That first night I watched her as she slept, listening uneasily to the frustrated shouts I could hear from the viscomte's little search party as they tried to discover where I had taken the girl. It wasn't until it was nearly dawn and she had finally stopped waking up every so often to sob the viscomte's accursed name that I completed the project I worked on and deemed it safe enough to remove my costume from the masque and retreat into my old familiar clothing. The cool, damp air of my home felt good against my temporarily bare disfigurement, but I couldn't relish in the feeling for too long.

Were Christine to rouse while I was unmasked, I was certain I would lose her completely. I would have to tread delicately around her until she finally began to see things my way. Perhaps, were she obedient that day, I would offer to bring her to see her father's grave. Small but powerful acts like that were sure to help me win her over.

I stole away across the lake while she slept, making certain to keep my movements as quiet as possible so as not to wake her. I hoped to return having completed my errands long before she stirred. I first had a series of notes to set up for delivery, including three that Madame Giry would have to hand out for me.

I also had to see a boy about fetching a short list of supplies for Christine and I. Simply because she was to remain below ground with me did not mean I was going to deprive her of the finer things in life. The boy met me where he always had, just beyond the entrance to the sewers, and took my money and list, nodding when I made him promise to make haste. He would deliver my things within a few hours.

I was relieved when I returned home to find Christine was still sleeping. It alarmed me how tense she looked, though I had deemed it normal during the night. She was still adjusting. It would take her some time to learn to live a life like mine, a life in the shadows, in permanent nighttime.

She seemed to be shivering despite the blankets that already covered her, so I removed my cape and covered her with that, too. My hand hovered near her face for a long moment before I very gently caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. She seemed to relax a bit at my touch, which in turn caused me to tense up. Does she realize where she is? I wondered. Does she know of the foul beast who dares touch her perfect face?

I hesitated before I pulled away from her, not wanting to disturb her slumber any more than I already had. Surely she wouldn't approve of Erik touching her while she slept, while she could not protest.

I returned to my organ and played a few careful notes that had the ability to send me into a blind rage, yet I remained exquisitely calm. The melody which I played bore a striking resemblance to that which Christine had sung to the viscomte while I cowered behind my statue, too heartbroken to move. If only the foolish girl could understand how she hurts Erik, how she tortures him. Perhaps then she would understand why I can't let her go.