Erik stood there in shock as he processed the sight before him. It looked like Amelia had slit her wrists. Blood was pouring everywhere. He had to stop the bleeding if he wanted to keep her alive. But when he drew close, Amelia swung the glass fragment at him, barely missing him. Erik drew back, holding his hands up. "Put it down."

Amelia shook her head violently as she sobbed. "I can't."

He glanced at the ever growing puddle of blood. She was going to bleed to death if he didn't get her to let him approach. "Yes, you can," Erik said, adopting a more gentle tone. "Just let go of it." She shook her head again. "Amelia, please."

While he wasn't sure it was because of the shock of hearing him call her by her first name or something else entirely, Amelia let the glass slip from her hands and shatter into a million pieces on the floor. Erik dropped to his knees beside her and began to rip shreds of fabric from her skirts to use as bandages. He had some, but they were elsewhere in the lair, and Erik didn't have time to go get them.

She continued to sob, but didn't fight him until Erik moved to push her sleeves up so he could tend to her injuries. "No!" Amelia screamed, trying to pull away. Erik grabbed her arm and began to bind her wrists as tightly as possible to slow the bleeding. Once that was done, Erik felt it was safe enough to run and grab real bandages as well as a needle and a thread. He stuck the needle in a candle flame for a few seconds to sterilize it, before running back to stich her wounds shut and bandage them properly.

As he finished sewing the cuts shut, her eyes began close. Erik was afraid if she fainted from blood loss, she'd never wake up again. He tapped her cheek to keep her awake. "Stay with me," he ordered. Her head started to loll to the side, so Erik grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Look at me Amelia!"

Once Erik was satisfied with how he had bandaged her wrists, he picked Amelia up and carried her back to the swan bed. She whined and protested weakly as he helped her out of the bloody dress and into her nightgown. "Don't touch me."

"You are not getting blood everywhere," Erik growled. "So you can either put on the nightgown or sit here in your underclothes." When Amelia didn't argue further, Erik finished helping her change before grabbing a bowl of water and a rag.

"No," Amelia cried as she fought to get away from him.

Erik grabbed her and forced her to stay still. "Don't make this any harder. Otherwise this is just going to hurt you more. The worst of it is over anyway."

"Please don't," she whimpered as tears slid down her cheeks. Erik ignored her, grabbed her hand, and began to wash the blood from her arms. His eyes grew wide as he saw what she had been trying to hide from all along, why she constantly refused to be near him when she wore the short-sleeved nightgown, why she was so timid at night. Amelia's Barineau's arms were covered in scars, and based on the precision, spacing, and size, they were probably self-inflicted. It looked like Erik had discovered her secret. It wasn't her loveless marriage or her husband's affair, it was the fact she had been cutting herself.

He felt a rush of emotion as he saw the scars, although Erik wasn't sure if it was compassion, pity, or something else entirely. The last time he felt like this was when he saw a seven year child crying in the chapel for her recently deceased father and an angel of music that would never come. This was all his fault. He had been so focused on his own pain that he hadn't even realized that someone else might be suffering too. And he had practically thrown the affair in her face, forcing her to watch her husband be unfaithful. It was no wonder she tried to kill herself.

As Amelia continued to cry silently, Erik finished washing the blood away much more gently then he originally had. Looking into her eyes, he noticed shame burning in them. She was honest to God ashamed of her scars, like she shouldn't have attempted to find a way to end her pain. She curled up into a ball and closed her eyes. Since he had gotten the bleeding to stop, Erik allowed her to sleep.

After Amelia was fast asleep, Erik slipped the journal away from her and began to read her writing. He felt his stomach sinking like a rock as he read the poetry. All of it was full of self-loathing and disgust. It was then that Erik realized he had missed all the signs. Amelia hated herself.

Then he realized that Amelia Barineau wasn't the name she had written in the book. Instead she had written Mia de Chagny. It was like Amelia was her cold, unfeeling half, the poised, loyal, obedient wife, while Mia seemed to be the broken, hurting half. Erik wondered what on earth had happened to make her like this. Unless she had married Barineau ridiculously young, some of these scars were too old to be from after her marriage. There was clearly something going on in her family, but Raoul de Chagny had seemed so perfect and happy when he ripped Christine away. What was going on?

Erik flipped to her most recent poem, even though it was clearly unfinished.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Don't let them in, don't let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know

He swallowed hard as he identified another feeling: guilt. If he had even just opened this stupid book, Erik would have known instantly that she was going through this. Yes, she was a de Chagny, but even a de Chagny could only handle so much. It was a miracle that Amelia had held up so well standing up against him until now.

A few hours later, Erik was still studying the poems when he realized Amelia was stirring. She sat up and wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the book in his hands in horror. He handed it back to her slowly. Amelia hesitantly took it and watching him suspiciously for a moment. Once the book was back in her hands, Erik retreated to back to his organ, unsure what to say or do next. Neither of them noticed the abandoned letter to the Vicomte that had disappeared under the bed in the chaos.

Well what does that mean? Is Erik going to realize the letter still hasn't been sent or his he going to finally start paying attention to Mia? I guess you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out. Anyway, as some of you may know, Mia's poem is really from a song called Let it Go in the new movie Frozen, but as my English teacher once said, "What are good songs, but poetry set to music, and poetry is nothing but a song minus the music. And while this story was originally have a Wicked flair to it (hence the title) I feel like Frozen fits just as well, if not better. Luckily, both Elsa and Elphaba have been done by Idina Menzel, so it's not too far off the mark. I hope you enjoy the story so far. Read and Review!
~nibblesfan