Chapter Three: Self-Reflection

In the week since his arrival Erik had remained largely secluded in the bedroom he had been offered. His previous assessment of Nicholas being wealthy had been correct, the man was indeed a very wealthy nobleman. Who would have believed Antoinette would have once been engaged to a Prince? Nicholas had disclosed no further details as to his relationships with Antoinette. Erik did not press for information, either, it was evident whatever had occurred between them had been significant had obviously left festering wounds.

Erik slowly pulled the curtain to his bedroom window aside. He had a view of the river that ran in front of mansion. He quietly observed as citizens went about their business, oblivious to his envious presence. While he sought to remain in the shadows, it was difficult to ignore the yearning for normalcy. To be able to move about without restrictions or fears was a privilege to be forever denied to him due to his affliction. He could never be them, just as they could never be him.

A small knock came at his bedroom door jolting him from his thoughts.

"Come in."

"Monsieur, forgive the intrusion," a timid voice asked, "but dinner is nearly ready to be served. Shall we serve you downstairs or in your bedroom?" He recognized the voice of the young girl who had been bringing him his food since his arrival.

"I would like to dine alone in my bedroom," he declared flatly as he continued to look out his window, "Please give my regards to the Prince."

"Yes Monsieur."

He heard the door close and sighed in silent frustration. Despite Nicholas's habitual assurances, he still lacked the poise to venture outside of his bedroom. He occasionally explored the library but only under the protection of the night. Nicholas had been gracious enough to offer him a tour of his home when they had arrived, although Erik had declined the tour, he had been able to glimpse a fraction of the home's magnificence. In spite of his indifferent demeanor, internally Erik had been impressed by the elegant mansion which was a palace in its own right. Spanning over three floors, it represented the wealth and power one family could yield. The entrance hall contained two marble griffins at the foot of the stairs which held the family's coat of arms. The marble stairs were covered in a red textile; as one ascended the staircase the richly stucco reliefs wall and ceilings were revealed. His heart had lurched at the sight as he recalled a similarly opulent staircase in Paris.

In truth, much of mansion reminded him of his previous home. A home he had only been able to enjoy in the shadows, he thought bitterly as his hand touched his mask. It was a temporary mask, not of the best quality, but sufficient for his needs. He was in the process of creating a replacement which would be ready in another day. He needed his mask. It was his only shield, his defense, his only means to face the world. Despite having tailored clothing at his disposal, he opted for a comfort and leisure by wearing only a loose white shirt and black pants. His disinterest was concerning yet not enough to rein his melancholy. The adrenaline which had fueled his fire to flee to Paris had subsided and allowed him to give into a period of lethargy. Unaccustomed to having long periods of idleness, he found his unproductive mind gave way to self reflection and reproaches. It was difficult not to think of what had transpired between himself and Christine, and if different actions may have yielded a different outcome. He ached for Christine. Despite his resolve to distance himself from her, he had not accounted for the surge of covetous emotions that demanded her presence. Christine had been as much a fixture in his life as the Opera house, without either, he founds his emotions to be filled with more tribulation than he had anticipated.

"Foreign emotions in a foreign land," he mumbled under his breath as he took a seat. He had never felt more utterly desolate than he did now. Who would have ever thought he would find himself longing for his previous cloistered existence?

My dear Antoinette

I do hope this letter finds you in better spirits. I have arrived home and must confess I'm intrigued by my guest. As you may know he is not a man of many words, yet when he speaks he captivates me. He had shared no intimate details as to his loss, yet the acute pain he carries is evident in all his movements. The poor man is utterly broken by guilt and remorse. He need not utter his sentiments for they are clearly weighing heavily on his mind. It would be easy to judge, but who are we to judge those whose circumstances belittle our own plight?

I do not know how long he will remain as my guest, however, I can honestly say; I do hope he remains for some time. I find his presence a welcoming respite from my prolonged loneliness. As you know I've been alone since my daughter's marriage, suffering the fate that is bound to befall every parent. Forgive me if my letter appears to be a rambling, I'm afraid I'm merely writing what is on my heart. Speaking of which…Our abrupt parting left much unspoken as usual. You may think me bold but I confess, it filled my heart with great joy to see you Antoinette, even if for a brief precious moment. You must know, my intention had always been to see you, however, fate once again proved to care little for my intentions or desires. Is this to be our fate? To be allowed brief interludes from our prolonged separation only to be parted before any resolution can be established?

Antoinette, I do wish you could be here beside me. , there is much I wish to say. Much I find difficult to articulate even in writing. Certain emotions are simply too profound for the words. Do you not agree?

I'm aware I do not currently have a place in your life. Whatever privilege you once awarded me has been long revoked. Our correspondence over the years has been cordial, however, I cannot help but wonder if it perhaps it would be prudent to increase correspondence and perhaps entre nos find a way to rekindle the familiarity that once existed between us without remorse or resentment. Am I bold to make such a request? I confess my sentiments were hurt to discover my name was never uttered to those close to you. I do not reproach you for keeping our past association ambiguous. It is your right, and as such I respect your wishes. I suppose I should inquire as to what if any tidbits of information you would wish for me to maintain enigmatic. Your wishes will be honored. I earnestly await your reply.

Yours,

Nicky

Madame Giry placed her hand over her flushed cheek. She was pleased to learn Erik and Nicholas had arrived safely in Saint Petersburg. She had deliberated frequently over her decision to send Erik with Nicholas. She had made what she believed was the most logical solution. Nicholas had offered to assist Erik by whisking him away from impending danger. It was not in his character to turn away someone in need. It was one of the many admirable traits he possessed. She smiled sadly as she carefully folded the letter. Nicholas had been correct when he lamented their brief reunion. Despite the circumstances, it had been a most cherished moment. Perhaps the emotional strain of the last several months, combined with her age was making her prone to bouts of sentimentally, yet she could not deny seeing Nicholas had stirred emotions she had long believed to have buried. Years of sporadic correspondence had served as a poignant reminder of what had almost been.

It's all in the past, she mused as she reached for a pen. She was no longer a naïve little girl but a woman with responsibilities. Chief among them was Erik and Meg's well being. Nicholas was a good man, but a man best kept at respectable distance.

"Mama?" She turned to see Meg entering their humble flat. The loss of the Opera house had not only displaced them of their livelihood but their home as well. With little possibility of finding suitable employment within the foreseeable future, she had rationed it was best to live modestly and utilize only what they must. Her savings were not exactly modest, but they were limited. The uncertainty of the future made her reluctant to spend more than the necessary.

"How was your day Meg?"

"Filled with praises and rejection," Meg sighed, "no one seems to wish to employee an ex ballerina."

"Prejudice against those who have worked in the theater will be an obstacle we will struggle to overcome." Madame Giry reflected.

"Christine offered me to help-"

"Out of the question!"

"But mama!"

"She belongs to a different world now, Meg."

"She is still our friend."

"No Meg," she sighed heavily, "we are part of her past. A past her husband will wish for her to forget."

"There is nothing shameful about her past."

"Not everyone will agree Meg. Society may praise artists but they do not wish to intermingle with them in the open."

"Christine will never turn away from us." Meg stubbornly declared, "She has done nothing to be ashamed about. The only person who committed the wrong has-"

"Enough!"

"Why must you always defend him? How can you ignore his crimes?"

"He is not innocent, but there is also much you do not understand. Who's to say what we would do if in his shoes? Our characters are shaped by love and guidance, yet he had none. His actions are not to be judged but reflected in our own failings. She lamented as she dipped her pen in ink, "I must answer this letter."

"Would you like to begin preparing dinner?"

"Yes darling. I'll be in a few minutes to help."

Nicholas observed from the doorway as Erik sat immobile near the fireplace. There had been little improvement to his somber moods, despite his efforts to alleviate them. He had received a letter from Antoinette in which she underlines the importance of patience when dealing with Erik. He was inclined to her throw her precautions to the wind, yet he could not discard the importance of her words. Erik was not like any other person he had ever encountered. The man was truly an enigma in many aspects, yet in some he was a typical man.

"Is there something you wished to discuss?" Erik asked.

"I did not think you had noticed my presence." He confessed as he positioned a chair to sit across from Erik. "I would like to speak with you."

"About any topic in particular?" Nicholas noted Erik's apathetic tone.

"I usually travel to the Crimea this time of year. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes."

"I have an estate there which I'm particularly fond of-."

"If my presence is affecting your plans-"

"-and the climate is marvelous for one's health and spirits." Nicholas gave a small smile, "I would like to invite you to come with me."

"Why?"

"I do not think the city climate is the adequate one for your needs."

"Why do you insist on helping someone unworthy of your generosity?"

"Why do you believe yourself unworthy of assistance?"

"I've committed crimes, heinous crimes." Erik confessed.

"Do you regret these crimes?"

"Some."

"It's a start."

"A start?" Erik snorted softly.

"You may have faltered in your actions in the past; however, if you are able to accept your failings and move on from them, you will be armed with the wisdom and fortitude to accomplish great good," Nicholas smiled sadly. "We have all suffered various degrees of sorrow in our lives. Some more than others, yet it does not have to be our failures that define us."

"You speak from experience." Erik declared as he continued looking into the flames.

"I was careless in my youth, and even in my maturity. A failure is not truly a failure if we learn from them."

"I wish I shared your optimism, Nicholas."

"I do no reproach you your sorrow. You have endured much and while I cannot excuse your actions, I do to a certain extent understand them. I do not pretend to know the pain you have endured in your life, however, if I may so bold," Nicholas reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter. "I do believe in redemption, and if life has bestowed you with the opportunity why not seize it instead of turning away from it?"

"What is this?"Erik asked as Nicholas held out the letter

"From our mutual friend," Nicholas patted his shoulder as he stood from his chair, "I'll give you some privacy. We can discuss our upcoming trip to the Crimea over breakfast in the morning."

Nicholas said nothing as he waited for Erik to take the note from his hand. After a prolonged pause Erik reached up and took the letter with a slight nod. He quietly withdrew aware the information about to be disclosed was likely to distress Erik.

As soon as the door closed, Erik lifted the envelope in his hand and inspected it. Unaccustomed to receiving any sort of correspondence, the novelty of the experience intrigued him. He carefully opened the envelope to reveal two pages.

Dearest E,

It is difficult to communicate with you through letters. After a lifetime of being attached, it appears rather unnatural to have to communicate through pen and paper, instead of person to person. I will admit, it is rather dull without your presence. In many respects, you became a fixture in our lives. Nothing feels quite right without your presence. I understand if you question the validity of my words, it would seem unnatural of you not to question them. My thoughts are often with you, desperate to know you are well, and wondering if I'll ever see you again. I hope for your sake you are able to move forward from your disappointment and seize this opportunity to start anew.

Meg and I have relocated to a small apartment. It is by no means our permanent home; however it's enough for us at the moment. I confess after years of living in the Opera house, it is rather unsettling to be elsewhere. Perhaps it is the routine I miss, or simply the security of familiarity.

I have included in this brief letter a note from someone who wished to be assured of your well being. My objections and reasoning appear to have fallen onto deaf ears. I gave vague reassurances, as I believe the best is for all parties involved. Despite my reluctance to include it, I believe it will afford a closure you are entitled to.

Take care of yourself my dear friend, for despite your doubts, I shall always remain your loyal friend.

Antoinette Giry

He paused not quite ready to read the second letter. His heart hammered against his chest as emotions overcame him. Ignoring his instinct, he proceeds to read the attached letter.

My Angel of Music,

Forgive me for being the burden of your sorrow. Please know that you shall always have a special place in my heart. I do care about you, my angel, if only you could feel what I do. It is shallow when compared to the sentiments you have expressed. I'm unworthy of your love. I shall pray that you find love in another who is more worthy and willing. As much as it pains me to say it I must. Raoul and I have married. It seemed only fair you should learn of my marriage from me and me alone. God be with you my Angel.

Christine

He shook with an intense rage that was threatening to escape his control. Willing! She had never been willing to love him! How could she? Why love a monster when she could love a handsome Viscount? He slammed his hand against the arm of his chair. Rage surged through him as he clenched the letter in his hand. He heard a small knock and the maid's voice as she opened the door.

"Leave me!" he screamed as he hurled a nearby lamp at the wall. The poor girl screamed dropping his dinner tray as she hurriedly retreated from the room. He continued to throw and break things, not caring in the least that by doing so, his host might throw him out. He had to do something. The fury of hell had finally escaped him and there was no power on earth that could restrain it.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and personal messages. I'm very humbled by everyone's kind encouragement.