The room was silent save the muffled tick of the mantle clock. Christine sat mute, unseeing, her hair a wild electroshock mess of curls framing wide, staring eyes. Her fingers worried the edges of the blanket that enveloped her. Lips parted, she released a shuddery breath. She must be freezing, he thought, once again the compulsion to care for her, provide for her, somehow ease her in this tense moment overriding both his senses of propriety and the dreadful thrumming pain that still buzzed through his limbs. Previously, she had denied the need for a fire, but the room grew colder by the moment. They'd be able to see their breath if it became much more clammy.

"You said a name," she stated bluntly before he could choke out a single word.

Erik was startled. "A what?"

Christine stared into the carpet, not meeting Erik's eyes. "You said it in your sleep. I came to the doorway of your room. Hours ago. You… I wanted to know whether or not you were dead. I needed to know if you were dead."

Needed to know, or hoped?

"A name. A girl's name. I heard you say it."

"Ah…" he was taken aback, his mind searching for some fragment of dream, some memory that might explain which name he had let loose whilst unconscious. "What was the name?"

She looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Were there so many?" she spat.

For a moment, the girl sounded almost jealous. Erik shook his head, rubbed at his temple. He must be more tired than he realized. Not jealous, afraid. She was terrified. And who could blame her, after seeing… after seeing what she saw. Fear was causing the angry outburst, the strange edge in her voice. With dismay he grasped what she must be asking. Of course, she assumed he had taken others. "I won't pretend to know what that accusation is supposed to mean," he said quietly, "but I can assure you that I have lived a long life, longer than you might realize. And in the course of that life I have met many people. So if I ask for you to clarify which of the characters in my past made a mental appearance during my…" his fingers waved distractedly in the air, "… episode, you will have to forgive me."

Christine lowered her eyes again. "You said it, you said it soft at first, and then it was more, more urgent," she swallowed hard, as if the word nauseated her. "You moaned. You called to her. It was…" Christine looked as if she might burst into tears. "It was as if… it sounded so desperate."

The quick shift in displayed emotion made Erik uneasy. Perhaps Christine was more damaged than he realized by the prior night's altercation. "Many of my dreams are. Mine was not a life without regret. Sometimes that chooses to manifest itself when I am most vulnerable. I apologize if I frightened you-"

"Frightened me?" she cut him off sharply, a strange half laugh, half sob coming from her throat. "After all that had transpired. Here, there, in your room, when I… you think that a name frightened me?"

Erik was at a loss. "I don't… if you could just tell me who-"

"Luciana," Christine's tone had faint tracings of mockery. "The name was Luciana."

He settled back into his chair, his mouth going slack for a moment. Luciana.. Dear lord, how many years since he had last thought of her face, let alone her name? Those musical three syllables, how they had once held such meaning, such reverence for him.

"I take it then, this is one of your questions?"

Christine didn't respond, just continued staring at the floor.

"Luciana was… she was a child. Well, as was I. We were children. Together." He became aware of her gaze fixed on him once again. "Is it so hard to imagine me as a child? Wait, don't answer that. Of course it is. One so readily assumes that I was bred in some laboratory, or raised in the forest among wolves or perhaps somewhere otherworldly. Once a girl not much older than you had the audacity to start a rumor that I had sprung from the earth, fully-formed, like some twisted version of a Greek god. I can assure you that my birth and my childhood was not so different from much of society. Not all grow up happy and loved, but most do grow up regardless.

"Not to say my childhood was without any happiness. I had moments of unadulterated joy. I had days of contentment. One of the most content times I ever lived was in a small villa in Italy, with a man who was the closest thing I've ever known to a father. He is the reason this building exists, you see. Without his tutelage, I might never have risen to the level of craftsman I am today."

"But," she said hesitantly, "who was Luciana?"

"The man I spoke of. He had four daughters. They were not at his house when I arrived, having married in the case of the eldest three and been sent off to school in the case of the youngest. She, however, came home. As children often do."

"Luciana?"

Erik nodded. "She was… to put it plainly, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I'm sorry, are you cold? Can I do something?"

"I am fine," she said coolly.

Erik took a breath, not sure what to make of the ever-shifting moods of Christine Daae. "Luciana was lovely," he paused as Christine once again huffed and shifted on the cushion, "she was also quite spoiled. Used to having her father's undivided attention. I was clearly an unwelcome guest."

"She was cruel to you."

"Cruel doesn't begin to explain. She dogged my steps, crowded my days, and haunted my nights. I couldn't be free of her for a moment. Asking me questions, poking fun at my writings, following me everywhere I went. She treated my room as if it were her own, barging in whenever she pleased."

Christine released a puff of air sharply. "She cared for you."

"No, I don't believe so," he dismissed the thought, "she cared to see me leave, so that she could once again have her father to herself."

"Did you, did you ever touch her?"

The question stung. In his mind, he saw Luciana backing away, clear as the day it happened. He saw her eyes filled with horror as she avoided his outstretched hand, backing further and further, until….

"Did you? Did you kiss her?"

Kiss her? "No," he said incredulously. "Luciana despised me. She made the very purpose of her existence to cause me torment. In fact-" he stopped short.

"What? In fact what?"

There had been an evening, an evening toward the end of their strange, twisted dance of avoidance and chase. She had come into his room in the dead of night. There wasn't a moon that night, the room was pitch black when she shoved the door open and closed it quickly behind her. He'd fumbled for his mask as she made her way swiftly across the room, securing it into place as Luciana's eager hands found his shoulders. She'd pushed so close to him, closer than anyone had ever dared come to him before. Her breath smelled of warm peppermint and clove tea as she whispered into his half-parted lips.

It's late. No one knows I've come.

Pressed against him, wearing only the thin cotton stuff of her nightgown, he'd felt his body involuntarily react. The close quarters, his own rebellious blood, and her warm breath threatened to force him to cross a line he swore he'd never even approach. Erik, feeling every bit a trapped animal, shoved her away.

She'd fallen backwards, tripped and hit her elbow on his table. He could hear the tears in her voice as she quietly cursed him. Then, quick as she came into the room, she was gone. He came to realize it was another of her cruel tortures. She wasn't the first to tease him in that way, nor would she be the last.

"Erik?"

"No," he said softly. "No, I never touched her. Not like that."

"And what happened to Luciana? Married off like her sisters?"

For a moment Erik had that vision. Luciana, older, fuller of face and body, radiant and flushed in bridal ivory beneath a warm Tuscan sun. Happy and alive as he'd wished, not cold and dead and crumpled as he'd seen.

"No," his voice was a hoarse whisper. "No, I'm afraid she died while still quite young."

"Illness?"

"An accident."

"One of your accidents?"

Erik rose to his feet without a thought, ignoring the way his joints screamed in agony, dismissing the pounding in his head. Christine recoiled instinctively, curling into a corner of the couch, trying to make herself small. Her reaction caused a pang of guilt to pass through him.

"I think that is quite enough for tonight, if you don't mind, Mademoiselle Daae."

He reached the arched doorway before her voice followed him. "The accident. The accident that killed Luciana. Is it also what caused… is that how?"

He laughed harshly. "No. The only accident to befall my face was the accident of birth. I haven't any reason why it was deigned I should look like this."

"And the girl who started the rumor of your godly birth. Was she also in Italy?"

"No. But she is a story for another time perhaps."

The answer seemed to satisfy her. Christine sat up a little straighter. "I should at least like to hear that story," she said. "I feel you at least owe me that much."