I was surrounded by darkness. This, in itself, was not unusual. I had always belonged more to the dark than the day.

This was a different sort of darkness, though. Where darkness had always been a solace before, this darkness was no comfort. It was hard for me to tell where I ended and the darkness began.

I fell in and out of nightmares. I saw the faces of my past, gliding in and out of my shadowy memory. I wondered vaguely if I was dead. I figured it would be fitting if hell was nothing more than an eternity spent in the darkness visiting every painful memory that made up my life.

I heard the shadowy whispers of voices from my past. I saw them. My mother, threatening to send me to an asylum, my mother holding a mirror in front of my naked face. Marie Perrault, whose face turned white whenever she caught my eye. Erik dear. She had always called me Erik dear.

Disjointed memories of sensual gypsy women dancing, Giovanni taking me under his wing, hoping to save my poor, wicked soul. Luciana staring at me, telling me to take off my mask.

Persia and Nadir. The torture chamber. The Punjab lasso. Faster and faster the memories assaulted me, crowding me.

Christine, looking at the mirror in rapt fascination, speaking to her 'Angel of Music.' Christine planning her escape with Raoul. The chandelier, shattering with a sound like a waterfall.

Christine returning to me, against all odds. Don Juan Triumphant and the electrical, sensual performance of Past the Point of No Return. Raoul, showing up to ruin everything, Raoul hanging by the Punjab lasso. My ultimatum, my threats. Christine's kiss. Christine leaving, once more, with Raoul.

I moaned. Would I spend eternity seeing her in Raoul's arms? Would I spend eternity imagining their life together, their love?

Love, a truly poisonous emotion. A deadly poison, one that tricks you with sweetness as the poison slowly kills you.

Christine had left and I had nothing left to live for. Christine, how I had loved her...

"Erik! Erik, please, wake up!"

Through the mist a voice called me. All I wanted to do was sleep, go to sleep and never wake up. I wanted to be free of my wretched memories, my wretched past. All I wanted was relief, and yet I knew I would never have it. I did not deserve it.

"Erik!"

My fevered mind betrayed me, giving me Christine's voice, thick with worry. I wanted to laugh. Christine, worried? About the Angel of Death?

"Please, Erik, please wake up!"

Behind my closed eyes I saw a glimpse of light. I forced my eyes open and saw the flickering light of a candle.

And, slowly swimming into view as my eyes focused, there was an angel. A beautiful angel in white, an angel that looked just like Christine.

A cruel joke. I could not be in heaven, so this had to be just one more aspect of hell. To be tortured with a vision of Christine, sick with worry about me. To be tortured with what would never be, what could never have been.

"Go away, leave me," I mumbled, closing my eyes. My body felt as if it were on fire. Of course, hell does have flames...

"Erik! I am not going to leave!"

Christine never sounded that stubborn. Christine, a beautiful, wilting flower, waiting for water and sun so she could grow and blossom.

I willed myself to go back to sleep, back where there was just old memories, long past. Better that than to be tortured by the vision of Christine.

"Do not die on me, Erik! You cannot die on me!" the Christine Angel said shrilly.

I opened my eyes again. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over me, her long hair brushing against my face. So soft, and with the faint smell of lavender. Lavender flowers meant love, I thought, remembering back to some sort of book or another that I had read. Ironic, I thought, inhaling the sweet scent. She reached down and gently stroked my cheek. She was very solid for an angel, I thought incoherently.

"Drink this," she said, and then there was a cup of broth being held to my lips. I could not seem to lift my head, but I opened my mouth and swallowed the hot broth. I could only manage a few sips and my eyes were too heavy to keep open.

I drifted back into sleep.

I do not know how long I slept. My dreams were strangely real. Dreams of Christine. Dreams of being coddled and cared for. I heard Christine sing and I saw her lovely face fade in and out of the dark.

When I finally awoke again I opened my eyes and looked around. My head was pounding and I felt weak. I looked around. I was in Christine's room, in the large four poster bed. There was a lantern lit on the table beside the bed.

The room was empty.

I sighed. I did not know what had happened. I had vague memories of Christine leaning over me. A dream, a lovely dream was all that it had been.

But I was still alive, when all I had wished for was death.

I was struggling to sit up when I heard a noise from the other room. I looked over and the door was opening.

My jaw dropped when Christine walked through the door, carrying a tray.

"Christine?" I asked dumbly, my voice rough.

"Erik!" Christine cried. She dropped the tray and its contents shattered on the ground. She ignored it, however and ran to my side. She looked down at me. "Oh, Erik, you are finally awake!"

My brain seemed to be lagging. I was still stuck on the fact that I was awake, seemingly alive, and Christine was standing next to the bed looking lovely yet tired, wearing a soft pink gown that I had ordered for her. One that had been in the wardrobe.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "Why are you not with the Vicomte?"

"Erik, please, stay calm," Christine said soothingly, her emerald eyes reflecting her worry.

"Calm?" I repeated. "You left with the Vicomte."

"You sent me away!" Christine protested, her eyes wide.

I shook my head and immediately regretted it, as my head felt like it was about to split in two. I squeezed my eyes shut briefly against the pain.

Christine seemed to give herself a mental shake and then looked at me calmly. "Erik, please, you need to stay calm and get some rest."

"What day is it?" I asked. I felt confused and completely helpless.

"It is Saturday," she answered.

"Saturday?" I repeated stupidly. How I wished this bloody fog that seemed to be surrounding me would go away. It had been a week since Don Juan. A week since Christine had left with the Vicomte. I had thought to be dead by now.

"You have been unconscious for the better part of five days," Christine added softly.

"Why are you here?" I asked again. "Surely the Vicomte cannot approve."

"I-I left Raoul," Christine said, looking away.

"Why?" I asked. "You won your prize, saved his life and I did not even force you to stay with me. What possible reason could you have for coming back here?" I said, my voice sharp. Tired and weak as I was, I still managed to get a good amount of fury into my voice.

Christine flinched as though I had hit her. Then she clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "You are in no condition to be talking, Erik," she said, her voice strangely commanding. "I will go fix you some broth. You need to rest." With that she went to clean up the dropped tray and hurried out of the room.

What on earth was she doing here? I thought. She had gone, with Raoul. She had left me. I sighed. It seemed she had come back to be my nurse, and a stern one at that. But I was far too tired to try to figure it out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I hurried out of the room. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep a hold of the tray. I went into the kitchen and hurried to fix more broth.

He was awake. He was awake and alive, and angry. How could I blame him? No doubt he wondered at my motives, wondered why I was here.

And I was too stupid to know how to tell him the truth. Looking into those cold blue eyes I had felt every ounce of self-confidence drain out of me and I just could not say the words. I had thought myself to finally be a woman, strong and self-assured. And yet, looking into those eyes so full of suspicion and doubt, I had withered like a dying rose.

I love you. Such simple words, and yet words that could change lives, change hearts. It would change everything between Erik and I. No longer would we be hunter and prey. No longer would we be the Angel of Music and foolish child. At least, if he could ever learn to believe me.

I sighed as I poured broth into a cup and arranged it on the tray with a cup of tea. I pressed my lips together and tried to gather my courage. It would not be easy facing Erik. It never had been.

Walking slowly I crept through the main chamber, trying to gather my courage. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door into my room. Erik was sitting up and he looked over as I appeared. Even from across the room I could see the fire in his blue eyes, burning straight through me.

I forced a wobbly smile and walked over to him. I set the tray on the bedside table and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. His eyes followed me, his expression completely unreadable.

"Here, drink this," I said, holding the cup to his lips.

He drank it warily and I could see his anger and frustration at needing my help. He said nothing, just obediently drank the broth. When he finished I held up the cup of tea. He looked down at it questioningly. It was an odd greyish colour.

"It is your Russian tea," I explained. "I was not sure how to fix it."

Erik arched an eyebrow and his eyes glinted slightly. Was it amusement?

He took a sip and was unable to hide the shudder that resulted. "Perhaps you should stick to regular tea," he said lightly.

I sighed. "You will have to tell me how to make it correctly," I said.

"For now regular tea will be just fine," Erik said. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Get some rest," I said softly.

His eyes fluttered open and I saw a flicker of emotion, gone too quickly for me to read, before he shut them again. Suspicion and doubt radiated from him.

When his breathing had evened out and he was asleep I gathered up the dishes and went back into the kitchen.

I finished cleaning up and walked slowly into the main chamber. I had been at Erik's side most of the time, but I had been trying to clean up all that the mob had destroyed when I could. I had not gotten far as they had done quite a thorough job.

With a weary sigh I collapsed in Erik's throne chair. My thoughts were scattered.

I had never felt such a feeling of relief before as when I had first seen that he was still alive. I had thought that the mob had found him, beaten him and left him for dead. But he seemed to have no physical injuries, yet he remained unconscious. I had thought and thought and the only conclusion I could come up with was that he had lost the will to live.

Guilt coursed through me at the thought. It was entirely my fault. And when he soon became feverish I knew that if he died it would be my fault. His death would be on my hands and I knew I could never forgive myself.

I had spent the next days wiping his fevered face with a cold, wet rag. I forced him to drink broth. I cared for him the best I could in my inadequate way. I had cried and prayed, begged to whatever God would listen to spare him.

It seemed that my prayers had been answered. My Angel had pulled through. But he did not trust me, that much I could tell. I sighed. Would he ever learn to trust me again? Over and over I had shattered his trust. He had no reason to believe me.

It would not be easy to regain his trust, I realised. It would not be easy to rebuild the bridges that I had burned when I had left with Raoul. He had sent me away, that is true. But had I been a strong woman and not a weak little girl I would have been stubborn and stayed anyway. He would not easily be convinced that I loved him, that I desired him, that I wanted to be with him.

But I was no longer a child. I knew what I wanted and I would get it, I vowed. I would make him see, no matter how long it took.

X

When I walked into Erik's room several hours later he was still sleeping. I sighed and walked to the bedside and looked down at his sleeping form. A warm feeling spread throughout me as I looked at him. How strange it seemed to me to be the one caring for him, looking out for him. I wondered vaguely if he had ever had anyone look out for him before. I knew so little of him, of his life. The fragments that he had told me over the course of the months since I had first met him made little sense. I just hoped that in time he would come to trust me, to open up to me. There was much hurt inside Erik and I only hoped that I could be the one to help him heal.