mind again, more passionate, more alluring than before. That golden thread turned to a plush, thick rope, and soon it was curled around my entire being, as opposed to just my hand. I sank into it; it became a bed, lifting steadily upwards. I felt his hands on my arms, on my face, on my neck. I felt him everywhere, just as I felt his voice everywhere. The pain was nearly unnoticeable, with him so fully taking command of my attention.

Suddenly, I was slammed back into my own body, and my eyes flew open. I cried out in pain; my voice was just a hoarse whisper. The pain in my skull bloomed, overriding every sense that I had. My hands clenched; one found crisp hospital sheets; the other found glacial appendages.

Erik!

I turned my head to see him, though that did not hold favor with my pain. The foolish endeavor was rewarded with even more searing pain. The darkness beckoned again, and I lunged towards it. I had nearly escaped my body again, when that voice called me back. I knew what waited for me at the end of that road, but still I took it. That is the power of Erik's voice. He could have called me to walk into a burning building, had he wanted to.

My voice cracked as I struggled to speak his name. He leaned forwards eagerly, the mask glinting in the fluorescent hospital lights. He did not speak, for fear of drowning out my own words.

"Erik," I croaked.

Where were the other voices? I could see no one else in the room, but I firmly recalled hearing others. Where had they gone? It did not matter. I dragged my mind back to the matter at hand. I did not remember anything of the accident at the time, but the convictions of my moments before unconsciousness were branded into my mind. I was convinced I was going to die, but I was also convinced I was going to say what needed to be said before I did so.

"I.. love you, Erik." It was so hard, my tongue so clumsy. I could barely force the words out, and I had the vague sense that they were not nearly as intelligible as I believed they were. From the look in Erik's eyes, however, he understood perfectly well.

"And," I panted, "and..."

His hand tightened on mine, while the other rose to brush a damp coil of hair away from my face. He was buying me time, allowing me to make the words work and still feel as if we were communicating. Oh, how I loved that man...

"I am.. s-sorry..."

Erik nodded, and leaned forward. The mask was removed ever so slightly, just enough to allow him to press a gentle, loving kiss to my lips. He had just barely pushed it back into place, when two nurses burst into the room, Henri still valiantly attempting to keep them out. "We have got to see her!" one cried angrily to him. He argued, but it was over; the other was already bustling over to stand by my bed. Erik leapt up and retreated to the far corner of the room, watching darkly.

"Oh!" cried the one near my bed. "She's awake! Go and fetch Doctor Mangum."

The one enwrapped in conflict with Henri nodded, and pushed her way past him. He turned to look to Erik, who only shook his head once; with that matter finished, Henri fell to standing perfectly still, looking at the nurse by my bed with just as intimidating an expression as Erik's.

The nurse began to move around me, turning knobs and resituating needles and IV bags, chattering all the while about what was wrong with me. Head trauma, she explained. Severe concussion, slightly fractured skull, but nothing worth doing anything about.

Relief—so immense I thought I would faint—flooded through me, as she fixed me with a cheerful look and announced that the baby was, for all appearances, safe and sound.

Henri told me later that they had warned him the baby might be deformed, when it was born, that it might have some developmental problems or some other strange affliction. They had also explained it was best that I not know, that it be kept secret from me unless the baby were actually born in such a way. Then, and only then, they said, should I have it explained to me.

"No reason to invite unnecessary stress," they had told him.

He never bothered telling them that he wasn't the father.

The doctor came in, stride breaking for just a moment as both of my men's eyes turned to fasten him with suspicious glares. My heart swelled with adoration for them, and suddenly I had no doubt that I would live. Henri and Erik would have allowed no less.

Doctor Mangum walked to my side, peering at the chart in his hand for a moment before looking up at me over slim, fashionable spectacles. He was a younger doctor—younger than Henri, even—and handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect bone structure. I realized with dismay who he reminded me of, at almost the same moment that I felt Erik's anger surge to dangerous levels. Henri felt it, as well; his head snapped over to look at Erik with wide-eyed concern.

Raoul...

"How are we feeling?" God, their voices were even similar, though the content was much different. Raoul would have fawned over me; Mangum... Well, the usual doctor's question.

Did he need an answer, in truth? I had a fractured skull. I had just come out of a coma. How did he think I felt? I managed to shrug one shoulder. "I've been better."

He laughed humorlessly, and returned to looking at the chart. "You're a lucky woman, Miss Daaé."

I floundered. I was unsure of how to correct him; I did not even remember the last name Erik had employed, for the wedding contracts. I allowed him to continue on the "miss" track, for convenience's sake.

I noticed with dismay that he did not wear a wedding band. Of course, it mattered not to me; merely, it would allow Erik's mind one more measure of access to jealousy.

Mangum set the chart down, and began the usual, routine check-up process. It was one I would grow familiar with, during my stay at the hospital; he came in to perform it twice a day, every day. Erik hated it; he had to touch every appendage, and his hands were constantly drifting over my torso. He never once strayed from the strictly-professional path, but Erik was convinced that there was more to it.

I was nearing the later half of my seventh month, by the time they allowed me to leave the hospital. Henri brought me one blueberry muffin every day of my visit.

They had wanted me to stay longer, but I had asked Erik to take me home, and nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling my wishes. As I was helped from the wheelchair by Erik, Henri opening the door to the backseat of a car—a new car, I noticed with slight disapproval—the wind swept through the parking lot with tremendous force, blowing my hair back and tickling my skin with an affection that surprised me. I shut my eyes, feeling it run its fingers through my hair and across my neck.

The baby stirred in my stomach, and with a smile of contentment and a hand resting on the hideous bulge, I lowered myself carefully into the backseat.

"If it's a girl?"

"Sonora," I said without pause. Erik looked surprised at my certainty, but did not object to the name.

"Sonora what?" he prompted, when I failed to produce a middle name.

"I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "I am quite fond of 'Sonora', though, if you don't mind it?"

He shook his head, and penned the name carefully on the piece of paper in front of him.

"Angelique," I said suddenly. He looked even more surprised this time, and almost inclined to argue. I smiled gently, and placed my hand on his forearm. "I think it would be perfect," I said, and he merely shrugged and wrote that down beside Sonora.

"Sonora Angelique Daaé," he murmured, and then smiled. "You are right; it is perfect."

I had refused to allow the doctors to tell me whether my child was male or female. I had explained that I did not want to know until they set it in my arms. Erik had been afraid for them to look at the child at all, afraid they would see a deformity of the face, if there was one. He was afraid to even allow the child to be born in the hospital, and I believe that if he had not feared so much for my safety, he would have refused it. He had the impression that, were the child deformed, the hospital would try to do something to it.

"And if it's a boy?" he asked after a moment of staring at the name.

"I've not a clue, my love," I replied, after thinking for quite a while.

He nodded, and wrote two question marks beneath Sonora's name, and then finished it off with Daaé, perfectly aligned with Sonora's Daaé.

"I hope it is a girl," he said, after a moment of staring at the paper. "The boy would never hear the end of teasing, at bearing such a silly name."

I grinned, and leaned forwards to plant a kiss on one gaunt cheek. I considered leaning back to resettle myself into my chair, but instead lingered, to nestle my face down against the crook of his neck. His skin warmed a little beneath contact of my own, and I smiled as I kissed the skin beneath my lips. His head turned, adjusted so that his lips could reach the side of my face, and those twisted lips began bathing in kisses any skin they could reach.

A croon of desire slipped between my lips, and I raised my head to present my lips to his own. The invitation was taken without hesitation.

Who knows what kind of late-pregnancy rules we would have broken, had Henri not interrupted with a knock on the study door. Erik jerked away from me, groping for his mask and just barely managing to fasten it into place before Henri had opened the door. I sat back in my chair with a groan, weakly and half-heartedly attempting to pat my curls into place.

"There's a man to see you, sir," Henri said. "Claims he is a friend of the family, who's heard about Madame Daaé's... condition."

I hated that word. It made it sound like a sickness, like an affliction. My hands cradled my stomach lovingly, as my eyebrows knitted in disdain, in Henri's direction.

The man either had perfected the art of feigning naïveté, or was truly more dense than I could have imagined.

"Who is he?" Erik asked suspiciously, as he rose from his chair. "You know as well as I that we haven't many friends."

Meaning, he did not have many friends. I had several women that I kept company with, and was slightly offended that he would group me into his own hermit's existence. I was shocked at my irritability, and tried desperately to force it into the background.

"He won't say, sir, but he insists upon seeing you at once."

Erik nodded, and moved from behind the desk. "Tell him I shall be there in a moment." Henri bowed out, and my husband turned to face me. Carefully, I heaved myself to my feet; he grabbed hold of my hands, appearing for all the world as if he were merely holding them, though both of us knew he was steadying me. Still, I was thankful for the games he played to keep my pride from being wounded.

"Will you be long?" I asked, with a bit of a pout, as I peeled the mask gently from his face, and placed myself as close to him as my belly would allow.

"I will—" He kissed me. "—try to—" Another kiss. "—hurry things along—" And another. "—for your sake—" And another. "—my angel."

I grinned, and raised a hand to pat against his cheek. "See that you do," I replied with mock severity. He only responded with a final kiss, before stealing his mask away from me, and taking his leave.

I trundled down the hall and up the stairs—for truly, only "trundle" can describe the way a pregnant woman is forced to move—until arriving in our bedroom. Gratefully, I sank onto the mattress, rolling onto my side to face the spot where Erik should have been lying. With a quiet smile, I buried my face into his pillow, and fell asleep with my nose filled with his scent.

I had many lovely dreams, that afternoon.