A/N- I know this took forever, but life has a way of keeping you busy. Thanks reviewers: Sorry- no coffin for Erik- too Dracula-esque for me and no cheesy swan bed either. But a bedroom done in black…sure. Don't like it? Call a decorator:)

Thanks reviewers: lostschizophrenic, witchy-grrl, starnat, soofija, YoukoElfMaiden, kristinekat13, midnightangel38, orphelia-Rose, Debbie, and big thanks to skbar for the Erik plushie. ( I will send more cookies to you all...but the plushie is mine mine mine!)

I hope the extreme pronoun usage and the quick alteration between scenes agrees with everyone. It just felt like I needed to write it this way...dumb I know but here goes.

Chapter 12-

Everywhere he turned there she was. In charcoal, pencil, and paint the images of her deluded and overwhelmed him. Some portraits were singing, others were praying, while a few showed her in tears. All were remarkable in their accuracy and exquisite in their artistry.

Had she posed for them? No, she would not have done that. It…that thing- he had to have been watching her.

Motioning for the gendarmes to leave, he continued his explorations into the next room.

The softness of her lips on his was astounding and powerful at the same moment.

All the rest of the world faded away as he immersed himself in the first loving form of human contact in his life. The bold lyrics of his masterpiece paled in comparison to the passionate sweetness of her mouth. With a feral growl, he let instinct take over and pulled her body tightly into his, deepening the kiss.

The feeble candlelight was an insufficient weapon against the darkness of the room. Black adorned the walls, the furnishings, attempting to devour any of the precious illumination. He walked into the room, noticing that an immense bed covered in rumpled black linens consumed most of the available space. Placing a hand upon the sheets he noticed they were quite cold. No one had been there in some time. So where was he hiding?

His hands ran up her back to her bare shoulders, wanting to savor every inch of his angel. Her mouth parted from his, lips swollen from the intensity of their kiss. His eyes darkened, thinking she meant to pull back, deny what she felt, leave him again. Instead her hands gently reached up to his face and pulled the mask away. He tried to turn, to keep her intense scrutiny away from the marred portion of his face.

More papers covered the floor beside the bed. Kneeling down to investigate he illuminated the jumble of manuscripts and sketches with the torch in his hand. He found more of the carefully crafted sketches of his fiancée, these showing her in various costumes from opera productions. He tossed them back on the floor, then shuffled through the manuscripts. The scribbled notes meant nothing to him and he stood back up, resisting the impulse to ignite the accumulated rubbish…. for the moment.

Do not look at me!

She would not cease, her soft stare cutting him to the core. He heard his name whispered reverently and finally relented to turn and face her.

Why? Not again…

This time there were no screams, no look of horror upon her face. His breath caught as he saw the smile upon her lips.

Impossible…

Her hand reached up, softly touching the twisted flesh. He quivered at the sensations coursing through him, but then he saw the tears in her eyes. He pushed her hand away.

I don't want your pity.

She shook her head softly, seemingly able to hear his thoughts and brought her lips to his face, leaving no skin untouched by her kisses. His mind raced, deluded by the power of her caress.

You don't mean this…

You can't want this…

You can't love…me.

She paused at his lips, and looked him in the eyes.

Yes I do.

Yes I can.

All of you.

He moved around the room, looking for any sign, any clue that might help in the hunt. A small bedside table caught his attention, and he quickly pulled the drawer open. A thin rope lay upon some black bound books. He picked it up, evaluating the odd weapon, then pocketed it.

He turned her in his arms, burying his face in her, unwilling to let her see his tears. She pulled his arms around her, willingly moving his hands along her body. He kissed her neck, nipping the skin, relishing the soft moans that escaped her. She turned back to face him, searching for his mouth again.

Please …

He had never been able to deny her. He pulled her tightly to him, ravishing her mouth with his, exploring her with his hands.

More…

He could not deny her now.

His hands, so nimble with music, fumbled with her garments. He cursed himself, but she simply smiled at him, kissing his lips softly while her hands assisted his.

He rummaged through the drawer, looking for anything else that might be useful. Finding nothing he moved over to the black wardrobe. Jerking the doors open he pulled the clothing from its place, tossing it on the floor. The collection of wigs followed. A crash echoed through the chamber as glass containers were shattered. Pleasure at destroying the creature's belongings coursed through his veins.

The only thing better will be doing this to that thing itself.

The wardrobe empty, he moved to a small trunk. Finding it locked, he kicked the lid open, relishing in the destruction. Masks of various designs and materials stared back at him. He dumped them on the floor, scattering them about. A black portfolio fell on top of the mess, and he quickly scooped it up. Expecting to find more music manuscripts to shred, his jaw dropped at the sight he met instead. It was an entire portfolio of nude portraits, Christine's face smiling in each of them.

Her body was more perfect that his artistic meandering could have ever produced. His imagination had tried to capture her form, but the reality was breathtaking. Willingly she stepped into his embrace.

Raoul bellowed as he threw the drawings down into the trunk and tossed the torch upon him. The conflagration mirrored the rage in his soul.

He moved to pick her up in his arms, to carry her as he had that night in his home.

She screamed, burning before his eyes. Burning his hands, her cries burning his soul.

No!

His eyes flew open and met those of Madame Giry.

"She's dead isn't she?"