Her heart pounded in her chest. Her ears were ringing loudly, deaf to the wailing orchestra playing away her remaining time with each grinding note. Her blood ran cold, she had to fight back ever shiver threatening to take hold of her spine, force down the feeling of her crawling skin. Her breathing was uneven and if it wasn't for her training she would have ruined the last song. Erik stood behind her, his chest pressing into her back, arms loosely draped around her waist, holding her to him as his soft lips issued forth warm breath and a gentle song against her ear.

    Ténèbres was trying to convince Renata and himself that Sérafina could not haunt them anymore.

   Grace was about to sing the final aria of the opera. She had less than four minutes left, and then it would all be over. She'd lose her chance to stop Erik's ludicrous plan. All week she had been trying to figure out how to stop him, how to save Christina and her baby, for if they were hurt it would be on her hands. She even tried nonchalantly persuading Leroux not to turn Erik in, but he merely gave her a funny look and said she'd been spectacular all week.

   Now she pushed Erik away and dove into her aria, praying to God she'd find a way to intervene, trying to silently beg Erik to become rational.

"I once dreamed a lovely fantasy,

You belonged to me, and I was all you needed.

We sang of our love on cold evenings,

A love, a love

   That burned brighter than any star in the dark heavens above.

    I'd have gone to Hell,

Sent myself into a blue burning fire,

    If only for a taste of your desire.

    I would sacrifice my sanity for you, you crazy, wonderful man.

   And I already have!

But... moments ago I dreamed
    of you with another,

I knew, this was your real lover.

Although dead she may be - no!

No one is as dead inside as me!

I'd sacrifice my hope for one loving glance, something real.

All I'll ever have in my shattered, cold, broken heart, is a wax seal.

The closing line of a lying love song.

  Now, I dream of the sweet sacrifice to come.

   In the throes of your music, comes one final release of one final note and my last sacrifice for you!"

    Grace slowly sank to the floor, eyes darting offstage, where Christina stood, beaming, ready for her final walk onto the stage, before looking back to Erik.

   He stood several feet away, pride shining in his eyes. And why shouldn't he be proud? He had molded Grace into a prima donna, a true opera singer. His play was being called by all of the Parisian newspapers a scandal and success of the century. They said he was a musical genius, a theatrical wonder. An operatic miracle, a daring revolutionary.

    And tonight, Christina would be his.

  But she saw in his glowing coppery eyes gratitude and pride directed towards her. He cared about her, and he was so grateful to her, for helping him reach his success, his dreams of recognition and acknowledgement. She was Renata after all. No one else could summon the rawness and pain as well as she could.

   Grace's fingers wrapped around the dagger in her pocket. Less than a minute, and everyone's fate would be sealed with Renata's final death of the week.

   The metal was solid, and cool, taunting her in her grasp.

   And then it occured to her, an utterly insane thought, occuring as the best thoughts - which generally tend to actually be last resorts that don't always work - always did. He did care about her. He did value her.

   Grace withdrew the dagger, allowing the blinding light of the fires and candles on the stage, and the grand chandelier to shine on it, making it gleam and glimmer menacingly for the audience's sake.

   There was a little patch of red paint stitched into her costume. It was cold. It had spilled every night this week. The dagger was supposed to make it spill. But what if that was not all that spilled tonight?

   Tonight, Grace allowed a maniac smile to reflect in her eyes, since it could not line her face, and her hand steadied firmly on the dagger as she raised it. Tonight, it was not just Renata's sacrifice, but Grace's too.

Grace's sacrifice. Had a nice ring to it.

   And in one swift movement, it was done.

   Ténèbres, of course, rushed to Renata's limp body, as he had for the last six days.

   Erik was delighted. Tonight had to be Grace's best performance, he thought as he took her limp body in his arms. But something was wrong. The red liquid that was dripping onto his fingers, as it had every for the past week, and all rehearsal, was warm. And it smelled metallic.

   Fear immediately overtook him. Grace's body was too limp, too stiff.

  He glanced up at Christina as she made walked on stage for the last time that night, appearing just as the curtain fell, and then he looked down at Grace again. It was not supposed to be her in his arms now, it was supposed to be Christina. But Grace...

   Before Christina could even reach them, just as the curtain stilled and the audience began their ovation, he lifted Grace up in his arms and triggered the lever hidden under the stage. The floor gave way beneath his feet.

                                   🌹

  Grace felt them falling through the air and found it to be more terrifying then exhilarating. She had to exercise every last ounce of will she had to not grab onto Erik. Now was not the time to give up her ruse of being dead or severely injured. But gracious, she didn't expect to bleed that much.

   When they unexpectedly hit the water - or was it unexpected? They had to land on something after all - Grace shoved herself away from Erik's arms, as he had removed one from her body when they submerged to bring them back to the surface.

   She swam under water, grateful that the murky gray color prevented him from seeing her. And judging from the waves and ripples around her, she knew he was searching. Or drowning. But she had had enough morbidity today to last a lifetime so she chose to believe he was just searching for her.

   She finally surfaced in front of some rocks, and tried to climb up them onto the bank. Erik was chasing her, close behind. However, her heavy skirt caught on a rock. Before she knew it, she was back in Erik's iron limbs and being dragged away. Great, now he's going to drown me, just the way I always wanted to die.

   "There are steps over here. If you paid attention during any of your visits to me, you'd know that. I always design things for ease and efficiency."

   Oh.

   He set her down, his hair flat on his face, giving him some adorable never before seen bangs, and making his mask glisten. She reached out for the wall.

  "I'll get the medical kit and take a look at what you did to yourself."

   Grace squeaked in reply. Was he not mad? Or was he the kind of sadist who wanted his victims perfect before he tortured them? Leroux did say he always kepta hidden torture chamber at the ready. But then Leroux also seemed to think cake would make her like him. Which it did until he decided to try to throw her employer in jail, the stupid man.

   Grace warily watched Erik approach with his medical things.

   "Let's go over to the sofa so I can take a look at that wound and you can dry off."

   She blanched. "No!" No, he couldn't see her waist. He never would.

    She began backing away from him, stumbling, falling into the wall, hissing in pain. She had nearly stopped the bleeding anyway with the pressure she was applying. "We're not married," she said, scrambling for any excuse she could give.

   Erik put his hands on his hips, staring her down with his soul-piercing eyes.

   "Grace, I've seen you in undergarments where you might as well have been naked - or did you forget your discovery of Fleur so easily?"

   "I can do it."

   "You'll make it worse. How do I know you won't drive a knife through yourself again, to save yourself from the anger you clearly thank I have."

   "I'm not a coward, I'd face you any day without hurting myself to try and get your pity. Stay away from me!" She screamed as he came closer.

   Erik, hurt and confused gave up. He handed her the materials. "Go put yourself back together in your room."

       Grace reappeared some time later. She had stopped the bleeding and bandaged herself up with the help of a handy mirror - which she checked was not a door or looking glass beforehand.

    She was shivering in her wet clothes, and her hair was a matted mess, her perfectly styled curls a wreck from her swim.

  Erik stood from the couch when he saw her. He had changed and dried off, and he instantly took her arm and dragged her to sit in front of the fire. He disapeared and came back with a large blanket in hand, which he tucked around her.

  "I have a comb, would you like me to try to sort out your... hair? Are you warm enough? Hungry, thirsty?" His voice was laced with concern, but his eyes were wild. Not all of it was about her though, she believed.

   "I'm fine. Empty your pockets and roll up your sleeves before you come near me though. And dump out your boots."

   He stared at her, not for the first time, like she was crazy.

   "You're not going to be happy with our conversation."

    He nodded and obliged, setting his punjabs from his pocket and sleeve on the floor, along with the knife from his boot. She did not know, of course, that he still had another, smaller knife hidden in the breast pocket of his shirt, concealed by his waistcoat. In all the times she'd worn his clothes, she'd never asked about the extra pocket.

  He pulled up a chair behind her and began to work on her mess, which was also, it turns out, tangled around the costume necklace at her throat.

   "Why did you stab yourself?"

   "I had been trying to end your mad plan all week. It was the only thing I could think of doing. I knew you cared for me, so... I used that to my advantage."

   "And literally made my heart stop beating. Hard thing to do too, but then it would match my face, death's head with a dead heart," he laughed.

   "You never told me you had a death's head under that mask. I don't believe you anyway, but if it makes you feel better, I didn't want you to help me not because of the compromising nature, but because my entire torso is a mangled mash of scars."

   His hands stilled for a brief moment. He feigned humor. "Because that would make me feel better." Sighing, he resumed. "You scared me, Grace. I was worried I'd lost you."

   "And that would be a bad thing? I'm not sweet tempered, like Christina. You and I are always at each other's throats. And why are you not mad about that?"

   "I need you to much. Having an accomplice and a professional, serious person at my opera house is nice. I'd miss you too.

   "I'm not upset because I don't know why I'm not. Shockingly, apart from this harebrained, ill-thought out plan, Christina has not been on my mind. But why did you save her? I thought you weren't fond of her?"

   She braced herself for the storm to come. "She's pregnant, Erik."

   Silence and still hands. Grace stiffened. But he tugged a lock ofher hair and laughed. "I know. She told me after the second act tonight. Who am I to take her from her happiness, even if I never find my own?"

   Grace was furious. "Never. Tease. Me. Again!"

  He continued to laugh. "Come on, stay still and let me tease. I need to bring you back up to the above world soon. No doubt your family will miss you."

   She dug her nails into his hand, making him gasp with a faint pain. "I hate you." But she settled against his leg despite that, savoring his rare warmth.

    "I love you too, ballet mouse," he chuckled.