Juti's POV

That magical night when we were together as husband and wife for the first time gave Erik's endless trust to me. The fact I was willing to spend the night with him and act like a loving and accepting wife in each and every aspect of the relationship finally made Erik realize he indeed had a living wife he was free to love and could easily and always expect love from in return.

I think this realization had caused a smaller shock in him, as in the following days he did not speak much, but his eyes, whenever he looked at me reflected so much adoration I could not help but felt both love and pity towards him. He also had a new habit since the first lovemaking we had - he would randomly stare into my eyes and say "Thank you" for no apparent reason at that moment. Yet I knew the thank you was said every time because he remembered back what I proved him a few nights earlier, and he always wanted me to know how much he appreciated it, and was still thankful by the mere thought as well. He also started crying in random hours of the day, spontaneously, especially after he was looking at me. Well, this aspect I did not like too much. It made me sad, and plus, our honeymoon was slowly coming at an end. After only one week in Salzburg, we were heading home and the road back was making me a bit of sad, to be honest, thinking about having to say goodbye to the pleasant journey. And to top all of it, Erik is crying regularly…

Why are you crying? - I asked one time, bothered by the fact he was maybe sad.

Oh, do forgive Erik for his weakness, my love. - He kissed my hand, and took it in his large hands to stroke my fingers longingly.- Thank you. - He added again.

What do you thank me for?

Well, the fact you are here. The fact you are with me. I adore you. - I did not even have the time to get prepared of his sudden movement, he went on his knees in front of me in a split second. He kissed my fingers on both of my hands, and in the end he leaned down to the ground to kiss my feet in his ecstasy.

I don't know why do you humiliate yourself so much, always. I am not a queen.

You are more than that, love. - Erik looked up at me seriously. - More than that.

But I don't deserve such a treatment and being put on a pedestal.

Oh ho! - He chuckled. - Did you not do, and are not doing up until today, the same exact thing with Erik? Erik clearly doesn't deserve such a respect he is receiving from you, but you, my love, do deserve anything beautiful. Anything good and pleasant. I would do everything, listen, my dear, what I say, everything for you. Just say a word, and I am going to spoon out the lake Averne for you, using nothing but a thimble! Oh not the lake, the Seine itself, the whole river Seine! - He grabbed my hand again, passionately squeezing it.

That would be kind of a pointless activity to do, but thank you for willing to do so.

No matter how silly or pointless something might sound like, say it, and it is granted. I do it for you as you are here with me and it makes me eternally thankful. You see, I never dared to imagine I could have a wife like everyone else, in each and every way possible… who accepts me… and this, as it is completely new and unexpected to me, it does make me cry sometimes. Please know that it is not sorrow or hurt that makes me cry, unlike earlier in my miserable life… it is love.

I am much calmer to hear that. - I nodded. - I am still worried a bit that I am unable to make you happy because of all the sufferings you had to go through, no matter how much I try.

Oh never fear that my love. - He shook his head and hugged my legs. - The year I had spent with you makes up to the 50 I have spent in loneliness. I mean it. Every single word.

After Erik's confession I at least felt much better about his mental and emotional health and state, and seeing how happy this made him, I allowed him to treat me like a goddess if he got in the mood to do so. It included allowing him to kiss my feet or not asking him not to follow me around on hands and knees (though after a point I warned him if I felt uncomfortable because of it and playfully remarked I did not marry a dog), and to allow him to suddenly scoop me up into his arms on the street and carry me for a short distance if he wished to carry me through some puddles, not to have dirt on my shoes. I wouldn't have minded it though, but seeing how happy it made him I felt I could not deny it from him. Let him treat his wife kindly. I am the first one who allows him all of these things, and just let him do whatever he wants unless it clearly hurts or annoys me or someone else. And I have to admit, these were my guilty pleasures as well, at some level… I mean who doesn't enjoy being spoiled? I do believe every wife dreams of her husband devotedly carrying breakfast to her in bed, with a cup of tea or coffee (sweetened, with a ton of milk, please) and waking her up with a kiss. Am I horrendously selfish if I enjoy if it actually happens to me because my husband loves to spoil me?

He also wanted to shower me with gifts from that special night, but I always said no to each and every suggestion he made. I had everything I needed and I did not wish to seem like I accept gifts for making love. I didn't do it to him because I wanted to receive jewelry in return. It is the definition of a "whore" in my imagination, getting pricey gifts in return for having sex. When I reasoned it to him, he seemed to be hurt for a few seconds, but after he nodded.

Whatever you feel and makes you happy, my love, I accept it. But please know the gifts I am willing to buy you are not meant as a payment for lovemaking, rather they are a symbol of my endless love to you. Are you still sure you wish to receive nothing?

It changes my point of view, but I would still say don't give me expensive gifts for no apparent reason. I feel uncomfortable if I get too much things, I am not used to being spoiled so much.

Isn't it enough of a reason you exist?

No. - I shook my head, giggling. - Please give me gifts on special occasions only.

Good. But those special occasions will be chosen by Erik.

But… it is not how it works, Erik.

Every special Thursday, or Saturday. Sundays are not, because shops are closed.

Ricky… - I actually wished to annoy him, but to my surprise he turned to me with an adoring glance and kissed my cheeks.

Yes, my love?

Wait, you liked being called Ricky?

I love being called anything if it is you saying my name.

You used to say you hated that name.

But how can someone hate hearing any word escaping your lips by your beautiful angelic voice? It might have been a time when Erik disliked that name, but nowadays he thinks his little wife may call him even a rat and he'd still love it.

I would never call you that.

I know. - He patted my shoulder with affection. - But still, I wouldn't mind it.

Well, it seems like you have already made up your mind about showering me with gifts, no matter what I say?

Exactly. - He nodded. - You know, my little Juti, this was always one of the things I loved the most about you: you are a smart girl.

All right. - I shook my head with a forgiving smile. - But please at least promise me they won't be too much expensive.

As you wish. But something simple is acceptable?

Yes. - I nodded.

And then the idea hit me.

Erik my angel…

Yes, my everything? - He looked up at me, waiting for my order like a slave waits for his Countess to give orders he was willing to obey the soonest possible.

You said you wanted to give me something? Gifts?

Yes, dear, anything. Anything you wish. Do you wish to receive something?

Yes.

Oh, finally you came to your mind. Why not to accept gifts from your devoted husband, hm? And what do you wish him to give you? Flowers? If you wish I go to the nearest flower shop and collect all of the flowers for you.

All?

All that is worth collecting, yes.

No, Erik, what should I do with so much flowers?

Hmmm. Well, don't you wish for flowers? Then what shall Erik buy for you? Dresses? Shoes? A bag?

I shook my head to all of thee suggestions. When will he finally find out the thing I ask for is for free?

But then what would you like to have? Chocolate? The biggest box of chocolate I can find?

No, because I will get fat. More than I am now.

You are not fat, what do you say… but then what? Tell me, I have ran out of ideas.

Buy me nothing.

But you said…

Yes I said give me a gift. Not to buy something, just give me a gift.

Oh. But then what do you ask? A kiss?

No. Something I can keep. You know… I read victorians loved to possess something their loved ones owned before.

Oh, I see. I give you whatever you wish for.

I don't want to wish for anything special, but I ask you to give me whatever you would not miss too much. I know you… took things from Christine too. I don't know though how could you take a shoe buckle and what did you do to it?

Things like these are not exactly with you to do anything special with it, you see, just to have something the loved one used to possess. And Christine gave it to me. I don't always steal, you know. But I have to admit I had already taken something from you. For the same reason.

Me? What? I did not notice anything missing.

It is not an object. I took a lock of your hair when I cut it for you before your Birthday.

Oh yes, but I did not know you kept it. I did not see it anywhere.

He reached into one of his coat pockets without another explanation and he picked out a golden locket and handed it to me. When I opened it, I saw the part where one would, by my standards, put a photo into, contained some of my hair. I looked at him and giggled.

Yes. - He nodded. - And now, would you ask my hair in return? Or… wait.

I was about to agree when he suddenly seemed to have a better idea. He was staring at his hand just as if he saw them for the first time, and after he abruptly removed the ring from his left pinky. He had that ring since forever I think, he had it when we met as well, and now the only jewelry he wore were his wedding ring, this awkwardly placed ring, his cravat pin and the cufflinks. I never understood why he wore it on his pinky, and this was the first time I saw him without it. He was turning it between his fingers for a few seconds, then he took my left hand and slipped it on my ring finger, as the right ring finger was already occupied by my wedding ring. True, I already had jewelry which once was Erik's, but that was a long time ago, yet in Persia when he wore the ear rings. This ring was so freshly removed I could feel his presence with it. And by the fact he wore it constantly, it indicated he liked that ring, which added to its value in my eyes.

Are you sure you won't miss it?

No. - He shook his head. - It is not even my size. Too small.

Oh so this is why he wore it in such a weird position. It would not fit on any other fingers.

Erik… was it a ring of someone you loved?

Not really. - He shrugged. - But now it is.

But then why did you wear it? - I went on curiously.

Out of a strange clinginess towards the past and issues I did not have the power to change. It was my mother's wedding ring. I did not have the heart to abandon it. I wore it… out of habit I guess.

I smiled and walked to him to give him a heartfelt hug.

Thank you. - I knew it was a huge effort from Erik, giving me his mother's ring whom he, contrary to what he always said, did love.

It is nothing. - He said. - Maybe this fact you wear it will make that piece of jewelry more pleasant for me to look at. As now it is indeed worn by someone I truly love.

The mother's ring yet wasn't the biggest thing I received from Erik.

One evening when I started packing our stuff in the suitcase for we had to leave early the next morning to catch the train to take us even closer to Paris, and Erik gave me his endless trust to allow me to pack his stuff as well, I suddenly noticed Erik's suitcase was false- bottomed. Of course, I got instantly curious. I peeked inside the secret part to see what Erik kept there, and I saw some kind of booklet there. What is that?

Erik, may I see it? - I picked the booklet out to show it to him. It did not look like his journal I had read before, it was bigger and thicker.

He did not reply for some moments, examining me seriously, but after he nodded.

At your own risk.

What do you mean? Will you… be mad if I do and I should avoid it?

No. - He replied simply. - I am only afraid you won't be able to handle the contents and shall suffer because of it, and I do pity you for that possibility. If that is going to happen, I must state I never meant to harm your soul in any way. You brought it on yourself and Erik is going to try his best to make you feel better, but remember: things you saw can't go unseen any more.

This strange warning made me even more curious of what on Earth that thing might be, and I opened the boook to see the title page.

Don Juan Triumphant

Finally! - I exclaimed.

Lord have mercy upon your innocent soul. - Erik sighed and he seemed to start praying.

What on Earth he was so upset about, it is only music.

Do you travel with your opera, man? - I giggled, turning the page. He did not reply, he seemed to be lost in prayers. - Oh come on, shall I not spray holy water on my head and put garlic necklace on me to avoid the awful effect of your music? - I asked with disbelief.

Don't be sarcastic. - He warned softly. - I am really afraid it is going to hurt. A lot. Not demonic. Only hurtful. Pain.

The way he said the word "pain" made me pity him instantly. I closed the book on my lap and looked at him.

Shall I put it away?

You would do it. For now. But once you have discovered it, I know you have no calm until you see it. You women run into your own fate. I can't save you now. See. I can't lock it away all the time, as the Blue Beard could not lock away that room either. Just I ask you to step in carefully and escape as soon as you need to.

I opened the book carefully after Erik's second warning. I did not know what was the fuss about, but he, as the composer, sure knows his music the most, and if he is afraid, he might well have the reason. But what can be hurtful about music? I am a musician myself, not a superstitious villager from the middle ages. What kind of harm some sheet music may cause me? Somehow I was sceptic, but at the same time the way Erik was speaking and seemed to be really worried, I have to admit I got slightly alarmed and turned the page to the start of the Overture with trembling hands.

Powerful start. Nothing special at first, just an energetic and lively melody, with much thrills, and only a hint of distress to sense, only in the atmosphere, but maybe it was only because of my already worked up state of mind. The overture's first half was like some more serious work by Tchaikovsky, only a bit more dissonant and less obedient to the old school forms. Late romantic, passionate, fast, slightly dark. But then in the middle of the Overture, after a faster roulade which was a bit of demanding for both poor string and woodwind section, suddenly an accord came, which revealed PAIN. Yes, it looked and sounded both like someone, perhaps during a passionate debate with an opponent, was suddenly, without any warning, brutally stabbed in the back. It was one long, entirely out of place accord, giving the whole thing such a suspense and dissonance that it could not even be lightened throughout the next 100 measures. The next sequence after the painful cry became slower, like a lament, full of staccato - like crying, modulations which gave nothing but discomfort and a feeling of being utterly lost, alone in the dark. Though it wasn't simply a depressive lament. It also contained sweet, enchanting melodies which were abruptly turned to another fit of madness soon. Erik was a master of lulling the listener into a false sensation of safety and calm for a few measures by choosing more traditional harmonies… only to slap you twice as hard and punch you in the stomach with another horrendously scary and still well- composed and beautiful cry or yell. This went on during the full Overture, which was, as I was able to calculate, about a good 30 minutes if being performed. Well, Erik clearly did not expect people to see it in theatre. When I read the closing measure of the Overture, I was surprised to see Erik did not bother to close the sequence calmigly. The end was just as uneasy as the earlier parts, sending the message that "it will never get better" . The music did not go back into the starting position, wasn't composed in sonata or rondo form, and the delight which would and should follow such a mental breakdown, did not come. At least not in the Overture. Maybe later?

Are you all right? - Erik's voice rang in my right ear, reflecting worry and pity at the same time.

I put down the Masterpiece on the bed, and stood up, looking directly in Erik's eyes. He turned his head away, bothered by my questioning glance. I think he was prepared of a mental breakdown or a crying fit on my end.

Erik

She was motionlessly staring at the manuscript for too long. I knew I should not have let her see Don Juan Triumphant, as she had too weak of a heart for that. I was seriously worried for her sanity, and hesitantly called out to her to make sure if she was at least capable of communication.

She put down the work and turned to me. I could not stand her eye contact, not now, after she met the horrendous side of Erik…

She had just met the Phantom of the Opera.

She just saw what was on the Phantom's mind, thankfully she hadn't met him before… I did not want her to meet the Phantom at all, never in her life. She, I think, believes she had met the Phantom before, but it is not true. No. Not even in the cellars of the Opera, she did not meet the Phantom. It was merely an anti social Erik, who did not wish people to meet him and bother him, but the Phantom would have just left her there to die… The Phantom never panics and never is able to think logically, with a cold head, he kills without a second thought, and never cries… never… Erik cries instead of him… the Phantom, who steals, blackmails, threatens, fights, kills, manipulates, uses the punjab string, plays the Syren trick, steals the singer from the stage… the Phantom is everything which is the worst in Erik, a cold- headed merciless murderer. Not even Erik himself wishes to know him, and no one can predict his actions and no one can stop him. Not even Erik himself. And he never ever wished Juti to meet such a madness.

And now what shall happen, now that she met this horrid state of mind?

But Erik… Erik is not the Phantom, or at least not always. He does panic, he cries and prays beside an unconscious- half dead girl, puts damp cloth on her forehead regularly, cradles her and hums her to sleep, and checks her pulse and breathing…

Would she believe Erik won't become as crazy any more as it is depicted in that manuscript? Is she now afraid of Erik?

While I was trying to work out a solution and a thing to say to her to calm her, I suddenly felt her jumping in my arms, without any warning and kissed me on both sides.

I was speechless from the sudden shock, but seeing a huge grin all over her face made me even more clueless. Why is she grinning, I pray?

Erik, you are awesome! - She spat out proudly and hugged me tight.

What? - I thought for a split second that my hearing was off.

You are the greatest composer ever, my love. I have never ever seen such an overture, you are the master of creating and holding suspense.

Oh, shall I take it as a compliment? - I laughed out in embarrassment.

Of course. - She nodded vehemently, as always when she met something which was to her liking. - In modern days you should be a movie composer. You would receive Oscar and Golden Globe prizes for each notes you write.

You are exaggerating yet again, but are you sure you did not get any kind of shock from Don Juan?

Only the shock realizing what a great composer you are and a master of playing with emotions in music…

And in real life. - I remarked with a hint of sarcasm, but she did not seem to notice it, or just did not want to hear the sentence and went on:

I wish to be as good as you are, one day.

You… you are so crazy. - I patted her excited little head while she was occupied by hugging me and grasping my hands. - Such a crazy little girl… but I would not have you any other way.

I love you like this, my fearless, emotionally strong, but bit of too daring little wife. You think you are afraid of many things and I know, for example bugs alarm you, yes. You are only afraid of minorities, like heights or wasps. But you are not afraid of the things you should be afraid of the most: madness and cruelty. You, I think, are not even able to identify these feelings, if you are faced with them, and you think you are emotionally weak. You can bear more than most of the girls, without even knowing. It is both welcome and alarming. You are so naive, always thinking everything is the way it should be. And sometimes I feel like your endless trust and love, and the fact you always think the best of a monster is slowly changing me as well.

Some months before I did not think it was possible at all for me to be good. Now that you think I am, and you are not even recognizing my madness through my music either, I seriously start to believe I can be good.