Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.

Author Note: Hello all! I have been saying for a while that I have scary exams coming up soon and that when it got close to that time, I would need to stop writing fanfiction for a little while so that I have the time to revise and so on. Well, my exams are in May and June, so I need to crack on with revision every waking moment and therefore this will be my last chapter until after my exams are finished. This story is all pre-written on paper, I'm not abandoning it, just postponing it until after the horrible exams are done :-)

If Erik had to take exams, I bet he would have been disqualified for throttling someone who sneezed or coughed and distracted him. And I don't think silence would work well for him...he'd have to hum his favourite arias over and over just to keep concentrating :-D

This chapter is probably quite suitable to leave you with, anyway. I don't know why, but I always imagined that a drunk Christine would be hilarious, especially with Erik running around after her, trying to stop her from doing crazy things!

Reviews are, as always, very much appreciated. So a huge thank you to those who reviewed last chapter; MarilynKC, ListenToTheRainS2, TMara and Filhound.

Enough of me, onto the chapter :-)

Eight- Heart of Fire

It was dark, dark and quiet, the only light in the room a pearlescent shimmer that came from the moon. The shadows made the usually bright and sunny space seem forbidding and gothic, the eerie shine from the mirror as the milky moonlight hit the smooth surface unnerving. Behind this mirror, palms flat against the cool glass and eyes burning, Erik studied Christine Daae.

His yellow eyes were intently focused on her, watching her every move, her every breath. He oversaw how she played with one perfect tendril of her tumbling brown curls that had escaped from her elaborate hairstyle, how she bit her full rose lips, how she continually smoothed the bodice of her dress and touched her hair uselessly every few minutes, her eyes roaming the room and always resting on the door handle before turning away again. In the gloomy shadows, her skin became as white as the moon itself, her eyes seeming to sparkle in the occasional light- she resembled an angel, a perfect, gorgeous, flawless angel and yet she was here, alone and hidden, in the darkness.

Erik loved everything about Christine, of course he did, but it was times such as these where he wished for her sake that she would be less reserved- to allow the emotion in her heart to break free and burn as brightly as he knew it could. He knew she was passionate and emotional and wild when she wanted to be, as he saw and heard it whenever she sang. But now, sat in the darkness of her dressing room, pretending not to watch the clock and the door handle as she uneasily brushed her dress again, she was further from that emotional young woman than she had ever been.

Erik stayed, the silent guard concealed behind the mirror, watching her for what seemed centuries but was in fact only an hour or so, his eyes not able to leave her. She stood and paced across the soft rug, and he had to hold back a gasp as he saw she was dressed like the epitome of elegance- hair pinned back elegantly, dress flattering her slender frame. It was clear she was supposed to be out somewhere, no doubt on the arm of her adored Vicomte who had been a permanent fixture by her side ever since their rooftop declarations.

As the door to the dressing room opened, and a beam of warm light shot into the room, Erik saw that is was Antoinette Giry stood in the doorway. Christine saw her and leapt up, rushing over to the woman's side, her face pleading.

"The Vicomte has sent a message, my dear- he is now unable to take you out with him this evening, as business calls him out of Paris." The woman's words were gentle and kind, and Christine seemed to take strength from this, nodding sadly and glancing at her reflection in the very mirror Erik stood behind. "He says he is sorry, and will call for you another evening."

"Yes, it cannot be helped. Thank you, Madame Giry."

As soon as the older woman left, Christine violently pulled all the pins out of her hair and sank to a miserable heap on the floor, bending her head and letting tears trickle silently onto her hands, clasped in her lap. Erik watched her, feeling infinitely sorry for her but also angry- where was the Christine he knew? Why was she being so very weak and pathetic, crying because her fop couldn't come to her on just one night? Erik tore his eyes away from her and strode away from the mirror, back down to his dark pit of solitude, feeling suddenly afraid that it was he who had destroyed the spirit in Christine Daae and put out the fire in her heart.

The sound of ridiculous laughter pulled Erik harshly out of his melancholy musings, the warmth of the night air and the infinite darkness above him, scattered with brilliant white stars, a shock after the gloomy setting of his miserable memories. The brightly coloured tents and clothes of the gypsies were illuminated by the light being thrown out by a huge bonfire- an immense stack of logs crowned with a flaming triumph of orange, flickering fire, crackling and spitting and sending showers of sparks into the night as if it were something out of an old fairytale. There were no visitors to the clan tonight- from what Erik had managed to distinguish from the drunken babble earlier, one of the gypsy women had given birth to a boy, a son to one of the elders, and this had been the perfect excuse to light a fire and gorge barrel upon barrel of beer, wine and cider, apparently.

Despite all his scathing remarks to Nadir, Erik did feel warmed by the atmosphere; the people talking and laughing, the music, the carefree sensation of having nothing to fear or worry about stood amongst these bright people. And, of course, there was Christine. Erik saw her amongst the gypsy women, crowded round the woman cradling a baby as if it were a fine jewel or precious treasure. Christine had a huge, beaming smile stretched across her face as she picked up the child and held it, exclaiming something to the mother and causing all the other females to laugh and cluster round her. She looked as if she were in her element, immersed in the moment, and Erik was stupidly astonished to see that the image of Christine cradling a baby and smiling happily seemed right- perfect.

"Don't look so surprised." Nadir's voice appeared out of nowhere, startling Erik when he turned to see that the Persian had come to stand beside him, also staring at the cluster of women, giving an irritated sigh as he turned back to Erik. "Christine is a young woman, Erik, not a child. If things had occurred differently in Paris, she might be married to the Vicomte by now, a wife and maybe a mother."

"I- I never thought of her that way." Erik replied honestly, still staring at Christine, who noticed his gaze and smiled broadly at him, passing the child to its mother before rushing over to where he and Nadir were stood.

As soon as Christine made it over to them, cheeks flushed pink with excitement and eyes glowing as she took in the sights of the gypsy celebration, Pali stopped doing his mad drunken dance and gave her a clumsy embrace, the wine cup he clutched tipping and sloshing whatever ruby elixir lay within all over himself and the leafy carpet beneath their feet. Christine was laughing and Erik could not help but smile as he watched, wondering if he ought to be concerned by how inebriated the gypsy already was. He released her with another ridiculous drunken laugh, letting her stumble over to Erik and lean slightly on him, weak with her childish giggling that made his heart flip inside his chest.

Pali drunkenly went to embrace Nadir, but the Persian man gave an irritable sigh and gripped the gypsy by one of his spindly arms, dragging him off to dunk his head in a bucket of freezing cold water, no doubt.

"I think Pali has angered Monsieur Khan, Erik." Christine laughed, catching sight of the dancers and tugging on Erik's arm like a child, urging him to move with her to stand closer so that she might watch the dance. The dancers were throwing batons of fire into the crisp night air, leaving scarlet trails dancing in her eyes, making her heart stutter every moment she thought they might miss and be burned by the hot flames. She seemed utterly taken with the dancers, and Erik found this amusing.

"Oh, Nadir is simply a boring old man who is aware that he is old fashioned and stale." Erik replied warmly, unnerved by how close the dancers were coming to where they stood, their painted eyes wide and unearthly, their arms outstretched and their hands beckoning. They looked like fiery creatures out of his opera, Don Juan Triumphant, and the similarity was not a comfortable thing to observe.

"Erik!" Christine gasped before giggling again- there was something strange about her this evening, something that could not be put down to the excitement of the atmosphere. As she darted out to grab two mugs of some toxic smelling amber substance, that burnt his nose when he smelt it, Erik realised that Christine was edging towards being well and truly drunk. "Here- have this. I think it's cider."

"You think?" Erik replied warily, alarmed that she was already happily swigging the foul smelling stuff without a thought towards its origin. Conscious of the fact that he had already criticised Nadir for being boring and old fashioned, Erik eyed the mug of cider cautiously and lifted it to his lips. "Hm. Well. I suppose it can't hurt."

Christine had already downed hers in a few gulps and had already reached for another, leaving Erik gaping at her half in amusement, half in horror. Part of him wanted to reach for the disgusting drink and take it away from her, but Nadir had reminded him of his over protective stance earlier by reminding him that Christine was not a child. Besides, no matter how their friendship was blooming, such fatherly acts would no doubt come across as a little odd, if not completely annoying.

One thing he did notice, though- whether it be from the drink, the gypsy influence or simply the freedom- was that the spirited side of Christine Daae was growing in confidence again. She had withered and weakened and relied upon Raoul to solve all her problems and worries in Paris, as if she were a puppet and he the puppeteer, but now she was blooming into a stronger, more independent woman. Erik did not think that her memory loss was good, not for one moment...but if it did restore the part of Christine that had appeared to crumble and vanish, it would hardly be a bad thing.

The dancers were coming closer, intruding on what Erik would deem to be 'personal space', their hands reaching as if to ensnare them both and engulf them into the mass of dancers. Erik stepped back with a venomous look at them, tearing his arm back as one gripped onto him, fingers like tendrils and eyes wide and hypnotic, as if hoping to lure him into the trance. But he knew it was all a silly game- with another low hiss of rage, he tried to fight the urge to spit various insults at them and push them all to the ground. Christine, however, closed her eyes and smiled, tipping her head back as she allowed herself to be pulled into the swirling mass of flames and colour, slipping into the fluid dance as if she had always been there, her dress flying out around her as her feet- dainty, ballerina feet- lithely leapt and span. Her brown curls flew out in a similar manner to her dress, as if each tendril was energised and alive.

For the second time in the evening, Erik was faced with an image of Christine Daae that seemed to fit perfectly, as if she were destined to be there. Amid the dancers she was brimming with energy, alive and alight with joy, a complete contradiction to everything Erik had come to feel regarding these gypsies. Though he did not believe that the gypsies had kidnapped her from him under the opera house that night so long ago- that was a mystery he and Nadir were still puzzling over, dredging up every possibility they could think of- he still held them responsible for the miserable year she had spent travelling with them.

He was frozen with indecision and doubt, wondering if he ought to storm into the circling, swooping spiral of colour and drag her out of there, but even he was taken with watching her; she looked free, no longer a trapped bird in a cage. He had never been that free in the clan, never been so joyful or spirited.

"Come in, come in, good Monsieur's and Madame's! Come in and see the Spawn of Satan, the Living Death, the Devil's Child here on earth!"

The stench of the sacking was ripped away from his face, his lungs at last greeted with untainted air, but then there were the crowds and the garish light and the jeers, the screams, the curses damning him to Hell. They stared and gawped and clustered round the bars, faces twisted with malice and sadistic thirst for torture and blood, desperate to see the Devil's Child contorted with pain. The name, the cage- did it really strip him of humanity? Could they not see that he was a child, a frail child, crying in the darkness? The men hurled missiles of bottles and flaming bundles of straw, the glass and the burning grasses scorching and stinging his skin, his face stained with blood and tears. The women screamed, the children cried, but no one pitied him. They shrieked their disgust and crowded him like seagulls round a rotting fish- they did not care to know his past, his story, his pain. All they wanted was the satisfaction of seeing someone lesser than them, seeing the blood weep from the cuts they inflicted, someone to blame and someone to gawp at and feel better about themselves as they assured each other that they were not so pathetic, so wretched, so disgusting. There was someone lesser than them, someone to make them feel better about their miserable selves, and for that they would pay their coins to the laughing Javert, happy to remain oblivious as the child with the deformed face and the wide, imploring eyes retreated to the back of the cage and collapsed there, the tears silently trickling down his grimy, bloodstained face as if they were meant to be there.

Erik was snapped out of the horrific recollection by the sound of enthusiastic cheering and clapping- alert and concerned, his eyes were instantly drawn to Christine, watching as the dancers broke away and went into the night in search of drink, leaving her laughing and stumbling, accepting praise and alcohol from the onlookers. She was smiling manically, breathless and ecstatic, a hectic splash of colour on her cheeks. She caught sight of where Erik was stood and stumbled over to him, so breathless from the wild dancing that she almost fell into his arms when she reached him, giggling feebly as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Erik tried to right her and help her to stand, but she clung onto him, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around him, sighing dreamily as she did so. Erik tried desperately to do the gentlemanly thing and urged her in a low voice to release him and stand up, but as she refused and proceeded to tighten her hold on him, he felt a warm glow seep slowly through him. The music from earlier- a screeching fiddle, hand drums and a small flute of some description- picked up again and Christine began to sway to the sound, gently coaxing Erik until they were waltzing very slowly.

"My father used to do this with me all the time when I was little." She murmured into Erik's chest, the embrace seeming to have calmed her down. Funny, Erik thought distantly, she may be calmer but my heart is pounding. Christine was oblivious to this erratic heartbeat and the stares of the other gypsies. "He used to stand me on his feet and we would whirl and spin- of course, he was the one stepping and turning but I felt as if I was some beautiful, brilliant dancer. We would sing the appropriate piece that was supposed to accompany whatever dance we were doing, pretending that we were at a rich party with a full orchestra and wearing lavish clothes... Sometimes I would decide to sing complete and utter nonsense, something that I made up on the spot, and if he liked it enough to add it to his own works, he would give a great cry and pick me up and charge into the parlour, me giggling like a mad thing. There he would scribble frantically and spill ink all over the place and pull the most dreadful faces until it was all down on a score sheet. When the tune was done, and he would play it over and over to test it, he would make a great show out of my little contribution- Christine's bar, or Christine's trill, marked with a splodge of ink. I only wish I still had all his music, though I don't know where on Earth that would be now-"

She cut off suddenly mid rant, freezing and staring suddenly up into Erik's eyes, dizzy and confused and childlike as they seemed to beg for love and attention. A lump caught in Erik's throat and he reached out and stroked her face- normally such an act would make her feel a little uneasy, but her mind was clouded, so she did not react except to close her eyes momentarily to savour the touch.

"He had such hopes for me. He used to brag about me to anyone he met, declaring all these amazing things that I didn't understand at the time. He put such care and attention into me, wasted his own chances to ensure that I would flourish, continued to be the devoted father even when he was so ill and weak he could barely stand-" she broke off suddenly, tears collecting in her eyes and her face crumpling as she dissolved into tears. "And now look at me! Abandoned, stuck in a disgusting caravan troupe with people who do not care, with no success or achievement to speak of- I didn't even have friends to tell me what I could not remember! What a waste of my father's time and love- he should never have placed so much trust in me. I am nothing compared to him."

"Christine, don't say such things." Erik said in a low voice, feeling her shake her head violently. "You are not to blame for your lack of recollection or your place in the clan. You are a credit to your father, who was a great man to raise such an honest, kind, talented young woman."

Erik knew Christine was drunk, which would explain why she was letting these words slip carelessly from her mouth, things she would normally have kept concealed in her normal state of mind. He turned to look at where his own mug of cider was perched atop a barrel, untouched, and he recalled that she must have drunk at least four servings of cider. In that moment, Erik was glad he had never really taken to drink like that, only ever having the taste for small amounts of the best quality alcoholic beverages if pushed. He could only imagine what he would come out with when drunk like Christine was now- the emotional outlet that would pour senselessly from his mouth might scare off even the toughened Nadir.

Seeing that Christine's tears had stopped, but that she still had a troubled look plaguing her beautiful features, Erik took the chance to stroke her feather soft cheek again. This time she smiled, holding perfectly still before going limp again and leaning against him, sighing contentedly. Drunken Christine was unaffected by what would have been definite awkwardness in normal conversation- Erik did not have to guard the deep expression in his eyes, or be careful of what he said to her. She seemed to savour the embraces and words that would normally make her step backwards, alarmed by how familiar he was acting. Surely, he told himself over the pounding of his aching heart and gasping shallow breaths, this must be proof that somewhere inside her heart she remembers loving me.

"You know something, Erik? You remind me of my father sometimes. That must be why I like you so much." She decided and proclaimed in a sleepy voice, her logic hazy. "Because it is strange, isn't it? That two strangers, that is you and I, could be like this so suddenly- feel as if we have known each other for longer than we have. Strange..."

"Christine-" Erik went to speak, not knowing what he actually wanted to say but feeling compelled to do so, voice achingly desperate and sad. It was not often that Erik felt simply sad- angry, enraged, hysterical, distraught...all of those he regularly experienced. But there was something harrowing about feeling simply sad- it was a deflated emotion, as if hope was gone.

"You- you say my name as if...as if it is the most precious thing in the world to you." Christine cut him off quietly, opening her eyes very wide and staring right at him. It was as if, in that moment, she was not drunk and senseless- as if the realisation had cut through all that and struck her right to the core. "As if I am all that matters to you."

"You are." He whispered, brokenly, but to his relief and also to his dismay she did not hear him for then Pali came bounding over, laughing gleefully and looking a little damp, a tell tale sign that Nadir had in fact tried to sober up the gangly gypsy with cold water- but it had not worked at all. Christine immediately untangled her limp arms from Erik in order to fling them about Pali's scrawny neck instead, both of them snickering senselessly and stumbling around.

Erik watched as they began a strange dance that had no connection to the out-of-time whine that was echoing from the fiddle player, smiling to himself. She was so bold, so unlike the past when she had barely said a word to anyone. Again, Erik found himself musing over her apparent change in character- the drink helped her confidence, dulling her senses and allowing her to be carefree and embarrassing to her heart's content, but there were other things too. There was no Vicomte to hide behind, no ballet chorus to fall into, and it was clear just from watching her dance with a drunken gypsy.

This was Christine Daae as Erik remembered her before the terror he had inflicted by revealing his human form; not the girl who was desperate to hide amongst the others or simply obey orders and keep her mouth shut, but a girl who knew her own mind, who was passionate and emotional and brave if she wanted to be. A girl who would leap into a dance she didn't know and love every second of it. A girl who would waltz around the room with her father, singing made-up violin concertos. A girl who might learn to look beyond the surface and love the man behind the monster...

Perhaps the part of Christine Daae he believed was long gone and destroyed might just be lying dormant inside her heart, waiting to be fuelled into its full, burning glory. He could certainly see it in her now.

Nadir caught sight of Erik staring up at the stars, a thoughtful look on his face, and he eventually battled through the thick crowd of gypsies and made it to stand beside him. He looked towards Christine, smiled and touched Erik's arm with an urgent hand, gesturing to the dancing Christine.

"Erik, you might want to see this."

So Erik tore his eyes away from the stars and looked at Christine again, expecting to see her and Pali still dancing together, but the actual sight was far better- he felt his mouth drop open with astonishment and his heart begin to pound to a new rhythm of hope and glowing optimism.

For there she was, Christine Daae, abandoning Pali to dance to her own imaginary tune. Only this time she did not dance like a gypsy- she danced like a chorus girl of the Opera Populaire, pirouetting and leaping and pointing her toes as she commanded the attention of every onlooker. She didn't know it, but she was dancing a set routine, one drilled into her by Antoinette Giry long ago for the opera Hannibal. Nadir was saying something but Erik was far too busy caught up in the excitement of the moment to hear him- she remembered something else from those long gone days of the past! He waited for her to finish before rushing over to her, already planning what he would say, trying to provoke her memories to come tumbling back, laughing as if it were he who was the drunkard.

"Christine, that was amazing! You could be a ballerina!" he exclaimed as soon as he reached her and she shoved him a little and rolled her eyes. "Truly, you could! That routine- well, it looked as if it were from an opera, choreographed by a ballet mistress! Did you dance as well as sing in your childhood, Christine?"

Erik was joined by Nadir and Pali, and Christine backed away a few steps from them, confused as to why they huddled round her and stared at her with similarly desperate expressions, as if their lives depended on her words. She wondered if she was imagining it, if the drink had made her conjure up this expression that was mirrored on each of their faces. She shook her head, dazed, and wished that she hadn't for the motion made her feel faint and dizzy.

"I'm afraid that I cannot recall." She said in an oddly calm voice, before collapsing to the floor without warning. All three men dove for her, even inebriated Pali, and they cushioned her slump to the ground with their arms, allowing Erik to gently lift her back up again and cradle her as if she were a child. She was completely limp and a worrying shade of white.

"That would be the cider, then." Pali smothered a laugh, reaching forwards to pick a leaf out of the dishevelled mass of her curls. "A mad old man brewed it in the nearby village and it's stronger than it looks! She'll be sleepy for a loooong time."

"It isn't funny, Pali!" Erik hissed menacingly, stepping back and moving Christine out of the gypsy's reach. "And besides, it wasn't that putrid muck that you're all swigging that caused this- it was you two, crowding round her like that. It was like vultures swarming a corpse, you vile asses!"

"So are we overlooking the fact that it was you who asked the damn question in the first place?!" Nadir snapped, eyes flashing. "What a stupid thing to say anyway- 'you could be a ballerina Christine, oh yes you could, ignoring the fact that YOU ALREADY ARE AND I'M JUST LYING TO YOU ABOUT EVERYTHING!"

"DON'T TRY MY PATIENCE KHAN!"

"THEN DON'T BE SUCH A BLOCKHEAD!"

"I'LL STOP BEING A BLOCKHEAD WHEN YOU STOP BEING A POMPOUS BIGOT!"

Pali leapt between them, fearful that the argument would turn into a fully blown fist fight, and whilst doing so he almost smacked the unconscious Christine in the face with his flailing arms. Erik snarled at him and clutched Christine closer to him, a seething mass of black and red. Pali only had to look at him to know that there would be no friendly reconciliation between him and the Persian, who was equally enraged, tonight.

"Erik, go and put Christine in her tent." Pali cautioned, the near fight having pierced the drunkenness and leaving him almost sober. He was relieved when Erik nodded curtly and stormed off, muttering obscenities under his breath and leaving Pali to calm down the raging Nadir. "In honesty, Nadir, I am surprised that you are both still alive- I thought you would have killed one another before now, you argue so much!"

Erik refused his anger the pleasure of turning round to look at Nadir's irritable face, knowing that it would only end badly if he did so. He strode on, his booted feet crashing through the undergrowth and narrowly missing various wooden stumps and ropes that held the tents in their sloppy upright position, all hanging so haphazardly Erik was astonished to find that they never seemed to collapse. He knew his way to Christine's tent well, as he walked her back through the dark every night after they sung together for the crowds, and he also therefore knew that although Christine was meant to share this tent with several other girls, she was never joined by them. They all stole off to the tents of various men.

This meant that Erik had no worries about striding straight into the tent, knowing that no one else would be inside. He laid Christine down on the blankets and cushions that served as a bed, and sat heavily down beside her, not knowing if he should leave or stay. He certainly didn't want to go back to Pali and Nadir, not now.

Christine shifted a little in a sleep, mumbling something and stretching her arms out before she seemed to settle and fall into a peaceful sleep, her face suddenly looking the same as when she was seven years old. He gingerly reached out to stroke her wild curls, his hand trembling as he took in how she was still so achingly beautiful, both on the surface and below that. She smiled in her sleep, her words unintelligible for the most part, but then they became clearer, and Erik could understand what she was sleep talking about.

"Meg...no don't, please...Meg don't leave me-"

Meg. Erik recalled the chirpy blonde girl with a fond smile, remembering how she and Christine had been the best of friends. It was a comforting thought that, even though her conscious couldn't remember much, clearly deep inside her mind Christine's memories still existed. Why they were out of her reach, or why she could apparently dream about such things but then not remember when she woke, was still unclear but Erik was happy to be content with the knowledge that the memories were not erased entirely.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Christine began to thrash wildly, writhing as if she were on fire and screaming aloud in such a way that made Erik feel as if his heart were about to explode in shock and terror. He hovered beside her, uselessly, unable to shake her awake as she began to cry out, real tears streaking down her face.

"No! NO! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please, forgive me- please! I'm sorry, please don't- I didn't mean to! I'm-"

He found her hands and gripped them in his own, feeling them as cold as ice. He was terrified, completely ignorant of what he could do to help her, but then her eyes shot open and she struggled frantically to sit up, confused and scared, looking all around her with eyes that weren't really seeing. But then she seemed to notice Erik, and with a sob she crawled towards him, reaching for him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her and crushed her to his chest, feeling her quivering like a frightened animal. It was that nightmare she had described- the nightmare about him.

"Erik, Erik you're here." She wept, her face flushed red and tear stained, curls sticking to her cheeks in the sweat and the salty tears.

"And I'm not leaving. I'll keep you safe, Christine, I promise. You don't need to be scared- I'm here."

Christine slowly drew back from his fierce embrace, her eyes looking into his own as if she had looked into his soul.

Then, without even a word and taking Erik completely by surprise, she reached out and placed a hand on each side of his face, pulling him down and crushing his lips against her own.

Erik felt like a flower in the desert suddenly granted with the glorious elixir of rain- he seemed to come alive, his lips melting into hers and his arms slipping around her as if they were destined to be there, drawing her closer to him. His breathing hectic, he slipped his hands into the wild mass of curls and savoured the honey sweetness of her soft mouth, his mind bombarded with so many memories of that night, that glorious night beneath the opera house before it all went so very wrong, that he was crying before he could even stop the tears.

Christine broke away from him, stroking the unmasked side of his face and wiping a tear away, her eyes burning as she stared into his, her breathing fast and frantic.

"Don't cry, Erik- this is just a dream, you know. Just a dream..."

She kissed him again, lingering and feverish, her eyes already closing, her lids heavy with sleep, and as Erik broke the embrace and placed her carefully back down onto her blankets and cushions he saw that she was already back into a deep sleep. She had kissed him, asleep- she had not truly been awake.

Erik lifted her cold hand to his face and pressed his swollen lips against it, kissing the soft skin over and over as the foolish weeping began, not evening knowing why. He loved her, oh he loved her and she was so close, yet so very far away.

"Oh Christine, I love you so much my heart could break." He murmured in a soft, tear stained voice, knowing from the painful throbbing in his chest that in many ways, it already had.