I slept in as late as I could the next morning, clinging to my half consciousness and tiredly covering my eyes to block out the morning light, as well as the memories of the night before. Eventually both penetrated my defenses and I gave up and opened my eyes, stretching my long limbs and yawning. It was freezing. I drew the covers up to my chin, shivering. I stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering how late it was, and whether I'd managed to miss breakfast once more.

Suddenly, the door flew open without warning, bouncing off the wall. Nadir stood in the frame with wide, bright eyes, looking like a lunatic.

"Good God, Nadir, I'm not dressed yet!"

He ran to the window, ignoring me and giggling like a nauseating child, his usual intellectual air completely discarded. It was annoyingly endearing and utterly confusing.

"Nadir, what the hell is wrong with you?"

He tore open the curtain and pointed outside. A good two inches of snow had already covered the ground and was still falling, apparently exciting the native Persian to no end.

He reminded me of someone, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He was pointing at the icicles excitedly when it hit me. He was behaving just like his deceased son, Reza. I had never seen this side of Nadir before. He was boundlessly enthusiastic, and his ideal, cliché optimism was almost contagious as he remarked how each snowflake was different, and how incredible it all was. I laughed at him.

"You weren't like this last year," I said, taking the opportunity to pull on my robe why he had his back turned.

He turned around and said simply,

"That's because I was too busy worrying about you."

I saw his smile falter when noticed I wasn't wearing my mask.

"Oh for Christ's sake, its right here," I growled.

I turned away and put it on as he quickly tried to deny his momentary revulsion. I waved my hand to suggest that it didn't matter, and he quickly changed the subject.

"There is more good news, Erik, I just found out-"

Madame Giry came stomping into the room at that exact moment, interrupting.

"Nadir, you've tracked in piles of snow with your boots! You're leaving a trail of it all over the house and soaking the carpets."

"Madame, if you don't mind, I was about to make an announcement."

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, attempting to look cross and failing. Nadir's good mood was indeed contagious, as I had earlier suspected.

He cleared his throat ceremoniously and I sighed, the corner of my mouth twitching as I tried not to laugh at the absurd behavior of my two companions.

Nadir continued.

"Erik, the night Madame Giry came to my flat and introduced herself, we talked for a very long time about you. We both decided it would be best to go down to the cellars and attempt to collect some of your old belongings, perhaps only as a final gesture of respect. Neither of us dreamed we would have found you down there as well. I had tried to convince myself that you could have escaped, but deep down, I will not deny that I believed you to be dead. But back to that night; when we arrived, I found, as I suspected I would, that the mob had destroyed almost everything. It was very depressing and aggravating; to see your artwork reduced to burnt canvases, and your beautiful home filled with broken pieces of what had once been igneous devices and structures. I knew that the world would never see the beautiful things you had created, and that your genius was now tangibly lost forever, because of misunderstanding. I wept, and you know that I do not like to admit such things. But perhaps you will understand how relieved I was when I came across this."

He reached into a side bag slung on his shoulder that I hadn't noticed up until that moment. He pulled out the black, leather bound book that I had carried with me for a great portion of my life, and I felt a shiver when I saw its gold letter inscription gleam in the sunlight. It was my masterpiece, my "Don Juan Triumphant."

I didn't say anything, and allowed him to continue.

"I think it's a sign, Erik. You can't ignore it…"

"Nadir, please, I don't want it performed, I've told you this. I've always admired your persistence, but believe me when I tell you that this piece was not meant for human ears- its done enough damage..."

"It's too late; the tickets are almost sold out."

I stared dumbly, my mouth hanging open.

"What? You're joking."

"I know that you'll hate me for this, but I've started advertising for it. It's to be performed once more, this winter. "

I stared blankly at my two friends, searching for the words, completely unsure how to feel. . Madame Giry was smiling when she spoke.

"Not many people know that the man who is responsible for the Opera disaster also wrote the strange piece that was being performed that night. You may find this hard to believe, but I think the public was sad to never see it finished. Erik, you cannot deny that your music is brilliant. You captivated them. Everyone has been talking about it since the performance; in Paris there seems to be a sort of obsession with finding out who the composer is. It's amazing that no one has found out by now- of course, everyone involved vanished after the show; Madame Carlotta, most the chorus girls, Meg…well, no bother. The point is, my dear, the world wants your music."

I couldn't speak. For a second Nadir eyed me as if afraid I would attack. There was a lump in my throat that was growing, and threatening to make the tears I was holding back fall at any moment. I suddenly found myself embracing them both in a staggeringly tight hold, laughing happily.

Don Juan Triumphant was my life work, my soul. And it had been accepted at long last.

Christine stood nervously in the doorway, watching us. I jumped when I noticed her, and felt my eyes narrow.

"Don't worry, I'm wearing the mask, you can come in." I said icily, while Madame Giry gave me a reproving look.

Christine diverted her eyes. "You said you weren't mad…"

"Well I changed my mind."

Nadir sighed. "Come now, don't you think you're behaving a little childish?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps. What is it, Christine?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something…alone," she replied timidly.

The other two cleared out, leaving us in the cold room. I sighed, annoyed, but feeling that nothing she said could entirely ruin my mood right now. I was mistaken, of course.

"Well?"

She took a deep breath, and said rather quickly,

"Raoul has written to tell me that he doesn't believe he will return after the war."

Her eyes were full of tears as she spoke,

"He's getting our marriage annulled, and he wants me to try to find someone else. Of course, he doesn't know about the child. No one can, or else it will be obvious that the marriage was consummated…" Tears flowed down her cheek.

"He is a good man though, really, he wants me to be happy, he just…just doesn't want to be a part of this anymore."

"I don't blame him."

Still, even as I said this, I felt a warm rush of hope. What was she trying to say?

"The point is, he had given me permission to move on…to find someone else. To remarry."

I felt my heart pounding. "Yes? So?"

Had she conquered her repulsion, or, was she hoping I would recreate the mask I had worn before? Either way, I suddenly felt I wanted nothing more. We could be married! Oh this was foolish, but excitement filled me and I was having trouble hiding it. Luckily she was staring at the floor.

"I wanted to…to tell you that…that I plan to try to find someone else."

I stared at her blankly.

She nervously twisted her hair around her finger. "I don't want you to be jealous."

I laughed. Oh, this was too much. This was way, way too much.

"Get out."

She looked up at me with scared, surprised eyes.

"Get out!" I repeated with fury, and she scurried away, like a frightened mouse.