I didn't want to look at her.

I didn't want to help; I didn't want to be anywhere near.

I reluctantly stood in the corner of the bedroom, shivering in my robe and white mask that I had retrieved, relieved that Madame Giry allowed me to keep my distance and that the nurse had arrived at last. The scenes around me were stressed and blurred. I had never been present at a birth before; besides my own, I suppose. Christine writhed is pain and clutched at the sheets, and I couldn't watch. I felt like I might vomit as I turned away.

It was Raoul's baby. The fact was, I couldn't relive these emotions, now that I had been so close to freeing myself from them for good. Yet the image of their young, greedy bodies entwined kept creeping into my mind. It seemed like a useless battle. I closed my eyes, hoping they wouldn't ask for my assistance with the birth, and strangely enough, I began to drift off to sleep, right there against the wall.

The first piercing cry of the child roused me from my slumber. I came closer this time, and the nurse put the child in my arms, most likely assuming I was the father. I stood bewildered as I looked down at the bloody, wet thing wrapped in linen.

Madame Giry glanced up at me, her hand on Christine's forehead. "Do you want me to take him, dear?"

I was staring intently at the child. He had stopped screaming, and had turned his face towards me unflinchingly, as if searching for where the comforting touch was coming from. His eyes were a pale blue, like his mothers. I was relieved to see very little resemblance to either parent besides this. But those eyes…

Madame Giry touched my arm.

"Erik, what is it?"

I turned slowly, sadly, pausing before I spoke.

"The child is blind, madame."

Christine sat up, looking weak.

"No! Erik, give him to me!" she said hoarsely.

I raised my eyebrows, and then shrugged. Motherly instinct, no doubt. I handed her the child. She held him close to her breast and kissed his forehead. I felt an inappropriate surge of guilt, but it was overcome by pity. A life without sight!

Of course, loss of hearing would have been crueler, in my mind. But to never see the beauty of the world, to live in complete and total-

Darkness. The word hit me like a bullet, catching me off guard with emotion.

The nurse exited the room and Madame Giry soon followed, blowing out a candle and dimming the light as she left. She gave me a quick, worried look and then exited without a word.

The soft light had a magic effect; the mother and child looked so picturesque; exhausted and content. I wanted to curl up in the bed with them and share in the joy as well as the burden; I wanted it so bad it hurt. But he was not my child, and she was not my wife. Simply put, it was time for me to leave.

"Erik, wait!" Christine was looking slightly frantic when I turned to face her.

"Come here," she said, and I obeyed. I kneeled beside the bed and looked at the child.

"Is he really blind?" she whispered, looking deep into my eyes.

I swallowed. "Yes. I am certain. I've seen it before."

She looked like she was thinking very hard about whether or not to tell me something. I waited patiently. I always waited patiently for Christine.

"Did your mother…did she-?"

I looked away. "Did she wish I were truly dead like I looked? Did she refuse to feed me herself? Did she ignore me to the best of her ability?"

Christine reached out and touched my hand. I shivered as she spoke.

"I was going to ask if she really looked just like me, like you said."

"Yes," I said, moving my hand away.

She stared at where my hand had been for a moment and then began to sob suddenly, completely catching me off guard.

"What is it? Christine, what is it?"

She continued to cry, hiding behind her hands and ignoring my questions. I stayed kneeling by the bed, completely lost as to what I should do. The baby began to cry as well, and I felt that I might go insane if I didn't do something soon. I picked the baby up, due to some sort of strange natural impulse, and cradled him in my arms and held him against my thin chest.

"Don't cry, don't cry….its alright…I'm here."

He stopped crying, and turned his head, trying to sense where the voice was coming from again. How terrifying the world must have seemed to him; how completely black and dark and empty and vast it must have seemed to the blind child.

I suddenly didn't mind that he was Raoul's offspring; he was from his father, but not of him. To me the tiny creature was pure, like fresh snow, like a blank page, like clay waiting to be sculpted. In the right hands, he could be something beautiful. He could be my son.

I began to sing a lullaby. It began as an old gypsy song I'd learned long ago, but then it took on a life of its own. The effect my voice had on the infant was staggering. He seemed to lean in closer to me, closing his eyes. His small hand wrapped gently around my index finger, and I looked excitedly down at Christine, the look in my eyes no doubt exclaiming, "Did you see that?"

She had tears in her eyes still, but she was smiling. "Oh, don't stop singing, Erik…I've missed it so much." I sighed and handed the child back to her, and she stared at me for a few more minutes, that adoring look in her eyes that I had been trying so hard to shun from my memory.

"You confuse me so, Erik. I don't know how I feel. I feel like I should know, because it feels so strong. But I don't know. I haven't the slightest clue what this emotion could be."

"You seem so hesitant to think it could be love," I whispered, and then added tremulously,

"Why does it matter what my face looks like, Christine? How can you be so cruel and do this to me, leading me on and cutting me off so sharply like you do? I loved you Christine, I loved you more that the Vicomte or any man ever will…"

She looked deep into my eyes again, looking scared.

"You say 'loved' like it is a thing of the past…"

I ran my hands through my hair.

"Go to sleep Christine. I will sing to you, if you wish. You and your child both need rest."

I sang softly as she closed her eyes. Soon both of them were fast asleep, but I continued my song. As I watched in the dim light, I could not help but feel that Christine herself was nothing but a child. Her face was so young and innocent looking, and despite my better judgment, I ran a gentle finger across her pale cheek. I realized right then that I would take care of them both until I died. It wasn't so much a decision as a conscious recognition of an inevitable fact.

I watched over Christine and her child for several more hours, never straying from the room for a moment. I was like a sort of guardian angel, detached yet intensely devoted, and I only fell asleep just as the first rays of sunlight began to creep up the walls.