And in a haze, I count the silent days

[lethermindwander]

She stands at the top of the stairs, looking down. She doesn't have to hear their words to know exactly what Raoul is saying to the two maids standing beside him. The worried expressions on all their faces give it away. He's asking them to check up on her. To make sure that she doesn't get into any trouble. Though honestly, to Christine that seems a little absurd. What trouble could she possibly run into? But that's Raoul, always worried. Always trying to protect her from any sort of disturbances, anything that might make her frown. She's always suspected it's because he could always see the lost little girl behind her eyes, longing for moments in the past. He hadn't been able to protect her from this, though.

It's been three weeks since Charles turned ten. He's gone off to boarding school, now. Christine knows its for the best. It just hurts. The absence of her joyful boy in the household has cut her far deeper than she, or anyone else expected it to.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning, Little Lotte," Raoul says, looking up at his wife leaning against the railing. His voice calls her back to reality for a moment and she puts on the best smile she can manage before making the short journey down the staircase. She goes up to her husband and places a chaste, good bye kiss upon his lips.

"I'll be fine, I promise," Christine assures him, cupping his cheek in her delicate hand.

"I know," he says it, but Christine doesn't think that he believes it, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she replies, then letting her hand fall away to let him leave. She isn't lying when she speaks those words to Raoul. She does love him and she can't imagine that any other man would be as patient with her as he was.

There's just another man that she loves more. On an entirely different level, something that struck her to her very soul, had consumed her completely. He had made sure that she'd always belong to him...But she can't be with him, no.

Erik is dead.

As the large front door shuts behind Raoul, Christine retreats back into the lovely home that they have built. She pays no mind at all to the little maids that are still standing there. The girls rarely spoke to Christine unless they had to. Nor did the rest of the staff. They were all content to let Christine haunt the hallways of her home without question.

Without Charles' bright smile to hold her up, she falls down. Without his ethereal powers of empathy, his amazing musical talents and his sharp mind to ground her, she floats away. All she's left with are the dark recesses of her mind and her memories of her forbidden love.

It aches. Her heart is so shattered that she honestly wonders how on Earth it's managed to keep on beating without falling apart. When she closes her eyes, all she wants is to hear his voice singing sweetly in her ears. She wants to feel him in her arms. But she wants him to keep breathing.

She doesn't want to watch him take his last breaths, she wants him to open his eyes and twist those ugly lips into a smile just for her. She can't have these things, though. And it was slowly destroying her completely to be without the man that meant more to her than air.

Or perhaps it had destroyed her already.

She finds herself in the quietest corner of the house. She curls up in the large, plush chair in her bedroom with a book. She has no actual intention of reading it, though. It isn't long before her eyes slip closed and she's lost to her dreams of Paris. She's safe here, in her dreams. She can play pretend with ease. It's better than facing her heartbroken reality.

Which is why when she opens her eyes again, Christine honestly isn't sure if she's dreaming or not. It's dark in the room now, many hours must have passed. Yet there's a warm glow emanating from the large mirror hanging on the wall across from her. It seems so strange, though really, this is awfully familiar. The longer she stares at the shimmering glass, the more it beckons her across the room. The faintest hint of a familiar song reaches her. Whatever is calling her to the mirror now, she can't resist it. She crosses the room and stands before the shining glass. And suddenly, it's just a mirror again. What had she thought, that he'd somehow manage to cast a spell on it from beyond the grave? That he would just effortlessly reach out and pull her into the darkness? She's such a silly, foolish girl. Even ten years later.

In her despair, a few tears bubble forth and stream down her cheeks. She raises her fists and aims to slam them against the glass. Only the pressure never comes. She never feels the cold surface against her hands. It doesn't break, it doesn't do anything. Her hands pass right through it.

Maybe he has cast a spell on it...

Without much thought at all, Christine walks through this newfound portal with her heart racing. With her blood pounding and making her feel more alive than she has in years.

What she finds on the other side is a brilliant, overwhelming cacophony of sensations. So many colors and smells. So many costumes and performers bustling about. She isn't quite sure where she is or what it is but it feels so promising. She's meant to be here. Wherever here is.

Even if here is just a mad delusion.

Comments

[gaveyoumusic]

There's a swirl of sounds and flashes of colors, and Erik finds himself in the middle of it all. Well, he's been in the middle of it all for quite some time, a thing that is only fitting since this is his creation and he is the one who operates it. The only difference is that it isn't operated by him alone. He has help in the form of his young son Gustave.

But even the presence of the boy brings little comfort. Instead, he represents a reminder of what he's lost, and of what can never be again.

Christine, Christine...

He can't even tell if that repeated refrain has actually left his lips, or if it's a mere echo in his head. But whether it's an echo or actually spoken does not change the reality that Christine is gone, and with her is his inspiration. Oh, he still can compose, but the notes don't seem alive. Instead, he has what feels like clunky discordant orchestrations without anyone to breathe life into them.

Perhaps it's fitting. Christine is no longer breathing, so why should his music be any different? In some ways, the music died with her.

But what hasn't died is Coney Island and the throngs of people who flock to it looking for a diversion from the problems and trials of every day life. And although his heart is largely not in it anymore, he has kept the doors of Phantasma open. It seems to him that it is a shadow of what it once was, given the tragedy that occurred there, but not many know the story, and he means to keep it that way.

The singer he has now is a far cry from Meg Giry, and certainly from Christine, but she keeps people coming, and that's enough. The day-to-day operations keep him from thinking more than he should, but even so, each hour feels empty and lacking purpose.

It's that emptiness that drives him to close the door to his office; not entirely, because he can't shut himself off from the things going on outside it, but enough to allow him a moment of near quiet. It's then that he notices something strange, something resembling a flash in the glass of his mirror. But closer inspection reveals not a flash but an opening, a portal of some kind.

And even stranger than that, there seems to be a person inside the portal. Erik straightens up, unsure if his eyes are playing tricks on him, but as he watches, the image of the person grows clearer until they are right in front of him.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" Not recognizing the person who has just stepped through, the questions form themselves even though he knows what he has just seen. His lips turn downward into a frown, because this room is his own private sanctuary, away from the noise and hubbub of the attractions outside. No one should be here unless he's given his permission, and he can count the times he's done that on one hand. Portal or no portal, he does not take kindly to his space being invaded.

[lethermindwander]

It can't be. It simply cannot be.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time that she's imagined his voice calling out to her. It's just never felt this real before. She has to blink a few times, trying to get her vision to clear. All the shapes around her are fuzzy and draped in a haze. Christine stands there, looking down at her feet until she can focus enough that the entire world doesn't seem to be spinning around her.

But it is. It's his voice, crystal clear and unsullied by the distortions of memory.

Slowly, she lifts her head to reveal her face. Her eyes are darker, harsher and more empty than he's likely used to. She is but an echo of her former self, the shining young girl full of hope. All she's full of now is dreams, really. Her life has taken a different path and it's been etched fully into her features.

She recognizes him in an instant, though. She hadn't just been hearing things. Though it is certainly possible that she's seeing things. Christine finds that it doesn't matter to her. If this isn't real, she shall choose to pretend that it is. She remembers telling him once, that perhaps reality wasn't what she wished to see. He's there, standing before her, his eyes boring down into her. He's alive. It seems real, it feels more real than any dreams she's had of him before. Though it's also possible that maybe her imagination has just finally managed to perfect the image of him in her mind. He may be angry, he may be shocked from the sudden intrusion but Christine can't honestly care about setting off his temper. She'll take it. She'll take whatever violent rage that comes forth from him. It's better than enduring silence. It's better than reliving his final moments in her mind, watching his life slowly drain away.

"Erik?" She questions, calling out to him, her voice quiet and shaking. The longer she looks up at him, the harder it is to keep her eyes focused. Her body wishes for her to cry but Christine tries to push it down. She's afraid that if tears cloud her vision, she'll blink and he'll fade away, back into the past. She can't lose him again, even if she's lost him over and over, every night since he died.

Uncertain if she should trust her feet or not, Christine takes a step closer to him. Then another. She's close enough now that she could touch him, if she wanted. But she's scared that if she tries, that might make him disappear, too.

[gaveyoumusic]

Dreams could not, and never would be, a substitution for reality, but this moment feels different than the dreams he's had of her and of a different time. He's had dreams of it being him who was shot and not his beloved Christine, and he's had other dreams of her simply being alive and starting a new life with him and their son. But none of those dreams have ever had this much clarity and depth, as though all he has to do is step forward and touch her.

When she lifts her face, he takes in her features, noting the differences present there. She appears older, of course, but there is something more: something that hints at loss and despair, two things he has reluctantly become well acquainted with. As he looks at her, he wonders what differences she might see in his face.

But even as he surveys her and takes in the changes that have happened to her, he realizes that she is still every bit as beautiful as before. It could be his own longings clouding his vision, but to him, Christine will always be the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, change or no change.

Without quite realizing it, he takes a step forward, because Christine is there before him. It does not matter in the slightest if she is a conjuring of his imagination. It's her, and he wants to be close to her, not far away. And then she speaks, and he feels a sensation not unlike wonder wash over him. Her voice has always had that effect on him, calming his turbulent emotions and chasing away the grief he's felt even while dark memories of that long ago terrible day rise up in his mind.

"Christine?"

Erik hesitates, because she's so close now that he's afraid of startling her with a sudden movement. If he moves, the spell, this moment, might be broken, and the last thing that he wants is to lose her again.

"This must be a dream. You can't really be here." The words are said quietly, in a hushed tone, because something is being woven here and words might only interrupt it. If this is a dream, he wants to wake up from it, because he cannot live on dreams alone, however much he misses her.

[lethermindwander]

"I think that I am," she whispers before she even has a chance to think about it. She doesn't want this to be a dream. The only way to prove that it isn't is to reach out to him. Somehow reaching out to him now is more difficult a gap to cross than any of the others she had ever before. But she knows that she has to, she knows that she will have to bridge it first. That's always been the case in their relationship, she can't imagine that it would change now.

Perhaps it's even a comfort. A slight, small thing that further proves that this is real.

"I'm here, Erik. I'm here," she repeats it, her voice shaking. It's less for him, more for her own good. She needs to hear it out loud, in her own voice. It helps convince her that this might not be her imagination. It helps build her courage, little by little.

With him so close to her, she studies his face. His eyes have always been full of despair and sadness but this is different, the way they're colored now is awfully familiar. She knows this despair, she's seen it in her own eyes every day for the past decade, the hopeless loss. She can see that he has aged, she can see the fine lines that have started appearing across the uncovered half of his face.

And it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Because it means that he has lived. He's older here than he ever got to be with her, his life cut short so soon. Something that Christine has blamed herself for over and over. If she hadn't let him send her away after they had kissed the first time, she had been ready to stay with him and he had known it, perhaps he could have lived.

Or at least they would have had more than one night together.

She finally finds the strength to reach out. First, with one hand. It shakily gets laid upon the lapel of his coat. The soft caress of the fabric gives her hope that he might just not disappear. She places her other hand beside the other and this is enough to convince her.

"You're alive," she breathes it like the most hopeful prayer. It's not a question, it's a fact and it fills her with so much joy that it is so. Christine finds that she can't keep the tears at bay anymore and they start trailing down her cheeks.

[gaveyoumusic]

Those whispered words send shivers down Erik's spine, and for a few short seconds, he closes his eyes, clinging to the echoes of Christine's voice like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. If this is all a dream that will end the moment he wakes up, he at least wants to recommit to his memory the sound of her voice. It's always there in his memories, but he knows that time will eventually replace those with other ones, and at least for now, he needs something to hold onto if all of this goes away.

In spite of the longing, the need to believe in the reality of this moment, Erik finds himself shaking his head in response to her statement that she is here. How can she be? He remembers with poignant clarity the sound of the gun firing, and the terrible moment when Christine fell to the ground. Feeling her weight heavy in his arms and hearing her gasping last breaths are not things he will forget anytime soon.

But putting into words the terrible truth that he knows is too difficult to achieve at this particular moment. The words are frozen in his throat, and all he can think about now is the way her eyes are fixed on his own face, studying each feature and line. He wonders, not for the first time, how she can bear to look on him even with the mask that conceals the worst of his disfigurement. In his mind, she is the personification of beauty, and he is everyone's worst nightmare come to life.

Then, the despair that has been his close companion for more days than he can recall surges forward again, driving his gaze downward even as Christine reaches out to him. Now he can't look at her for fear that she will disappear before his eyes as he says the words on the tip of his tongue.

"You say the words I was going to say to you," he all but whispers, his voice hushed and low, as he lifts one hand tentatively towards her face, wanting to brush away those tears. This moment is like a scene from his wildest dreams, and yet it confuses him too. Somehow, they believe each other to have died, which makes very little sense even for him, who shrouds himself in mystery. This all sounds like a cruel trick, save for the fact that he knows what it is that he saw. And Christine is no fool; if she believes him to be dead, then there must be a reason for it.

It would be absolutely and completely maddening to discover that the reason behind all of this was someone's idea of a terrible joke.

[lethermindwander]

She bears to look at him because she loves him. He had taken a piece of her soul, she had taken some of his. A love like that does not fade, does not falter. While it is true that his disfigurement had certainly prevented her from coming to that realization quicker, it hardly matters to her now. It's his face, there's nothing that can be done to change that. It may have frightened her, haunted her and once been placed in the starring role of her nightmares, but his face holds no horror for her now.

He'd be surprised to know that many of the thoughts swimming through her head actually involve slipping that mask right off his face. She'd like to see all of him, feel that ravaged skin beneath her fingers and have another chance to memorize each of his scars.

As his hand raises, Christine moves to catch it in her own. She smiles, as the tears keep bubbling out. These are not sad tears, these are tears of joy. She is so overwhelmed, having not expected the piece of her soul to return to her. She holds his hand in both of hers for a moment, running her fingers across his. She feels each bump and detail, marveling at the bone structure of that beautiful hand.

"No, no, I don't think so," Christine says, her smile growing bittersweet as she places his hand on her chest, over her heart. She holds it there tightly so that he may feel that beating organ pounding away. It proves that she is alive, at least in the physical sense of it.

"Until this moment, I was barely breathing. For it is so hard to go on without the one that holds your heart."

[gaveyoumusic]

Even his own mother could barely do what Christine has done and is doing in this very moment. Part of Erik understands. It's what he wrote about in the song he composed with her in mind. Love never dies, even though there may be things that do their best to stop it. But even though he can see it in the way she looks at him, the darker parts of his soul recoil and withdraw, refusing to accept that any living human being could look on him with love.

And it certainly would surprise him if he knew the thoughts Christine was having about him right then. To unveil himself and his monstrosity still is unthinkable, after so many years of hiding beneath the mask. But then, Christine has seen him in ways that no one ever has or tried to do. So in that regard, to appear before her unmasked does not seem so incredible.

A shiver creeps its way up Erik's spine in response to Christine's touch. It is overwhelming and thrilling, and he scarcely knows how to respond. This has always been the way of it: her touch alone can inspire an outpouring of thoughts and emotions that can barely be expressed with mere words. Human speech is capable of many things, but when it comes to this, it fails completely.

"I can hardly believe it," Erik replies simply because it is the truth. Her death still plays itself in his mind even now, even with her standing there alive and well. But feeling her heart beating beneath his hand soothes him just a little, although it causes him to shake slightly from the overwhelming emotion that accompanies the realization of her well-being.

"I have not breathed properly since we said our last goodbye." It has felt as though he has been holding his breath for these many long years, and now he still wonders if he dare to do something as seemingly simple as exhale. But exhale he does, and then he's looking at her as if he never wants to look away again. "What happens now, Christine?"

How do they go on now? For once, he has no answers.

[lethermindwander]

She clutches his hand, trying to steady it. Trying to steady herself. Christine had never thought that by some twist of fate, that he'd be brought back to her. Her mind drifts to the past, to her memories of him. The last time she had seen him alive. He had been so weak and frail, overcome by sickness. So much of his awesome power had faded from him and Christine remembers holding him. Kissing him, loving him, trying to do everything that she could to make sure that he knew how much she loved him before he slipped away completely. She remembers the exact moment that his hand had fell slack in hers, when the air left his lungs for the final time and the world would never hear his beautiful voice again. She had stayed with him, for so long after he had gone. She couldn't bear to leave him. They hadn't had enough time.

In that moment, she would have traded anything in the world, anything in existence for just a little more time with him.

She doesn't know what she's done to deserve him now. Christine barely thought that she had deserved him the first time.

"We never have to say goodbye again," she says, wanting to believe it with all her being. There's some horribly dark part of her that knows the only way that will be true is if she has died as well. Which, though she doesn't remember dying, it's certainly possible. Perhaps they are both dead, he seems to think that she is.

Though then that begs the question of whether this is Heaven or Hell. Or if she actually cares if that means she gets to keep him.

But she doesn't know what should happen now either. She feels guilty. She cannot abandon her son or her husband. Christine had been so overtaken by the moment, the absolute shock of seeing Erik alive and well that it had momentarily purged her mind of all other thoughts. Now, they were starting to trickle back in. Even if she wanted to go back to them, was it even possible? She doesn't know how to feel, what to think.

"Could you sing to me, please?" It's a simple request, she thinks. It buys her more time to think, to sort some of her thoughts, "Or tell me a story, a beautiful tale of love. It's been so long since I've heard your voice somewhere other than in my head."

[gaveyoumusic]

For his part, he knows nothing of Christine's last memories of him. He knows nothing more than that she died because of a tragic accident that cut her life short. Despite Christine's grip on his hand, it shakes as he recalls the incident and remembers how it was his fault. He hadn't seen anything but how much he wanted Christine to sing, and by the time he saw the truth and had woken up to reality, it was too late. It was his fault Meg had been pushed to the brink, and his fault that Christine had died.

Ever since then, self-blame and guilt have made a home alongside the loneliness and despair that have been his companions since his youth. In all honesty, it is him who does not deserve her, not the other way around. His moments of remorse for his past actions are few, a thing he knows estranges him from most people, but he knows that such a flawed man as himself does not deserve someone as kind and loving as Christine.

"You can't say that, not with any degree of certainty." It is said slowly, because Erik is reluctant to state that truth aloud. They have had to say goodbye before, and knowing what he knows about her fate, he cannot see any possible scenario in which they do not have to part.

"But does it matter in the end?" He asks, almost as though the question has slipped out of its own accord. "Even if all we have is a moment, we know how to make a moment meaningful." They have done it before, after all. But then, he takes a step backward, as if he knows the direction her thoughts have taken.

If she has lived, then she must have a family of her own, whether with Raoul or with another man. Losing her has changed him, and so he mentally chastises himself for even entertaining the possibility of invading her life once more. The last time, he did so without a thought, thinking only of himself and his clamoring desires. Now, he hesitates, because it is not his place to try and claim her.

When she makes her request, he startles, barely managing to cover his shock with a rather hurried nod. Once, his voice haunted her, and now she is asking him to sing? "But what should I sing?" Nothing would ever be worthy of her ears except perhaps a song of his own composition, and those have not been exactly forthcoming over the years.

[lethermindwander]

Christine has never seen herself as someone that was worthy of such passionate devotion. Despite the evidence to the contrary, there are days that she doesn't understand why Raoul loves her. He could have had someone so much better than her, someone closer to him in social standing. She had given him the option to leave her, before they wed, both of them knowing what she had done with another man. Yet he stayed by her side.

And Erik...he had always seen something within her that she'd never realized she'd had. He had coaxed it out of her, month after month. Even as everything had spun downwards in a vicious spiral, he had maintained some sort of twisted hope that she would return his love.

She feels so wicked for what she has done to the both of them. Denying Erik, forcing Raoul to live with a ghost. She doesn't deserve either of them.

"No," she protests because she doesn't want to hear him speak the truth. After getting to see him and feel him this way, she doesn't think she could ever go back to living in silence. She had barely been a shadow before this moment. Christine can't imagine how losing him again would destroy her now. Would there be any of her left, this time?

"We may have made due in the past but I don't want a moment, Erik," she refuses to let him step back. She steps forward towards him again. If they are truly alive, she wants him to be a part of her life. She needs him to be a part of her life, even if she knows that Raoul would likely protest. Whatever shape his role came to be, even if he could not be her lover once again, there's no denying her son's true parentage. She had always realized that Charles resembled Erik greatly but now with Erik's features fresh in her mind once again, it's painfully clear. He deserves to know his son. And Christine believes that she's allowed to indulge in such selfishness.

"I want you," she says with sudden conviction, her eyes dark from the swirling shadows within them, "I want you to be mine, forever." She moves his hand from her heart down to the gentle curve of her waist. She reaches for his other hand and guides it to the opposite side.

"So sing anything you'd like. Something of yours, something from an opera, I'd be content with just a quiet lullaby. I just wish to listen to you," She lifts her arms and drapes them over his shoulders. Despite her protests, she still can't seem to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks. Her heart hurts. Will he turn her away? Has he given up on her, is she too late? "Carry me away with a melody, show me that we will have more than just a stolen moment. Let me believe that this is more than a dream."

[gaveyoumusic]

That struggle is not lost on Erik. On one hand, what he's wanted, he's always taken, or tried to take, simply because he's always believed that the good things in life would never be offered freely to someone as monstrous in appearance as he is. When it came to Christine in those early days, he saw someone that he wanted, so of course he tried to take her, believing she would never want him of her own accord. At least, not at first. He told himself that she would learn to love him, deformity or no deformity.

Over the years, he's felt some regret for what he's done to her and to Raoul as well. Just because it's been a long time coming doesn't mean it's any less genuine. He put Christine in an impossible situation and threatened Raoul's life, all in the name of what he'd thought of as love. And, he supposes, it was love, just a twisted sort of it. So, he too feels wicked for the sins of his past that continue to haunt him even as he's attempted to move past them.

"No?" He sounds incredulous, even with the tentative surge of joy that comes as she continues talking. It is too good to be true, that Christine wants more than just a fleeting moment in time. What's more, she's coming closer, despite his attempt to put distance between them again. "Christine," he starts to say, finding that he can't quite finish that sentence. It sounds too accusatory to ask if she knows what she is saying. She's not mad, far from it, but the implications of what she's just said are almost too great for him to comprehend.

But rather than finish that thought, he decides to do as she's asked, deciding to present for her a reprise of the song he wrote for her to sing, the last time they saw each other. It seems more appropriate than ever, to be singing the words "love never dies", because it seems that they have just become literal in this moment.

It does not take long for the emotion of the moment to catch up to him, and he finds tears of his own leaking out unbidden from beneath the mask. He reaches for her hand, hoping to catch it in a fervent grip, as if to ground him and to remind him that this is not some fantastical dream brought on by the wishes of a too-hopeful soul.

For now, the music is enough, but too soon, they will have to address how to go on from here, since life is wont to interfere. But for right now, he'll sing, and let the music be enough to carry them both.

[lethermindwander]

Not even she can deny how twisted their love had been back then. How it had so wildly spun out of control. It was the love that never should have been, but it had come to be regardless.

His sins are her sins, now. She had been torn between the two, wanting both the happy, simple life that Raoul had offered and the world filled with darkness and fantasy that Erik had so carefully lured her into.

There's a part of her that is angry with him for leaving her. There's another part of her, a more rational part that wonders that if circumstances had allowed them to be together then, if they would have ended up wrecking each other completely.

It's less of a worry now, with so much time between them. That, and his entire demeanor has shifted. The way he carries himself is a bit different than she remembers. Perhaps it's just the shock that they've both been through but she can sense how much that he must have changed in these years that have been gifted to him. He's not the Opera Ghost anymore, that's for certain.

Then he starts to sing and everything in her head just stops. Nothing else matters. She knows that this must be one of his own compositions, she can recognize the flavor of his music. How it reaches out and grasps her heart, pulling her closer to him. The melody is magical, the words are absolutely tearing her heart apart. How appropriate they are, she thinks...

All she can do is desperately clutch his hand in hers, trembling and trying to keep herself steady. It doesn't quite work as intended and she finds herself closing the gap between them the rest of the way. Gingerly, she lays her head against his chest, effectively burying it there. The more she can touch him, the better she finds. Because this is real and once again, it overwhelms her. A few more silent tears escape her eyes again but as his song continues, they graduate to full on sobs that shake her body completely. She clings to him, hoping that he can protect her from herself. A decade's worth of tears come pouring out of her all at once. All the heartbreak, all the joy, all the might-have-beens are unleashed like a floodgate unlocked by his music.

Whatever happens next, she knows that she will fight to hold on. No matter what tries to tear them apart this time, Christine knows that she won't let it happen again.

[gaveyoumusic]

The words of the song were written for her to sing them, but as the composer, it's also an expression of his own feelings and thoughts about love and what happens after love. The flaws of his relationship with Christine in those early days loom over him like a great black shroud of regret, and time has only led him to realize that he can't merely blame love for the terrible things that he's done. But even so, as he wrote in the song, real love does take on a life of its own, and that love is often bigger and more powerful than most people realize..

As he's singing to her, he reaches out to her with a trembling hand, half expecting her to shy away from his touch. But he needs to feel that she is real, although his senses are clearly telling him she is there in the flesh. It's only touch that will confirm it for him, so he reaches for her, hoping to just have the briefest brush of his fingertips against her face again.

Once, he would have just done as he pleased without thinking about what she might have wanted, but losing her has changed him. He's slightly fearful of her, not because she frightens him, but because he's afraid to get close and then lose her again. Once was a terrible blow; twice would be unbearable.

As he reaches the end of the song, he reaches tentatively for her hand, hoping to lead her to sit beside him. They still have much to talk about, and he still needs to find a way to turn the conversation to talk of their son. He's looked after him in her absence, but how in the world should he begin to tell him that somehow Christine is there? It's an impossible thought, but he can't hide it either.

There are so many things that need to be said, but what he desires most is to just be there with her and have the conversations that were stolen from them both. There are apologies he needs to make that, until now, have only been spoken to the emptiness of his private rooms. He can only imagine the resentment Christine must hold for him, despite the love he knows (or hopes) is still there too, and for that, he wishes to apologize.

It's difficult for him to even think about it, because he's never apologized for himself or for the terrible actions of his past. But again, time has opened his mind to consider others aside from himself, even though it has been a hard lesson to learn. He's had no one to teach it to him, someone who was ostracized practically from birth, but he's not incapable of learning either, despite what his harshest critics have opined.

With time comes wisdom, or so they say, and even though the Opera Ghost of the Opera Populaire had no consideration for anyone or anything but himself and his desires, he is not that man any longer. What he is now is a man who desperately wants to prove himself to himself, but also to other key figures in his life. And where better to start than with the woman who has been the primary inspiration for his work, and in fact, for the better part of his life?

"Come, we have much to talk about, if you are inclined to hear it."

[lethermindwander]

She won't shy away from him, not anymore. The days where she would cower from his touch are far behind her. Now, she actually leans towards it, a small smile growing on her lips as the torrent of tears finally starts to patter out. Her body still shakes with emotion, there's no way to really stop it, really. She just has to ride out the storm.

Her possible absence in Raoul and Charles' lives is fully dawning on her and she wonders how selfish it makes her if she'd choose to stay with Erik this time. But part of it, she knows, is that she doesn't want to cause either of them any more pain. She never quite recovered properly from her pregnancy, she's been battling various illnesses for most of her adult life. And she hated seeing their faces, pained and worried for her as she laid in bed. How easy it would be for Raoul to simply explain that she had passed away while Charles was gone...

Though part of her wonders if the reason she had been sick so frequently had something to do with simply losing the will to push through.

It's not really a question anymore, yes, she is terribly selfish.

But that's what Erik wanted, back then, isn't it? The darkness in his soul had thoroughly infected her and these days...well. Her obsession with the ghost could very well be on par with the obsession the ghost had nurtured for her. His voice is a drug to her. It suddenly feels as if the only reason she had carried on without him was because she had no choice. Because he had changed his mind and she would dare not question him. It was a moment of redemption for him, yes. She could see that. But who was he to make the choice for her? That has been something that's been eating at her. That's where her resentment lies. Where it's been growing, festering and pushing her closer to the edge of the shadows.

There's so much that's been left unsaid that desperately needs to be dragged out into the open.

"I will listen to whatever you wish to say," she follows him easily and sits down beside him. Perhaps a little closer than what would typically be seen as appropriate for a man and woman who were not wed. She stares down at her hand in his, marveling at the strength of his grasp.

"I believe it might...it might be a good place to start if you could tell me how you've managed to survive," the words spill forth. With their hands clasped together, all she can think about is the traumatic memory of his death.

"You died, Erik. I watched it, I was with you. Your heart stopped beating. You were gone and there was no bringing you back and I--" Christine chokes on the words, they get caught in her throat because these are things she is not used to speaking of out loud, "I have missed you so terribly in these long years since that night."

[gaveyoumusic]

If she were to shy away from him, it would make him withdraw in turn, because he has dreamed of this moment for too long. If she turned away from him, he'd cease to believe in dreams, because it would be as though he waited and hoped for this, only to be cruelly disappointed.

But rather than shy away, she's leaning towards him, and that action causes hope to stir somewhere inside, where he'd thought everything was cold and dead. He'd long thought of Christine as the driving force of his life, along with music, and without her, he wasn't fully alive.

Now that she's seated beside him, their hands clasped together, he finally feels whole again. But there still is that feeling that a void exists between them, and he isn't quite certain how to close it except for both of them to talk of events long past. That, at least, seems to be what Christine wants from him for now.

"I wouldn't call it surviving," he responds, once he's thought how best to phrase his answer. "You died, just as surely as you thought I had. How could I be alive if you were not?" But he carried on, because their son gave him purpose and a reason to keep living. "It was as though I was an automaton, merely going through the motions of life." Not completely, because of their aforementioned son, but it was difficult to know he would never hear his Christine sing again.

But that doesn't really answer what she asked of him, so he continues, "I know that something must have happened to me, or else you wouldn't believe I'd died. But I am very much alive, and-" He pauses, knowing that for now, for as long as Christine remains with him, he honestly means what he says. "I plan to stay that way for as long as I possibly can."

Of course, he doesn't plan to cease existing either, should Christine vanish again. He has their son to consider, but her being present in this moment gives him another reason to be hopeful.

[lethermindwander]

How long had she stayed there, with his lifeless body? Shaking it, kissing it, begging, pleading for him to just open his eyes and live on beside her? How cruel it was for them to finally share their love and then have it torn away?

It's like some sort of prayer has finally been answered. Here he is, alive and fighting to stay that way. A smile comes to her lips at his words, they make her heart swell with emotion and it makes her crave to kiss him. Christine manages to restrain herself from forcing herself upon him in such a reckless manner but she does disengage one of her hands from the tangle of their fingers and raises it to touch the bare side of his face.

"That is exactly how I have felt without you. Like I had, like I had been the one to become a ghost," she explains, a look of wonder in her gentle eyes.

"This may be a dangerous question to ask and, and if you do not wish to answer it right now I will understand," Christine starts, her gaze darting away from him for a moment. She isn't even sure if she wants to hear the answer to this question but her curiosity is clearly getting the better of her. And it's relevant. An instant worry that it was her poor health that stole her from him here and that it might threaten to steal her away again.

"You say that I died as well. I wish to know how. Or why, or just...the circumstances of it."