Dear Journal,

In these entries it seems as if I always write in contradictions. For example, today was the oddest it's ever been only because of the sheer normality of it all.

Erik woke long before me—I still wonder how he manages that—and did some shopping. No, I have misspoken again; 'some' is a severe understatement. It was more than 'some' in the same way the Crusades were more than 'a minor scuffle'. But I digress.

Christine awoke earlier than usual, confused when she reached for Erik to find him missing and his side of the bed, cold. Suddenly the memories came back of the previous night… Erik returning, a child in arms… a series of strange conversations… finding him and the baby asleep in the workroom…

She rose and dressed quickly, wanting to check and see if it was not all just some bizarre dream. It was possible, after all. Anything was possible in the fifth cellar.

Ah, but this dream really happened. She thought as she looked into the little crib and saw the babe already awake and staring about the room with her large eyes. Christine frowned--why wasn't she screaming for food or attention or something of the sort? She knew little of babies, but she didn't recall it being normal for one to react so passively to waking up alone. Not one to take chances with small children, she set about changing the makeshift diaper and warming the bottle of milk that Erik had left for her.

Speaking of Erik… where has that man gone off to this time?

Just then she heard a bell, followed by the sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of two men bickering.

"Hurry up, daroga! Am I going to have to spend the whole day waiting up for you?"

"I nearly just had an arrow through my head you madman!"

"Then you should have been listening better. Did I not say, two steps to the left, one skip, press the raised stone, seven steps right--"

"Who could remember that? It's ludicrous! Besides, how am I supposed to do all those acrobatics all the while loaded down with packages? All this after waking me up before dawn to go shopping with you! You are pure evil, do you know that?"

"Of course I know that. You know it too. There's no need to keep mentioning it. Now stop straggling, you decrepit old goat, or shall I have to carry you? Hello? Christine! I have returned… are you awake? Our friend is here."

Christine emerged from the hallway looking radiant in a peach dress, looking at the men with a gentle smile and holding the dark-haired infant against her shoulder.

The Persian turned to Erik, his face horrified. "Erik," he breathed, "What have you done?"

Over the course of a few hours, Erik had purchased anything and everything a little girl could possibly want or need throughout the course of her life… and then some. I wouldn't be surprised if he had already ordered her wedding dress.

"What do you mean 'What have I done'? Why must you always assume the worst of me?"

"The fact that I very nearly found death at least twice today on the trip down here alone does not bode well for your innocence."

Erik gave a long-suffering sigh as he laid his packages out on the table. "Daroga, we have been through this. If you are too stupid to walk around my house without hurting yourself, you had best stay away. And to answer your question, I only did what any decent citizen would do." I killed two men and took a baby from a dead woman. "I found a helpless orphan and brought her under my protection into the care of my lovely wife."

"It's true, Monsieur," Christine said softly, stepping closer to greet her husband. Erik pressed the lips of his mask against her temple affectionately--as close to a kiss as he would come with a spectator present. Next he turned to the baby, who smiled and reached for him. Christine handed her over and began to unpack the numerous boxes.

The Persian watched the interaction with a sense of awe and wariness. The easy way in which the Angel of Doom handled his smiling family was unsettling… and yet… reassuring somehow.

He was drawn out of his thoughts, though, when his masked friend turned irritated, narrowed eyes on him.

"Of course it's true, you great booby." he huffed, adding a grumpy twinge to his wife's gentle assurance. "Why else would I have bought all those toys and tiny dresses?"

"You have bought many strange things over the years," he answered, not cowed in the least. "Perhaps I have learned to quit asking questions…"

"That would be a mistake. You never know what diabolical mischief I could be up to. I am a villain, you know."

"Why are you complaining? You hate it when I visit you… when I start asking questions you threaten my life!"

Erik scoffed. "That is your problem, not mine. Do you job, daroga."

The Persian grinned. "Erik, are you saying you miss me? Why, I'm touched. I didn't know you had it in you, old man!"

Before Erik had a chance to retort, Christine cleared her throat. "If you gentlemen are quite finished nattering like a couple of old biddies, perhaps we might move out of the hallway and have some tea?"

"A brilliant idea, beloved. You heard the girl, daroga… stop behaving like a ninny and come meet my daughter."

Well… I'd be a little surprised, as I suspect Erik would recoil like a viper at the idea of seeing his daughter married in his lifetime. I chuckle because even now I can picture how the conversation would go. I would tell him he was being unreasonable. He would fold his arms in that haughty way that turns him back into the Opera Ghost and say, "Nonsense. If ever there were a young man worthy of her, I would give them my blessing. But you are mad if you think I am going to let my baby girl go to any of these vapid swine."

Then he would sneer and march off to brood in his music room. A marvelously dark nocturne for piano would come from the ordeal and he would name it after her.

Poor girl. She never knew what she fell into when she let herself be taken in by the most possessive man in France. I may have gained an ally.

"Wife!" Erik snarled irritably, "Where have you taken my child?" He had just finished the intricate carvings along the head board of the crib and wanted to show Christine. Though he no longer worried overmuch that she would run away from him, it still irked him that he should have to go looking for her--them--when he wanted company.

Christine floated in through one of the hidden doors to the side of the workroom. "Oh do relax," she chided, "We were only in the next room. You sound as if I have spirited her away to Africa."

"Well you should have been here… with me! Have I not said that enough? Why do you insist on disobeying me?"

Erik scowled, vaguely aware of how childish he sounded but still irritated that he had managed to lose complete control of his life in a matter of hours. Oh quit your bellyaching, you old fool. What did you expect? Christine has had you wrapped around her finger since the moment you laid eyes on her. Did you think adding another female to the mix would make your life any easier?

Erik huffed. He hated it when his conscience took Christine's side. Traitor.

"Nonsense. Look, we're right here now… and I was only doing what you asked me to do."

She handed over the baby. Erik had sent the ladies out of the room a few hours ago so he could finish sanding and polishing without worrying about them inhaling dust or fumes. He had picked out a pink satin dress and set of ribbons and commanded Christine to dress the child and be back in an hour.

And so Christine presented the little one, bathed and dressed (though, Christine thought 'decorated' might be a more appropriate word considering) like a princess, and placed her into the skeletal hands of her phantom.

"You know, she is not a doll," Christine teased as Erik straightened a tiny bow.

"Don't be silly, Christine. Of course she is. You are too, might I add. Besides, I dress you up all the time and you've never complained. It's simple really: lovely ladies deserve lovely things. Isn't that right, little princess." he cooed, tickling under the baby's chin. The little one made an odd face before butting her head against his shoulder like a shy child in a public place and attempting to fit her entire fist into her mouth.

Some Opera Ghost you turned out to be, Christine thought wryly.

I sincerely doubt it, though--as nice as the prospect is. When I watch them together I have the distinct impression that Erik is going to be the Angel Papa who can do no wrong and I am going to be the Evil Mama who keeps her from spreading paint on the walls and stifles her creative genius.

Speaking of creative genius--who buys a violin for an infant?

"Erik, you cannot be serious," Christine declared. She had the passing realization that she had been saying that a lot lately.

"What do you mean, love?"

She gestured at the mountainous pile of boxes that Erik was methodically unwrapping. "How much did you buy, anyway?"

"Just the basic necessities, I assure you."

"How is this a necessity?" she asked, lifting up a box of expensive oil paints.

He made an irritated noise. "Surely you don't expect me to begin her art education with substandard products."

Suddenly horrifying visions of brightly streaked hands and faces flooded Christine's mind. Please be joking, Erik, her mind pleaded.

"I'll have you know right now that I have no intention of cleaning up after those little experiments."

"Christine—how you wound Erik! How often does he make a mess with his paints?"

Christine smirked just a little bit. "If you'll allow me," she said, removing the glove from one of his hands to reveal a set of ink-stained fingertips."

"Touché, my darling."

"I am right."

"So I see."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I made you hold my hand, didn't I?"

"You are impossible."

Christine turned her eyes away from her husband for a moment and looked back upon the 'basic necessities' that Erik had procured. Picking up a suspiciously odd shaped box, she lifted her eyebrow and asked, "And what might this be?"

Erik insists, however, that Dea (yes, that is her name. I know, dear journal. Just don't ask.)…

"Dea? You cannot call her that."

"Why ever not?"

"It's not even a name."

"Of course it is. It is her name." Erik retorted, as if it were obvious.

"A girl needs a proper name. There are plenty of respectable French names to choose from: Danielle, Manon, Jacqueline… why not call her one of those?"

Erik looked horrified. "You cannot simply change a person's name at random. What a perfectly inane thing to say. How would you like it if I suddenly started calling you Marguerite?"

"You did in those couple days before Faust."

As if she had said nothing at all, Erik continued. "Besides… you have no say," he sniffed accusingly, "You wanted me to leave her in an alley."

"Erik you kn---"

"You're beautiful."

"Do not try to dist---"

"I love you."

Christine rolled her eyes and put up her hands, looking up at the ceiling as if in a silent plea for patience.

"Fine. Dea it is," she relented.

Faster than reasonably possible, Erik was on his feet with his arms wrapped around her. She gently removed his mask and he buried his face in her hair.

"Mm… my precious girl…" he sighed against her neck.

is less of an infant than I think she is. That says something of the health that she has arrived to us in.

The new family sat together on the sofa, relaxing and watching the child with fascination.

"How old do you suppose she is?" Christine wondered, idly pushing a stray lock of hair from the infant's face. Dea already possessed a head full of blue-black hair, parts of which had already begun to curl. They did make a strange family, with the golden skinned child resting in the arms of her fair-haired mother and deathly pale father. Fortunately, they weren't exactly exposed to many people who would pass judgment on such a thing.

"Older than she appears, I suspect." he answered sadly. He put a gloved finger in front of the child's face and moved it back and forth. She followed it with her eyes for a moment before reaching out with two open hands and grasping it. "Eight… nine months perhaps… it is hard to say exactly" he mused.

Christine sucked in a soft breath. "But she is so tiny. Surely you are mistaken."

Erik sighed, "My dearest wife… I have always desired to protect you from everything… to shelter you as only I can… from danger, from heartbreak, and even from the horror that is the world. When I found Dea last eve, she was struggling about under a thin, dirty cloth, her lips purple from exposure. She is so small because she first found life in the very depths of poverty. We can only consider the blessing that, despite the malnutrition, she comes to us without disease or deformation…"

He trailed off and swallowed hard, suddenly wondering what would have become of his little Christine had the Valerius' not taken her in when her father fell sick. Stop that, Erik. Don't think of what could have been. She is yours now and under your protection. There is no reason to worry about such things anymore.

The couple stayed silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly Christine leaned into his shoulder and let out a choked sob, "Oh Erik…"

For some strange reason, Erik felt the need to apologize for a world that he had never been a part of. His little daughter should not be so small and frail and his beloved wife should not have to trouble her pure mind with such terrible thoughts. But wasn't that the reason to hide them away?—That he could give them life and protection while they shed light and love into his own cold heart? And hadn't he done just that? The dark times were over for all of them, he hoped.

He did the only thing left to do and simply held and comforted his wife, uttering each word as a promise to them all.

"Fear not, my love. Erik takes care of what is his…"

That thought breaks my heart; I prefer not to dwell on it. Instead I shall continue with the subject at hand: he bought her a violin.

"What do you mean 'What might this be'? Isn't it obvious?" Erik asked, pulling the instrument out of the case.

"Of course it's obvious, you silly man. I know what a violin looks like. What I want to know is why you think Dea needs one."

Once again, Erik looked at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. "Honestly, Christine," he explained patiently, "she's not nearly big enough to learn the piano. How would she press the keys?"

"Are you mad or just sarcastic? It is unsettling when I cannot tell if you are serious or not."

"Don't I know it. Daroga might not have so many grey hairs if not for me. You're a good woman to put up with me."

"I know. But that still doesn't explain why you bought all these grown-up things for such a little baby."

I gently explained to him that she might just be a little too young for that. He seemed skeptical at first, which makes me wonder just how young he was when he started playing, but resigned himself to play his for her until she was old enough to play her own.

As I was going to sleep last night, I wondered if Dea might become his new obsession—that his unwavering focus might transfer from me to her. To be honest, I had mixed feelings about this. As much as I enjoy the freedom—the intensity in which those unyielding, yellow eyes watch my every move unsettles me at times—the concept of losing that adoring gaze to another made my stomach twist. Then I would berate myself for having such selfish thoughts while a homeless orphan slept in the next room. Needless to say, it was not a very restful night.

In the end, it turned out that my worrying was all for naught. He craves my nearness more than ever now. He doesn't demand it like before; instead he pleads for it, giving me the power to reject him but still needing me all the same.

Erik wanted Christine. As always, it vexed him to no end that he should have to go looking for her. If it were not so entirely demeaning, he would attach a bell to her. Unfortunately, he had yet to devise a way to realistically do this without her catching on and becoming very cross with him.

And so now there remained the problem that Erik wanted Christine but Erik could not find Christine… and he wasn't about to go bellowing through the house, demanding she come to him because of the added inconvenience that Dea had just now nodded off on his shoulder. In short, there was no way to retrieve Christine without upsetting at least one of the two most important women in his life.

There was nothing for it; he needed his wife. And so he very gingerly rose from the chair, careful not to jostle his sleeping child, and quietly searched the rooms.

He finally found her in the kitchen, humming softly to herself while she dried the dishes from supper. My wife…

"Christine?" he said quietly.

She looked over her shoulder, "Yes?" she sang.

"Keep me company?"

"You're actually asking?" She joked. She regretted it almost immediately when she saw his eyes darken. He was putting those shields back up again. She backpedaled. "What I mean to say is… I… Oh Erik, I'm sorry. If you need me, I'll be right out."

"I do need you."

"Right then. Of course I'll be right there."

Minutes later, she was curled up by his side, reading a book while he toyed with her hair. Erik had her tucked in one arm while his other arm kept Dea propped up against him.

"Thank you, Christine," he murmured.

She looked up from her book, a bewildered look on her face. "Is this all you wanted me for?" she asked. With the desperation that had been in his tone, she thought that he wanted something important--maybe to sing a new song or talk about a pressing matter.

"Do you not approve?"

"No, it's not that… it's just… I thought you needed something."

"I did."

She sat up but he pushed her down again. "What?"

"I simply did not want to be alone. Why must you be so difficult, wife?"

"What do you mean 'alone'? You have Dea right here…"

He sighed and tenderly stroked her hair away from her face. "Have you ever been cold, Christine? I mean really, truly cold?"

Christine paused, remembering one winter night, as a child, when she had stayed out too late, ignoring Mamma's demands she come inside. By the time she did return, she was soaked and shivering. Mamma had been furious.

With a reflective chuckle, she nodded. "I was caught in a storm. Prof. Valerius actually had to carry me inside the house. I don't think I've ever been so chilled in my life."

"When you returned, was there a fire going in the house?"

"Oh yes, it was wonderful. And Mamma brought me a hot cup of chocolate while I dried off."

"You huddled close to the fire, didn't you Christine? You sat beside it and warmed up."

"Naturally."

"That is how I feel right now. I feel like I have been cold my whole life, and now that I have found a fire, I want to soak up as much warmth as I can. Do you see what I am trying to say? Do you understand why it means so much to have you near me?"

"I think I do."

"So will you indulge an old man and let him enjoy your presence?"

"Oh Erik, you are not old!"

He smiled wistfully, tilting his head as he considered her. "Perhaps you're right, Christine," he said, after a time. "It would seem I am not as old as I used to be."

I am not sure I understand it all, but I think he needs assurance. Not of my affection, because I think (I hope) I have proved that to him again and again. Rather, I think he needs to know that he is… enough. That he is allowed to be happy. I think. It's not easy to explain.

Dea cried for the first time tonight and Erik cried with her. Thinking he was just a new father and was taking her upset personally, I tried to tell him that it was only natural for babies to cry when they wanted something. He only shook his head held her. It was awkward for me and I wasn't sure what to do about that. I let them be.

Christine was in her room, brushing her hair and getting ready for bed, when she heard a faint cry. She set down the brush and stepped out of the room towards the workroom-turned-nursery. She had expected Erik to come fetch her when Dea started making noise. Isn't that what husband's did? Send the wife in to fix the squealing infant. Naturally, she was surprised that Erik hadn't called her yet. Perhaps he didn't hear, she mused. No, Erik hears everything… maybe he is just overly concentrated on something.

"Erik," Christine called out, "I think the baby is…" She trailed off as she entered the little room to find Erik already in there. He was on his knees, rocking back and forth with the little baby clutched to him. His mask lay against the wall as if it were thrown off in a hurry and he was weeping and pressing kisses to the child's tiny face and head.

"She cries, Christine," Erik breathed, eyes still fixed on the infant in his arms.

"Oh Erik!" Christine exclaimed, rushing to his side. "It is alright… you have done nothing wrong. It's perfectly normal for babies to cry. You'll see… she is just fine."

"No, you don't understand, Christine," He insisted, breaking his gaze from the child and looking up at Christine with shining eyes, "She cries."

Christine frowned, not knowing what to make of that comment. She felt uncomfortable, as if she were intruding on something. Luckily, the logical side of her mind stepped forward and took charge. I just changed her, Christine thought, so she must either be hungry or tired and cranky.

"I'll just warm up some milk then," she said, backing out the door.

"Thank you," Erik answered softly.

He turned back to the squirming creature in his arms. Christine could not understand, sweet girl that she was. If he tried to explain, she'd probably think him mad. How does one explain that it made him happy to hear his daughter crying? But it did. It truly did.

Erik never cried as a child… perhaps for a time as a newborn, but it didn't last long. He had learned—smart boy that he was—that nobody would answer. Why waste energy calling to someone who refuses to hear? Erik was jaded even before he could walk.

Perhaps that was why his heart went out so to Dea. Until now, he had yet to hear her cry for any reason. She had been hungry, cold, weak… she had seen many changes in the last 24 hours but she had made scarcely a noise other than the faint whimper when he first lifted her off that rocky pavement. Perhaps it was too late, he had begun to wonder. Perhaps she too was hardened as he was.

But her cry! The sound of her crying out for him told Erik that there was still hope for his little daughter. He cuddled her close and wept tears of joy and relief.

Christine just wouldn't understand.

"It's alright, Dea," he murmured, "Papa hears you."

I think something about Dea reminds him of himself. I cannot begin to comprehend what it must have been like for him as he grew up--never feeling a hug, never seeing a smile meant just for him, never hearing the words, "Erik, you are a good boy."

Part of him is still that little boy and he still needs those things. But I am happy to give them. I am relieved to see that his heart carries enough love for more than a singular purpose. Sometimes I wonder what he would have been like had he the world instead of just a cellar.

"Erik, I should like to have a word with you." Christine announced after supper.

"Of course, my darling. But first, let's have a song. We've been so busy today I almost forgot your lesson. You'll have to forgive your poor Erik, my dear—he is not used to such interruptions. Ah! But who am I to complain? I should welcome these types of distractions, breaking up my dreary routine with sunshine… just like any other man, right? With a wife and a child?"

Erik looked so very hopeful right now… almost childlike. It reminded her of the way he looked when he first kissed her that night… as if he wasn't quite sure if it were all real and was looking to her for affirmation. She decided this was as good an invitation as any for what she wanted to ask.

"That's what I've been meaning to talk to you about. I do not think it is right to raise a child in a cave."

"What are you saying?" Erik challenged. His eyes flashed once and then softened again. Christine could practically hear his thoughts as they processed through his mind. She wants to leave me! She cannot! She will not leave… she will my daughter either. Peace, Erik… wait… think this through. Do you honestly believe, after all you've been through, that she would leave you now? No. Look at her face… is that the look of a woman who despises you? No. Listen to her voice… is that the tone of a woman about to run away? No. Good, Erik. Now breathe. Listen to what she has to say and do try not to frighten the poor girl.

Christine waited for Erik's mind to quit turning. She had been ready to step in, calm him down and speak reason, so it made her infinitely happy to see that he seemed to be doing it himself. Perhaps his newly resurrected conscience was on the mend. She sat beside him at the piano and took his hand for further reassurance.

Calm now, Erik? Has the tantrum been averted? Good. Now, as I was saying… "What I mean to say is that you once spoke about us leaving this place and living in a real house like everybody else. I haven't yet mentioned it because I did not want to upset you. But, now that we have Dea to consider, I really feel strongly that we should… why are you looking at me like that?"

Christine had been ready to launch into her rehearsed speech about why children need sunlight but stopped when she noticed Erik giving her the most peculiar of looks. She couldn't see his expression because of the mask but his head was slightly tilted and his eyes were focused both at her, and yet at the same time, not at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you listening? I said we should find a new home."

"Oh, yes darling, I heard you." Erik was genuinely surprised at her request. Of course he hadn't planned to stay under the opera forever--not with a wife and certainly not with a child. Certainly not! It would be dangerous!

He had planned to take Christine away from this place almost from the moment he'd met her. Along with all those lovely garments and trinkets he stocked her room with, in one of his giddy sprees of fancy he had also purchased a home for her. Two, actually—a house in the country and a little flat closer to Paris. He had even gone so far as to arrange for one or two servants to keep the dwellings prepared for new occupants.

At first it had just been a dream—just like the dresses. He would go out and buy things for the then unwitting Christine and daydream about a life he could never have.

That boy—though the thought of him made the muscles in his jaw tick—had turned his obsession to full force and his once fantasy had become very real as he made plans to whisk her away to hidden country house and hide with her there.

So what happened?

Erik frowned. Had he forgotten? It would seem that, with all the madness that had accompanied their short marriage, moving had become less of a priority until… well… it honestly hadn't occurred to him until Christine brought it up just now.

"And?" Christine asked exasperatedly.

"I think it's a lovely idea."

"You do?"

"I just said that, didn't I? Must I always repeat myself?"

"I… ah… well… I just hadn't expected…"

"Oh come now, Christine. You make me sound like a dreadful sort… am I so completely unreasonable? There now. How about we leave tomorrow? We'll pack a few things for now and I'll have the daroga send the rest… we'll make that nosy devil good for something at least. How does that sound, my darling? Christine? Christine?"

Now it was Christine's turn to look puzzled. Erik's ready acceptance took away most of her thunder and now she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

"Oh… of course… tomorrow then," she said slowly, still a little flabbergasted. She stood up and started to leave, "I suppose I'll just go pack and—"

Erik caught her hand. "Ah ah ah, Christine!" he chided in a sing-song voice, "You still owe me a song."

Speaking of which--we're moving! I suppose that is big enough news I should have mentioned it earlier. Hopefully you'll forgive me, dear journal. When I suggested it, I was prepared for an argument and was more than a little surprised by his ready agreement. What's more is that he already has a place for us! I want to kick myself. I should have asked earlier.

That is what I meant when I said our day has been oddly normal. Our circumstances will always be strange, which leaves us for many peculiar days in the future. Still, think of today: we argued about parenting, we discussed new housing plans… there was no talk of checking torture chambers for trespassers or of killing fiancés. There was only… normal conversation that normal families have on a regular basis.

How perfectly delightful is that?

Anyway, we are leaving tomorrow. It is out in the country a few days journey from here. I am excited. Paris holds so many memories for me--good and bad--but I am happy to move on, nonetheless. I think the change will be good for all of us.

Until we meet again, old friend,

Christine


A/N: Okay, just one more chapter from here. I thought I'd leave a little note about my name choices so you don't think I'm nuts or something. Dea is a character from Victor Hugo's The Man Who Laughs. As a baby, she was rescued in the snow by a deformed boy, who took her into his care even though he was near death himself. The two orphans are taken in by a philosopher, Ursus (meaning 'bear'), and his best friend, a wolf named Homo (meaning 'man'). Since the task falls upon Ursus to name the infant, here is what is decided:

"Ursus, with his mania for Latin names, had christened her Dea. He had taken his wolf into consultation. He had said to him, "You represent man, I represent the beasts. We are of the lower world; this little one shall represent the world on high. Such feebleness is all-powerful. In this manner the universe shall be complete in our hut in its three orders—human, animal, and Divine." The wolf made no objection. Therefore the foundling was called Dea."

Okay, so maybe I'm a little nuts... but at least I didn't make it up. So there. Thanks for reading.