This was a last minute decision that just came to me all of a sudden. I will explain the logic of it in the comments once a few people have reviewed, but feel free to PM me.

Enjoy the FINAL CHAPTER of this dark fic

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I wrote a letter to mamma, completely avoiding any mention of my marriage. I asked her how she was, if she needed anything, and I told her I was well. To add more proof, though, I said that I was rather wealthy now; I included mentions of my dresses and jewels.

The one part that I omitted was how much I missed her. Erik would likely read the letter before I sent it, and he might tear it in half if it contained anything that took my affections from him.

I shuffled downstairs to find him composing, likely to distract him from the fact I had been writing a note outside of his company. He was hunched over the keys, humming and mumbling to himself. I heard the clink of a pen against the ink jar, and then scratching as he dotted the paper before him.

"Erik?" I called.

He spun around immediately, alight, "What, my love? Are you finished?"

I nodded, extending the note to him. His yellow eyes glanced at it, but he seemed to find no fault, as he immediately sealed it. I wrote mamma's address, pressed the stamp to the corner, and offered it back to Erik. He gave a gentle shake of his hand.

"You can send it," he said.

I blinked in confusion, drawing the letter to my heart, "Send it?"

"The box is just outside, to the left, haven't you seen it?"

"Alone?" I whispered.

"Why do I need to come out? But be quick, I have something to show you."

I stared at the door. I had never opened it myself. What a funny thing that was to say! But it had always been Erik, always, always...

I found myself drifting toward it. My hand met the handle, and I glanced back at Erik.

He was bent over the piano again, consumed by music. I slipped out the door onto the street.

There was a cold fear that grasped my heart. Where it came from, I knew not, but it was almost like I was lost in the midst of a vast crowd of people, when only a few souls were trickling down the sidewalk. I stood on the doorstep, perfectly petrified.

Blood flowed back into my limbs, and I walked over to the yellow box to feed my letter into it. Then, suddenly fearful that I had been outside too long, I rushed back inside.

Erik had his hands clasped behind his back, as if he had been pacing, and he demanded, "Why were you so long?"

"The wind..." I lied pitifully. "It felt nice."

"Why don't we open a few windows, then?" He offered, drawing the two up. "Better?"

"Much better, yes."

"Now come sit down, I have a trick to show you."

I nodded, going around the coral sofa and placing myself upon it. Erik brought out a deck of red-backed cards.

"Do you want to examine them?" He offered, as he always did.

My throat was tight, so I shook my head.

He nodded, beginning to shuffle them. My eyes trailed off to stare at the mantelpiece above the fireplace. There rested three china plates with watery-blue koi fish painted upon them. Normally, however, there would be pictures of the inhabitants, one or two, and yet Erik had not asked for any of me.

I dragged my eyes back to his hands, and inhaled sharply to find that a card vanished each time he shuffled. The pile was thinning before my eyes.

"Won't you explain to me?" I pleaded as he turned two empty palms to me.

"Oh, that would take all the fun out of it," he chuckled, procuring the cards back out of thin air and beginning to shuffle them together.

"At least explain one? Then I could try it."

"I don't believe I could teach you. I don't have to even think anymore, the cards simply appear."

He began to shuffle air, and, one by one, the cards thickened. I glanced towards an open window.

"I want to buy you something," I told him blankly.

The shuffling ceased.

"What?" He whispered.

"You... buy me so many gifts, and I've never given you anything."

"Wives don't buy their husbands gifts, that doesn't make any sense. You would be using my money."

"No, wives do, all the time, their husbands give them a bit of money and they can go buy a gift."

"What gift?"

"It's a surprise-"

"I don't like surprises..." He set the short deck of cards upon the coffee table. "What is it?"

I bit my lip, "A picture... o-of me. I thought you might want one."

He was still and silent for a moment, pensive. I fidgeted with the fabric of my skirt.

"All right," he said softly. "If that is what you want to do, of course... But I can just bring a photographer to the house-"

"I want-"

"-and you could sit in the corner, right over here. Maybe a chair from the dining room, and an end table beside? With roses? Yes, I think so... And you should wear the diamonds I bought you."

He glanced over at me. I was swallowing and titling up my face in an attempt not to cry.

"Why do you not smile?" He asked.

My resolve thinned. I dissolved promptly into my hands as Erik circled me in confusion.

"Why do you cry?" He pleaded, bewildered. "I've given you what you want, why do you cry?"

I found myself unable to reply. He inhaled sharply.

"I know!" He said. "I know why you cry! My poor wife, you have to be alone in the picture, though you have a husband, all alone. And you don't have a child to accompany you either... Then no pictures, as they'll only upset you. Why do I need a picture of you, anyway? I have you here... Or do you cry for a child at last?"

I shook my head, "No-"

"Mothers always seem so happy when they have little children to play with, pretty ones, that is... Perhaps you don't understand how happy one would make you. Do you prefer a boy or a girl?"

"Erik, I don't want-"

"Shh, at least try. After all, wives are supposed to have children, that's their primary purpose, that and their companionship... Boy or girl?"

"But you can't bring a child here," I whined.

"Why not here? You'll be a fine mother, and I certainly won't have anything to do with the little thing... I think a little girl would be your preference."

"Erik-"

"One that looks like you so no one would know it wasn't yours."

"I don't-"

"Do you want to come pick one out with me?"

"Children are not things!" I shrieked with all my frail might. "They're not toys for me to play with, and I'm not bringing one here because you might hurt her!"

Erik was still for a moment.

"Hurt her?" He whispered. "Why would I hurt something of yours?"

"You don't have any trouble with it," I retorted, already sobbing for fear he would round on me.

"W-when?" He asked, his voice frail with horror. "I haven't hurt anything of yours, certainly not you. I love you."

"Last night."

"Last night? I didn't hurt you. I only raised my voice a bit, as you shouldn't have said what you did-"

"I have proof," I quaked.

"Proof?" He whispered.

I rolled my sleeves up nearly to my elbows to show him the paling purple dots about me, the perfect shape of his fingertips.

He shook his head, pulling his eyes away, "No, no, you injured yourself."

"I did not-"

"No!" He wailed, shaking his head violently. "How could I hurt my wife? You must have... slept wrong."

"Does this look like sleeping wrong to you?" I asked, trying to put the bruises back in his gaze. "These are your prints-"

"No-"

"Ten marks from two hands-"

"No, please-"

"-when you pulled me around-"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean to, you know that, never! I would never hurt you."

"And yet you did," I told him coldly.

"You were speaking of a former lover!"

"Is that a reason to harm your own wife? To bruise her? Don't you love me? What good husband leaves marks on his wife's arms?"

He threw on his false nose and fled out the door, locking it behind him. I wound my arms about myself.

At least he might leave me alone for a while...

I didn't feel the need to occupy myself. I enjoyed the quiet by simply staring into space. It was quite a relaxing activity, and I had found immense enjoyment in it ever since my miserable marriage.

Erik was gone for hours. I ended up making myself onion soup for dinner, and it was a relief to eat away from his gaze. I had never appreciated silence before.

Once I had put away my meal, after waiting another hour for him to return, I sat down on the sofa and read a frivolous novel. Every so often, I would glance at the door, but no one was there. The windows had gone dark. The streets had grown quieter, with precious little clinking of horse-hooves and the hum of rolling wheels.

I remained there until midnight. It was then that I dressed for bed, said my prayers, and slipped beneath the sheets in confusion.

Where was he?

All night I was alone. When I woke, I crept into his bedroom and found it empty. Perturbed, I made myself porridge, but pushed it away due to an anxious stomach. I kept glancing at the door, my heart beating more frantically each time, and yet no one appeared. Once I imagined I heard a knock, but when I asked who it was, no one replied.

I waited for my letter from mamma as well. It ought to arrive soon. I waited all day, and then all night, and it only arrived at noon the following day. Erik had been absent two whole days now, and three nights.

The letter put through the door bore my name, and my stomach relaxed its knot so that I could read the reply from mamma.

"Mademoiselle Daaé,

I am the Persian man whom you have seen around the opera house, and who fell into the torture chamber in an attempt to free you. I was unable to aid you after your forced marriage due to threats from Erik for both the vicomte and your benefactress. The former, however, is perfectly safe: he is in Italy with his brother, taking a vacation for his poor health. I made sure of this so that he would not do something foolish resulting in his death. It was a miracle that Erik did not kill him, nor me. Your benefactress I have been watching over to be sure she is well, though she has weakened from worrying about you.

I write to tell you that Erik is dead. Whatever occurred between you both a couple nights ago shocked him back into reality. It forced him to finally realize that you would never be happy whilst married to him, and that he was a danger to you. He came to my apartment, raving almost as if drunk, begging me to kill him. I thought he might have violated you; a crime I had hoped he was incapable of. Yet even so, I could not bear to do such a thing at that moment, so I insisted that he take me to you. He refused, and said he had another way to die should I cling to old companionships. He told me, also, that there was nothing left in this world for him, as the only thing he had ever loved he had broken, and music now made him grind his teeth in agony.

I followed him to the fifth cellar of the opera house. He rowed across the lake to his home there, and has not emerged since. As you read this letter, I am likely trying to gain entry to be sure he has passed. Once I am certain, I shall return you to your benefactress, and then help return the vicomte to you.

If he is not dead when I find him, I fear I have no choice but to end him, for your sake. I only hope I can have the strength to."

There was an unreadable signature at the bottom. I glanced up from the letter, and it slipped through my fingers.

Dead. I should be rejoicing. My soul should be alight.

Dead. He was dead because of me. I had shown him the marks on my arms, found my way into his mind at last to show him that he was hurting me.

Dead. The man who had caused my purest joy at one point in time and my deepest sorrow at another was likely dead.

I remained on the sofa for the rest of the day, forgetting often how to breathe. My mind seemed unable to comprehend all that had occurred in less than two months, and now had ended with this. It had worn out, torn its seams, and could not support anything more than being told what to do. Erik had turned me into that.

I reminded myself that there was not solid evidence of his death. He could still be alive. He could come through the door at any moment.

I waited on a ghost. I could do nothing else but stare at the door, watching for him. What else was there to be done?

At one point, my eyes shut, and I woke to the pink glow of sunrise and the sound of a knock at the door.