Defenseless:

Now that Yvette and the demon had awakened me from my dreams, I had to face reality again. Once I managed to control my sobs, I looked down once more at the image of my wife and I felt bile rise in my throat when I noticed the deep red stain that had begun to seep through the covers, evidence of the demon's homicide. I carefully removed my arms from Christine's lifeless body and laid her back against the pillows as gently as possible so I could leave our marriage bed. I needed to call a priest and arrange for her funeral. Unfortunately, the only priest I knew was the one that married Christine and I, and he hadn't been very willing to commit Christine to a life lived with someone like me. Somehow, I doubted he would understand that I had not murdered my wife. Not intentionally, a voice sounded in my head, but it was you who planted the seed of death inside her. I tried to shut out the voice, but I knew it was right. I was just as guilty as the babe. I leaned back over the bed and brushed my lips against Christine's cold brow as I whispered. "Please, forgive me."

As soon as I exited the room, I saw Yvette heading my way down the hall. The harbinger of death wasn't in her arms I noticed with some relief, but a set look of determination was etched into her face and that was nearly as bad.

"Monsieur! Monsieur! A word please?" She nearly ran to catch up with me as I made my way down the hall in the opposite direction. "Please? It will not take long…"

I continued to ignore the servant and soon I was at the door of my personal study. "I'm afraid I'm terribly busy, you see, my wife just died and I have to plan her funeral." I spat. I felt no remorse when I saw the effect my words had on little Yvette, in fact, a part of me felt good that my words could still drain the color from someone's face and leave them speechless. After no reply came from the girl, I entered my study and stalked over to my liquor cabinet. I had not opened it in a long time, so long in fact, that I could not actually recall the last time I had sipped any of its contents. Christine hated drinking, so much so that she considered anything more than a glass of wine at dinner alcoholism. Now, since she was not with me to still the voices that had started raging in my head, my old companion would have to do.

I poured myself a full glass of brandy and threw it back immediately, nearly coughing from the unfamiliar fiery sensation in my throat. After the burn had faded I poured myself another glass, and then another and I continued until I was too drunk to pour anymore into my glass, successfully. I tried to walk over to my favorite chair, and I managed to make it without serious injury, but I knocked into the liquor cabinet and an end table, giving myself what I knew would be a nasty bruise on my shin and sending a vase full of flowers to the floor. I paid no heed to the broken glass or spilt water though, but before I could even praise myself for seating myself in my chair, Yvette came crashing into the room.

"Are you alright!?" She was alarmed, but that seemed to fade when she noticed that I was safe, secure, and drunk in my chair and it was only the vase of flowers that had sustained any damage. "Monsieur, how much did you drink?" Yvette seemed to be eyeing the nearly empty brandy glass as if it was going to jump out and attack her. I wondered if maybe Christine was not so out there with her feeling on alcohol, perhaps all creatures of the fairer sex shared the same views on the substance.

"Oh not so much, there is still plenty if you want some." I mumbled out and then chuckled at my own joke.

Yvette didn't seem to share my humor though. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she placed the stopper back in my brandy bottle and returned it to its home in the cabinet. "No thank you. Now that you're not so busy, would you mind me telling you what I intended on telling you earlier?"

I remembered then how hesitant I was to hire Yvette. She was young, and bold, and when she saw my mask during her interview, she merely said, 'So Mademoiselle Daae married the Opera Ghost after all?' Of course, my Christine loved her unafraid attitude and demanded at once that Yvette be hired as her servant during her pregnancy. I should have realized then how annoying the outspoken servant girl was going to be.

During the silence that filled the room while I reminisced back to her hiring, Yvette continued. "You cannot blame your child for what happened to Christine."

Her words caught my attention and I titled my head towards her, my visible eyebrow raised. "Oh? I can't? I'm afraid you are not only out of line to say so, but you are wrong as well. I already do blame it." I calmly stated, but I could feel my blood start to simmer in my veins.

"Then you sadden Christine's spirit! She gave her life for nothing then." Yvette declared as she stared me down.

I felt fury roar inside me like never before! I stood up and glared at the insolent girl before me. "Don't speak to me of Christine! She did not willingly give her life! It was stolen from her! I will not cuddle and coo to a murderer! The damned thing deserves to die for what it did!" I shouted so loudly my body shook, as did the small girl in front of me. My roars must have awoken the cursed thing I was talking about, because from down the hall I heard its wail start up.

Yvette seemed torn. Her instincts were telling her to go and tend to the crying demon, while the rest of her wanted to stay and defend it. "If what you say is true, Monsieur, then Christine is just as much as a murderer!" Yvette's voice shook, but she did not back down, and it infuriated me further. "Her mother died as well, remember? Should Christine have been killed as a babe, like you would condemn your own child?"

I paced the room, my anger so great I was nearly seeing red. I wanted to strangle the girl, as well as the crying babe down the hall. I wanted to throw them both against the wall so their necks would snap, but I wouldn't…I couldn't. A girl with kind eyes and an angelic voice had tamed the monster inside of me long ago. What would have happened to me if she had never gotten the chance to live? I would have lived out my pitiful existence underneath the Opera Populaire, killing and bringing havoc to others because I felt I had been wronged by the world.

"That child is a piece of Christine, the last piece you have. Instead of damning it, perhaps you should cherish it?" Yvette said with a calm voice, like she was talking me down from jumping off a cliff.

She was making too much sense. I roared and threw the closet object I had, a crystal paperweight at the wall behind her. She shrieked and ducked down as the object flew over her and crashed against the wall behind her. As the tiny shards fell down and tinkled to the floor she ran from the room, leaving me alone with the knowledge she had just bestowed upon me.

---

The effects of the brandy slowly wore off as the night continued, but the words Yvette had spoken were not so quick to leave my mind. I stayed in my study and sat, thinking of what she had said. I was supposed to cherish the thing that had killed my wife. But how? I kept trying to picture Christine as a babe, how had her father felt? How could he consider her a blessing after the price he had paid for her? I kept thinking back to the stories Christine would tell me of her father, how he had always loved her and doted on her and done all he could to protect her from any unhappiness. I felt my blood run cold as I remembered what she once said to me.

"One time, when I was much younger, I asked Papa why he loved me so much. He had just bought me a new dress and I played outside and ruined it. He was so angry, but only for a moment, and then he went right back to loving me, and I didn't know how, or why, he did it. So I asked him why he loved my so much, when he answered he told me my mother made him promise that he would love me enough for the two of them. He told me he wasn't allowed to be angry at me for very long, because then he wouldn't be loving me enough, and he would be breaking his promise to Mama."

Her dying words echoed in my mind. "Love her enough for the two of us." Her father had managed to love her enough for he and his wife, much more, according to the adoration and love Christine held for his memory. It was because of her father that Christine had become the woman that I had fallen in love with. If her father could see Christine as a blessing and love her, could I not do the same for my child?

I slowly made my way from my study and down the darkened hallways of my house. Yvette had left the candles burning low for me, but I did not need them. My eyes were still keen after all the years I had spent in the light. Finally, I reached my destination, the room Christine had designated as 'Baby's Room.'

I eased the door open as slowly as possible, my heart pounded like crazy in my chest as I did so. The moon was high in the sky and the silvery rays spilt into the room and lit it up so brightly that I could easily see everything in the room. I was surprised to find Yvette's sleeping form on top of the small white bed, but I realized she must have been sleeping in the room with the child because she had taken up the role of nurse herself. I silently walked over to the bassinet and gazed down into it.

I was amazed at the sight that greeted my eyes. I had only seen the child once, and I was unimpressed with her bruised and battered appearance, but only after a day or so there had been almost a complete transformation. Her face was not scrunched any longer, and although her eyes were closed with sleep, they were not squinted like before. Now it was only my deformity that marred the delicate face snuggled in the pink blankets beneath me. I raised a shaky hand and traced one of the little angry scars.

"Please, forgive me…" I whispered, surprised at how my throat had closed up. The babe stirred under my touch but didn't awaken. I had to blink a few times to fight off the tears as my mind wandered.

---

"Darling, would you rather it be a boy or a girl?" Christine asked as she tenderly rubbed her swollen belly. She was nearing seven months and she still hadn't decided if she wanted a boy or a girl.

"How many times must I tell you? I will be overjoyed no matter what it is. I have no preference."

Christine rolled her eyes and swatted across the breakfast table at me. "I think I would like a girl, so I could dress her up and have tea parties with her, but then I think I would like a boy, just like his father." She said and smiled affectionately over at me.

I scoffed. "Be careful what you wish for, it may come true if you're not careful."

Christine leaned over and placed a kiss on my ruined cheek, something that still amazed me. "Oh, Erik, it wouldn't be so bad for him to be like you. You're kind, and generous, and loving…"

"Madame, you are much too kind." I said with a small smile.

"But I would love to have a girl, so maybe Meg could teach her dance one day. And I could teach her how to sing, and you could teach her to draw!" Christine said happily. "That settles it! I want a girl!"

"Well, then I want a girl as well." I said, my smile growing larger as Christine's happiness grew.

Christine became slightly more somber though. "Erik, will you promise me something?"

"Anything and everything, my dear." I said honestly.

"Please don't wear your mask around her. I don't want her to ever think her Papa has any reason to hide who he is." Christine caught my eyes with her own and I knew she was looking at the fear reflecting in them. "She will love you just as much without your mask."

I didn't know how Christine could be so sure, but I couldn't deny her this wish, I could see how much it mattered to her. I took a deep breath and tried to settle my fears as I nodded my head. "Alright."

---

I continued to look down at the sleeping child below me as I lifted my hand to remove my mask. The cool night air felt good against my heated flesh and helped dry the tears I hadn't known I started crying. She would never see my mask, just as Christine wished. I placed the white leather on the nightstand next to the bassinet so I could use both my hands and pick up the small bundle of blankets.

She was so light and small I was afraid I would break her if I held too tightly. I could feel her chest rise and fall as she slept and I was unable to control my silent tears. For long nine months, I had dreamt about this exactly. Nine months I waited to see the child I had felt kick and for nine months I had waited to see whose heartbeats and hiccups I had been listening to, and now, finally, I was. I had once heard that a father would fall in love with his daughter the moment he set eyes on her, but I had blocked my heart from finding any joy that night. Now my guard was down and I felt myself fall in love with the child I so carefully held in my arms. I was wrong to think she had stolen Christine from me; she was actually helping save her. I held in my arms the last piece of Christine I had, and I silently vowed to protect her, just as I promised myself all those years ago to protect Christine when I found her, orphaned and alone in the bowels of the opera house.

Soon the bundle in my arms began to wiggle, and then small whining sounds came from it. I knew she was getting hungry by the way she blindly searched for something to latch onto, but I had no idea what to do. I looked over at Yvette's sleeping form and noticed that she was also stirring from the noise the babe was making. I quickly, but carefully, put my child back in the bassinet and fled from the room, back to my study, not even realizing I had left my mask sitting on the nightstand.

Although I may have not noticed my missing mask, when Yvette go up to feed the babe with a bottle a wet nurse had left earlier in the day, she noticed immediately the white leather. She smiled and whispered to the babe in her arms. "There now, I told you that your Papa loves you."