Author's Note: My apologies for putting this note on the top. I have a reason: I haven't been able to log in to for quite a while now. Now that I have managed to log in, I've found that I cannot upload new documents. Long story short, I edited an old chapter document and put this new one here. However, due to several technical issues, none of which I can comprehend, there is no formatting available for editing the document adequately, so I've had to resort to HTML tagging. It is a tedious process, and susceptible to error. I'm hoping and hoping this will work correctly. If it doesn't, and all the text is garbled, it is better to have a note warning you of this in advance, instead of making you scroll down to the end, right?

Enjoy, hopefully!

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The Fall

He says I must hurry, so I will write this down quickly while he waits: he is going to let me go! Seven days, he promised! Oh, Isabella, I'm so happy I could scream! You don't know I did this, but I hugged you wildly just now.

—And now, I must hurry. He told me to come out soon.

—Freedom!

.

He gave me a ring. He said that so long as I wear it, he will be my friend. Ominous words, but it is such a small price to pay for freedom!

Euphoria gone. Tears. The most awful thought—I must know soon. I do not think I could bear this being yet another of his deceptions. His mask is the answer; it must be the answer. Should I?

You cannot help.

He calls again.

.

The music doesn't stop! Tell him to stop, someone! Anyone! Please, I beg you, Erik. Stop this music….

Oh, Bella, what have I done? The music!

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The clock on my dresser says that the time is now 3:23 a.m. I haven't slept at all this night and I finally decided to turn to you. Perhaps you can help me get some rest.

Awful, awful, awful. What a despicable day this has been! And it's entirely my fault! What do I do, Bella? Why was I so stupid? Oh, poor Erik! I was afraid for myself, but after a while, I grew afraid for him, too. He scared me so much! My wrists are bruised and my head is sore. I can still feel his skeletal fingers in my hair, tearing my scalp. And there is a cut on my head too. I think I got it when he threw me down. Did I fall against the cabinet? I do not remember how things happened. His face, it—! And his voice thundering at me the worst I'd ever heard and all the time his face his ghastly face and—. I thought I had seen him angry before. Perhaps I have. But this was uncontrolled fury. Oh, and the sorrow! Poor Erik!

I cannot sleep. I wish, I wish…. I wish too much. Why—? The very thought of it burns, incinerates like his—.

I took off his mask. I had to know! Please tell me you understand. If I didn't look, I would have gone mad. I could not bear the idea of him lying to me yet again. I snatched it away and his face—! Oh, it's hideous! But—. Why, why, why?

I tell myself that I must not think of it, but I can't avoid it. Everywhere I look—. Everywhere! It surrounds me!

Why?!

Oh, this is useless! I cannot think coherently! Later, perhaps….

I am such a foolish—I can't think of any word strong enough to use for myself.

My wrists are so sore….

What have I done, Bella?

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4:15 a.m. No sleep yet. I can't stop thinking, pacing, remembering. What should I do? You're supposed to help me reorder my thoughts, but you can't. It's too much. Too much to say. What should I do?

.

Morning. The last time I looked at the clock, it was 6:50 a.m. That was a long time ago. I don't know if I should go out. Should I?

I haven't heard anything from outside. Where is he?

.

My head is aching. I want to speak to him. Where is he?

.

I can't find him. Has he left? Where is he?

.

I can hear the music again! He is back. I was beginning to panic. I will speak to him.

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Poor Erik…. Poor, unhappy Erik. I spoke to him. I meant everything I said.

.

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I feel as if I am a different person writing here. It's been three days since everything happened…. Three days. More like three centuries.

Where do I begin?

I cannot write about it.

Please understand, Bella. It is too close, too raw. Besides, my wrists are still sore. Call that justification, if you must. It is what it is. I just can't write about it.

Later.

He says that he will release me, despite what I did. I spoke to him. I forgave—no, I forgive—him for his reaction. Does he forgive me? I would not have cared earlier, but now….

Everything makes sense now.

This is not a nightmare.

Unless his face is one.

But that cannot be. No. It isn't. I would not imagine something like that.

Why did I want to know so much?

It is likely that I am the most accursed fool under the sun.

'Under the earth' would be more precise, but I don't know many people who live underground.

Is it good that I am striving to find humour somewhere?

I've been reading you and I've noticed that I wallow in tears and self-pity. Enough of that. From this day forth, I will confront everything with dignity. I have self-respect, or at least I did, once. I might still hate him for what he has done—these events change nothing; I need to be free—but I will not let him see my weaknesses. Christine had better leave me for good.

I know that's easy to say, but as I live, I do not want to abase myself further.

I am at a loss for words, Bella. I keep on thinking of it. Poor Erik. Poor, unhappy Erik.

The ring means a lot more now. I don't want to wear it, but I don't know what he will do if I take it off. It chafes at my finger. I've never liked rings.

I'll begin to be dignified now. No more will I speak about my emotions. David Copperfield (yet another Dickens, I know) has been occupying my time these past days. I couldn't bear to write in you, so I read instead. The first part made me cry. It is—.

I can't do this anymore. I've been trying and trying to write coherently, but the words don't flow like they used to. I'll continue later, perhaps.

Goodbye, Isabella.

Yours ever,

Christine