A change had come over Christine, gradually, creeping over her like the fading of a storm. Erik had been quick to notice it, but, just like the aftermath of a storm, constant warmth had yet to shine over her and return her countenance to its original state. No longer, however, did she request a taking of laudanum to help her sleep. If, perchance, her dreams sought to keep her awake until the early hours of the morning, then she would readily face her strife without anything to fog her mind. She would not run from her grief, but neither would she allow it to control her anymore. The single consolation to her mourning was having Erik by her side, ever watchful and caring, though it was often she had to force him from the room whenever his tireless fussing became too much for her.

Mourning was a strange concept to him and though he did not fully understand it, he complied to her wishes and did all that she asked of him. He left her alone when she did not want him to see her weeping, eagerly brought her endless bouquets of flowers and entertained her for hours with his sorcery. While his solitude had not diminished his sleight of hand, Christine's mourning had in fact diminished her true enjoyment of his trickery. He recalled her telling him that she did not wish for him to distract her from her grief, but to draw a single smile from her now was an achievement worth chiding—and smile she did, more often than she would have liked, too.

"I think it is about time I step outside, don't you?" Christine announced one afternoon. "I have stayed too long indoors."

Erik glanced over at her, seeing the sunlight covering her sombre face in a healthy glow—a stark contrast to the dark material that smothered her body. On the one hand, he was perturbed by the suddenness of her decision, but on the other, it would not do either of them any good for him to argue with her. So, with less enthusiasm than intended, he replied, "Whatever you think is best, Christine."

"Perhaps I should run some errands?" she offered, stopping in thought to peer down at the ring on her finger. "Mme Dumas would surely appreciate it, and I am certain that she would enjoy not having to see me at every turn for a little while." Her jest was subtle, yet her tone still held an undercurrent of mirth that sent a surge of hope through Erik's chest. "I could even take a stroll, if I am feeling up to it." Her gaze snapped to his face, a shy want for acceptance flowing through her. "Does that sound reasonable to you?"

A corner of his mouth turned upwards as he reached across from his chair to scoop up one of her hands and bring it to his face. With his other hand, he gently stroked her fingers, trailing from the very tips and down to her wrist. "Very reasonable," he whispered, his breath and the brush of his lips tickling her skin. "Whatever will please you."

Christine sighed, pulling her hand away only to then cup his masked cheek, her little finger tracing the fine edge where flesh met porcelain. "Thank you," she said, leaning over to kiss him, her chaste lips instantly soothing his thudding heart.

He kissed her back, his body seemingly following the pressure of her lips for only when they had parted did he realise he was now sitting on the very edge of his chair. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and leaned back against the stiff back, completely missing the small smile Christine directed at him.

A few hours passed and a hansom was being hailed to carry her to wherever she wished to go. Upstairs, she stared blankly at herself in the mirror, her attempts at priming her face and hair for public viewing somewhat unsuccessful. Pinching brought only a little colour back to her bleak cheeks, but the darkness surrounding her eyes was harder to hide. She was smoothing out her dress when she saw Erik's bare face appear next to her reflection.

She watched intently as his gaze fell from her hat to her hem and then up again slowly, his fingers skilfully sweeping a few strands of hair away from the back of her neck as he stepped closer. Her breathing hitched unexpectedly when he reached down to entwine his free fingers with hers, his face leaning forward to rest against the back of her shoulder.

A contented hum escaped her lips as she continued to watch his reflection, his mouth moving to skim across her skin before he pressed his lips to the base of her neck. "Is the hansom here?" she asked breathlessly.

A moment of silence passed and then his lips were once again on her. "If I said no, would you believe me?"

Shaking her head, she attempted to break free from his grip. "You are incorrigible," she mumbled under her breath, causing Erik to promptly release her. "I shall be back in time for an early dinner if you wish to stay for one," she called over her shoulder as she grabbed her hamper and scurried out the room, but not before she turned and smiled sweetly at him. "Goodbye, Erik."

Perhaps it was merely the change in scenery—the fact that she was living in a house above ground—that had Christine realising just how easily she and Erik had fallen into domesticity. But whatever the cause, it was a comfortable arrangement she could not deny. Over the past week, Erik had proved himself to be a worthy companion, caring for her and loving her, as any suitor would, as any good man would.

The jolting of the hansom shook her suddenly back to reality as she peered out of the window and readied herself for the upcoming market. Although she had missed the early morning rush, there were still enough people bustling about to warrant Christine's cautious manoeuvring through the crowds and her lack of reluctance when it came to potentially using the hamper to clear a path for herself. The selections on offer were not as fresh as she would have liked and she instantly regretted not leaving the house sooner in the day. However, she was able to purchase a few items here and there, including a large fish that she could perhaps make a hearty dinner out of, before she began her leisurely walk back towards the hansom.

Her outing had never meant to be a long one, merely a simple gathering of supplies and an excuse to breathe the open air again. Nevertheless, she now walked as though with a sense of purpose. Her heart felt lighter and her mind, for a while, did not travel to those darker thoughts that had kept her up at night. Being among people again—among the living—rather than being hauled up under the earth like one who had died, brought her such happiness. While she would always long for the secluded and enclosed rooms that had been her home for the past year, there was not a part of her that had not missed this world.

Yet, within the romantic scenes of Paris she had replayed and imagined in her head, there was one thing she had disregarded, so caught up in her idyllic view as she was: there were some things that people never forgot—and she was one of them.

She had remained ignorant at first, not noticing the occasional glance at her as she handed money over or walked through some of the busier streets of the city, but the merchants of Paris were no strangers to gossip and soon whispers began to follow her. Always soft and never breaking above a murmur, her name began to form on the lips of strangers.

The farther Christine walked, the more she became aware of the unwanted attention she had apparently garnered. She pulled the hamper closer to her body and while she lowered her head in an attempt to make herself less conspicuous, this only served as a confirmation of her identity. She tried to keep her gaze to the ground, but she could not resist glancing up and over her shoulder to see the faces of those who passed judgement on her. The fact that they spoke of her was not the most disheartening aspect, however. It was the way they would avoid her gaze whenever she looked up. The way they would speak of her, but not to her.

The sight of the hansom was enough to quicken her pace, just as she heard her name being called out.

Hearing it above the murmur of the crowd, above the lies and the rumours, only urged her feet forward until she all but threw herself into the safety of the vehicle. It was only then that she realised something. The person who had yelled after her had addressed her by her Christian name. After a slight hesitation, she turned to look out of window and saw someone standing a ways off from her, but it was when her gaze moved upwards to take in his face that her mouth fell open in surprise.

"Raoul?" she whispered before looking around at the street they were on in distress. Why had he approached her in such a careless manner? She was certain now that this meeting would not go unnoticed, but she could not very well leave him standing there on the street, where he was liable to shout again.

Frantically, she ushered him towards her with a flick of her fingers and quickly opened the door in front of her to allow him in. She pulled the heavy hamper into her lap as Raoul sat down next to her, the cramped space making both of them a little uncomfortable.

As soon as he was settled, Christine instructed the driver to divert their journey and to stop a street down from her destination. As they began to move, she sat rigidly against the seat, her head turned towards the window as her gloved fingers tightened around the handle of the hamper. Raoul frowned at this, at her agitation, and suddenly regretted ever calling out her name.

"I fear I made rather a spectacle of myself," he teased, his smile fading at the sight of her troubled stare redirecting to him.

"Oh, Raoul," she said wearily, but despite herself she found herself laughing, too. "Some things have not changed."

At this, he chuckled heartily, filling her ears with its sweet sound and making a part of her ache in remembrance at how much she used to enjoy hearing him laugh. Raoul shook his head in boyish embarrassment. "I suppose not," he agreed, raising his head to gaze at her. "It is good to see you again."

"Likewise," she murmured shyly, politely.

"How are you faring?" he asked her with a sincerity beyond his years. "Ah," he quickly added then, bowing his head. "That was a rather inane question, wasn't it?"

"No, no," she reassured him and, at this, he looked up at her. "It is difficult, as you can imagine. Mamma was always there, and now she is not, and it is strange to accept sometimes, but I try to live my life as before."

"And are you?" he asked, staring deeply into her eyes to ascertain the truth. "Living? Truly living?"

"Not yet," she answered, much to his disappointment, and Raoul began to fiddle with his gloves.

Whenever he had thought of her, he had imagined her warm smile and how radiant she had looked upon that dull stage, her eyes lighting up as she opened her mouth to sing. When he had thought of her, she was happy, but now as he looked at her, she was not. How miserable her life had become, and how desperately he wished to bring some happiness back into it.

"I never did thank you for the flowers," she eventually said, breaking their awkward reverie. "They were beautiful."

His chest tightened at hearing this, and he did not hesitate to ask, "Did they make you smile?"

"Yes, they did," she answered softly, his heart stopping at the affirmation, but it was when his features quickly grew sombre that she frowned. "What is it?" she asked, not liking the way his solemnity had aged him.

"I... I am still finding it difficult to picture you alone in that house," he told her. "I can't imagine how you must spend your days without companionship."

With a sight shake of her head, she answered, "I am not alone."

Raoul's gaze was immediately drawn to the way she then began to rub her gloved hand. No doubt she was drawn to the ring that presumably still lay upon her finger, and he remembered how she had repeated the same action the last time he had seen her. With a grimace, he looked up and asked, "How do you mean?"

"I have Madame Giry, and Meg... and you."

"But," he added slowly, not wishing to offend her in any way, "I suppose a ballet mistress and a girl busy with her betrothed do not make the best company at times. And I have scarcely seen you since..." Here, he lowered his head and bit his tongue before he could say something that would cause her distress.

"No," she murmured distantly, separating her hands to wrap them around the hamper handle again. "I suppose you are right."

"Would you, then... Do forgive me prematurely for being so forward, but I need to ask... Would you consider dining with me this week? Perhaps you could even accompany me to a performance. If you wish, that is."

She looked to him, quite startled, her mouth open in surprise as she tried to form some semblance of an answer. Her heart thudded in her ears and she suddenly felt a strange heat on her cheeks. "I couldn't possibly..."

Biting her lip, Christine looked down to her lap and began to rub her fingers together—a nervous tick she had acquired, it would seem. She could not bring herself to acquiesce to his request, but nor could she bring herself to firmly decline, and this was the fact that terrified her. The rattle of the hansom seemed to only amplify her quickening pulse as she tried to clear her head so that she could make sense of her reluctance. "Raoul," she began softly, her tone enough to make the crease on his forehead disappear. "People would talk, and I will only drag your good name down if I were to—"

"Don't even say it, Christine," he told her sternly before glancing out the windows, following the movements of the people around them. "Let them talk. Let them see me with you." He turned back to her, a smile playing on his lips, and the look in his eyes very nearly stole her breath away. "I did not know you to be so deterred by false gossip."

And suddenly she understood. Her hand crept towards her chest, her fingers splaying across her heart for she knew now it was still beating for him.

A piece of her was still in love with him. It was a foolish thought to try to conceal, or even suppress, because no matter how hard she tried to deny it, Raoul would always be her first love. He was the epitome of a carefree youth and reminded her dearly of the way she had been before all this heartache had found her. Looking at him was the only time she was able to think back on the past and not feel saddened.

"Christine? Whatever's the matter?" He frowned, tilting his head to the side.

Blinking out of her daydream, she lowered her hand to her lap. "Raoul, the girl you knew is not here anymore, I fear."

"Nonsense." Shaking his head, he conjectured, "She is still here."

"No, Raoul. It is true that I once would not have allowed lies to bother me, but now I am not so certain. I've been away from the public eye for so long now; I suppose I had forgotten what it was like." She sighed. "Before you called to me, I wanted nothing more than to leave this street, to leave this city, even. People can be so cruel in their judgements, as lewd and as misinformed as they may be, but that will never stop them from announcing them." She looked at him, apologetic guilt shining in her eyes, as she fought against the urge to hold his hand. "I cannot subject you to the gossip that still follows in my wake."

"They are all fools," he muttered loudly, daring any bystander who had heard him to challenge his utterance. "They have no right to—"

"Don't they?" she asked, her lips curling up in appreciation at his gallant display. "Still, they can be so unkind sometimes."

"Then I have surely stirred more gossip amongst the masses by calling your name. I am sorry."

"You weren't to know," she reassured him, finally succumbing to the urge to touch his hand. "Do not linger on it."

Startled, Raoul stared down at her fingers that lightly touched his and felt his palms begin to sweat. "If you are certain," he fumbled, dragging his eyes up to her face.

"Quite," she said, her posture slumping slightly as she cleared her throat. "However, I think I will refuse your invitations, Raoul. I'm sorry."

With a nod, he lowered his head, his smile accepting of defeat, disappointing though it was. "I understand. But how will you occupy your time?" he asked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "Do you have work? Do you intend to perform? Will La Daaé rise again?"

A musical laugh erupted from Christine at his teasing and she raised her hand to her mouth, determined to maintain her poise. "Oh, you make me sound like a phoenix rising from the ashes!"

"But that is how I see you!" he exclaimed happily, and Christine's hand pressed more firmly against her face as she felt her cheeks warm at his words.

"Ah, well, I..." she faltered. "In truth, I have not thought on it. Perhaps I will sing again. I dearly want to, but, unfortunately, I am afraid that Paris would not come to see me anymore purely on the lure of my voice."

"Then I shall denounce every single person who speaks ill of you," he proclaimed, falling effortlessly into his role as her saviour again.

How easily and quickly the atmosphere around them had thinned, and soon Christine was feeling quite light headed from their spontaneously playful attitudes. She had forgotten how pleasant his company had been, how much of a comfort it had been to her.

The sudden jerking of the hansom, indicating it had stopped, had unfortunately placed her in the unkind position of an imminent farewell. They looked to one another without saying a word and a sense of sentimentality passed between them. But Christine knew that she could not continue like this. Under the scrutiny of society, stolen moments were all they could have now, and she would not do that to him.

Raoul seemed to understand this, too, for he solemnly nodded towards her before opening the small door in front of them.

"No," she said, swiftly catching his arm before he could properly rise from his seat. He looked back at her questionably. "I will go," she explained, not wanting him to be spotted, for his sake. "I have only a short walk from here."

Shifting the hamper to her right arm, Christine stood, exited the hansom and stepped down onto the pavement below. Even to her, it was quite a distance, and she found herself craning her neck up to find Raoul's face, partially hidden behind the framing. Graciously, he shuffled forward, closing the door and staying near it as he gazed down at her.

She gazed back, memorising his features as though this was the last time she would see them. "Goodbye, Raoul."

"Good day, Christine," he said fondly before leaning forward even more. Swept up in his eyes, her feet began to move closer to the wheels, her head tilting up to witness the three words he then murmured so tenderly from his mouth. "I love you."

A sob formed in her throat. "I know you do." She looked at him for longer than was suitable before she began a slow retreat up the street.

o0o

Erik was bewildered to hear the front door slamming merely an hour after Christine had left, and was even more so when he heard her hurried footsteps nearing her bedchamber. She burst in, her cheeks flushed, and did not even glance at him as she strode past and fell onto her vanity stool. There, she proceeded to carelessly remove her hat and the pins from her hair before shaking her curls out. They tumbled down her back wildly and Erik watched as she grabbed her hairbrush and began to move it over her hair slowly. The motion was almost as hypnotic as it was monotonous, and Erik was drawn to it. He frowned when she finally put the brush down, however, to stare at the wall with a blank expression.

"Perhaps it is best if we leave soon," she said quietly, shifting to stare at her reflection.

"Christine?" he said, coming towards her carefully until he was standing directly behind her. His hands came down to rest on her shoulders and the gesture caused a tiny smile to flicker at her lips. "What is it? What do you mean?"

"Nothing of concern, only that Paris is not as forgetful as I had hoped."

Of all the things Erik wished he could understand, her pain was not one of them—if her fate rested in his hands alone, he would see to it that she lived every day of her life without pain. And yet, as he stood there, he could not stop himself from nodding in shameful empathy.

"I have become a social outcast of sorts," she announced, a nervous laugh following her words as he felt her body slump against him. Her fingers moved to her scent bottle where they began to fiddle with the glass topper, lifting it up and heedlessly dropping it back down. "I do not think I will be welcomed back into society and it is certain no theatre would take me now, not in Paris anyway. My name is forever tainted here."

Erik winced as he thought of his recklessness, of the course his own selfish actions had taken over the past year that had led to this moment. Because of him, Christine's social and career aspects had all but diminished. He was not unaware of the things being said about her either, horrible and filthy words that cut across his heart whenever he thought of them. But now the inescapable truth of it all was that she was right—and he was the only one to blame for this tragedy.

"I confess," he began, with an odd tremor to his voice, "that I had not the foresight to understand the full impact of my actions. I fear I have forever ruined your chances to sing or, dare I even say it, your want to sing. Forgive me, my dear, forgive me. Upon agreeing to stay by my side, your life has ceased to be your own and my egotistical needs have made certain that it remained that way."

As he looked to her for a reply, he succumbed to the notion of accepting whatever punishment she lay on him. For if she were to stand and strike him down with the cruel lashings of a whip, he would do nothing but fall to his knees and take the beating he rightly deserved. But as he continued to wait, his agitation building by the second, she did not stand, nor sit up, nor even raise her head.

Her silence was proving to be more torturous than any method he had ever experienced until she whispered, "Perhaps you are right," and his hands slipped from her shoulders.

Her head finally lifted and she found his eyes in the mirror, her mouth opening and closing before she looked away again with a roll of her shoulders. Erik did not know what was stronger: wanting to hear an accusation from her or needing to hear her say one.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed woefully. "There is nothing I can say to make amends for the wrong I have caused you."

"Erik, listen to me," she spoke softly, pulling him out of his self-deprecation. "The only thing we can do now is forgive one another for the troubles we have inflicted and move on with our lives. Together. I cannot put you at fault for what has come to pass, Erik. No one can truly be blamed for the course our lives have taken. If we pointed the finger at every turn, we would be stuck in an endless cycle, never to proceed. Living underground has sheltered both of us from harm, but we have lived there too long, Erik. We must face the world by each other's side now."

Erik took a step back and wound his fingers together in an attempt to stop them from trembling. "Even if all I do is drag you along with me, subjecting you to more restrictions?"

"You do not drag me," she insisted, resting her head in her hands. "When will you understand that I love you and every decision I make is done out of my own free will?"

"And when will you understand that a life with me is hardly a life at all!" he snarled, his anger quickly fading to irritation when he saw her shoulders begin to shake.

Her hands did not move from her face after that and her cupped palms became chalices, gathering and keeping her silent tears. She did not speak, and neither did Erik for a long time, each soul languishing in the aftermath of their bitter exchange.

"Christine..." he then whispered, so quietly that she was not certain that he had even spoken in the first place. His hands raised as though searching for words in the air before they dropped back to his sides.

Lowering her hands to reveal her contorted and unpleasantly red face, Christine looked to him in despair. "You would leave me?" she asked with not a hint of weakness in her tone. But before he had a chance to reply, she surprised him by rising to her feet and facing him. "Am I nothing to you? Are my sacrifices to be in vain because of the pride you have found too late? I gave up a life on the Paris stage for you, and now what would you have me do?" She stopped short to glance down at her hand before raising it in front of his face, the ring glinting right before his eyes. "What is this, Erik? What does it mean for you now?" Drooping her shoulders, she stared at him unrelentingly, her jaw clenching as frustration fuelled her words. "Perhaps you think I am better off alone, or even in the arms of another man. Raoul would surely take me back, if that is what you want; why, he proposed to me again shortly before Mamma died!"

"What?" he breathed in one coarse exhale, his blood boiling at the mention of the boy, and yet, an overwhelming sense of fatigue came over him at this thought. How long had the Vicomte been a looming presence in his life? He was young, stubbornly determined, but parasitical, and he was slowly eating away at Erik. Every mention of the boy's name sought to wound him further.

When he dared to meet Christine's eyes, there was no remorse and no cowardice in her little body. Only that same stubborn determination he had witnessed in the Vicomte.

"Oh, yes," she replied gently, her voice never raising above a calm murmur, but to Erik, it felt as though she was shouting into his ear. "I declined, of course, out of loyalty and out of love for you, but I am certain he would ask again if you wish it."

"Why do you tell me this?" he rasped in a voice low and menacing. "Are you not afraid of the consequences? I could kill him for being so impertinent."

"Then you would merely be adding to the apparent unhappiness you have caused me," she said unflinchingly as she stepped forward and, in a tone that shook him to his core. "You would not dare touch a hair on his head."

With a start, he bitterly realised that she was right. His selfishness had ultimately ended up protecting the boy. Exasperated, he ran a hand through his hair and gestured towards the ring. "I do not know what you want!"

If Erik had wanted to say more, he would not have had the chance, for a pair of warm lips swiftly descended upon his. Christine's body had collided into him so quickly that he found himself staggering backwards to keep from falling. Undeterred, she moved with him, winding her arms fiercely around his neck as she continued to kiss his motionless lips.

When she pulled back, she noted the startled expression on his face and her stance immediately softened. "If that is true," she whispered, "if you truly do not know what I want, then please trust my judgement. I know what is best for me."

Again, she pressed her lips to his, coaxing him to kiss her back, and when he did, she felt as though she could weep. His hands flew to her face, cupping her cheeks, his fingers straying to trace her jaw, her neck and to comb through her hair.

"This is not the life I had envisioned for you," he lamented as he broke their kiss.

"But at the end of the day, Erik, it is my life," she told him, resting her head on his heaving chest and closing her eyes, "and though this was not the path I had envisioned either, I do not regret following it."

"I have nothing to offer you," he said with a shake of his head, taking a step back from her as if to run but her arms remained steadfast. "Not even a name."

"No," she agreed, "but I do."

At this, Erik froze and stared at her with eyes filled with such longing, such hope, that Christine felt not one hint of regret at her utterance. This had been the path they had carefully tread, this had been their destiny, and it was only now that she realised what she must do. Too long had she run from those who only sought to love her, and she could not think of a more perfect place to stand for the rest of her days than in Erik's arms.

Looking up at him courageously and with such determination, she could scarcely believe the words that next flew effortlessly from her mouth. "Take my name, Erik, and become my husband. Take my name to give it back to me."

It was as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs for Erik suddenly gasped and doubled over, violently clutching at Christine's upper arms for support. His head came to rest against her collar as he tried to process what had just happened.

"You would... become my... my... and I thought you did not want..."

Cradling his limp body, Christine gently pushed him upright before laying her palms firmly on his shoulders. Their eyes met. "I would never want to marry anyone because of an obligation. Many a successful marriage has been formed because of one, but that is not for me. I would marry because I am in love and because I wish to be wed."

"Oh, Christine," he cried, lowering his head shamefully so that she could be spared his tears. "I cannot take something as sacred as your name."

"I want you to; please understand, Erik, I give it freely."

Raising his head slowly, he smiled in disbelief. "Then I would be honoured to become your husband, Mademoiselle Daaé."