May 11th, 1886.

Dear Erik,

I apologise for the lateness of my reply. The children's birthday fell during the past two weeks and Raoul simply insisted on inviting as many people as he could fit into the dining hall. I'm not too sure if the boys appreciated all the company, but their attention was soon diverted to the multitude of presents addressed to them.

The party itself was a great success, if one ignores Christopher's antics involving his fork, a piece of veal and the Countess de Roseville's dress. Sometimes I wonder if, somehow, he has inherited your... creative nature, if it were at all possible. Phillippe on the other hand was a perfect angel and accepted every one of his gifts with utmost gratitude. I'm so very proud of them both (Christopher was given a stern talking to by Raoul, in case you were to wonder)!

For all the room was packed however, I couldn't help but feel slightly lonely, as I'd just received your letter and had only had time to read half. Everywhere I looked, I would see your black mask and cloak, which made me feel rather guilty for not at least inviting you.

I must confess: I have not been in the best of health these past two years. I do not wish to alarm you, but there have been times where I feel so consumed by guilt that I cannot even get out of bed in the-

I brought the pen away from the paper and sighed. Could I even finish that sentence? After all Erik had done to me, to Raoul, to hundreds of other people, I found myself able to confide in him like no other, not even my darling husband. And that scared me.

I loved Raoul with all my heart. If I were to repeat the past eight years, I would choose him everytime and would flee with him before I could sing that accursed line in Faust. But it was how I had treated Erik that kept me awake at night, lulled me into trances at the dinner table and distracted me while Raoul was courting me in the gardens on our strolls. Sometimes, all I could see was him, and all I could hear was his cries as he clutched the hem of my dress. I would cower from strangers occasionally, seeing his black mask for a moment.

My poor, unhappy Erik was making me a poor, unhappy Christine. It was the same when I watched my children playing with their little wooden soldiers and horses on the floor in the sitting room, and a surge of pride and love would wash through me like a wave at the beach in Perros-Guirec. How could a mother hate her child? How could she force a mask on his face and refuse to see him without it? How could she shun him and bar him from her heart? It baffled me now, much more than when I'd been unmarried and childless.

Please, Erik, do not worry for me. I simply felt guilty about leaving you without a second thought. Now, I cannot condone your actions. I shall never forget the weeks of doctor's appointments and bedrest my husband required after his time in your wicked torture chamber. And yet I cannot unsee the broken man behind your mask, who wept and wept for me, whom I kissed on the forehead, cried with and called my poor, unhappy Erik.

The children send their regards to you. Christopher found one of your letters that must have slipped from my diary in my room and I've had to bribe him to keep quiet. He really is too much like you at times: I am now paying a princely, weekly fee for his growing wooden soldier collection. I do suppose there are worse things for a young man to spend his money on.

I do hope Ayehsa, the Daroga and Darius keep you on your toes. You were never one to be idle for more than a day. And please do not perform your Don Juan! I fear for the minds of every Parisian within a three mile radius and the nobility of neighbouring counties in attendance!

Your friend,
Christine.

I breathed a long sigh and slid the letter into the awaiting envelope without thinking of what was on it. The dinner bell rang downstairs and, clutching the envelope, I walked down to meet my family, passing it to Caitlin for her to deliver in secret in the morning when she went grocery shopping.

It would be yet another week of waiting and pretending. Raoul filled my wine glass for me with a smile as the first course invited us to its warm, soupy smell.

Had Erik ever eaten at a table such as this, in a room as grand and long as this, with cutlery so shiny a magpie would kill for it?

I caught Caitlin's eye as she hurried away to help with the next course. She kept going, pressing her lips into a tight line and sorting through her messy, brunette bun of hair.

That was when I began to dread Erik's response.