"Day six." Candela said out loud as she wrote date and time down on a piece of paper. After being beneath the ground for so long, her mental clock was beginning to fail her quite horribly. With only the barest knowledge of it being dark or light outside, she managed to create for herself a calendar so she wouldn't completely lose track of time.

It had been six days since she had begun to care for the Opera Ghost.

After discovering the masked man was still living, Candela had decided she had three options. Two of which were the typical female reactions. Screaming and running away or fainting. As she had done neither of these on first instinct, she turned to her own way of doing things. Saving the man's life for instance.

With that decision in her mind, she had instantly gone about finding food, broth and water mostly, for him to drink. Something that even when unconscious, if fed in slow amounts, would provide nourishment to his gaunt body. In addition to food, she also examined every inch of skin, save for the more personal areas, for any sort of wound that would hinder his recovery but had found nothing more than a few cuts which were healing. But, what she had decided upon was his starvation wasn't accidental or the work of another.

It was a suicide attempt.

"Though, I suppose downing the complete contents of one's wine cellar would help to dull the hunger pain." She said her to herself as she removed her dress and slipped on her nightgown, a garment she had found in a chest of drawers in her room. Candela despised alcohol and had promptly thrown away the bottles, scrubbing any part of the house than even remotely reeked of the vintage to remove the offending smell.

"At least there isn't any left for him to drink." She muttered as she slid beneath the sheets of the four-poster bed and pulled them up to her chin. Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep.

E-OC

"Raoul, I have to go." Christine whispered very quietly as she huddled against her fiancé's side, fear radiating from every one of her twitching muscles. "But, I'm so scared." The blond youth lightly stroked her hair, desiring to take away her pain but unable to do so.

"You don't have to. A promise to one such him isn't overly binding." Raoul whispered as he kissed the top of her head, offering comfort in the one way he could. While they were quickly becoming the talk of the city, he felt helpless to stop the rumors which varied from close to the truth to outlandish.

"But, I promised! I won't go back on my word." Christine murmured, her voice not raising above a shuddering whisper. "Whenever that announcement appears in the paper, I have to go." She lightly fiddled with his coat buttons before trying to snuggled closer to him. "You must go with me! I won't survive seeing that place alone again!" Her pale fingers clutched at his lapels and her eyes widened, riddled with memories of what he could only imagine unspeakable horrors.

"Of course, I'll go with you, dear." Raoul quickly spoke up, his tone soothing as he covered her hands with his and squeezed them gently before massaging her shoulders with his one arm that was around her shoulders, loosening the muscles which had tightened.

"Don't call me that, Raoul! For your love of me, don't call me that. He called me that...that night." She shuddered in his arms and covered her pale, drawn face. Her blue eyes closed, reliving that night vividly.

"How do you remember such a small detail?" Raoul questioned, not understand her perfectly mental clarity of that night.

"I relive it every night. Every night, I relive every moment. How can I forget even a little of it?" Crystal tears fell down her cheeks and her fiancé gently wiped them away as he kissed the dried paths of those salt drop.

"He'll die soon, Little Lotte. You needn't fear him anymore." Christine mindlessly nodded, leaving him feeling as if she was merely agreeing with him because of exhaustion. The fingers of his left hand tightened as he fought against the boiling frustration which burned through him. That monster had let Christine go but never truly had released her. his hold was still as strong as it had ever been while she lived beneath the Opera House roof.

His plan had always been to move somewhere far away as soon as they were wed but now, the painful true was evident.

They would never be free of the Phantom.

E-OC

Hands shaking violently, Erik gripped the edges of the coffin and hauled his gaunt body into the upright position, gasping for breath as the exertion drained him more than he was quite willing to admit. The foul taste of un-swallowed food remained in his mouth and his roaming golden eyes caught sight of a glass of water, the contents of which were quickly downed.

"Maudire." He muttered as he struggled to pull himself out of the coffin and as he drew himself upright, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Muscles burned and shook from inactivity for an unknown amount of time. Steadying himself against the walls, he made his way out of his room and through the dining room to the kitchen beyond. Raw pain radiated from his chest, the blinding pain not allowing him any coherent thoughts except for the basic will to live.

Peeling off the mask, he splashed cold water against the sweaty skin, clearing his head. As he leaned over the sink, it all came rushing back.

"Christine. Gone." He gasped out the words and nearly dissolved into mad fit on the floor of his kitchen. His heart screamed in agony and Erik wondered if he had looked downward, if blood would be dripping from an open wound. His eyes closed involuntarily and he whimpered echoing the words which stomped on his already mangled heart,

"Christine. Gone." Insensible of anything except his loss, he clung to the edge of counter, swaying unceremoniously. "Christine. Gone." The words boomed off the enclosing walls of the kitchen as his muscles completely gave way and, crashing to the floor, he lost consciousness once more.

E-OC

It was several hours later when the Opera Ghost regained his senses and dragged himself to his feet. Before his mind could again lapse into his memories of the past and crying Christine's name, his keen eyes recognized there was a change in his kitchen since before his long sleep in his coffin.

Wine bottles, once spread around the kitchen were absent; the floor had been polished so it shown; and the general mess he had left it in, had been tidied. The whole room spoke of a woman's gentle touch. Hope rose up in the battered heart of the Phantom. Only one woman knew how to access his room.

"Christine!" He whispered as he bolted towards his living room, only to find that room had also been cleaned and neatened by a woman. His parlor had never sparkled like it did now. Adrenaline pumping through his veins and hope driving his muscles far beyond their ordinary capacity, Erik arrived at the door to Christine's old bedroom. His hands trembled, partially from fear yet mostly from excitement.

His bony hands gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it, not wishing to make a single sound for fear of waking his, hopefully, sleeping angel. as his eyes scanned the room, they landed on the four-poster bed and the occupant within it.

It wasn't Christine.

E-OC

"Madre." Candela asked as she knelt beside the bed her dying mother. "Madre, can I help you? A glass of water, perhaps?" She inquired of the limp form. There was silence for a moment before a whisper passed her parches lips.

"Yes, please." Quietly, Candela picked up the glass and propped up her mother's frail body, assisting her to drink a sip of water.

"Here, Madre." As soon as her mother tried to swallow, she coughed violently and her daughter covered her mouth with a handkerchief, bringing it back bloody. Her mother's tired eyes fluttered close before snapping open as she reached up, grasping at Candela's hand.

"Dela, D-del-" The young girl quickly hushed her mother as she laid her down against the pillows.

"Hush, Madre. Don't speak. Rest." The gray-haired woman shook her head and weakly squeezed her daughter's hand.

"Dela, I'm...I'm dying." She whispered, stating what both of them knew was a fact. "When...when I am dead-" She gasped for breath and coughed again before Candela could catch her, spit blood onto the white pillow cases. "Go to France. Your father-" She heaved, gasping for breath, desperate to say one last thing but seeming to realize it was quite futile.

"I love you." She breathed before her head rolled to the side and her hand fell limp in the strong grip of her daughter. Nurses and doctors entered the room quickly, a mere blur by the grieving girl. Hands grabbed her hand began to pull her away the dead body of her mother. Candela tried to scream but couldn't as her whole world dissolved into blackness.

Her eyes snapped open, the dream a vivid memory from six years previous, only to find her hands were confined by one cold bony hand and the other was covering her mouth, the scent of death and feeling of cool sending shivers down her spine as she tried to twist to see her assailant. It was then, a musical voice demanded,

"Who dares disturb the Opera Ghost?"