I never knew the human body could feel so numb. As I trudged to the train station, my brain wearily refused to allow me to think. In contrast to my earlier, soggier trip, this time the sun was shining brightly in the early morning sky; it didn't matter, though, for I could not feel its warmth. Nor did I hear the faint noise of birdsong, nor see the bright blue of the sky. Fine as the weather may have been, I was still lost in clouds and rain. I was dimly aware of the weight of my satchel digging into my shoulder, and the curious stares of people I passed by, but the finer aspects of the pleasant morning were wasted on me.

All the focus I possessed was poured into the difficult task of keeping myself from running back the Opera Populaire. For I knew that if I returned, no matter what I did, I would be unhappier still. If I tried to convince him once more, I would fail again, and go through the now-familiar process of leaving once more. If I stayed, I would be unhappier still; perhaps I would be content for a few days, but what of months, years, a lifetime? I would waste away to nothingness in that dreary hole in the ground.

What a horribly fragile, fickle thing the human heart is. I had sworn never to give my heart to any man again, yet how quickly I had fallen under Erik's spell. And now, with so little time to heal, my heart was broken once more. How many times would this cruel cycle continue before I simply gave up, and lived my life as cold and uncaring as the statues on the rooftop?

I ought to have been so happy; I was finally free. My tormentor was dead, his carcass washing up on the shore somewhere. My nightmare was over, my time in purgatory was at an end. I would soon be reunited with a dear friend, and I would be able to live the rest of my life safe in Marseille. But while I was free of Leon, I could never be free of Erik. His face would haunt me as long as I drew breath, of this I was sure. Even now, I could hear his voice singing softly amidst the clatter of shops opening, and feel his touch in the breeze that drifted past me, lifted my hair off my neck and caressing my shoulders.

I prayed that God would take this burden from me, that He would realize I was too weak to carry so much on my own. I prayed he would grant me enough peace to live some kind of life. I would not ask Him to make me capable of love once more, for I knew that was impossible. All I asked was that I might learn to exist in this world without Erik. It ought to have been easier than this; I had only known the man a few weeks, yet now every fiber of my being belonged to him, more than he would ever know.

Even when I reached the train station, the numbness remained. The crowds around me were nothing; just a blur of motion and noise that could not penetrate the fog wrapped around my brain. With an ease born of coldness, I found the platform from which I was to leave Paris forever, and bought my ticket. Standing there, amidst the noise and color of the crowd around me, I felt more alone than I ever had before.

Through the haze of my thoughts, it seemed that the crowd was growing quieter, and laughter was turning to whispers. Many in the motley assortment of travelers seemed to be staring at something in the crowd, but I didn't have the heart left to care what was drawing their curious gazes. The people around me began to shuffle aside, as though clearing way for some one, and a hard elbow in the side from a woman who was trying to move behind me woke me from my delirium, and I turned to see what had created such a stir.

At first, I thought it couldn't be him; this man wasn't dressed in the elaborate evening clothing Erik always wore. He was walking self-consciously, not assuredly like Erik always moved. But the face was his, as was the mask that covered it. The noise of the train pulling up to the tracks, the whistle, the call of the conductor echoed in my ears as I continued to stand bewildered and still, watching the apparition approach.

But ghosts could not touch, and this Erik was pushing the hair out of my face with gentle fingers. And I could feel his warm breath on my forehead when he placed his lips reverently against it. And I could hear his heart beat when he pulled me close, and wrapped his arms around me as though he would never let go.

I heard a voice say his name questioningly, and realized it was mine. I heard him reply, but I didn't know what he was saying. My world consisted of his arms, and and the beat of his heart.

"You changed your mind?" It was a foolish question, but I had to hear him answer it to believe that this was real.

"I did. I was a fool and a coward before, and I must beg your forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive."

In that moment, there was no further need for words, and there are no words beautiful enough to describe what I felt, standing on the platform with Erik next to me, ready to face the world together.

Epilogue

When the stage hands began to light the gaslights at the foot of the stage, I tried to calm the beating of my heart by repeating Remy's words in my mind. She was, after all, generally correct. It had been her idea that I attempt to sell my compositions in the first place. It was Remy who insisted that I approach Monsieur Crèvecoeur at the gathering Monique hosted, though my heart had quickened at the very thought. And it had been Remy who suggested to that same man, the owner of the Opera de Marseille, that an artist's work would be best overseen by the artist himself.

"This is what you were born for, Erik. God has given you this chance, and I know that soon all of Marseille will admire you as I do."

Now, from behind the stage, when I push the curtain aside, I can see her, seated in the very front row, beside her friends-our friends. Her face is lit by the glow that I am told only women with child possess. And while I sometimes fear that our child will be cursed as I was, I still feel I joy that I did not know I could feel whenever I look at my wife's smiling face.

There were still times when the stares of strangers make me feel as though I might crumble, and the whispers of townspeople pierce my heart, but nothing brings courage so much as knowing that there is some one there to share the burden.

I often wonder how many times in those first weeks she felt as hopeless as I did, for she never showed it on her face. If she was ever scared of the thought of being my wife, she never gave a sign of it. There were times at night when she would still dream of her past, and sought my comfort, but during the day, she was the courageous one, the one who never lost sight of what she wanted for us.

Her perseverance would reap its reward tonight, when for the first time in my life, I would be given the opportunity to prove myself to the world, as the writer and director of the opera I had written in her honor.

And now the musicians were warming their instruments, and it was time to begin. I let the curtain fall back into place, secure in the knowledge that after the performance was done, Remy would be waiting for me, with a light in her eyes and a smile on her face. And while the prima donna sang that first aria, I thanked the God I had never before believed in for these gifts I never thought He would grant me.

A/N: And so it ends. I briefly considered following this up with a shorter one chronicling their time in Marseille as a married couple, but a) I don't really have the time and b) I think your imaginations could do as much justice to the rest of their story as mine could. So, I hope you are happy with my happy ending, and feel like I did enough justice to their characters. I also thought that since it was Remy's voice we heard through the rest of the story, it was fitting that Erik be given the chance to end it. Well, thank you to everyone who ever reviewed, especially the people who followed it from chapter to chapter and gave me consistant praise. I never thought I could be a writer until I started writing this (I'm a poli sci major, not an English major), but now, who knows? Maybe I'll try to write my first novel. Hugs and lollipops all around!