To Those Without Pity

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." -Friedrich Nietzsche

It was becoming increasingly difficult to escape from the others who were a part of the investigation. I had somehow fallen into pace with these policemen, and they were coming to me relentlessly with new questions and findings. Whether this inclusion was due to Philippe or some other force, I wasn't sure, but I did not argue. I knew the value of being the person others relied upon, and I knew the worth of being trusted—Erik's trust of me was the only reason I was alive today, after all.

I was lucky, too, to have an ally in Prideux. He had not said a word to Philippe about the journal, which I was ever thankful for. I needed time to read and absorb everything Erik had written before I let anyone else delve into it. If I let anyone examine it, that is. What's more, it was clear that Prideux understood that I had a history with Erik that was deeper than I was ready to divulge. And yet, he did not bother me for information, nor did he confer with others about my history it seemed. It was in his best interest, though—he understood that if I were not a part of the investigation, they would be utterly lost.

Even so, I cherished each moment where I was away from prying eyes, for while Prideux appeared to be my advocate, less judicious souls surrounded me as well. It was the morning before I went in to the Opera House when I finally had a few moments to continue on in his narrative. And so, as I sat in my meager apartment, I pulled out the papers once again, turning to the second page before I began to read.

I've stolen her. I wish I could call it by a different name, but I would be lying if I did. She was exquisite in the gala performance, as I knew she would be. Of course, people lamented the wretched "sickness" that afflicted Carlotta, but the very moment Christine opened her mouth and her voice soared, all of those thoughts were quelled. I've never felt so much pride for another human being, but my very heart swelled at the sound of her voice.

Naturally, she garnered several adoring fans that night, and I cannot deny that Monsieur de Chagny was the reason I took her away. To see him barge into her dressing room with that charming glint in his eye… He presumed to know her and attempted to take her away, but I will not allow him to. I cannot help but smile as I imagine what a shock he must have had when he returned to the dressing room, only to find that she had mysteriously vanished. But it is all that can be expected when one encroaches on the Opera Ghost's domain!

And so, without qualms, I seduced her with my voice, put her into a daze, and lured her into my home. I restrained my own fascination, for I was nearly as enraptured as she was as we crossed the lake. I hadn't a clue what to do with her once she was in my home, though—I hadn't been thinking far enough into the future to anticipate those moments. And so, I did the only thing that I could think of—I sang her to sleep so that I could organize my thoughts and carefully plan for tomorrow. And now I write this, looking to her in the bed across the room. This angel incarnate…

What have I done?

I read it several times calmly, perhaps examining his words too deeply as I so often do. It wasn't until the next sheet peeked out from underneath when my focus shifted. His script was already clumsy, but this was somehow different. It had been written so hastily and with so much fervor that I wasn't sure if it was French at first glance. But slowly, I began to discern each word as my heart sank with dread.

I sent her away. It took all my willpower to do so, for fury was pumping unrestrained through my veins. How do I even begin with any semblance of composure? We were singing, and what heights we reached! Even I was lost in the glory of our voices, overtaken by her beauty. That was the downfall of it all. Before I could register the fact that she was reaching towards me, she had torn my mask away without preamble. I saw red, and in that moment I thought that she had screamed, but no—it was me. I grasped at my deformed features, trying not to see the horror that swam in her eyes. She didn't make a sound, but stared dumbly, her hands flying to her chest in some useless gesture of defense.

I don't know what I said, but I could feel the fear emanating from her form as she backed away. I felt myself lunge forward in response as curses flew wildly out of my mouth, all humanity I possessed slipping away. I took her wrists in my hands and she let out a cry for the first time, though I did not hear. I can hardly believe my actions, but I was not myself. Or perhaps, for the first time with her, I was myself.

Shame. What a terrible emotion, and yet I feel it so acutely when I think of what she must think, for I care for her so deeply and despise myself so wholly. She is gone for now, but even in my despair I know that I cannot bear to let her go forever. Truly, I am a monster.

I could feel my brow knitted in dismay, and I let out a measured breath. Even I had not seen his face, and yet I knew of his severe hatred of it. Without knowing how, I felt his brutal hostility and her innate fright at the same time, and it tore my heart in two. I longed to turn the page and continue on, but I could not bear it. With trembling hands, I slipped the papers away and stood up, forcing myself to make my way to the door and pretend to forget what I had just read.

"Do you believe in monsters?" The voice came from the young and carefree Raoul de Chagny as they walked slowly along the sand, looking idly out at the sea periodically. The sun would meet the horizon in a few hours, but neither of them seemed to care, nor did they take notice of the matronly woman who was walking a few yards away, watching over them.

"Of course! But if you do not bother them, they do not bother you," Christine replied innocently, her hands clasped lightly behind her back as her eyes roamed over the waves. "There's no reason to be frightened of monsters, really."

Raoul laughed at her matter-of-fact tone, which sent her into giggles as well. "Do you believe in angels?" he continued, and her face lit up even more.

"There are angels everywhere!" she exclaimed. She stopped walking and he followed suit, as did their chaperone. "Raoul, there are angels watching over you and me, and everyone!" Exuberance overtook her and just as she threw her hands up in the air, a gust of wind took hold of her little scarf and stole it away from her neck. With a gasp, Christine reached out her hands and tried in vain to catch it, but before she could, the wind had allowed it to fall delicately into the sea. A defeated look crossed Christine's face as she stood at the shore, staring out at her scarf as it bobbed up and down in the water.

Raoul didn't say a word before he dashed into the water, unabashedly fully clothed. His chaperone, on the other hand, rushed towards them as she screamed for him to come back.

"Raoul de Chagny, would you like your father to hear about this?" she yelled, all but ignoring Christine who was watching Raoul in fascinated admiration. "Young Viscounts do not rush into the sea with all their fine clothes on! Come back here at once!"

He did obey, but not until he had her scarf held victoriously in his fist. "Your scarf, mademoiselle," he said gallantly, bowing despite his dripping clothes before handing over the scarf. Christine threw her arms around him tightly, not seeming to care that the cold water was permeating her dress.

When she pulled back, things had changed. His chaperone was gone, yet they were still at the Scandinavian sea. Raoul, before adolescent and naïve, was now fully-grown, not a day younger than the last day she had seen him. Looking down at her own hands, she could see that she too had aged, yet the scarf was still clenched tightly in her fingers.

"Which do you think Erik is?" he asked simply, and her attention shot back up to him. Somehow, the question didn't bother her.

"He is…" she began, but stopped as her eyes drifted back out to the sea. She had only blank misgivings and could not provide an answer, but Raoul didn't mind.

"He is both," he offered, and she looked back, surprised to see a slight smile on his face.

A strange kind of anger coursed through her as she read his expression, and she swiftly looked back out to avoid his gaze. "He is a monster. What he did to you is unspeakable," she insisted, her jaw clenching in fiery indignation.

"You don't truly believe he is only monstrous, my dear. There's no need to lie. It is your mind, after all."

His voice had changed, and it turned her blood ice cold. A cry escaped her lips as she looked back, only to find that Raoul was not there—it was Erik who was standing beside her, staring stoically at the horizon.

"Where's Raoul?" she asked slowly, her eyes studying him.

"He had to go. He had an appointment with the grave that he simply could not miss."

Her eyes opened suddenly, yet she found herself oddly calm. Her surprise at these dreams had long since vanished, but they still left her unnerved. Shaking the thoughts away and swallowing back her mortification, she slipped out of bed and dressed for the day mechanically. She knew what she was meant to do. She knew that she was supposed to go downstairs to meet Erik and perform the duties of a devoting wife. What that meant exactly, she couldn't say, but she blankly made her way down the stairs nevertheless.

He was there in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea while breakfast sat at the table. When she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, he set down his teacup and stood cordially, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Her dead expression did not change, though, as she sat down stiffly and began to eat. He sat back down and watched her, but this no longer troubled her. She was used to his eyes, particularly when they sat at the table together. She all but ignored him, focusing instead on forcing herself to chew and swallow each bite of food.

After Christine had finished and set down her utensils, she folded her hands in her lap and looked up to meet his eyes with dutiful compliance. She knew her role, now—she was the obedient and ever-submissive doll that he had always wanted. Even so, it was difficult to maintain eye contact as his gaze burned into her, never wavering. Just as she felt her determination thinning, though, he spoke.

"We will sing today. I believe we've had enough of a reprieve, and I can't have your voice wilting."

Christine felt her stomach sink, yet she did not argue as he stood up and gestured for her to follow him. With a deep breath, she rose and followed, purposefully remaining a few feet behind him. Before long, he led her into a room at the far end of the house that was outfitted with a covered piano and a few chairs. Rather than uncovering the piano, though, he grabbed his violin case from against the wall and unloaded his instrument.

"Are we singing Don Juan?" she asked automatically as she stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room.

He looked up at her without a word as he worked the rosin up and down the bow. "No," he said finally, his focus returning to the bow. She watched as he drew the bow over the strings once before setting his instrument down on the piano bench. He went back to his case, wherein he had stacked several pieces of music. "Fidelio," he told her, taking out a few sheets and handing them over to her.

"Beethoven," she remarked as she looked down at the music. "I've never sung it," she said dumbly as her eyes ran over the notes.

"That is why we call it learning," he said sharply. He never meant to be patronizing, but she knew that when it came to music, he hardly knew how he sounded. She watched closely as he picked his instrument back up, opting for it over the piano. He gave no warning before he threw himself into the music, evidently recalling the notes from memory.

With a start, Christine shifted her eyes down to the music in order to follow along, barely able to take a breath before she had to begin. "O wär ich schon mit dir vereint und dürfte Mann dich nennen!"

Oh, were I already with you, united, and might call you husband.

She knew she was struggling with the notes, for she was hardly accustomed to sight-reading without warning. He did not stop her, though, nor did he seem perturbed. "Ein Mädchen darf ja, was es meint, Zur Hälfte nur bekennen."

A maiden could confess only half of what she thinks.

Her breath became shaky as she took in the words she was saying—she had been taught German as a child, and these words resounded thickly in her head. Her husband. Not Raoul, but her compulsory husband. The thought made her breath catch and her heart sink.

But, when I don't have to blush over a warm heartfelt kiss, when nothing interrupts us on Earth—the hope already fills my breast with inexpressible sweet pleasure, how happy will I become!

"I cannot sing this, Erik," she blurted out before the second verse could begin, and he abruptly stopped his playing.

"Why ever not?" he demanded, his grip tightening on his bow possessively.

"You know why I cannot." She spat the words back so forcefully that even she was shocked at herself. No, she could not sing about marriage or happiness now—if anything, why not allow her to sing a lamenting aria? She knew she could manage to rouse up those emotions.

"I see no reason why you cannot continue. I will give you a moment to look at the music if you insist, but you will continue," he responded stubbornly. She saw his eyes narrow in frustration and she felt her heart rate mount in distant fear.

"No, I will not. I am not a child anymore, and I will not allow you to speak to me in such a fashion," Christine said in spite of her alarm. She squared off her shoulders as her eyes locked with his in a blatant refusal to comply.

"You are acting quite childish presently, Christine. I will treat you according to how you behave." His body had tensed equally as he faced her fully, but she would not back down.

"I am your wife," she cried, hardly able to believe the words coming out of her mouth. "You dared to force me into this union, and so you will afford me the respect I deserve." Dread coursed through her veins, but she pushed that apprehension aside—if she did not say these words, she would be nothing but his puppet for the rest of her days.

"And I am your husband." She was taken aback by these calm words, but she clenched her jaw in hopes of not revealing her shock. "And yet you look on me with fear, and you treat me with abhorrence." He set down the violin deftly and took a step towards her, his eyes flashing in a sort of dare.

"Because I'm afraid!" These were not the words she had meant to say—she hadn't wanted to appear weak, but she couldn't restrain the sentiment. He didn't respond, nor did he react. "I could never read your thoughts, and I cannot predict what you will do from one moment to another." A spark of provocation crossed his eyes and she felt an instinctive need to back away, but she quelled it. "I'm terrified that you will do something reckless, and I will be at the receiving end of it!"

His brewing rage had diminished at this and she saw his eyes soften instantaneously. "I would never harm you," he said without pause, taking a step towards her.

This time, she did take a quick step back, unable to contain her inherent panic. "Your anger blinds you, and I cannot help but to fear what should happen if in your fury, you do not recognize me." Her voice shook, but she swallowed back the anguish that was tingeing her voice.

"Christine…" he began, but words were spilling out of her mouth before he could continue.

"I thought you were going to kill me that night, Erik." Her lips began to quiver as memories of that evening inundated her mind once again—memories that she was doing everything in her power to crush.

Torment flooded his expression as they stood there, staring at one another. It was only a few moments, though, before he took several slow steps towards her, wrapping his long arms around her crumbling frame. Without knowing what she was doing, she felt tears begin to stream down her cheeks as she pressed her face into his chest.

"Please forgive me," was all he said as her body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

Here's another one for you! I hope you all enjoyed it, and I dearly hope you'd be kind enough to shoot me a review to let me know what you think! I love being able to see how many people read each of these chapters, but what would be even more marvelous would be to know what all of you readers think! Regardless, thank you so much for reading, and a huge thank you to all my reviewers!

Until Next Time,

Christine