Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or the associated music/characters. Nor do I own the song 'Broken Vow'... or Josh Groban for that matter. Thanks for the fantastic reviews, 32 in three chapters- I'm overwhelmed, touched and awed. Thank you all so much.

cookies n' hugs

Lee

Anguish

Erik

Two people. Smiling, embracing. Faces turned toward each other, entirely ignorant of the camera. Her eyes, the green of sunlight through leaves, half-veiled as she looked up at him. The secret, laughing look that passed between them. His hands lingering delicately on her waist as she tilted her face up to his. Light and dark hair mingling in an unseen breeze.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember that day. The air had been alive with the scent of summer. The air had been lit with fireflies as though the stars themselves had fallen from the sky. A languid, sultry night filled with the sounds of cicadas and laughter.

Paradise. He could still remember the light touch of her hands on his, like a kiss of sunlight. The fragrance of jasmine that clung to her sunkissed skin. The silken feel of her pale hair against his cheek. The way she would tilt her head back to look at him with dancing verdant eyes. The low lilt of her voice, like a distant waterfall. The taste of the full mouth, red as summer carnations on his. Warm, with the slow sweetness of honey. A nostalgia, a desiring, seeped through him at the thought.

He slammed the photograph facedown, a sick rush of guilt, anger, rejection, overtaking him. What the hell is wrong with you, Erik? He closed his eyes, remembering the night his paradise collapsed around him in flames. Forget her. Forget all of it.

Forget.

"Erik?"

He turns, smiles. She stands there in the moonlight, clinging to the doorway. He feels the it fade from his face as he takes in the wide-eyed way she's looking at him, almost fearful, the way her hands are trembling. Her mouth quivers. He turns, goes to her. "Maya? What is it- what's the matter?"

She doesn't look at him.

Erik ran his fingers across the glossy piano keys. They were cold. In the silence they felt almost dead.

"Tell me his name; I want to know
the way he looks and where you go.
I need to see his face, I need to understand.
Why you and I came to an end."

The keys warmed like a living thing under his hands and began to breathe music.

And pain.

"Erik... I've been seeing someone else."

He can't speak. He stumbles back a step. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes are veiled as she looks down at her left hand. At the engagement ring encircling her finger. "I can't go through with this, Erik.'

'I love him."

He felt something in him reopen, bleeding. A wound that four years could not heal. A wound that he remembered each night he reached out and she wasn't there. Each morning he opened his eyes and did not see her face beside his. Maya, Maya. Why?

"Tell me again, I want to hear
who broke my faith in all these years.
Who lays with you at night while I'm here all alone,
remembering when I was your own."

Maya. He closed his eyes, breath searing his lungs. He was cold, so cold. Sometimes it seemed that his body would fade and leave only the music. Sometimes he was almost willing for it to happen, for his body to dissipate into the mists and the melody of the night. Why, Maya, why?

"Who is he?" He wants to lash out like a wounded animal, to give some voice to the torment inside. To let her know what she was doing to him. Inside... he feels something shatter, releasing a slow flow of a burning, heavy substance. Inside...

... something is dying.

"Erik-" she interrupts him. He grabs her shoulders, her eyes fly up to his. "Who is he, Maya!" The green, star-filled eyes flood with tears. "Erik, you're hurting me!" He releases her as though she had burned him. "I'm hurting you, Maya?" A bitter, breathy laugh forces itself out of him. Oh, God, the irony of it! He feels a hand at his arm, her eyes are filled with pity.

He jerks away from her. "I don't want your pity, Maya!"

It seeped through him, a darkness that the music could not dispel. It conquered the sound pouring from him, suffusing the room in plaintive agony. He lost himself in it as it engulfed his senses until there was nothing but the music.

"I let you go,
I let you fly.
Why do I keep on asking why
I let you go
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,
more than a broken vow?"

Nothing but the memories.

She wavers, backing away from him. "Erik- please."

He stares at her, sure he's dreaming. Sure it's a nightmare, that he'll wake and find her beside him.

But it isn't

Four years. Four long years void of sunlight, now that she was gone. Four years living in shadow and darkness. Four years of bleeding. His only companion, music. The only thing that kept him sane. That covered the pain.

"Tell me the words I never said.
Show me the tears you never shed.
Give me the touch, the one you promised to be mine.
Or has it vanished for all time?"

Four years of night.

"What did I do, Maya?"

Her arms cross over her chest as though she's cold, clinging to herself. Her face is flushed with shame. "It's not you, Erik-"

"Is it this?" he asks, touching the mask. She protests quickly, too quickly and he feels raw, something searing his spirit. The infection of his face begins to spread, consuming him, ravaging his soul until there is no distinction between the two.

Until he is fully a creature of Hell.

A fresh wave of loathing broke over him. At her, at himself. At whatever had made him this way. This thing.

What did I do to deserve this?

What the hell did I do! Why did you do this to me? He's wasn't even sure who he was asking. He had long since abandoned his faith. If there had been a God, Erik Destler would not have been born like this. Would not have lived like this.

Would not have wished for death that day.

"I let you go,
I let you fly.
Why do I keep on asking why
I let you go
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,
more than a broken vow?"

His voice resounded around the room, a ceaseless, anguished question. It filled the emptiness, than faded, leaving him alone once more.

"When did this happen?" He is the one who can't look at her now. His voice is soft, dying away into the silence.

"Sometime after... after my birthday." She sounds relieved at his subdued voice.

He remembered that night. The night she had blown out twenty-one candles, her eyes meeting his above the flames as the laughing crowd told her to make a wish.

The night he had held her hair back for her and the morning he had stroked the pounding head. She had smiled weakly when he told her he had done the same thing last year.

Now it fades as she speaks. "Erik, it wasn't your fault-"

No. He thought bitterly. It wasn't his fault. Who asked to be born a monster?

"I close my eyes
and dream of you and I
and then I realize there's more
to love than only bitterness and lies.
I close my eyes."

Who asked to be born a monster?

His eyes are bleak on hers. She moves toward him, he freezes. He feels her arms go around him. He wants to drown in the sensation, immerse himself in the familiar warmth. It is so easy to pretend that everything is normal, that she still loves him.

Until he remembers that it is only pretending.

He shoves her away from him roughly. "Don't. Maya, just- don't."

Her eyes meet his, endless and grieving. Her voice is a whisper. "If that's what you want."

The moonlight flooded his music room as it had so many years ago. He could almost see her in the doorway, her green eyes speaking a lament. Paled in the silver light, tears shining like a river under starlight.

"I'd give away my soul to hold you
once again, and
never let this promise end."

And then he looked again, and she was gone. Dissolved into the night, into a corner of his mind and heart where only shadows reach. God, God what he'd give to have her back. To erase the long and lonely years after she left. To light the darkness he had allowed to engulf him. Where was she, the slender woman who had held herself against him, had seen beneath the mask and had not shied from what lay underneath? Where was the woman who had held him as he trembled under her touch?

Maya...

Where was the woman who had loved him?

"I can't do this, Erik." He looks up as her fingers go to her left hand. As she twists off the ring that shines like sunlight. She holds out her hand, it lies there, gleaming and cold. Her hand shakes. He doesn't move.

She lets the ring drop, a falling star. It hits the floor with a ringing sound that resounds through him. The silver ring sparkles like a spilt tear, like shattered glass. He simply stares at it.

"I'm sorry."

The piano pounded through the night. A requiem that swept him up in its mourning. Why aren't I dead? Shouldn't my body have died as well, after that night? But he was alive. He knew it by the torment that burned its way up his throat, that stung against his cheeks.

He knew it because something inside of him was still bleeding.

"I let you go,
I let you fly.
Now that I know, I'm asking why
I let you go,
now that I've found a way to keep, somehow,
more than a broken vow."

His voice rose in a crescendo, giving voice to the broken-winged thing inside of him. The music swelled around him, he lost himself for a moment in the sound. For a moment, four years of darkness were amplified, condensed into a single moment. In a moment, he could hear a lifetime.

He can't move. She backs away, fades into the darkness of the doorway like an illusion. He feels the warmth go with her, the sun sink beneath the horizon to plunge him into silent nightfall.

He feels cold moonlight on his skin. His fingers make their way tentatively up his face to touch the mask, he looks into the mirror by the doorway. Something almost inhuman stares back at him.

The sound of breaking glass shatters the stillness. His eyes fall downward, at his hand, dripping red, red blood. Sliding down his fingertips to fall to the floor, where the ring lies among broken glass.

"Erik?"

He jerked back to the present. Who was it who interrupted him? Who in their right mind would-

"Erik?"

Christine. Her voice was concerned. He turned, saw her at the end of the hallway. Her dark eyes were anxious, she bit her lip. "Is everything all right?"

The pain of the memories still ran through him, he forced back a snapping retort, instead schooling his voice to remote coolness. "Did you want something, Christine?"

She raked a hand through her hair. "Are you sure you're all right? You sounded-"

"I'm fine." he cut her off brusquely. "Will you go now?"

She flinched. He felt a rush of vindictive pleasure at spreading his torment. At sharing the pain.

Then- Oh, God. The fierce enjoyment was doused by self-loathing. He looked away from the startled eyes. What's wrong with you, Erik?

"Erik-" she tried again. Her voice was hesitant, apprehensive.

"Just go." he said softly.

He heard her footsteps fade away. Bile rose in his throat.

What kind of monster am I?

Christine

She couldn't get it out of her head. She had been drawn by the melody, so pained, so tormented. What had caused that angelic voice to be so suffused with grief?

What dark things had shadowed that pure voice?

She stood at the end of the hallway. The door was open, a figure by the piano, fingers flying over the keys in fervent passion, voice rising in a crescendo. Christine closed her eyes, feeling the sound go through her soul. Her mind thrilled to the sound, almost as though she had entered some half-remembered dream. She felt tears start at the corners of her eyes, a bittersweetness in her mouth. It was beautiful, but oh, so lonely.

The music faded and his hands stilled. He hung his head, eerily still. The moonlight lent him an effervescence, a surreality. "Erik?" she called. His head whipped around. Suddenly, the worldliness rushed back. "Erik?"

He blinked, seeming surprised to see her there. "Is everything all right?" His eyes were strikingly, blazingly blue. In the vivid light of them she saw a maelstrom. Turbulent, flaming. His voice, however, when he spoke, was distant, almost cold. A perfectly controlled lilt. "Did you want something, Christine?" There were shadows behind the seraphic voice, the brilliant eyes.

There were memories.

Christine took a step forward, reaching out a hand across the distance before running it through her hair. Something in her urged her forward, urged her to the secret and strange man across from her. She fought it. Give him his peace. She settled for a gentle inquiry as something inside her twisted. "Are you sure you're all right? You sounded-"

"I'm fine." he interrupted her sharply. "Will you go now?" His eyes are bleak, dangerous. Hypnotic.

If she looked any longer she might drown in them. She shook herself out of her trance. "Erik-" She didn't know what she might say, but she had to speak.

She had to try.

He broke in, more gently this time. His eyes dropped from hers and she stopped trembling. His voice came, quiet and apologetic. "Just go."

She hesitated. There was a compulsion to go to him that warred with the voice that whispered that to do so would set in motion something almost dangerous. Something neither she nor he would be able to halt.

"I'm sorry." she whispered. He gave no sign that he heard her as she left him. She looked back once to see him staring at his hands as they lay limp on the keys, the left side of his face as open as she'd ever seen it. What she saw frightened her. A reflective lament, a guilt-racked shame.

Loss.

Then, with a masochistic hopelessness, the melody began again. She wanted to turn, to go back.

She couldn't.

Now, in her room, she stared out into the moonlit park. What had she heard in that inhuman voice?

What happened to you, Erik?