Erik was thrown by the question. The angel of music? She must be very young to believe in such things. Realizing she was waiting for an answer, he threw his voice again. "I am not an angel. I am just a man."

"Oh… I just thought… Your voice is coming from above. How are you doing that?"

"Is there a vent in the ceiling? Or perhaps high up on the wall?"

"Oh." She must have spotted it then. "I'm sorry, that was pretty silly of me…"

Perhaps she wasn't as young as he thought. He could understand being taken by surprise, especially in a hospital setting where emotions tended to run high. Her voice didn't sound like a child's, though he was certain she was younger than him.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. I just wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful voice."

"Thank you… Do you work here?"

"No, I'm a patient."

"My papa is a patient too."

"Were you singing to him?"

"Yes. He probably can't hear me, but I like to sing anyway. He likes it when I sing."

"Will you sing another song? I'd like to hear you too."

"What's your name?"

"What does that matter?" He frowned.

"I want to know who I'm singing for."

"That's fair, I suppose." He sighed. "It's Erik."

Silence followed and he waited, not certain if she'd heard him. But then her voice came through the vent, soft at first and slowly getting louder. He closed his eyes, listening harder than he had ever listened in his life. Her tone was so clear, so pure. He could hear a lack of training but he knew he could polish her in a matter of months. What a joy it would be to fix such a beautiful instrument.

Her voice stopped suddenly.

"Are you still there?" he called?

She didn't reply. He waited for a little while before deciding that she wasn't going to sing again. He relaxed against his bed, sleep finally finding him while her sweet voice sang in the back of his mind.

When he woke, she was singing again. His mouth turned up in a small smile. He sat up and listened to her sing what he would have guessed was a folk song, in a language he didn't understand. She finished and he threw his voice again.

"I never got your name."

"Christine."

"Christine…" The name felt nice and natural in his mouth. "Why did you disappear last night?"

"The nurse came in to check on my papa."

"Oh, I see. How is he?"

"Not very well."

"What happened to him?"

"He was in an accident. My papa… He was already sick. We knew we did not have long. To have our time cut even shorter is a cruel twist of fate."

It was hard to tell, her voice slightly distorted by the vent, but he was starting to detect a bit of an accent in her voice. He wanted to know more about her, but it didn't seem appropriate.

"I'm sorry. I hope he's able to recover."

"He won't," Erik could tell now she was trying not to cry, her voice wavering. "They don't think he's going to wake up."

"I'm very sorry, Christine."

She didn't say anything for a long moment, until he was once again questioning if she was still there. But then she started to sing, her voice thick with emotion. Erik closed his eyes and let her voice fill his senses while everything else faded away.

His recovery was as painful and slow as expected, but Christine's voice made it easier. They spent many hours chatting about their past, their hopes and dreams, and plans for the future. He'd never seen her, but he felt he'd made a friend. She sang to him and her father every day and he coveted those songs, knowing they were now just as much for him as they were for her papa.

Meg was his regular nurse and he got along with her well enough. She was a little too perky and, when his pain level was high, it was easy for her to get on his nerves. She took it all in stride though, tending to him with a smile.

Christine didn't talk much about her father's condition but it hung over them like a dark cloud, ominous, a storm growing ever closer.

"Once my papa… Once he's gone… I don't know what will happen to me."

"What do you mean, my dear?" He frowned.

"Well, I haven't got a job or any money. I don't know how I'll ever pay his hospital bills or funeral costs. The house doesn't really belong to us. I know he was behind on his car payments, and it's totaled now anyway. I have nothing, and nowhere to go."

Erik didn't know how to respond. He wanted to help her, but he was still barely more than a stranger to her. He'd never had to worry about money before, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. Her father was dying, she didn't need to be worrying about her financial situation in addition.

He pondered on how he could help her. She would never accept a check from him. He could will it all to her, but that wouldn't really help her while he was alive. There was one possibility he refused to give much thought to, but it remained in the darkest corner of his mind, unwilling to disappear entirely.

Finally, the day came for the bandages covering his face to be removed. His doctor stood nearby while Meg gently unwrapped his face. They fell away at last and it took his vision a moment to adjust to having two working eyes. He heard Meg draw in a soft gasp. Looking up, he found the doctor's face was grim. "What?" Erik demanded.

Meg said nothing, but she brought him a hand mirror, placing it into his lap. Slowly, he raised it, ready to see the damage was.

Nothing could have prepared him for the gruesome sight. He couldn't stand to look for more than a moment. He threw the mirror to the ground, shattering the glass. "No. No! What the hell have you done to me?"

"We did our best to repair the damage, Mr. Mulheim. You have to understand-"

"My face is ruined! I look like a monster!"

"Sir…" Meg stepped forward timidly, reaching her hand towards his arm.

"Don't touch me!" he snarled. "Get out! Get the hell out, both of you!"

Meg snatched her hand back and all but ran from the room. The doctor followed her, shutting the door behind him.

Erik stumbled out of the bed, his knees wobbling. He ripped the IV from his hand, the machine beside him going wild. He shoved it into the wall with such force that it fell silent, the screen going black. With weak legs, limping as he went, he moved into the bathroom, staring at his wretched face in the mirror.

He'd never been particularly handsome, but at least he'd had a face. What looked back at him was sickening, he wasn't even sure it was human. Twisted and warped, red and oozing. He doubled over the sink, losing the contents of his meager breakfast.

A deafening, anguished wail tore his attention from the mirror and towards the vent that had hosted his little conversations with Christine. He moved as quickly as he could towards it but his legs gave out and he fell, crawling the rest of the way on his hands and knees, desperate to reach her.

"Christine?"

She didn't answer.

"Christine! Are you hurt?"

"M-my… My papa…" Her voice was broken by sobs.

He leaned his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Christine…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do… Erik, what's going to become of me now?"

Erik was silent for a long moment, thinking furiously. That one little possibility screamed louder than all the rest. It was ludicrous to even consider it. He'd never even been in the same room as her and yet, he was thinking about asking her to… No, it was too much.

In the tiles of the hospital floor, he could almost see his monstrous reflection. If she could see him, she'd most certainly say no. "Christine…" He licked his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry. "You need a place to live, a source of income…"

"Yes," she sniffed.

"I need someone to care for me while I continue to recover."

"Do… do you want my-" "Marry me," he blurted, cutting her off.

There was a long silence and he internally berated himself for even thinking it, let alone saying it out loud.

"Marry you…"

"Yes, marry me. I have the means to provide for you, and you can help me during my recovery."

"What happens when you're all healed?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Can… can I have some time to think about it?"

"Of course."

"I won't be allowed at the hospital anymore, not in this room anyway. How will I give you my answer? Can I come up and see you?"

"No." He felt a surge of panic at the thought of her face when she finally saw his. He wanted the first time he saw her to be outside the hospital, with actual clothes on and something, anything, covering his face.

"I'm being released on Monday." That was a lie, he was being released the Friday before, but it would give him some time to come up with a better plan and compose himself. "There's a restaurant down the street- Antonio's. Do you know it?"

"Yeah, I've been there once or twice."

"Meet me there for dinner. Shall we say six?" He waited for what felt like the longest minute of his life before she responded.

"Ok… I'll be there…"