Words could not describe the utterly uplifting feeling of the December wind which met Christine's face like hands tickling her skin. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the night air after having so long been bereft of it.

As Christine took this brief moment to fix any part of her attire that was crooked or disappointing to the eye, she looked around at the abandoned street. She had never seen Paris as quiet nor quite so peacefully bereaved of a crowd as this night. A thick fog covered the hazy gaslights lining the streets and Christine found herself caught up in the romanticism of the sight. Turning her head to the sky, she then stared up into a dark sea of black, harbouring white indentations across its vast length.

Truly she had forgotten how beautiful the evening stars could be.

Expecting it to be cold, Erik had insisted that she wrap up properly before they venture out, so she had agreed, as he was usually right when it came to her health. And so it was natural that he had frowned when they stepped out into the open and found that the environment was unusually primed for anything but a December night. It was strangely warm, not too warm, but warm for a month which normally brought harsh conditions and ice in its wake.

Looking to her left, Christine saw that Erik was politely offering her his arm as he stood waiting in his refined suit and hat which encased his face in shadow. If there was any hesitation in her mind about walking alongside him it was quickly whisked away with the small smile he also offered her. Seldom did she see him smile with such tenderness and an instant later she was accepting his arm with a smile of her own.

As they walked down the empty streets, she felt content on Erik's arm and she could not stop herself from glancing up at him, perhaps to make sure that he was as happy as she. When she next looked up at him, however, she bit her lip as she saw him gazing back down at her. As their eyes locked and he tentatively placed a hand over the one on his arm, Christine studied his obscured expression and saw that his eyes shone with pride. He was proud to have her by his side and, at that moment, Christine was also proud to be beside him. In the moonlight, they were just two more faces—another man and another woman, easily mistaken, inconspicuous... normal.

Christine soon felt a slight pressure on her hand and she looked up at Erik, who was pointing towards a bench. Understanding what he was suggesting, she nodded eagerly and followed him over to it. Another soft breeze blew past her face as they restfully sat down.

After gently lifting her hand from her lap, Erik stared at her, as if searching for approval, before raising the hand to his lips, soothing the covered skin with a kiss. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he whispered and coyly, she grinned, remaining silently aloof to his comment.

They soon slipped into a comfortable silence, willing enough to enjoy each other's company without the need for trivial words.

The slight pressure of his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand made a pleasant warmth spread throughout her chest. Oh, how wondrous her time spent with him had been! She would never have imagined that he would be able to make her so... happy. So eager to please her and yet so shy in his affections—it made her feel as though she were mature, an expert in the ways of love, when that could not be farther from the truth. Hiding beneath raw emotion was a young girl who still wore her hair in a braid and whose dreams of love were non-existent. As inexperienced as she was, there was no doubt in her mind that Erik was even more so. He sought to hide it from her sometimes, but she could see through him. She could see it in every gesture he made towards her, how he would shy away from her, how he would melt into her touch as if... as if he had never been touched before.

Gaucheness had controlled his movements these past weeks and when he would reach for her, she would brace herself for his trembling. Clumsy and eager and caring were his hands, pawing at her, searching for something they both weren't sure of, as if, through gawky exploration, he would be able to find the answers.

His touch did not repulse her, but it did unnerve her, and yet she would not push him away—that was what frightened her. Many a night she had laid awake thinking of him, oddly captivating, and the thought of his hands on her body made her heart pound. Closing her eyes now, she leaned against his arm, as if reaffirming her point. Yes, she craved his affections as much as his touch and, through this, their strange courtship had slowly become a temptation.

How could she not have seen it before? They lived together, but were not bound by matrimony—could this constitute a sin? Had she been made a sinner through delightful indulgence?

"You are very hard in thought," Erik said suddenly, pulling her from her fearful mind. "What has my little songbird's attention?"

A distinctive warmth radiated across her cheeks as she struggled to answer. "Erik... may I speak plainly?" He nodded, eyeing her curiously. "Do you find anything... wrong with our... living arrangements?"

Underneath the mask, she knew he was frowning. "I do not understand."

"No, I did not think you would," she said, groaning inwardly. "Let me word it another way. Have you ever known a courting pair to live in the same household as one another? And if not, then why do you think that is?"

Fumbling with the lining on his thick coat, he answered, "You are asking the wrong man."

Sighing, she reached over and placed her gloved hand on his sleeve, instantly stilling his fidgeting. "Erik, we are not married."

"Your powers of observation do you credit," he replied dryly.

"What I mean is..." Removing her hand, she pursed her lips and stared at the damp ground. She felt as though she were speaking to a child. "I am attempting to be as delicate as I can," she said, but when she was met by only his stoic stare, she sighed. "We are not married, but we are living together. Do you see nothing wrong with this?"

"Should I?" he questioned, undaunted. "People live together every day. It is a normal occurrence, I am led to believe."

"Yes," she continued slowly, "but we are courting. It is... not... proper."

As the breeze picked up around them, Christine could almost see the cogs in his rusty mind start to creak and move, his jaw then tensing, his eyes suddenly shining with understanding. "Oh."

"Do you understand now, Erik?" she asked timidly, her cheeks reddening from something more powerful than the night air.

Nodding quickly, he turned away from her, his gloved hands fisting at his knees. Having become flustered, he fought against the urge to rip his mask off and brace the world, just so that he might rid himself of the unbearable heat now encasing his face.

"I made a promise to stay, I know this, but..." As she lowered her head and fingered the ring through her glove, she sensed Erik's gaze on her. She sighed. "I speak so plainly because I care for you so. Though you deny it, I know this ring means more than what you say. It will mean a promise of marriage—"

"Christine—"

"No," she continued calmly. "Please listen. I will not remove it, but, at the same time, I know I shall feel guilty wearing it, knowing that you want something that I cannot give you right now. Have a little faith; that is all I ask." She smiled at him, but it was short lived. "I will be blunt, then. I... I think it best if I move elsewhere. Oh, I do not wish to move, truly I don't. This world seems different to how it was a year ago, though I know now I must return to it. I must not remain down below with you, not while we are unwed."

Silence prevailed until something deep resonated from the back of Erik's throat, a low rumble which caused Christine to feel a sense of dread as she turned to him. "Move?" he growled, his fingers curling over his knees. "Move? You want to stay and yet you want to leave. What a contradictory little creature you are."

"This is the most sensible thing to do," she argued, ignoring his remark. "It will be better for the both of us. Besides, it is not like we will not be able to see one another. We can visit each other, daily, if that is what you wish."

Christine noted the flexing of his fingers, the clenching of his fists. "What Erik wishes and what Erik gets are two very different things." He echoed her sigh and slowly relaxed his hands. "But where shall she stay and how shall my love fend for herself, hmm? How will she cope without Erik to guide her? If she leaves, he will not come crawling to her."

"Oh, Erik," she chided, disliking his manner of speech. "If you are asking about my lodgings, however, then there is always Mamma Valérius—"

"Ah, the surrogate mother," he spat as he turned to her. "But not the boy, my love? Are you certain that this little plan of yours does not concern him? I have not forgotten that letter he sent you."

"Have you so little faith in me?" she snapped back at him before turning away. "I am sorry. I merely feel that this is the right thing to do."

"Christine," he suddenly cried, moving to clutch at her hands with a fierceness she was not anticipating. "I have tried to make every moment of your time with me comfortable, granted I do not always live up to that, but I try. Do I not try? Everything you want I give you! I even gave you your freedom—twice!—and still you did not flee. I both adore and resent you for that choice but despite of all that has transpired, you have found it in your heart to stay with your Erik. Why then," he whispered, "why can we not live our lives together, as one?"

Fidgeting with the buttons on her gloves, Christine did not dare raise her head as she replied, "Under the eyes of God, I do not wish to live in sin."

Another bout of silence flooded them and, before she could think, he was on his feet before her, offering his arm without even a sparing glance in her direction. "It is late and you are cold. We should return now."

Christine accepted his frigid invitation without a single word uttered and, defeated, they began their monotonous walk home.

How quickly the events of one evening could turn sour, she mused.

They had almost reached the halfway point when she felt that unmistakable delicate pressure of Erik's hand resting on top of hers. "How long would you wish to stay for?"

Christine was almost speechless. "Well, I... had not thought about it."

"Hmm, and how soon were you planning on leaving?"

"I was not planning anything, I only..." Another sigh. "I do not know that either. But does this... does this mean that you—?"

"Yes," he replied grimly. "Though I have a few conditions."

"What are they?" she asked, intrigued but not at all surprised.

"I do not intend, nor do I wish to meet your guardian. So, if you will allow me to, I will come to you under cover of darkness and visit you in secret."

"You do not wish to meet Mamma? Oh, I am certain that she will take kindly to you if you are worried—" She stopped her utterance short when her eyes drank in the disapproving look that showed in every inch of his visible features. "Secret meetings, you say? You make it sound as though we are forbidden lovers in one of my fairy tales. Tell me, Monsieur le Fantôme, where shall these meetings take place if you do not plan on coming through the front door? Will you materialise in the sitting room as we are taking tea?" Her jesting aside, it took her but a few seconds more for her mind to think of another suggestion. "There are glass doors leading out to a small balcony in my bedchamber—Oh, you cannot possibly be suggesting—"

"Cease your womanly fretting, my love. We have lived together for several months now and I have always respected your privacy. I would not do such a thing as to put your honour in a compromising position. But," he continued, squeezing her hand, "it would make for an appropriate rendezvous point." Nodding away her qualms, she asked if he had any more conditions. "Only one. I want you to wait a while longer until you leave, until the new year has come."

"Why then?"

"Please do not question my reasoning. It is an amazement that I even agreed to this in the first place. Do not make me change my mind, Christine." Though his words may have suggested otherwise, his tone betrayed his slightly playful intent.

It was only a few short weeks until the new year; Christine saw no reason to argue if he had agreed. "Very well, then. I shall write to Mamma tomorrow."

o0o

As they entered the passageways leading to their underground confinement, Erik felt as though he would sprout wings at any moment, as though he would be able to fly home to his nest and burrow into the comfort that was the darkness. Home—and what else could he have called this decrepit ruin?—was where he wished to be. He could not say the same for Christine, however. Observing her as she removed her outdoor wear, he noticed her cheery disposition. Had she always been this cheerful, or was the knowledge that she would soon be leaving this place lightening her spirits? He did not want to search his memories for the answer.

As she passed him and collapsed onto the settee, Erik sought to maintain control and went about relighting the candles mounted high on the walls. His movements were slow, almost solemn, while he created the flames with a flick of his hand, seeming almost ritualistic in nature.

So focused on the measly task was he, that he did not notice the sudden change which came over Christine as rapidly as waves creeping up upon the shore. He merely continued to work his way around the edge of the room slowly, relighting and moving on and repeating until a soft grunt echoed from behind him. Turning, he saw his beloved lying across the settee, her arm across her forehead.

In an instant, he was by her side. "What is the matter?" She moaned in reply and repositioned herself so that she was facing the back of the settee, her arm now curving round her body to slump over her waist. "Christine, I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong." Moments flew by without an intelligible answer and, fearing he would go mad, he leaned down and pressed the backs of his fingers against her forehead. "Christine," he sighed to himself. "Do you feel ill? You do not feel any warmer than usual. You could not possibly have been out long enough to catch anything!"

"Erik?"

"Ah, she speaks!" he exclaimed, leaning down further to inspect her as a doctor would a patient.

"Wait," she whispered sluggishly, trying to communicate to him in so few words what is was that she wanted. "Do not move..."

"I do not understand, Christine," he spoke cautiously. "I am not going anywhere."

At that point, he started to remove his hand from her head and she groaned in distress, catching it before it had retreated too far back. "Don't."

"What are you doing?" he inquired directly.

Christine sighed and weakly pulled his arm closer so that it was now draped around her frail body. He was so stunned that he simply fell onto the settee next to her, his arm hanging limply within her weak grip, trusting her enough to touch him, to move his arm without causing him harm. Watching her shift slightly, he sat rigidly as she pressed his hand to her cheek and as she leaned into it he felt her smile slightly against his palm.

"Christine?"

"Just... let me, please," she begged quietly, kissing his fingers and swiftly wiping away a stray tear away before it could land on his skin. "Please."

Her incoherent words turned to silence but she pressed his hand closer to her skin—if that was even possible—and with her other hand she tried to embrace his arm. Awkwardly, yet graciously, Erik turned and shuffled behind her so that he sat with his back against the armrest. Carefully, as if she were made of no more than glass, he lifted her body up so it could rest against his.

After a while, her breathing slowed and she fell into a restful slumber. Erik's heart was practically thrumming against his chest, but he did not dare move her, not while she slept in his arms so peacefully. And he hoped—oh, how his miserable heart hoped!—that he would again be able to hold her in his arms as she slept.

But right now it was not meant to be. She was adamant on their separation and it pained him to even think on it. Though he had agreed, inside he was bitter, resentful even. And sad, oh-so sad. Why would she give him such joy and then seek to tear it from him so soon? His beloved was not a cruel mistress, but neither was she a free one. No, she had always been a gregarious little dear and he had selfishly wanted to keep her for himself. What a fool he had been, to think that he could have such happiness. Had it merely been an illusion? Had his wasted mind finally lost its remnants of sanity and allowed him to believe what he wanted to believe? No, it could not have been a lie. She was here, she was real... But he knew he could not be around her at this moment in time, not while a fury began to build within him.

He would put her to bed and then he would seek to quench the storm inside of him elsewhere.

He would pay the world above another visit before this night was up.