Unfortunately, our excursion into the outside world is postponed because of the pain in my ankle. But Erik keeps his promise, and within a fortnight, I dress in a periwinkle blue gown with gossamer material flowing lightly over the top, perfect for the weather outside. A flowered ribbon around my waist adds a touch of springtime to my outfit. I apply very light make up and let my hair fall free.

Erik is waiting for me at the front door. His coat is dark brown and I must confess that it startles me. I have never seen him in anything other than black before. It made his mask seem—less sharp, I suppose.

He looks at me and then looks down. "You look beautiful," he says. I think of how gentle he has been to me lately.

"Thank you."

I go to stand next to him and wait. He looks confused. I stare pointedly at him. "Well, aren't you going to offer me your arm?" I ask impatiently.

He looks scandalized.

I huff. "A man is supposed to offer his arm to a woman when they are out for a walk. It is proper manners!"

He takes a deep breath and for a second, I am slightly offended. Is it really such a trial for him?Is it truly all a result of his treacherous past, or am I that unapproachable?

He holds his arm out silently.

He leads me out the door, both of us walking very, very slowly because of my ankle. I'm quite sure Erik's potion did special wonders, because I know that in my dancer's experience, most people cannot walk for weeks after they damage their ankle, sometimes longer. But here, only a few days later, I was able to limp along quite easily, holding onto my husband's arm.

I do not shudder nearly as much when I force myself to think of the word husband.

We head up, around the lake and up the concrete steps for many minutes in silence. We pass through the Rue Scribe and into a deserted street of Paris.

I inhale. Beautiful, fresh air! I see other people walking around, other human beings who look carefree and happy. Flowers! I see flowers coming up, scattered all over the rich soil. The myriad of people and plants looked so absolutely normal, so normal, so normal. The first thing I do is drag Erik to the corner and gather a handful of tulips.

Erik pulls me up awkwardly. "The carriage, darling," he mutters, guiding me to the other side of the street.

"It smells like spring!" I exclaim to him excitedly. "Erik, look at the flowers!" I laugh like a young child.

"It is spring, my dearest. And there are many more flowers in the garden."

Although it is warm, there is a slight breeze and little sun. I should have known that Erik would only venture out if it was somewhat overcast. How had he known?

I lean heavily on his arms as he totters me over to the waiting carriage. I expect him to pull away, but he does not. He helps me up and lets go extremely quick.

We stayed out all morning. I sat on the far side of the carriage, staring out the window, savoring all the sights I had not known I had missed. I had never been much of a nature girl, preferring the indoors, but now I wanted to stay out forever.

"Christine?" Erik asks as the carriage rumbles along. "You ate very little for breakfast. Are you hungry?"

I wonder if he is really concerned for me or if he just wants to get home. I give my shoulders a little shrug when I catch sight of little yellow flowers littering the side road.

"Erik! Look at the little petals!"

"Yes, those are Bermuda buttercups. Would you like me to tell you a story about them?"

"Oh, yes please."

Safe in a carriage, watching scenic views while Erik's voice soared around the compartment, felt like nothing less than heaven.

"We are circling back to the Rue Scribe," he murmurs when his story is finished. "I do think it's time to go back."

Once again, Erik supports my weight on his arm as he lifts me out of the carriage. I purse my lips at the sight of the stairs before me. The outside air has infected my brain- I have a braver attitude than ever before.

"Could you carry me?" I ask innocently.

I can sense him thinking about it, but it is impossible to read his eyes accurately under the shadows of the mask.

"Of course. Forgive me," he comments deeply, his voice sounding a little empty. He swings me gently into his arms and begins to walk down with apparent ease once more.

I put my head on his shoulder, rather giddy and feeling reckless. I decide that I like the curled up feeling I experience while in his arms; it was like being rocked to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, Erik was carrying me into the drawing room.

"Would you like me to fix you lunch?" he asks, tenderly laying me on the couch.

I sit up, sweeping the disorganized clouds of fresh air from my mind. What is it that makes me so lazy when I am around Erik? I scoot over so there is a space beside me. "No. Come sit down next to me."

He stands over me with an suspicious expression. "Why?"

I give a sigh. "Because... we have had a productive morning and I would like to keep it a good afternoon."

"Productive?" he questions sourly, sitting carefully on the dark seat.

"Yes. Don't you like how we've interacted with each other?"

"Erik loves talking to his wife." he answers smugly.

I give him a soft smile. "Will you take off your mask?"

He immediately shuts down, turning away from me and tuning cold. I could almost feel his mind blocking me, all of his senses tuning unresponsive to me. I fight the tears suddenly welling up in my eyes; for a moment, I had thought he might obey me without question.

"Why do you always say no?" I demand, sniffling a little. "I have seen what you look like. You cannot honestly believe that it still bothers me."

He still faces stubbornly away from me. I lay my hand on his arm. "Tell me the truth, please. Tell me why you still won't remove your mask in my presence."

He revolves to face me. His hand goes up and he violently rips the mask from his face. I flinch at his sudden movement. "You want to know?" he says roughly. "I will tell you, my loving, wonderful wife. Every time that I think there is the tinniest chance that you might care for me, you have to remind me of why you cannot love me! Because of my face! You say we have had a productive morning - every time we seem at peace with each other, you seek to ruin it by asking to see my face!"

I am not so petty. I was, once. Not now.

"Erik, your looks have nothing to do with why I do not love you," I explain. "Perhaps at one time, but..." I mouth wordlessly for a second, not knowing how to back myself up. I bring my hands together, pulling my ankle under my cushion. It's much colder down here than outside, and it makes my ankle sore and my skin cold.

Erik gets up and brings me a white shawl from across the room. He drapes it around me silently. His mask is already back on.

"Then why?" he asks doubtfully. "What can I do to make you love me?"

You can let me go…

"Love cannot be forced, Erik."

"No?"

I bite my lip. "It must come—naturally."

He crosses his arms and towers over me. "You love for your viscount comes naturally enough, I daresay! Are you so sure it has nothing to do with looks?"

"I think we should… go have lunch now." I say hesitantly, shrinking away from his furious stance. I do not want to speak about Raoul. Erik chuckles under his breath.

"You do not wish to interact with your Erik anymore?" he mocks. "Are we no longer productive?"

"You are not being kind," I say steadily.

"Ah, but how kind I was when I did not mention your lover," he says nastily, laughing darkly, an awful, grating sound that is a shadow of its regular beauty. "How kind I was when we were not speaking of my face!"

"This is you, not me," I interject, and he suddenly flashes with white-hot anger.

"Of course this is me, and not you!" he sneers, the laughter in his voice gone. "This has always been about me, has it not? I am the one who is not perfect, I am the one who is ruining this, I am the one who cannot be loved!"

"Stop it, Erik!" I shout, leaping to my feet. "This is why I cannot love you!" I look straight into his glistening eyes. It seems unbelievable that hardly two minutes ago I was feeling such tenderness towards him. "What have you done to Raoul? He came to rescue me, and you did something to him. When I woke up, he was gone." My voice is icy cold and most unlike me.

"Raoul tried to take you away from me."

"Raoul loves me."

Erik jumps forward and grabs me harshly. I throw my hands over my mouth as his long fingers tangle into the folds of my dress as he drags me close to him. I do not quiver. I refuse to look away from him.

"Erik loves you too!" he says venomously. "Do you not believe him? What more must he do to show you his love? Has he told you how he worries about you every day, wanting you to be happy and safe? How careful he is with you, to not miss anything that you might need? Does he tell you how happy you make him when you smile or laugh? Does he tell you how gentle he tries to be with you, how careful he was when he fixed you ankle? Christine, does he tell you how beautiful, how tempting—" one hand moves from my waist, up my back, "—how desirable you are to him?"

For a moment, he comes to close to me- I think he is going to kiss me.

But he simply skims my nose with his mask, and I, on instinct, pull it off.

He growls in frustration and pushes me back onto the couch, the mask skidding across the floor as he turns away from me in anger. "Tell me, Christine, do you love me now?" he seethes, clawing at his face with his own hands.

"No."

He laughs like a maniac. "Good girl! I should think not. Erik ruins his chances whenever they pass him by, does he not?"

I curl against the couch, pretending they are my gentle Erik's arms around me, not this raging madman who stands above me. His hideous face looks down at me as he reaches, running his finger over my lips as he moans.

"You are playing games with me!" he says. "You are deliberately hurting me! You allow me to kiss your precious forehead like a child, and how grateful I am for such gifts, but you deliver them with such an attitude of grief that I cannot stand it! You are a dead wife, Christine!"

Ah, what a statement! I had allowed the man who had tried to kill my fiancé a gentle kiss, and such regret harbored inside of me because of it! Why had I made such a foolish decision? It had been so late, and so dark…

Was Erik keeping me here against my will?

I had had several chances to escape, and yet I remained here each time. Was it because I could not bear to hurt him? Why should I feel bad about hurting Erik? He was a horrible man. A horrible man who I allowed to kiss me!

A horrible man who loved me.

He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, and I have a mental image of him over me a day ago, crying "Why? Why?", while my ankle throbbed.

"You do not answer me," he states. "You have nothing to say! Are you a dead wife, Christine?"

I think of Erik and I do not want to mislead him, or give him false feelings. "No," I say.

"Ah, my dear, you give me such hope! Perhaps you do not love Raoul de Chagny after all!"

I cannot handle the constant mentions of Raoul- I feel as though I might throw up because of it. "Lunch," I say coldly. "I would like to go have lunch now."

He takes his mask from the chair and replaces it on his face. His anger is still lit, like faintly burning embers.

"Lunch," he repeats. "A sordid affair. But altogether necessary, I suppose. Whatever you wish, to avoid topic of Raoul."

I storm out of the room, hunching from my painful ankle, feeling his eyes on my back. What irritates me most is not his remarks, not his kisses, not even his temper.

It's that I still do not know where Raoul is- and I'm starting to wonder if I even care.

.