Author's Note: You may want something to wipe your eyes at hand. At least that's what I needed for most every chapter from here out. Content Advisory is in full affect now as we check in on our favorite Ghost and the chapters to come.

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Enjoy.

Hell

There was never a doubt that Christine's heart, her soul, was as beautiful and pure as her voice. Perhaps her spirit and entire being was even more exquisite. Every aspect of her was lovely and the world was not worthy of her. He was the least worthy of her, which made it hurt all the more.

Her voice may have drawn him to her like the foolish sailor to a siren. But that voice alone was not enough for Erik to fall to the mercy of a maelstrom, swirling around jagged rocks. No, he came out of his solitude for her voice. He stayed for that genuine woman whose innocence and trusting nature was so rare that Erik found himself almost entranced.

Seeing the world through her eyes, so full of wonder and hope, allowed him to glimpse into what life might have been like if his face was not cursed.

To Erik, daylight brought only cold and callous beings who made it their duty to break him. In many ways, they succeeded. To her, the light was the warm, safe, embrace that he only knew through the darkness that offered a safe cocoon from his reality. Until her, hope and love were concepts long ago shattered before he even reached pubescence.

If Erik knew the danger of teaching her, he would never have given her a single lesson. It was a sincere effort soothe the pain of a grieving Angel. To give her the Angel of Music her father promised. The intent had never been to mislead and deceive Christine, much less fall in love with her.

Seeing her soul through the stories she told from the mundane to the elaborate, sparked his interest and the first strands of love. He never wanted to think of her in many long and lonely hours. Yet, Christine was never far from his mind. Creeping into his thoughts, his music, his being. As he resisted those foreign, impossible feelings, his mind began playing tricks. It balked at his denial of love, until insanity began taking root and threw him headlong into a world of feelings he never faced before.

The broken and lovesick creature that emerged from an otherwise well-mannered man was shocking to even Erik. That creature knew nothing of love. Not how to give it, not how to show it, only demanding that it did not go unrequited. In those irrational acts of desperation, he did every single thing wrong. He made her fear him more than love him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Those two unforgettable kisses Christine bestowed him, when he had given her no reason for kindness, slayed the monster Erik had become in his madness. It opened his eyes to the horrible reality he created for her as the dense fog cleared from his mind.

Letting his Angel, his Songbird, go to spread her magnificent wings was the hardest thing he ever had to do. It was the only choice he could make to save his soul, and the others.

Seeing de Chagny and Nadir row his Angel away brought indescribable anguish to his broken heart. His very being screamed for her to come back, to love him, to end his loneliness, but he managed to remain silent. Even has they vanished from his sight, with Christine looking back, Erik kept himself together enough to stumble back into his home.

It was not until the door was secured behind him did the agonized and tormented scream escape him. Three times did that cry burst forth as he sank to his knees to the cold stone, sliding his hands over cursed face to pull what wisps of hair he possessed.

The outbursts did nothing to quell his anguish, even as his hands fell to the cold stone and uncontrollable weeping overcame him. Erik wept as never wept before. The pain and sorrow were too great to bear while self-loathing for all the harm he caused his beloved Christine soared to new heights. His tears did not readily cease, even through many fits of hyperventilation.

Whether his bottomless grief lasted for hours or days, it did not matter. The pain, the aching hole in his heart, remained.

Erik wanted to fade away into the nothing he was. Christine deserved more than he could ever, legitimately, give her. She needed sunlight to flourish, not his darkness that only dampened her greatness. Apart from their music, they were not logically compatible. She was the light to his night in every respect. Humanity accepted her, loved her, found her beautiful. Not so for him.

It took ages for Erik to find the strength to pry himself off the floor. His stomach churned for some small meal, but he no longer had the inclination to eat anything. Food meant little to him, only an obligation to keep functioning and to quiet the gnawing of the necessity to exist. Now, the desire to continue onward was gone.

No longer was there a point or purpose left in his pitiful life. Even the music was gone…

Erik did not venture far from the floor. If he was to will himself to death and darkness, he would at least die on the relative comfort of the sofa, even if a perfectly suitable coffin awaited him up the narrow spiral stairs of stone.

Darkness consumed his windowless home with light sources burning away every drop of oil and millimeter of wick.

Knocks at his door would come and go, with his name called by both masculine and feminine voices. Not a single voice belonged to his beloved Christine. Not a one muffled word through the barrier was worth hearing. It was not worth anything.

Let me die in peace… was the only thought that came forth.

Eventually, after indeterminate time, the calls became pounding fists and objects. Their persistence should have annoyed and angered him, but the empty void within was all consuming. His eyes were open, but Erik saw nothing.

When the door burst open from either lock-picking or breaking, all he uttered in a voice as hollow as his soul was, "Go away."

But his weak command was ignored as he was always ignored. Except from Christine, she never completely ignored him, even if it was fleeting.

He acknowledged Nadir and the Girys as much as they acknowledged his want to be left alone, which was not at all. They fussed over him, and the effort of forced food went on until he relented long enough for his withering body to regain the energy he needed to ensure his miserable end.

The moment he was left alone, without Nadir or a meddlesome Giry to fret over him and waste useless time, Erik moved ahead with his plan. It took an exhaustive day to complete, pilfering a pair of iron bar doors from old Communard cells. He added one to become a secondary gate to the Rue Scribe entrance, and the other to over his lakeside entrance.

Satisfied to successfully bar the world away, Erik permitted himself few luxuries in the time since his world shattered. Starvation took time, but he did not want to expedite his end via a needle, knife, or lasso. He wanted peace, quiet, and comfort in his last days.

Weeks must have passed since he last saw his Angel, and there no sense to be smelling of death prematurely. A hot bath with an overfilled glass of red wine offered some measure of physical relief to his aching body as he rid himself of the scent he acquired. Then the change of attire for the same reason.

Last, he stole a blanket and pillow from Christine's designated room and returned to the sofa before a blazing hearth. He wrapped himself in Christine's wool Afghan blanket and hugged her pillow to his chest with his cursed face buried into its softness. He took in the scent of honey and almond with each deep inhalation for the smell of her.

Inevitably, the rattling at newly erected barriers started again with the calls from the voices he did not want to hear. They came and went with the hours and a dying fire. They were not the one person he wanted. That beautiful Angel of Music. His muse who gave an honest damn about him and did not completely ignore his wishes. Who he loved at the cost of his own happiness.

Be free, my little Songbird…

Then came the ruckus and the voice that drew open his heavy eyes from the slumber that was growing harder to wake from.

It was her voice. Her glorious voice that called his name, begged him for his presence.

Oh, Christine…you should not be here…

Erik further buried his face into her pillow, willing himself to not get up, not to drag his weary and weakened corpse to her. To take in her beautiful presence, even for a fleeting moment… How would he ever let her go, again? To do so once was already killing him in the black tarry pit of his depression. He was content to die the slow and painful death he set himself toward.

Letting her go twice? He would have to finish himself off in a faster method to stop from storming the de Chagny Estate to take Christine from her disgustingly charming boy. Deprive her of the choice she so richly deserved.

Perhaps a whole vial of morphine—two, to be certain of lethality. Maybe a poisoned tea that would a quick and painless end in a modicum of grace. Slipping a noose around his own neck or a blade to his wrist was not…appealing. However, cutting out his own bleeding heart was most tempting. Pity. he would probably bleed out and black out before he got half way to it…

Christine continued rattling at the new gate.

Erik continued to resist his want for her presence, burying his face further into her pillow. Soaking in her scent helped stave off his need for physical company. There was no choice but to resist that urge, for her sake. For sake of what threads of sanity that remained in his current state. If his powers of imagination did as he commanded, he could almost believe he was burying himself into her bosom. Something reality will never grant him.

The noise persisted.

If Erik clutched the pillow any tighter in his fetal embrace, the down feathers would surely burst from its seems. Being that his knees nearly curled up to his chest now, the feathers would engulf his curse and likely irritate his pathetic excuse of a nose into a horrid sneezing fit. He did not care. He could not go up to her.

As time passed, the rattle of the gate grew less frequent, and annoyingly, undeterred.

Colorless eyes dragged open to the clock above the dim light of embers in the mantle. Two hours she called for him. Two hours he resisted her. Two hours it took for her to break down his resolve as he loosened his futile hold on her pillow from under her wool blanket.

Being between the gates of Rue Scribe would provide a measure of protection from the elements of rain, wind, and snow. Her location would not draw curious onlookers from the way that corridor was designed to funnel sound down and in rather than up and out. But the cold, the cold could get her and the voice he spent so many hours crafting.

In slow movements, he parted himself from her pillow and blanket and rose from the sofa. In unsteady steps, he went to hearth to add a log to keep it burning. It was the only real action he took since he blocked out the world. Adding a log whenever it was just about to die as he wanted the die.

Before fetching his mask and cloak, Erik permitted himself a nibble of stale bread and cheese, just so his growling abdomen would be silent enough to keep Christine unaware of his intentions. Also, he needed some bit of energy just to make the climb to her.

When Erik eventually did make his way to his beloved, the patchwork of resolve he managed to stitch together in his journey threatened to rip apart. Christine was crumpled before the new gate, her golden locks catching the light of her dying candle, her knuckles whiter than sun bleached bone as she gripped the bars.

As she always did, even if he made no sound, Christine sensed him there. It was telling by the way she lifted her head, ear tilted toward the darkness, towards him, rather than letting her eyes fall on darkness. "I'll not leave until you speak with me," her voice was but a hoarse whisper to his auditory senses.

"Then speak."

"You did not wish me to stay. "

"Your kiss returned my sanity," he managed to utter, "In that, I realized the choice in which I presented you was of no choice at all. It took advantage of your heart, your compassion. So much so that you would sacrifice yourself, even for ones you do not know. I want you with me out of love, Christine. Not for moral obligation. That is why I released you of your choice. Your happiness is worth more to me than my own."

With her head pressed against the gate, she replied, "You speak as though what I did was a noble sacrifice. Perhaps it was my intent when I first kissed you, I do not even remember anymore. I just remember how it made me feel, and it was not hate or revulsion. It was love– just as you wrote it in your opera." She lifted her head and strained to see him in the darkness. "But Erik, what you did, the nobility of your sacrifice and your heart far exceeds my own."

Erik shook his head although she had no chance of seeing the expression. "I disagree."

"As you very well may. But know that it is what I believe, and will continue to believe until my end of days."

"Then I shall question your sanity." Perhaps they were not as different as he thought. Her mind was almost sounding as questionable as his own.

Christine laughed a little at his words for reasons Erik did not grasp. It took her only a moment to somber herself from whatever occurred in her mind and took on a serious and earnest tone. "I wanted to apologize to you, for everything. I'm sorry for hurting you, I'm sorry for betraying you– there is no excuse. There is no viable explanation beyond my own confusion within myself. I do love you, but I still do love Raoul. I do not yet know the difference between it, or how I will ever know. I broke off my engagement to Raoul, so I may have time to decipher my feelings. Regardless of my conclusion, I still want you both in my life."

Between the brief laughter and the sudden seriousness of her tonal shift, Erik could not grasp all the meaning for the contrary nature her words offered. But Erik was never good at social queues, try as he might. Thus, he reverted to what mostly served him well with the greatest accuracy. His instinct. He sensed her honest and sincere words, heard her regret, and accepted this as her truer intent.

Per her request, Erik saw no way of being able to share in her company. Not with the hope of what her broken engagement to the Vicomte could mean for him. That small, slim, hopeful…chance. "I don't think that is possible for him or me, Christine."

"Please try…" Christine pleaded as the candle in her lantern finally went out and darkness smothered them.

Erik let darkness rest around them. Letting her in was a second chance. A chance to do it right in winning her affection, her love, or even…just her company. His need for her was life giving, it gave him purpose, it gave him music. To have her just being there in some form pushed air into his lungs where he had been drowning since that night.

The want of him…and the Vicomte in her life, both to remain fixtures of it, was it enough? Would He be able to share her presence, her company without that beast of jealously rearing its even uglier face? Was it worth the effort, just to keep being able to bath in her glorious presence. Could he accept only being her friend, and nothing more. These thoughts were hard and rampant within, but the back of his mind, that poor abused soul within him screamed the answer without need for consideration.

Truly, what debate was there?

Drawing a matchbox from his pocket, Erik struck it against the emery board to light his own lantern, praying he would not come to regret his decision. "I will try."