The tiny girl looked around. Faces were everywhere. She took notice of a woman looking down at her, smiling, holding her. Her lips were moving; she was speaking to someone. Now another person was in the room. His face didn't look like the lady's face. It was black and looked fake. Was it?
Erik stared down at the child. She was attempting to grab his mask. That, of course, would not do. Keeping his face well out of reach from the infant's wild hands, he continued to allow his eyes to bore holes in the girl's. The baby seemed to realize that the man staring at her was different than other people, but did not know why. All she knew was that Erik's face was covered with a strange material that made him look different than her mother. Sadness coursed through him. Even children are borne wanting to strip me of this mask, he thought melancholily.
Madame Aucoin smiled at the infant. Had my mother ever smiled at me? No, not even once. Not even a fake smile would be allowed for a monster. Erik glared at the infant. Thankfully, nobody saw, as they were all too busy watching the small person.
Thoughts flooded through Erik.
Had I ever been that small? Had anyone ever been proud of me? Why was this child born the way I wasn't? How can this possibly be fair?
His thoughts droned on and on. The child simply looked apologetically up at him, as if she knew of his sadness and horrible life. The masked man knew that if the girl ever saw his face, she would never scream and run away. Christine, oh, my dear Christine, Erik bemoaned silently. It seemed that everything he did brought back thoughts of her. A year of separation had not done its job.
A specific man sat in a cushioned chair facing the crackling fireplace. He removed the pipe from his mouth and blew. Replacing the wooden object, Nadir thought about his dear friend.
The last time he had seen him was when Erik confided in him that he was dying of heartbreak. At first, Monsieur Khan had thought nothing of it. Then his friend sent him the letter telling him to put his obituary into the paper.
Hoping to heal him before he died, Nadir had called for a cab and gone to the Opera House. Running through the cellars, he found the site he thought he'd never see;
The dead body of his friend in the coffin, proclaimed in the center of the mastermind's room.
Erik felt relieved to go home. Why had he insisted upon going to the Aucoin household for the birth? Any gathering involving people was much too crowded for his taste. Erik smirked in spite of himself.
Christine de Chagny held her son close to her. She let out an exasperated breath and rocked the young toddler back and forth. Still, the boy continued to cry, and the young mother looked tiredly down at him. He had been born just two weeks before, and he was still crying his head off.
Finally, he stopped. Silence filled the air. Letting out a sigh of relief, Christine kissed the baby Charles and set him down in the crib. She sunk down into the bed beside her and instantly fell asleep, despite the small detail of it being the middle of the day. No worries, though – she would wake up a couple hours later to the sound of bawling once more.
Erik looked around the room. Something caught his eye. He stood up from his writing desk and strolled over to it. Sitting down at the bench, he caressed the piano. He then sat his hands upon the keys like he had done so many times before. Pressing his index finger down on the G, he began a tune unlike any written before. Grabbing some paper, he began to compose.
His muse was back in the form of an infant named Clarice.
Suddenly he didn't feel any negative emotions towards the little baby he had met that day.