So nice of you, invaderoperaghost, to join us here…your review was very much appreciated and I hope you countinue to read!

Misty Breyer: poor Raoul indeed! That is what I have been saying for years.

MJ MOD: I hope I wasn't too unclear about that bit while trying to be a bit unclear, if you know what I mean. I hope to go into more detail with that if I ever do a sequel, if not, you're just left to assume that she was unhappy with not only her social class, but her appearance to others and simply…changed.

Jbwriter: haha! Erik always deserves just a little bit of pity from everyone! I hope to go into Adelaide's background in a sequel, if I do one. Sort of what I said above…if I do not get to one, it was my plan to leave it ambigious as to her it did not shape who she was and should not matter. I, however, have an idea as an author (about as hardcore authoress as I get) how she lived pre-Raoul.

We're near the end, my darlings!

Adelaide's POV

I was plagued with headaches in a nearly consistent stream now. A dull ache constantly ran through my head, I never said a word concerning them, silently cursing this hereditary affliction. My neck and back began to pain me despite any position I lie in when I slept, and my feet cried in revolt of the new weight they were forced to withstand. I thought bitterly how amusing it was that my abduction and imprisonment had come at such a time where I would rather not be viewed now due to my ungainliness.

Ironically, it was only after my placed accusations to Erik did I begin to fill self-pity for myself. I loathed who I had become, violent and haughty. Captivity had brought out ranging emotions that I had once possessed the ability to hide so well. I would cry one moment, and laugh hysterically the next before then sobbing until I fell into an uneasy sleep. Madness crept into my being and my mind like mold to an old wooden floor.

Shortly after that horrid night (for all things are night), the Persian returned to the lair. And that evening, Erik had what I knew was a near fatal attack. I had not prayed once since my abduction, but I did pray silently in thanks for the timely return of his friend, so that I did not have to cope alone. Since my one encounter with Erik's foreign guest, hunger nor curiosity or loneliness could drive me to walk outside of the Louis-Philippe room. I often made my existence known, purposely, by doing things like running water in the water closet and placing things on the furniture loudly. I was bitter towards him for being aware of my plight and yet turning a blind eye.

But, only a few hours after his arrival, I heard a crash that sounded like a small table being overturned and a cry of surprise from Nadir. Unthinkingly, I burst out of my room only to be met with the sight of my captor being tortured by his own weak heart. He lie on the ground, writhing in pain, while even if I had wanted to do something, I could not. Nadir knelt next to him, and removed his mask in the hopes of allowing a clearer passage of air to pass. I simply turned my head and faced the wall while I continued to hear his gasps for air.

Then, everything was still. It was as if a bizarre stormed had passed for the high drama came to an anticlimactic end and all that was left was the sound of Erik's shallow breathing.

"Madame," Nadir began, I breathed deeply and braced myself for what I would see when I turned back. I faced Nadir, still avoiding Erik's face and began to feel my stomach churn and my head spin. "Madame," he repeated, "we must put him in a proper bed."

I dared not open my mouth for fear of what I would say, but only nodded submissively and walked to the Louis-Philippe room and pressed the door open with my hand and stood ready for the men to pass me.

Allowing Erik to regain a bit of strength, Nadir finally helped him to his feet and slowly the pair walked past me.

I had a biblical illusion for a moment, pitying Nadir, but being grateful to him all the same. He was a Simon, and Erik was the cross he assisted both Erik and myself with.

The ability of speech was temporarily robbed from a man who once based an entire aspect of his life on his voice alone. All things uttered were forced through one side of his mouth.

I sat in a chair near the door of the room, acting as the watchful nurse, however, over-analyzing my patient beyond physical needs. I berated myself constantly for my actions with the mask. If I was asked in a courtroom, bound by a bible, why I had done that, I would be unable to answer. It was a horrible jumble of anger, a need to almost return abuse and ruin, and a deadly curiosity. His animal-like breathing and my attempt to seek forgiveness replayed in my mind m any times while I watched his sleeping figure. The Persian had convinced him to remain there during his "recovery." In my mind, I knew it would be the place of his death, but did not say a word.

The Persian and I took shifts over the following view days, there was little improvement in Erik's condition. If anything, it worsened slowly but surely.

"I beg your pardon," I jumped out of a dream while holding a closed book in my hand in the sitting room.

"He has asked to speak with you," the Persian repeated patiently. My heart skipped a beat in fear for a moment. I shook my head slightly, without responding.

"I can not go….alone!"

Nadir did not respond, but simply stood from the door, holding it's knob for me, for it was slightly ajar.

Picking up my skirts, I rose carefully and walked in hesitantly.

There lay a man that I hated, I hated with a passion. Yet, he was a person I wanted to know and understand – a completely unique relationship between captor and prisoner, I thought cruelly.

He said not a word to me, but followed my movements with his horrid, mis-matched eyes. Not knowing what else to do, my nursing habits took over, and I picked up a cloth from the porcelain basin and dragged it across his feverish, clammy forehead, I was also disappointed in my pathetic, childish attempt to cover his face so I would not see it again. For, it had haunted my dreams as he had predicted, though, not in the sense he had said.

"Why," he began, straining to speak, "are you being…kind?"

I was reminded of, out of all things, my time spent in Italy with Raoul. My God, I had not thought of my life before darkness in a long time. It felt like a previous lifetime long past.

We had just finished a wonderful supper at a lovely restaurant and were walking back to our hotel suite. Upon turning the corner we were bombarded by peasants mumbling incoherently and holding out their hands looking for only a little silver.

They were all filthy, many missing teeth, shaved heads, dressed minimally and in poorly woven materials…truly the definition of poverty, which frightened me. I had never had money up until my marriage, yet, I never experienced poverty as this. I drew closer to Raoul, tightening my clutch on the crook of his elbow, and angling my face to his broad shoulder.

"It's alright," he reassured me under his breath. "You ca not be afraid of something you won't understand by looking at right away."

Prying his arm from my grip, my new husband pulled out a handful of lira from his pocket and doled out pieces to each beggar holding out their hand, speaking to them in uneasy Italian just as he would have to someone of the highest social stature.

Some reacted kindly, one woman, with the stance of an old crab, handed me a lily from her basket of wares; I gave a nod of thanks nervously. Others did not react to all. Raoul showed the same humanity to each and slightly waved to them as we continued down the street.

"That was very noble of you," I told him when we were out of ear-shot. I stopped and turned to him, twirling the lily with my free hand "Very…very good of you."

"Everyone is a person, Adelaide," he patted my hand, smiled - as if satisfied with the lesson taught - and we continued on.

I looked back at Erik who was still glaring at me with what could have been mistaken for utmost disdain, but I chose to interpret as a puzzlement in the face of compassion. I looked only at his eyes, fighting to keep my peripheral vision from catching his disfigurement.

"Why, Erik? Because everyone is a person." Spoken aloud, it registered with me for the first time. Had this famed Phantom appeared to me so powerful and mysterious that I had overlooked the fact that he was a person? It seemed hardly plausible that a man so majestic and godlike as he was, in fact, a mortal.

A silence filled the room, and after a moment, he gestured towards a folded piece of paper on the dresser which I was prompted to take and open.

Inside was a diagram of the home in which I stood, accompanied with an explanation through the use of a series of arrows and notes on how to escape his complicated chamber. I looked up at him, bringing the paper to my chest.

"Leave," he murmured, turning his head. "Return to your…" he paused, out of vehemence or handicapped by his breath-intake, or perhaps both, "-your husband!" he finally spat.

I stood stupidly, the incredible idea not registering with me.

"Leave," he moaned again.

I was puzzled as I had never been before. .

Sitting, I looked at him in the eyes, for the first time with a soft expression instead of the one I had typically met his eyes with, being a one of hatred. In his golden orbs I saw life, life as it had naturally continued. Raoul, believing me head…I even began to think, incredulously, remarried? Victorie, with a new governess…perhaps a young, pretty one? Prettier then I had ever been? London bustling, my Father alone with my old maid of a sister. I felt back to my mature and sane mind. Three days, at most, would not make a difference.

"I will stay. Until the end." I was impressed with my own ability to state reality that would have been avoided by many, and I dare say he was too.

He did say a word of thanks, yet he did not say a word of resistance.

He allowed it be.