Erik is beautiful… Just ask Christine.


Everything was very quiet in the Lair. Deathly quiet. Too quiet for Christine's liking. Was she too late? Was she too early? Would she walk in to find him dead? Would she find his body? Did he still live? Or would he kill himself right in front of her? Christine found she had more questions than answers. She pushed aside the rubble left over from the mob's angry and destructive raid of her Maestro's home.

She knelt to pick up a thick, leather-bound manuscript. It was his magnum opus; Don Juan Triumphant. In her mind, she relived the last act of the play. Though it was unfinished, that last scene would follow her to her grave. Her small fingers traced over the hastily scrawled blood-red notes. The writing was childish; it was not at all cohesive to the man it belonged to. She held the papers to her chest and continued on through the insanity that was Erik's destroyed home.

"Erik?" she called out.

There was no answer. Of course there was no answer. The man was dead, dying, or gone. Why should he stay here anyway? Regardless, she called out again.

"Erik? I am home! Are you here?!"

Christine made her way into the sitting room. A figure seated in a winged armchair by the fire made her suck in a startled breath. She tiptoed over, a fire was still crackling in the stone fireplace. She lay a hesitant hand on his forearm; she shook him gently.


At first she thought he was dead. He did not respond to her first, second, or even third attempt to wake him. Each time she tried to rouse him, her voice became more and more hysterical. Finally, on her fourth attempt; tired, bleary eyes cracked open to see what the fuss was about.

"Christine…?" her maestro murmured. "What…?"

It became quite clear to her very quickly that he didn't know where he was or what he was doing there. His already malformed face twisted into confusion.

"Christine? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?" he asked in astonishment.


To awaken to such a face as hers was not a bad thing at all. Unfortunately the first thing that hit him when he opened his eyes was not her beauty, but the pain radiating from his stomach outward. He didn't know how long he had been down there in the dark. The fire kept on because it was mostly run by gas. His invention, by the by… And a damn good one too! What was she doing here? It can't have only been yesterday that she left. Surely not! He'd lost time before, but it seemed like a lot more than one day had passed.

"Erik, how long have you been down here?"

"How long have you been gone?"


"Christine I…I don't understand…"

His tired eyes saw hers fill with tears.

"Maestro, I am here to stay with you. Forever. I told you I would come back." She whispered.

"If you stay… just a bit longer. If you stay you can fulfil your promise and then go back to your… your fiancée."

"I'm not going back to Raoul, Maestro. When did you last eat?" she asked, touching his cool cheek.

"N-No!" he exclaimed, recoiling from her touch. "It's a trick! You're just… this is just my imagination!"

He got up and started to move away from her but he stumbled and began to fall. Christine caught him before he fell and together they sank to the floor. Mask gone and his dignity along with it, Erik gave in to tears. Christine was absolutely astonished; woman could do so much to man to destroy him.

"Erik, I'm real. I'm here. I'm with you!"

"No, no, no! Christine is gone! Oh god..!"

The slender brunette woman shook him soundly in the hopes of bringing him back from the brink of hysteria. His ravings stopped after a few moments and he went completely limp. His body was wracked with silent sobs.

"I love you." she murmured.

Erik let out a tortured moan.

"Christine… oh Christine, you're killing me."

The pain in his chest was not from any medical disorder he was familiar with. Every word she spoke make his heart swell more until the pain was almost unbearable and he felt he was dying.

"I had to come back, Erik." she continued. "I had to come back, to hold you in my arms again. I won't go back to Raoul. I belong here with you."

"You're killing me…" he whispered against her breast.

She stroked his sparse hair.

"I'm not going to leave you. No matter what you say. I'm not going to leave you."

He shuddered, hot tears falling from his cheeks and soaking her bodice.

"I want… I want to believe that, Christine… More than anything."

"Believe it, I'm not going anywhere."

And then she kissed him. She kissed him for the second time. She kissed him again and again until he believed her and promised to try.