I made my way to the library to reassure Christine that I'd put Reza's fears to rest without divulging the particulars of our…unfortunate situation. She seemed quite relieved and actually rewarded me with a shadow smile.

"Right, well, I'm going to go have a look at my new bed…by the way, Reza would really appreciate our joining him for dinner if we can manage it." I was nearly out the door when I felt Christine's little fingers tugging at my sleeve.

"May I see? Your new…coffin."

"Oh, of course."

I noticed that Christine's lips paled and tightened when she entered my room again, but soon she was drawn in by the new box. She ran her hands over the luxe burgundy velvet and satin interior.

"Oooh, Erik, so sumptuous!" she cooed.

"Yes, well, ha ha; I'm worth it."

"It looks bigger than the other."

"Perhaps that is the shape…it doesn't really do to try it out in the shop, so I don't know," I admitted. I slipped out of my shoes, coat and waistcoat and slipped down to give it a try. "About the same, really," I appraised. "I think it is the shape after all."

Before I was able to clamber out of my coffin, Christine popped on top of me. Youth.

"Christine, this isn't necessary," I advised, stiffly.

"I know, but it's quite cozy, really. I've always wondered. Erik, kiss…" she instructed, loosening my shirt.

"Please don't. I don't feel right about this," I sighed.

"Why not?" she purred, peppering my chest with kisses. "What does she do that I can't? Show me."

How does one explain dark, soulless rot to an angel of light? If there is a way, I don't know what it is. I tried to lift Christine out, but she wouldn't release me.

"Erik, you can't keep running away from me! How will we ever make a life together if you run away whenever troubles surface?" she demanded.

"Running away has served me bloody well for a good long time, Comtesse!" I snapped.

"Why won't you let me be what you want?" she mourned.

"Because it's not what I want! It's not what you want!"

"It's not what you want?" she cried. "Liar!" She scrambled to her feet, giving me a knee in the gut in the process. She pushed the heavy drapes aside to stare out at the grey and purple sky. I padded up behind her, uncertain as to whether I should touch her or not. Everything was uncertain anymore...it was the uncertainty I hated most of all, I think.

"I want to be normal with you, Christine. You're the only chance I have to be normal, you must see that."

"Well, if you really wanted to be normal, that would be fine, but you don't do you? If you wanted to be normal we'd never be having this conversation," she replied tartly.

I closed the lid on my box and sat down, head in hands. "It was a mistake, for god's sake, Christine." She sat beside me. "And you're wrong; I've always wanted to be normal."

"It's not as if anyone would know what we got up to, Erik. Who's to say you're normal or not?"

"It almost sounds reasonable, the way you say it," I scoffed. "You'd know, and I'd know—isn't that enough?"

"I am afraid of losing you," she admitted, so quietly I could scarcely hear her, "if I can't please you."

"But you do please me," I insisted. I caught her hands in my own and covered them with kisses where they lay in her lap. She was crying so hard, she couldn't even realize the absurdity of what she was saying.

"Christine, how can you imagine you'll lose me? Surely you don't believe there are women lined up awaiting their chance with me? Have you forgotten? Look at me, my Love."

"You don't see yourself," she insisted. "You don't know…"

"I see myself every day, Christine; I admit it's flattering, but I think it's you who doesn't see."

"Josette saw," she declared flatly.

I sighed. "Christine, it feels like a knife whenever you say that."

"It feels like a knife whenever I think of it," she countered.

"I don't see that we are accomplishing anything here," I grumbled. "You're laboring under some delusion that I'm a highly desirable catch, and if seeing me maskless as often as you have can't convince you otherwise, I don't know what could." I strode to the window, irritable.

"Erik—"

"Hush, Christine. You're behaving like a foolish little chorus girl, and I dislike it intensely. I told you that Creole bitch was a madwoman; now, you'll either forgive me my indiscretion or you will not. I do not intend to discuss my peccadilloes with you, and I do not intend to listen to you carry on as if I'm something worth losing." I snapped. Imagine the idea of a beautiful woman like her, worrying that some other woman might actually spirit a monster like me away!

Several tense, silent moments later, Christine tugged at my sleeve again. I turned, ready to give battle, but she slipped her arms around my neck.

"You are to me," she whispered. Oh, god; feeling her precious, fragrant warmth again; I'd been starving. My tears trickled into her hair.

"Why are you here, Angel?" I wondered aloud, "I'll never be worthy of you. I don't know how to begin to be worthy of you."