A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. You all are very kind, and I am so glad you are enjoying the story. :)

Chapter Four

Oh, Christine.

You have left me now, returned to your bedroom, claiming you require rest.

But oh, how differently I feel now that you have visited me.

Your tears, you said, were caused by my Don Juan. You said you were moved by it, that you understood my torment. All this you told me through heavy tears streaming down your porcelain cheeks.

"Turn around," you moaned, "at least allow me the courtesy of seeing your face as I speak to you."

I did so, without reluctance. You did not flinch. You hardly blinked. You must have noticed the mask was on the ground upon coming in.

"Forgive me," you pleaded. "I have been a horrible, horrible wife, and you do not deserve it."

Shock settled in.

"Oh, Erik, yes, I do care! I do care about your happiness. . ."

I merely blinked as you crawled up closer to the organ bench, resting your forehead against my shin as you sobbed.

Oh, Christine! The joy which filled me at the contact. I dared to reach down and stroke your curls, attempting to comfort you.

It only made you cry harder.

"I cry now not with sadness," you assured me suddenly, "but with happiness, for I know you have forgiven me. Haven't you, master?"

I stared at you, before speaking, "Yes, Christine. But I am no longer your master. Or your angel. I am simply Erik."

"Oh, but you'll always be my angel. I have not forgotten all that you have done for me." Your tears have subsided, and you now gaze up at me. I see not a trace of fear in your eyes.

"Wait here." You leave the room, returning quickly, a stack of papers clutched in your hands. You thrust them at me.

"Here. I wrote these for. . . for. . . Raoul. . . but, I think you should have them."

Confusedly, I accept the parchment, and was just about to question you, before you lean down.

And you kiss my forehead.

Oh, the happiness! The privilege!

Your angelic lips have touched my skin, and I begin weeping again.

Before I can speak, you do, though you seem to be thinking the same thing as I.

"I must go and lie down, my husband," you say shyly, a slight blush rising in your still moist cheeks, before turning and exiting the room.

And now I sit alone, the most unfamiliar sense of contentment filling me, for I know you have accepted me.

You do not love me, but you accept me.

That alone brings me closer to heaven than I ever thought possible.