He still paused in trepidation whenever he approached a shadow or a dark corridor. He felt foolish doing so; a man at his age who had once prided himself upon his bravery. The horrors that he had seen and risen above, and yet a corner obscured by darkness could instill in him a terrible dread! He struggled against himself, trying to calm his threadbare nerves, but his fears always emerged the victor. And in one moment a week earlier, the Persian had seen all his fears realized.

He should have known that something was awaiting him that night; an ominous feeling had hung heavily over him the entire day. As he went about his daily activities, he found himself continuously glancing over his shoulder, certain that someone was there yet finding nothing. When walking the streets of Paris, he quickened his pace to hear if the footsteps behind him followed suit. Later that evening as he prepared himself for an evening out, he chided himself for his foolishness. Standing before his mirror, his ebony skin glowing in the lamplight, he assured himself that he was a capable man and that he had nothing to fear. What utter nonsense it was, to always be fearful of a figment, a tattered and withered memory. With this new determination, he was able to disregard the painful sigh that floated on the wind, the icy cold that wrapped about his wrists and trailed the back of his neck as he left his home in the Rue de Rivoli..

There was no sense of uneasiness as he enjoyed a performance of Bizet's Carmen with Nora Byrne, a young woman that he had been courting. While he had been generally ignored by the other women he had met in France, she had been attracted by his exotic look. She often told him that his jade eyes reminded her of the stories her parents told her; the legends of St. Patrick and the shamrock, the tale of Tír-na-n-Og. Nora's parents had immigrated to Paris from Ireland during the great famine. While not a great beauty, Nora exuded a quiet loveliness and grace. Her dark raven hair was usually pulled up neatly, otherwise it fell in wild, unruly curls. The Persian often found himself staring into her dark eyes. Now as she smiled warmly at him, any former thoughts of danger lurking in the shadows were lifted from his mind.

His steps were light as he entered his home, thinking of the warmth of Nora's hand as he had timidly kissed it and the flush that came to her cheeks as she tried to hide her smile. The image of that smile was still on his mind as he lit a candle in his bedroom. As he turned about to undress, he caught sight of a slender figure waiting in the doorway. How could it be that on the night he finally pushed the ghosts of the past from his mind, the very embodiment of his fears should appear before him. Had he not been so overcome with fright, he might have laughed at the irony of it.

"Why Daroga, you seem surprised to see me! What did you think had become of poor, unhappy Erik?"

The Persian stood speechless, unable to look away from the gleaming yellow eyes before him.

"You have never been at a loss for words before. I am quite disappointed," Erik said, taking a few steps into the room.

The Persian instinctively backed away, grasping at any object atop his nightstand. He got hold of a letter opener and waved it defensively in front of him. "What business could you possibly have here, Erik?"

A sudden gust of wind blew through the window, knocking over the candlestick and plunging the whole room into complete darkness. The Persian spun about, swinging the letter opener violently. He heard Erik's voice all about him, whispering.

"You honestly think to do me harm with that?" the voice laughed. "Do not be foolish, Daroga. If I had wanted you dead, do you think there would still be breath in you?"

The Persian suddenly stopped, realizing the truth of Erik's words. His quick breathing slowly abated, as he felt about the floor to retrieve the candlestick. Placing it back on the nightstand and igniting the flame, he found that Erik had once again retreated to the doorway.

"I heard that you had released Mademoiselle Daae and the Vicomte de Chagny," the Persian began softly.

"She gave her kiss freely to me, here on my forehead," Erik replied, his voice heavy with sadness. "She cried with me, Daroga; her tears mixed with mine, even as I removed my mask. She was my living bride. But I could not bear to cause her any more pain. I know she loved the boy. So I took him from the Communist's Dungeon, took him to my Christine. They kissed before me, and I gave them their freedom."

"And what of the Comte de Chagny?" the Persian broke in.

"He stumbled and fell, Daroga. I assure you that I had no part in it. He was badly injured, but still alive. I took him to the surface where he would be found and cared for. Now I was speaking of Christine- I released her from her promise, gave her life with her precious Vicomte; I only asked that Christine return to bury me upon my death, with the ring that I had given her. And that, Daroga, is why I have come here with a request."

"After all that you have done to me, after almost taking my life, you come here to make a request of me?" the Persian cried indignantly.

"I assure you that what I come to ask is of no benefit to me."

The Persian eyed him, hesitantly meditating on what he had said. "I make no promises, Erik. What is it that you want?"

Erik released a heavy sigh. "I watched them, even after they had left me. The boy held her so tightly, and she clung to him in return. But there was something else, something in her eyes. There was a light that shone from them when I sang to her as her angel; I watched that light go out when she realized who I truly was. When she looks at him, I can almost see it flickering again. There is but one way to bring back the light, Daroga, and that is with my death."

"I don't understand."

"We must make her believe that I have died, Daroga. That is the only way that she can ever be truly free."

"You assure me that this is not a trick, not a ruse to draw Miss Daae once more into your life?" the Persian questioned him.

"I told you, I cannot stand to be the cause of her suffering any longer!" Erik roared. He took a steadying breath, and spoke calmly once more. "With this last deception, I shall become nothing more than a memory for Christine. And perhaps even that will fade in time."

The Persian nodded his head, accepting Erik's petition. The next day he set off to place an advertisement in the Epoque, and take a body from the graveyard to place in Erik's stead.