Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's The Phantom as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.

Note: Sorry it took so long to post, and I truly have no excuse except to say that I've been terribly busy. All I can say is that midterms, romance, and Halloween are a deadly combination and have the power to suck time out of a person's schedule like nothing else. Anyways, the story finally continues with this chapter, so please read and review.

I let my soaked garments fall to me feet as I stood in the room that had once been mine. I was not surprised that it had been relabeled as "the other room", and it had been appropriately redecorated to fit the title.

While I was sure the mob had done their fare share in the work, Erik had certainly done his best to relieve the room of anything reminiscent of myself. The room was clean; the surfaces of the furniture free of any type of clutter, and the dresser drawers completely empty. All that remained was the damaged furniture, although I did notice that the full-length mirror had been removed.

My hand lingered over the clothing that had set on the bed for me. Admittedly, I was put off by the fact that Erik had worn them, but I would never have told him such a thing.

I had always thought of his clothing as an extension of himself and, like he had said, a skin.

The thought of Erik's skin upon my own was enough to send cold shivers up my spine. I couldn't help but recall the way it had felt each time he had taken my hand or touched at my face. His touch had normally been quite gentle, but he truly had the skin of a living corpse, so cold that it seemed to take the very life out of me.

Still, it was my only option outside of illness, so I reluctantly grabbed the dress shirt and slipped into it, rolling up the sleeves before I started at the buttons up the front.

Next, I pulled the pants up around my waist, but even with the shirt tucked in they drooped down onto my hips. Thankfully Erik was a thin man, or I would not have been able to wear them at all.

However, he also happened to be quite tall and the legs of the pants dragged on the floor behind me as proof. I rolled them up as well, and left the room, silently thankful that there was no mirror to show me how ridiculous I looked.

I watched Erik as he stood idly in the main room, his back to me. Letting a half smile cross my face, I moved to stand before him. Still grinning, I locked eyes with him as I lowered myself into a mock curtsey.

Any expression he held in his eyes instantly dulled, although he was careful not to let his eyes leave my gaze.

As soon as I was standing up right again, Erik turned from me and began to stalk out of the room. My gut burned with anger as I watched his retreating form—I had been hoping for at least some kind of response.

My hand groped at the nearby table, and took the first thing I could fit in the palm of my hand. Without even thinking, I hurled the object right into the small of his back, bringing Erik to an immediate stop.

I began to back up slowly as I kept my eyes on Erik's motionless figure, my mind screaming at me for allowing myself to do something so reckless.

Before I had time to cry out, I was thrown up against the wall, Erik's hands pressing hard into my shoulders. I clenched my eyes shut as his face came within inches of my own, his amber eyes flashing wildly.

"How dare you, you vapid child!" he hissed at me, his thumbs digging into my collar bone, "Are you really so starved for attention that you seek to belittle the man you have already destroyed!"

The pressure of his hands increased and the pain eventually took reign over my body. I choked on a cry as it attempted to escape from my throat, but my eyes remained tightly closed.

"That's hardly an answer, my dear," he said with a cruel laugh, "You know, if you were anyone else…"

One of his hands slid towards my neck, and I bowed my head as I tried to protect myself.

I heard a small clicking noise, and Erik suddenly released his grip. His hands still rested on my neck and shoulders, but only with the lightest of touch. I slowly opened my eyes to see a cocked pistol aimed straight at Erik's head.

My eyes followed the barrel of the gun, up a cleanly dressed forearm, all the way up to the face of the man who wielded the weapon—my very own fiancé, Raoul.