A long chapter! I'm now exhausted! Take pity on me and review because I've been sick for almost a week.

Paladin65

Sophia could barely hold on to the leather folder Erik extended to her. Both of her hands were clammy, trembling so terribly she knew he would notice. With a nervous chuckle she grasped it with both hands and forced an uncertain smile.

"This is heavy," she said under her breath as she unfastened the clasp and peered inside at several sheets of paper. "What is this?"

"Music," Erik answered softly.

Sophia smiled weakly, her breath catching in her throat as she studied the first sheet of paper. Her name was written along the top, each letter long and sweeping. He had elegant penmanship, she thought to herself. Masterful, just as she had imagined

In the top right corner was his first name. The way that he wrote it was very different compared to how her own name was displayed. The letters were small, the strokes short, the dotting of the 'i' a violent slash. It appeared hastily penned, she thought. Unable to look away from the page, the distinct differences captivated her.

"Why does it have my name on the top?" she asked obtusely.

When Erik offered no immediate answer, Sophia glanced up at him and saw that his face was crimson. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands behind his back. "It's…it's the name of the composition."

"Oh," she said, heat rising to her cheeks.

"I wrote it for you several days ago."

"Oh," Sophia said again with a bit more surprise.

He'd mentioned this, she thought. Hadn't he? Yes, she was certain he had told her that he was writing her a song. That seemed so very long ago, so distant. Sophia wanted those days back, those times of quiet moments, of security and warmth. She'd never taken notice of how she felt toward Philippe and Erik until now when her mind was telling her that distance was safety yet her heart wanted everything the way it had been.

"It's not perfect. The piece, I mean to say. It needs work, but I wanted to bring it to you. If you don't…" He exhaled and met her eye. "If you don't like it…"

Sophia's wistful smile widened as her gaze darted from the sheet music to the composer. "Why wouldn't I like it?"

"It's not Mozart."

Sophia shrugged. "Everyone has heard Mozart." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Will I be the first to hear this?"

Erik nodded, the self-deprecation of an artist never clearer than what was reflected in his light eyes that moment.

Hugging the papers to her chest, Sophia looked away, uncertain of herself. "I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Erik visibly swallowed, his sincerity and nervousness a welcomed distraction from the blackness Sophia had felt shrouding her. She knew for certain now that he had read her note, as she had asked him to play for her and he had now given her sheet music. It embarrassed her, as her note was poorly written, her thoughts erratic. She must have sounded like an uneducated farm girl to him.

"I shall assume that you didn't bring a piano with you this evening?" Sophia said with an uncertain laugh.

Erik took a tentative step forward, keeping his left hand on his chair while his right arm remained straight at his side. He was showing her that he wouldn't touch her, she knew, but it brought little sense of security—yet another indication that her life would never be the same.

"I decided against it," he replied with a weak smile.

"A wise decision, I would wager," she said under her breath. A smile crept onto her lips, another flicker of normalcy calming her fears.

"I will play for you this evening if you would like," Erik offered. "If you are rested and in need of company."

"That would be lovely," Sophia answered with a nod as she skimmed through the six sheets of music. When she got to the last page she saw that it was folded in half. Sophia attempted to grab the sheet, but her hands were still shaking. The sheets of music she attempted to shuffle into place escaped her grasp and fluttered onto the floor, most of them landing at her feet. The title page, however, was drawn past the hearth and into the fire.

As quickly as he could, Erik reached into the flames with his bare hand. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he shook out his hand and watched in vain as the sheet was consumed by the flames, crumbling to ash before their eyes.

"I'm so terribly sorry," she sobbed, having no idea where these emotions had come from. She bit her lip so hard that she expected to draw blood, but only tears came, hotter and stronger than she thought possible. "Please forgive me."

-o-

Erik started to reach for Sophia but drew his hand back, afraid to touch her, yet fearing that if he didn't she would feel abandoned. It was difficult for him to understand, as he'd longed for just one embrace, one kiss for most of his life. To refuse such a simple gesture seemed cruel, but this was what she wanted, and for her he would do anything.

"There's nothing to forgive," Erik said quietly, uncertain of whether or not she heard him through her muffled sobs. His hand reached out to her again, his fingers inches away from her arm. Surely she'd welcome the comfort…or did he want her to comfort him?

He couldn't bring himself to do it, to risk hurting her when he had no idea what was upsetting her. Helpless, he knelt and stared at the singed paper. It was readable, for the most part. What had been burned away he didn't need to see.

"I've memorized it," he said under his breath. "I'll write another, Sophia."

"I'm so careless," she wept.

"It was an accident," he said.

Truly an accident, he wanted to tell her. He'd caused much worse accidents, ones truly worth sobbing over. This accident could be undone. "Please," he whispered, though he had no idea what to say to her. No one had ever sought comfort in his presence. He could kill for her much easier than he could soothe her. "Citrine will return soon," he offered lamely.

Sophia wiped her eyes and pulled her legs up to her chest. "If I hadn't opened the door…" she cried, covering her mouth with her hand. "None of this would have happened."

His lips quivered. When would she allow herself peace, he wondered, as he knelt closer.

"If he had not come here, none of this would have happened," Erik said under his breath.

He studied Sophia while she stared at the floor. The belt marks around her neck created such fury in him that he wished he had already killed Turro. He'd allowed Turro two unspoken choices: Cut through his loose bindings and die somewhere in the snow or wait until he was found the next morning and face his execution.

"You need rest," Erik told her, his voice more stern than he had intended.

Sophia planted her palms on the floor and winced as she applied pressure to her injured hand. Almost immediately she gave up and bowed her head, one last sob escaping before her body shook in tormented silence.

"I should have stayed with you," he whispered. "I knew I should have stayed with you until your brother returned."

And then suddenly Sophia clutched his extended hand, her grasp painfully tight considering her small stature. She pressed down on the burns he'd acquired while attempting to retrieve the sheet of music, but he didn't move, refused to deny her.

Erik felt himself stiffen, his breath catching in his throat as her sobs became louder, briefly turning into stifled wails before she buried her face against his chest.

"Don't leave," she choked, her breath hot against the middle of his chest. "I don't want to be in the house by myself."

Sophia balled her hand into a fist around his shirt as Erik gently placed his palm against the center of her back. Swallowing hard, Erik felt her body tense as she cried harder, so hard that Erik thought she would break into a thousand pieces.

"I'm here," he whispered against her hair. Her tears dampening his shirt, her hands coiled tightly around the fabric. Her head tilted to the side and brushed against his mask, which slid off to the side. As carefully as he could, Erik removed it and set it on the floor.

Closing his eyes, Erik merely sat with his arm gently draped around Sophia. His only fear was holding her too tight, as he didn't know the extent of her injuries. He'd suffered enough beatings in his lifetime to remember how tender and painful bruises were when fresh.

A hollow moan escaped Sophia's lips, her body beginning to relax at last. She suddenly went limp, completely defenseless. With her nestled against him, her body seemed smaller, more fragile than ever as though the night had sapped the life out of her. Unable to see her face, Erik was unsure of whether she was awake or if she had exhausted herself into sleep. It didn't much matter, as he intended to stay as long as Sophia would allow.

Peering out the window he saw the sun break over the trees and snow-capped hills. The pallid sky and stark white snow, pure and undisturbed, framed a fresh day. He wondered if anyone would notice the clear dawn.

She was sleeping now. A final murmur escaped her lips, her arms falling to her sides. Though his back ached and his arms were beginning to cramp, he'd not dare to move. She had sought comfort from a man whose soul was as disfigured as his face. More apt to kill than caress, more willing to fight than seek peace, Erik was more incomplete than he'd ever realized.

"I'm true to you," he whispered. At last he needed no threats and false promises to garner her time and affection. If she loved him it would be because she wanted to love him, which was far more than he'd ever experienced before.

Swallowing the lump wedged in his throat, Erik pressed the good side of his face to the top of Sophia's head and inhaled. The brightness of the stark white snow reflecting the sunlight made his eyes water.

The only consolation he could find while sitting on the floor was that the snow would melt soon. So many wasted years, he thought to himself, spent in the darkness, in unfeeling shadows. Erik relished the warmth he felt as sunlight fell upon them, as the new light warmed his face. At last he felt comforting and comfortable.

He was tired of the cold.

-o-

Gabe and Citrine decided it was more important to wake Philippe than pay Karl Turro a visit. Fidelio, however, disagreed and took to keeping watch.

"You're exhausting yourself, Citrine," Gabe said as they made their way across the yard.

"I'm fine."

"I've had more sleep than you. Return home and rest for a while."

Citrine squeezed his shoulder. "Do you honestly believe I could shut my eyes now?" she questioned with a humorless laugh.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Gabe replied.

"Once we see how Monsieur Dupree fares I will return to Sophia. Does that fare well with you?"

Gabe, realizing there was little else he could do, nodded and ran his hand down her back. "You're a good woman," he said under his breath.

Once they arrived at the main house, they were greeted by the sound of Philippe moaning, which sent them both flying through the front door and calling Philippe's name.

"Here!" Philippe shouted.

Citrine saw him on his hands and knees at the top of the stairs. With Gabe at her heels, Citrine raced up the steps and sat beside Philippe, brushing his hair back to examine the wound on his forehead.

"You must want us to dig your grave this morning, you foolish man," she said through her teeth. "Must you be so stubborn?"

"Where is Sophia?" Philippe wheezed.

"She's fine," Citrine replied.

"Is she alone?"

"No, Monsieur Belmont is at her side."

"You were to stay with her," Philippe barked.

"Yes, yes, but apparently you cannot be trusted to stay put. Gabe, do you have rope? Tie him to his bed."

"Pardon me?" Gabe said, suddenly alarmed by Ctirne's request.

"You will do no such thing," Philippe replied, appalled by the thought. "Both of you, out of my way. I will look after her if no one else will do so."

Rolling her eyes, Citrine gestured at Philippe. "Remove him from the floor and return him to bed. And make certain he stays there," she told Gabe. "I will stay with Sophia. If you rest yourself, Monsieur, you'll be well enough to return home this afternoon. Sophia would appreciate seeing you again, I'm certain of it."

Without looking at Citrine, Philippe nodded. "How is she?" he asked under his breath.

"As well as could be expected," Citrine replied. Glancing at Gabe, she nodded. "If either of you should need anything, come find me."

Walking down the stairs once more, she decided it was time to see if Karl Turro had survived the night.