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A week or so passes with Erik without any incident. He keeps his temper and I do as I am told.

The first time he snapped at me is when I asked if we could look for somewhere to live above the Opera House. He became moody and withdrawn, and I didn't see him for the rest of the evening. He came into my room later and told me his behavior was unnecessary and not appropriate. I do believe it will be the closest Erik will ever get to sincerely apologizing.

Was he any different? At first, he was gentle, avoiding me, acting as though he had done a very great wrong and was paying for it. But his strange moods no longer annoy me—instead, they provide more insight into his character, and I love him even more because of it.

Tonight, I lay in Erik's arms. His hands had been pulling my curls very gently, but now they were still on my back; I believe he thinks I have fallen asleep. He is dressed again—something I have learned that he does instantly after our intimacy is over—and he has his hand in between us to keep me from completely touching him. I could say something, and I know he would move, but I do not want to upset him. We are moving slowly, but it is better than not moving at all.

I stir to let him know I am still awake, and his hands begin moving again. "Did I wake you?" he murmurs into the coils of my hair.

"No." I say softly.

He is still. "You should go to sleep, little love. It is quite late."

"I hardly have anything to do tomorrow, do I?" I ask. "Can I not sleep in?"

"You have nothing to do down here. Are you very bored?"

"No." I say, and it's mostly true. "But we did not sing today." I put an automatic pout on my face, even though I know he cannot see it.

He is unrepentant. "Your voice sounded tired yesterday. I do not want you straining."

He is being too logical for me to argue with him, so I lapse back into my silence. My next question is risking a violent mood change again, but he did say his behavior was inappropriate, so I hoped he would listen with a rational mind this time.

"I asked about living in Paris." I begin. "I know you do not seem keen on the idea, but I was wondering if I could change your mind."

"No. You know why not."

"Remind me."

He takes my face suddenly into his hands and pushes it up against his cheek so I can feel his cool flesh against my own. Then he pushes his hands into my neck so I can feel the clamminess and coldness of his skin. He takes my fingers and wraps them around his wrist so I can feel how thin he is.

"No one wants this out in the open with the rest of the human race. I deserve to be separated by them all. You cannot fool me; the world does not want me up there."

"I do." I reply. "Am I not more important than the world?"

He squirms. "Christine…"

I square my shoulders, if that is possible to do lying down in a bed, and take on a pleading tone. "Perhaps we could just try it? Maybe only for a week. If it is so horrible, we'll come right back home, right back here. It might not be horrible, you wouldn't have to see other people at all… oh, Erik, you've been around people before, and you know they'll just ignore you… We'll get a place in the middle of nowhere, away from where anybody could see you—"

"You've thought quite a bit about this, haven't you?"

He sounds mildly amused, as if he did not know I was capable of such thinking. I am quiet.

He lets out a deep breath. "If it means so much to you, my wife, then Erik will consider it for you."

I gently squeeze his chest, and I can feel him tighten. "Thank you." I whisper.

Erik does think about it. The next day, he asks me what part of town I would prefer to live in, and the day after that, I see him with maps on the table. I let him know I appreciate it, whether it be a soothing kiss or an affectionate touch, until I know he notices.

Finally, he comes up to me one evening as I am eating supper, and says, "Christine?"

I stop instantly and look at him.

"We will go wherever your heart desires, angel, but I do not want to leave yet. We must stay down here a little while longer, and then we will go above ground. I am not ready to leave yet. And I have not found a suitable location for us, either."

I smile encouragingly at him. "I understand." But I hope he is not just saying that. Why must we stay down here longer?

He looks at me intensely and puts his hand under my chin. "Always smiling, now." he murmurs. "Has Erik really made her happy?"

I nod, and a blindingly dazzled expression comes into his dark eyes.

His happy mood does not last for very long. Later, he is in his room, playing the organ furiously, and every note screams anger.

I do not understand, so I go to the door and knock timidly. After a minute, I realize that he would hardly be able to hear me over the noise, so I enter carefully.

"Erik?" I call. He ignores me, but the music stops on a jarring chord. Bending over, he scribbles something down. "Erik?"

"Go away." he mutters quietly.

Wounded, I move towards the door. "I'll—I'll be in the drawing room if you need me." I offer.

"Erik does not need people." he suddenly growls venomously. "Erik hates people! People chased Erik down here out of fear and selfishness, and Erik does not want to go back up!"

"I—I didn't mean to—"

"Erik tried to tell himself the same things you told me, Christine." he says roughly, turning on his bench to stare at me. "I believed them too, just as you do now, in your innocence. People will not care! If you stay away from people, they will not bother you! You would think, eh? You would think some people would have common decency and know not to stare, to imagine something else—but people, Christine, are insatiably curious. They will stare. They will ask. And once they know, they will want to rid themselves of the horror they have seen, and then—"

He laughs like a maniac. He spins and presses a frightening chord on the keyboard again, and then falls to the floor and begins to crawl towards me.

"Christine," he sighs.

His tempers are over as quickly as they come, and I kneel down and hold out my arms, like a mother waiting for her small child. He climbs into them, and I kiss the top of his head.

"There, there," I say. "We will stay down here."

I can fight the disappointment later, but now, Erik needs me.

"No," he pants, struggling against my arms to sit up and stare at me desperately. "You must be happy! You must be happy above ground!"

"I will be happy with you."

"Above?"

"Maybe."

"Here?"

"Here, too."

He shakes his head and asks, "Is it so terrible down here for you? Not because of me, but because of the dungeon you live in?"

"I miss the sky sometimes." I say wistfully.

"Would you rather have the sky, or Erik?" he questions. I want to laugh, but I can tell he is utterly serious.

"I would rather have my Erik."

"Ah," he says, and he leans up and gather me into his arms; he has gained his control again, holding the power over me. I rub my face against his jacket, singing very softly, knowing that my voice and physical contact are the two most effective essences I have to calm Erik down.

He is already back to normal, however, and he lifts me completely off my feet and deposits me on the couch in the drawing room. He begins to sing to me, fixing the soft pillow behind me head, smoothing down my skirts, and tucking my hair behind my ears.

He keeps his voice going, looking right into my eyes unashamedly. He finally takes one of my hands and brings it to his mouth and breathes a few notes against it, and then lays it back of the couch, keeping his hand wrapped around it. His anger has evaporated, and I do not think I will ever have the heart to bring up leaving here again.

I cannot say anything. Sometimes, being quiet around Erik is most rewarding.

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