Chapter One
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Erik sat alone in his house, wishing that the death he longed for would come to him. He tried to keep himself occupied with daydreams of Christine, but somehow, he always ended up regretting the poor decisions he made regarding her.
Now he was trying to conjure up an image of the way her golden hair would catch the moonlight on their late night carriage rides. Instead he ended up seeing an image of her hair catching the candlelight in his home as she angrily sobbed into her hands because the Angel of Music was a man. He wished he had never lied to her. If he had offered her help as himself, she may still have accepted out of desperation. If he had not told her that he was the Angel, she probably would not have become so frightened of him, and perhaps she would have trusted him.
Really, he shattered her innocence with that lie. She had believed so strongly in her childhood dream, and he had taken advantage of it. Perhaps she would have continued to believe in the possibility of her angel if he had come to her as himself � and she could have come to love him for himself�
He abandoned the image of her hair, and tried to summon in his mind the exact look in her soft blue eyes when she first heard his voice, filling her dressing room from behind the mirror. But that lovely image was soon disbanded by the look of terror in her eyes when he advanced upon her after she removed his mask. He remembered that she did not scream or faint as he would have expected; truly, she had been shocked and disgusted by his revolting visage, but she had held her ground. At least she had until he began to threaten her with violence.
But then, the look in her eyes at that moment wasn�t nearly as horrified as when she had discovered that he knew that Raoul and the Persian were in the torture chamber. He couldn�t help but think that if he had never given her cause to be so terrified of him, that she just might have chosen to stay with him of her own free will.
Oh, how he wished he had never forced her to choose between himself and the Vicomte. Forcing her to choose only increased her intense fear of him, and by doing so he made himself seem to be the monster that most people thought him to be. But more importantly, if he had never forced her to decide, she would probably still be in his life in some capacity. She might not be his wife, but at least he would be able to hear her sing, and maybe, he could speak with her from time to time�
However, because he had not acted as he should, he lost her forever. Her hair, lips, eyes, little hands, and voice were only pleasant memories wrought with sadness and regret. If only he would die, then she would come back to bury him, and he could be at peace, and she could go off with her Vicomte forever.