For some time she did not stir. Christine lay like a fallen angel in the boat, covered by his tattered and sparkling cloak. Erik pressed a key on his organ, listening to the tinkling melody for a moment before bending over his parchment, quill scratching hurriedly on the paper.
Her presence fueled his music, but the soft sound of weeping made him pause. He removed his hat and smoothed down his wig.
"Christine," he whispered, like hers was the most beautiful name to ever grace his ruined lips.
She did not reply, only breathed.
He fed her delicacies, rich and delicious treats as well as fruits so delectable that they shone in the dim candlelight. She refused to eat at first, but unused to hunger and desperate for something to curb the misery, began to indulge a little.
She developed a fondness for dark red wine, a craving the Phantom encouraged until he caught her attempting to poison herself one late evening. Her goblet on the ground, the vile of arsenic spilled on the ground, he tightened his gloved fingers around her wrist. His eyes shone with a dark light.
"Christine, do not ever dare," Erik warned softly, for he was wise in the art of suicide. She did not really want to perish and wept into his shoulder for an hour after the incident.
"Raoul. Where are you?"
He followed her agonized voice and found her standing on the stairs, hands extended towards the exit. Erik wrapped his arms around her, smelling her dark hair and turning her face away from the light. "He is dead, my love."
His words were harsh.
Christine pressed both of her palms to either side of her head, rocked back and forth in his strong arms while odd crooning noises came from the back of her throat. Yes, he was gone; she could still smell the thick scent of illness. "Raoul."
The Phantom stood helplessly as she suffered.
Madness was inevitable; he had told himself that he would save her mind the night she came to him in tears but it was too late. He knelt and began to sing a lullaby of agony.
"Christine," Erik scolded gently, frowning when she tugged on his sleeve.
The ink smudged on his score and he sighed. He could feel no anger towards his helpless lover, she was far too gone. Now he could even forsake his mask and she would not react. Still, her eyes had lost their shimmer, the light that made her so tantalizing to the husk who loved her.
"I love you..." she sang fondly. Erik stroked Christine's long auburn hair as she lay her head down on his lap.
"My heart trembles at your words," he replied softly, eliciting a giggle from the broken woman.
"I feel alive when you are near," she murmured.
One question pulsed through the Phantom's mind; is it really me she sees? Erik decided that he did not want to know the answer.