AN: So it appears that there is, in fact, another chapter! That is quite amazing.

Me: I've been very busy.

AN: Doing what, exactly?

Me: Um... ah, well...

Erik: *pulls out Punjab lasso* Are you trying to say you abandoned us?

Me: N-no! Uh, call the story now! Heh heh...

AN: That was the worst nervous laughter ever.

Me: I SAID GET THE STORY RUNNING.

Through all his struggles through life, Erik had trained himself to rely on all his senses, and not just sight. Sight was a very untrustworthy thing – it gave one the power to judge another person. That was something that he absolutely loathed. Being looked down upon by the entire world had brought about that way of thinking for him.

But that was not the only thing wrong with sight. In the dark of the night, when terrors basked in the shadows, it allowed people the false assurance that nothing was wrong. Of course, they felt the goose-bumps – how could one not? – but as long as they didn't see anything, they were alright. That was the part of sight that Erik had always hated.

Now, however, as he felt a sharp, searing sensation resonate through his body, he willed his eyes not to open. He did not want to see what horror was creating such terrible pain in his body. He allowed himself to believe it was just his imagination, that everything was fine and there was not a cold, sticky substance flowing down his arm...

The pain very quickly became unbearable. Clenching together his fist – for some reason, his left hand seemed unwilling to move – he dug his nails into his hand to alleviate the feeling. Still he did not open his eyes.

Erik had always believed himself to be a strong person. Keeping that idea in his mind, he was able to continue to undergo the pain in that manner.

Finally, the cause of the searing feeling went away. Letting out a breath, he opened his eyes and stared – not at anything in particular, but at the room in general. There was a white ceiling, a white floor, people clothed in white, and objects – he couldn't really make them out – that were white. The only thing that he noticed wasn't white was that some of the people had red stains on them.

Even though his vision was blurred, he could tell what those stains were. He had seen enough blood in his lifetime to allow him to know what they were from a mile away. With a grimace, he noted that not only were they blood stains; they were fresh blood stains, most probably from him.

That realization shook him. What had they done to him? Quickly, he turned his gaze to himself, only to see a red mess. A horrid thought came to him, and as much as he tried to shake it off, it continued to stay etched into his mind.

There was a sheet on top of him that prevented him from seeing his body. He attempted to pick it up, yet his left arm would not function. That only worried him more.

"Ahem."

Erik froze. He had forgotten there were other people in the room with him, what with his mind being so fogged. Perhaps they had given him some type of drug – that would explain why he didn't care that his mask was off.

"Monsieur, ah, Erik, you were covered in burns when you came here, and many of them were very serious. It is a wonder you are not dead right now." The doctor paused, nervously twitching his face. "We had to amputate your left arm and leg."

The world froze. Everything and anything stopped. All the other people in the room disappeared, leaving Erik by himself. His leg he could live without... but his arm? He would never be able to play an instrument again! His beloved piano, his wondrous violin... the only way for him to make music was to sing!

Never mind the fact that he couldn't walk anymore, never mind the fact that he couldn't write letters anymore – he would never be able to play the flute, organ; anything! He was furious at the doctor for what he had done, but he knew that wouldn't get his arm back. It was a realization that scared him; his only redeeming quality – his music – was taken away from him.

He stared at the doctor with unfocused eyes, and opened his mouth to say, "Kill me now." Instead, he questioned, "How is Clarice?"

The doctor's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that is her name? Well, she is just fine, thanks to you. You saved her life, you know."

Erik let out a breath. Another thought came to him, and so he asked, "Does my face not bother you?"

"Hm? Oh, that's right! You had some horrible burns on your face – burned away your nose, I guess – so we had to fix it up. Want to see?"

He went numb. They fixed his face? His mother had brought him to a doctor once when he was very young, and the old man had said that there was "nothing to be done for the face of a demon". The surgeon had refused him because of his face, but these doctors, the ones with him here and now, had fixed his disfigurement since they believed it to have been caused by the fire.

So it had been an arm and a leg that he had paid in order to have a normal face like the rest of the world. To him, the cost had not been all that high. He had received the one thing he wanted all his life – to be like everyone else.

As he looked at his life, he realized that he was now fitting into the world. He had a beautiful baby daughter named Clarice, and loyal – though perhaps a bit fearful – friend, Nadir. Maybe he could live out the rest of his life to its fullest, although the lack of two limbs would certainly hinder him significantly.

He glanced back up at the white-coated man.

"Thank you, doctor."

~End

AN: So that's the end! You all remember the part with Christine, right? Well, keep that in mind for when I get around to doing the sequel when I'm done with my other stories. Any ideas for what the sequel should be called?