Perhaps Christine was cowardly to part with him—the look on his face still haunted her—but she knew she was right to have left him there. It was only after she had heard his door close that her tense muscles had begun to unwind and a mass of guilt had come over her. But how could she not feel guilty when her very presence caused such things to happen?

Once she arrived at her bedchamber, she was quick to rid herself of the bloody nightgown before shuffling over towards her basin on the dresser and drowning her hands in the water. The cold pricked at her skin, but she did not feel it. She only wanted the red gone from her sight. Frantic scrubbing left her flesh a ripe pink as she wiped herself dry and longed to submerge herself in scalding hot water. A bath had never sounded so appealing to her as it did in that moment. But, as tempted as she was, she told herself that she could not allow herself the luxury, not while Erik suffered so, and not while the mirror still lay broken in one of the corridors. Replacing her nightgown with a clean one, she then dragged her heavy body back towards the clutter.

Kneeling down next to the mirror, Christine found herself drained of her energy, and yet even sleep did not seem to appeal to her. Her hand reached out without thinking and scooped up a large piece of glass, tilting it so that her bloodshot eyes were reflected back at her. Her image trembled and it surprised her that her nerves did not cause her to drop the shard. Instead, she merely held onto it with a strength that was beyond her as her mind began to wander.

Was her affection for Erik so strong that it was blinding her to the realities of a life with him? She hoped that was not the case, for she was well aware of the hardships she could potentially face. It did not stop her from doubting, however, and the more she thought on it, the more she realised just how content she had been. And truly, she had been content to live out her days with him as they had been doing this past month. There had been no incidents, no episodes, only love and a mutual shyness, and Christine was loathe to admit to herself that she had become forgetful in their domestic bliss...

A veil had been placed over her eyes and she had become blind to the horrors of which Erik was capable. A part of her never forgot this, of course, but it was so easy to suppress those thoughts when he had made her so happy. And she had been happy... so very happy...

But that veil was now torn, and though an anger began to stir within her, tears did not reach her eyes. Numb and still vacantly distant, she did not realise that she had begun to ball her hand into a trembling fist. She did not even feel the sensation of glass cutting into her flesh, not until a small line of blood slowly ran down her palm and onto her wrist.

Her lips parted as she glanced down, but her features otherwise remained passive to the ghastly sight and the shard remained in her tight grip. All of her coherent thought, her logic, her instinct to unfurl her fingers ceased to be, and she became almost transfixed by her own blood.

It only took the sound of her shaky exhale to break her trance, however, and she immediately dropped the glass. The further sound of it clashing against other pieces of the mirror firmly brought Christine back to the present with a violent shudder.

The air brushing against the cuts only made her all the more aware of the cruel sting of the glass and though she was lucky to have not been injured more severely, she could not very well return to her room. With the way she had just unconsciously acted, she did not trust herself to be alone. No, she could not be alone right now, no matter how much her heart protested.

She needed help. She needed the supplies. She needed him.

o0o

The muscles in Erik's neck began to complain as he sat on the floor in one corner of his room, his head tilted as far forward as it could, his arm resting on one drawn up leg. Strips of cloth lay beside him, as did his mask, but he paid neither any attention, choosing to instead stare at the candle which was placed at his feet.

His wounds were not as drastic as he had first thought. Cleaning them had been easy and quick enough, but now he was left alone in the darkness with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. And how he hated them.

His actions, though questionable, had not been because of Christine. How could she have thought such an ugly thing? She had made him so happy, so sane... Tonight had been a mere lapse in that sanity. Yes, yes, that must have been it. There was no other explanation. But how he had wanted to explain that to her! Her words had scorched him and he had simply let her leave after that. Why had he not stopped her and forced her to see reason? His sigh filled the air around him. The answer was in the question. There was no reason to see.

His behaviour had been that of a madman and, true to his nature, he remembered wanting, needing something to replace that feeling of sadness which had gnawed at his insides. To have lived so long without kindness was manageable, but to live a single month with unconditional love and to potentially have that love taken away from him, where he could not see it or hear it or experience it every day, was maddening.

For a slight moment, he had even thought of numbing his pain with the substance he had once craved. But as tempted as he had been, he would not allow himself to return to the little case of velveteen, whose contents had beckoned him tonight as seductively as a siren's call. Even now, his skin tingled underneath his many layers at the thought of feeling the prick of the needle once more. But he would not return to it. For Christine, he would never return to it.

A knock on his chamber door roused him from his state of grief, though he did not make any move to answer it.

"Erik?" Her little voice carried through the wood so elegantly and yet he only wound his fingers into the material of his trousers, his attempts at summoning the strength to resist her call overriding his urge to crawl towards her and lay at her feet. Why did she feel the need to torment him further? "Are you awake?" Another knock. "Are you all right?"

Ah, how nice of her to inquire, he thought resentfully. "I am perfectly fine," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

A pause, and then, "Have you cleaned yourself up?" Another knock. "Erik? I-I only ask because... Erik, if you are finished with the supplies, could you leave them outside the door? I will put them away for you."

"Why do you not just come in and take them?" he snapped, aggravated by her constant questioning. "Do as you please. I care not." Why could the woman not leave him in peace?

"I... I do not want to disturb you," was her weak answer. "You need your rest." Another pause ensued, and then she continued, "Are you finished with the supplies?"

Accepting that she would not desist in her interrogation, he dragged himself to his feet and swiftly replaced his mask. Creaking open his door, his body hidden in darkness and his white fingers clawing round the edge of the frame, he eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you well rested?" she asked, her voice shaky and her smile forced.

Taking in her appearance, Erik noticed the tiny splatters of blood on one sleeve of her nightgown which poked out from behind her back. Had she not changed yet? "What do you want?"

"I wanted to help you with the supplies," she said. "I know how frustrated you were earlier when you could not find them. And... I wanted to make sure that you were all right."

His fingernails dug into the chipped wood of the door as he turned his gaze to the floor. "I thought you did not wish to share my company. You made that quite clear."

"I merely wanted some time to myself, as did you, no doubt." She smiled nervously again. "Erik? The supplies?" she prompted once more. "May I have them if you are finished, please?"

"Why?" he asked, becoming increasingly annoyed. "What is this fascination with the supplies? Why do you keep asking?"

"I said that I would put them away for—"

"I am quite capable of doing things myself," he snarled. "Before I knew you, I managed perfectly well when I was injured. I may be wounded now, Christine, but I am not an invalid." As he stared at her, something settled in the pit of his stomach. Something unpleasant. "Hold out your arms," he suddenly commanded, stepping into the light. She was paler than usual.

Her doe eyes widened and flickered about the hallway anxiously. "What? Why?"

"Hold out your arms," he repeated forcefully. "Do as I have commanded, Christine."

"No, I—Ahh!" A searing pain ran through her as Erik reached around her and grabbed both of her hands, bringing them forward and causing her body to bend and shrivel. "Please let go," she whimpered. "Please, let go."

As soon as he registered her words, he released her, recoiling from the sight, glancing downwards to see beads of blood slowly trickling down her arm—the blood which now covered his fingertips. Her blood.

"Merde," he whispered in disbelief. "What have you done to yourself? Why did you insist on skulking behind my back? If you needed medical attention, why did you not ask for it?"

She flinched away at the sound of his voice. It was filled with anger, so much anger and pain. "I-I did not want you to worry. You already had so much to do. You had to clean yourself up. These are just scratches compared to yours..."

Briskly collecting the supplies and basin from inside his room, Erik then returned and gently guided her over to the settee, where he sat her down upon it. A huff escaped him as he lowered the basin to the floor and carefully raised her wounded arm, desperate to see how much damage there was.

As he rolled her sleeve up and began to dab slowly at the vile liquid, he could feel his breathing ease at the sight of the colour fading away. While he worked, he could feel her eyes on him, but he did not look up, not even when she would hiss as the wet cloth brushed over a cut.

Putting the cloth down, he turned her arm around in his hands, inspecting her carefully. "Tell me what happened."

"I was tired, I suppose. I only wanted to bathe and rest, but I remembered the mirror that you smashed and..." She sighed, appreciating his cool touch before he bent down and began to cleanse her cuts once more. "I am not certain how it happened. I... I must have stumbled and fell. It's silly, now that I say it aloud, but it was an accident."

"Is that really what happened?" he asked her quietly. "You simply tripped?"

"Yes," she said shakily. "How else could I have done it?"

The water felt so soothing on her skin that all her questions seemed to melt away as she began to relax, despite the lack of response from Erik. The hands that were drenched in red not one hour ago, the hands that had had guilt woven through every fibre of them, now held hers in such a loving manner that she could not help but contradict her earlier accusations.

While it was true that Erik had admitted to his crimes, there truly were times when she doubted his viciousness. She did not need a veil to think that, however. She knew he had murdered before, but, despite the blatant absurdity of it all, she still believed him to be a good man.

And, God forgive her, she still loved him.

She would continue to love him.

A small smile appeared on her mouth. Perhaps she truly was as mad as Erik.

"You are lucky, Christine," he told her then, his tone weary and strained, but it was still preferable to his anger, she promptly decided. "You thankfully do not appear to have any shards in your skin," he said before lowering the soaked cloth into the discoloured water, "and your cuts do not appear to be deep." He caught her retreating hand in between both of his as he continued, "One more thing." His fingers lightly stroked her skin as he spoke. "You are lucky that you have chosen to leave. I see that now."

"Why should that make me lucky?" she murmured.

He ignored her question at first, turning instead to wrap her hand and wrist up securely in bandages. His shoulders rose and fell in a solemn motion as he worked and Christine knew that he was holding the weight of the world. There was still so much that she did not yet know.

"You will not have to be subjected to my ravings, my turmoil and my unpredictability," he explained. "It will all be a thing of the past for you."

"Why do you speak in such a manner?" she asked. "Why do you speak as if we shall never see each other again? It is nonsense. We shall see each other." She paused, considering his words. "That is not what you meant, was it?"

His eyes met hers for a second before he shamefully looked away. "I do not mean to do the things I do, Christine. It is an implausible truth, but it is a truth. I once thought that every crime I committed was done out of love for you. I would have done anything for you, and I still would, but I was blind and reckless, a fool to think my actions were spurred on by such a feeling. But how was I to know? I had never known love before. I was a monster longing for something more—the taboo love of an angel.

"Listen to me, all this talk of good and evil. I do not sound sane, do I?" He closed his eyes, gathering Christine's hands to his chest, holding them close enough to feel his steady pulse against her. "I often wondered why God gave me life if not to wander the earth alone. But then I heard you sing and your voice pulled me from the miserable black chasm that was my life and, from that day forward, I had a reason for living. You gave me a purpose; though I confess, it was not until much later on that I realised just how much you meant to me. While our souls blended through music, it was my heart which bled for you. It craved your love more than anything and I wanted it all to myself. I was a selfish man and, to this day, I still am. But nothing I did was ever in spite of you. Never, never, never...You deserve so much better than this, than me."

Slowly, she repositioned their hands so hers now encased his, her fingers massaging his dry skin in smooth, circular motions. "Maybe so," she replied.

"You must know, though," he continued before she could say any more. "You were not the cause for any of my actions. You are not to blame for my crimes. You were never to blame. You must believe me. I cannot have you feeling guilty because of it."

"But I do feel guilty," she said, swallowing thickly. "You idolise me, though I do not deserve it. I do not think I can live up to your expectations of me anymore, Erik. Don't you see that it will only lead to disappointment? You say that I am the one to save you, but what if I am not? What if the only one who can truly save you is yourself? I cannot work miracles. I can support you, I can help you, but I cannot be the one to heal you. You, alone, have the power to save your soul."

As her words sank in, Erik thought about the implications of her suggestion. Nonsense, was his first outcome. Utter nonsense. But the more he thought about it, the more rational it became. What if she was right? What if... No, his convoluted mind screamed. After years of hoping, of convincing himself that she was the only one who could save him, how could he possibly believe that he had the power to save himself?

Turning her hands over, Erik traced the indentations and texture of her palms and her fingers with complete devotion, as if committing them to memory.

Only after granting him several minutes of continuous study did Christine finally speak again. "How are your injuries?"

"I will live." Raising her hand to his mouth, Erik kissed her scraped wrist before returning both hands to her lap. "They will heal in time."

"I do worry. Are you sure you are all right?" When he did not answer, she swept her eyes over him. His shirt was clean and as stiff as one worn by a nobleman attending an evening gathering, while his skin seemed rather pink, like her own, no doubt a result of scrubbing. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

Bravely, she leaned forward and managed to stroke the mask's hard exterior before he pulled away from her. Defeated, she frowned and tilted her head to the side. "Why do you still wear this around me?" He remained silent. "You should let your skin breathe and... I want you to know that when you are with me, you are safe. There is no need for you to lash out like you have. You do not need to hide yourself from me. I know you carry the weight of many tragedies on your shoulders, but you have made your face into one of them. It does not have to be that way. These are not my burdens to bear, I know, but allow me to carry some of the weight for you."

Within his mind, he was torn. The phrases she would weave were so very pretty and they were pure music to his ears, but too often had she seen his face, as bare as his vulnerability. Though his heart longed for acceptance, he knew that he would never be entirely comfortable with another person looking at his face. But the look in her eyes, the innocent plea circling in the black of her irises, was too agonising, too beautiful to resist.

Breathing in sharply, he reached up and braced his fingers against the mask, preparing himself for the rush of cool air to follow. "Do not... look," he begged of her.

"But, Erik, I—"

"No," he insisted, keeping his hands still. "Do not look until it is removed, until I want you to look. Will you... Will you do this for me?"

Her brow creased in silent protestation before she nodded and turned her body away from him.

When Erik was sure that she would not move, he slowly lifted the mask from his face, allowing it to drop carelessly onto the floor as he stared at her, pulse racing.

For once, he was not at a loss of power. His face was bare and yet he did not feel that irrepressible urge to hide himself. It was just as she had said.

Prolonging this moment of insatiable control, he swallowed the lump forming in his throat and shifted closer to his silent siren. If he now but breathed deeply, his chest would touch the cotton of her nightgown and he would be able to feel the warmth of her back through his shirt. From this angle and proximity, he could see every imperfection in her skin, every hint of auburn in her hair, and her scent... Leaning his face into her hair was the most exquisite feeling he had ever experienced. Her curls tickled and teased and stroked him, and Erik feared his heart would stop when he heard her inhale sharply at the sudden contact.

Keeping his face close to hers, he turned her head around by the lightest touch of his fingers to her chin and shuddered at the softness of her slack jaw. Time seemed to slow then, a lifetime passing between each heady breath as their foreheads touched and their mouths parted, shakily drawing in the stagnant air around them. Erik drew the back of his forefinger over the curve of her cheek, just barely touching her, before following a path down to her neck.

There he held her, his fingers woven through brown locks as her hand came up to stroke the uneven skin on his face. With a shy smile, she brushed her fingers against the odd textures of his misshapen features, tracing the creases on his forehead, the smoothness of his sunken eyelids, making sure to not leave any part of his face untouched. As she trailed lower, Erik suddenly turned his head sideways and captured her fingers in a kiss.

He looked at her lovingly as he smiled slightly, savouring the hypnotic call of her eyes and the allure of her mouth. Her head tilted under his gaze and as she moved, strands of hair fell over her face, her skin like carved marble in the candlelight and each curl a crease in her virginal veil.

"I love you," he whispered, touching her cheek before pushing back the hair which covered her features. "Do you... Do you still love me?"

It was the steady silence that followed his question that stilled his touch before she turned around and gathered his hand to her heart. Her answer was quiet, merely a passing of breath between parted lips, like a soft voice upon the air, yet it was undeniably truthful.

"I do," she told him, striking a mixture of pity and happiness into both of their souls.

He released a strange noise, something akin to a strangled, short laugh and said, "Even after all I have done, you still love me."

"I do," she repeated, laying their hands down between their bodies before gathering him in her arms, his face resting against her breast as she kissed the crown of his head. "Heaven help me, I do."

With a sigh, he succumbed to her embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he allowed her to cradle him like a hapless babe. "Why do you love me?" he murmured into her nightgown, his fingers wrapping themselves around the soft material, pressing her closer.

"I cannot answer that," she whispered, her mouth brushing against wisps of his thin hair and, for a while, they simply held each other, neither wishing for words to interrupt this moment.

Eventually, Erik pulled himself away so that he was able to look up at her, his fingers light and tentative at her chin. To his surprise, she leaned into his touch, those horrible creases on her forehead returning as she glanced down at him, her gaze flitting from his eyes to his mouth. It was not a surprise, then, that he did not move a muscle when her lips suddenly, and chastely, covered his.

"Erik did not deserve that," he said once the cold had washed away all feeling of her warmth on his mouth.

"No," she agreed quietly.

"But you would still kiss these lips?" he asked, bewildered that she would even continue to touch him after his despicable behaviour.

Christine did not dignify this with an answer and was simply too exhausted to go about their usual route of self-doubt and hurried reassurances. Instead, she drew his face upwards with steady hands and kissed his mouth with as much strength as she could muster before watching him slide to his feet in a fit of sobs.

"I think... I think I best see to that mirror, lest you hurt yourself again," he said at long last, his red and blurry eyes not daring to look at her as he fled the room.