Erik

My heart is breaking.

I know it is breaking, because now that I have acknowledged its presence it never leaves my consciousness, and I am discerning of its every movement. She fears me. She has feared me ever since she rescued me from that hellish circus, looked upon the tragedy that was my face, saw how I murdered Lombardi with my bare hands.

"You will call me Madame,"she said.

"But you're not married."

"That makes no difference to me. I am older than you and you will show respect." Then she smiled, to soften the reprimand.

She craved that authority over me because she fears me.

Naturally.

"Curse you," I whisper.

…

Madeleine

"I cannot explain this to you, Armande," I insisted, just above a murmur.

"Please, Madeleine. Please, let me help you."

There came silence; stiff, ironic silence, but I could feel the gratitude, and even submission, in my next words. Submission. "I am frightened. I am frightened of…ghosts."

"Ghosts, Madeleine?"

I said nothing.

"The Opera Ghost, you mean?"

Within my chest I could feel my breath return. "No, not him," I said sharply, deceptively confident. "I mean to say, there is no such thing as the Opera Ghost…but there is such great pain here, and I do not know how…."

"Hush," came his gentle reply. "Don't be frightened, my darling."

Darling…words I hadn't thought I'd ever hear, or let myself hear.

"Armande." There was no harshness in my address, and the sudden flourish of emotions stunned me for a moment, and broke into my voice through a rambling tirade of reluctant assent. "Armande, I can't…I cannot cling to memories or guilt. I must forget about Henri—no, Henri is dead, and I will never have him back, regardless of how I want…regardless of anything! I cannot listen to the music any longer or I shall never—"

"Music, my dear?"

"Music, voices, memories, everything," I continued, my voice trembling. His music, I wanted to shout. I had seen his face and still allowed myself to hear his music, but now I needed to escape it. I could not save him. I could not have him.

My eyes were burning, and my heart was in my throat.

"I'll take you from this place, Madeleine. I don't know what kind of ghosts haunt you here, and perhaps you'll never tell me; but if I can save you from them then I will go to any lengths to do so."

But he would hate me forever.

"I have nowhere to go, Armande." I was suddenly afraid that I might weep. Weep? For years I had not even shed a tear that stemmed from emotion. What did that mean? "The Opera is my home, my family, and I am a dancer."

"How much longer will you dance until your leg gives way again? You find your family amongst the chorus girls and ballerinas? Do you prefer a dorm and a cot to a real house, with a garden and a kitchen and a fireplace?"

My leg. My dancing. All of my thoughts focused on him. Him, who I cursed silently. The ruin of my leg was his fault, after he had thrown me to the ground in the midst of his raging jealousy.

He'd always known I had never forgiven him of it.

I was silent in my thoughts for only a moment, and I stared up at Armande, into his beautiful hazel eyes. "Where would I find such a home?"

"With me, Madeleine. With me. I want you to marry me. I love you, and I want to rescue you, just as you would rescue me from a life of loneliness."

My fists clenched and my nails dug into my palms with both the hope and the fear that had plagued my spirit ever since I'd met the man standing before me. "I don't want you to pity me, Armande."

"It's not because of pity I ask. It's because I want to spend the rest of my life with you!" I heard his sincere pleas, and I wanted to believe them—so terribly. "Say you'll marry me. Say you love me."

The fears of my heart found their way to my lips. "I don't know if I could leave," I choked out. "There are…things…that would keep me here forever."

"Of your own will?"

Yes!

"No!" I cried, and my voice lowered. "And yes." Every hair on my body stood on end. "Oh, I don't know! I don't know what to do! I love the music that would chain me to this place, and what frightens me is that I would stay bound willingly if I did not have you!" My admission made my head spin, and without realising it, the words left me. "I need you, I need you to help me! I need you!"

I collapsed into dry heaves, trying desperately to swallow back my tears at the same time that the wells behind my eyes begged for release. His arms came around me, and he stroked my hair and my back. "Then come with me. As soon as you can, Madeleine. Bid your ghosts farewell and leave them behind forever."

My head began to ache, and I realised just how fiercely my jaw was clenched. Tears at last broke upon me, and I nodded, consenting my finality, begging my soul to understand. "I will try. I promise, I will try."

God, help me.

…

Erik

My lips part for a heavy breath that will not make its way past my throat, and I close my eyes, sinking to the floor under the weight of my deadness. My mind is a torrential mess with the words I am hearing. She belongs to me, then, but she fears me more—she fears me so much that she will give her love to him. I put my face in my hands, and feel the massive scarring against my right palm.

She did not scold him for laying such words of flattery upon her amenable state, did not reject his fancy promises, and that terrifies me. I have had no idea she could ever be so defenseless; she's never shown me anything of vulnerability.

My tears begin to fall…stemming from a broken heart. It has been breaking, slowly and irrevocably, since their conversation began, and I am either foolish or wise to have listened to it. Madame is leaving me, then, as I have feared she would do ever since she brought me to the opera house.

I stand slowly, unsure what to do, what to think. My feet carry me into the hidden corridors between the dorms and the dressing rooms. Something in the numbness tells me that my mourning has already begun. I am not sure if I can accept the grief yet. No. Right now, I need my music, so I can forget.

I vaguely hear my footsteps echo in the dark passages and into the depths of the Opera. The way is second nature to me; I know so well where my trapdoors are strategically scattered that I can reach my destination with my eyes closed. Madame has never come with me. I am far too frightened that she will fall victim to one of the many traps, and I know it frightens her, too.

Her face is so endearing when she is scared.

I drift to a halfway cognizant stop at the edge of the lake. The mist swirls possessively around the gondola, and the water shimmers with candlelight. The acoustics of my underground house are like none other; the gentle lapping waves against the smooth stone can lull me to sleep and grant me dreams of beauty, beauty I may never claim.

I lower myself into the gondola, and set my thoughts on the organ that lies ahead in my house, and the music in which I can find peace. I do not play my organ often, because the enormously loud resonances yielded permeate the entire opera house; in fact I play it only when I wish to instil fear in the residents' minds. At times it amuses me that I find tranquillity in haunting and the music that aides me in doing so. Today, however, I care nothing for haunting, but only for peace.

Peace, that I invest far too much faith in. Peace, that has always escaped me.

But then, a ghost is a soul that is never at rest.