It is one thing, to find out that someone who you greatly admire and look up to is in truth, a villain. It is another to know that the person you greatly admire and look up to was a villain to begin with. Grace was never under any spell that could lead her to think well of Erik. She knew he was flawed - she just wanted him to admit it.

   And so she waited a very long time for the silent man bent over his organ to speak. His figure was sharp, tall, and lean. Hunching down, defeated, unsure, and grindingly worried and irritated.

   At last he spoke.

   "What people did I kill, Grace? What promise is it that I broke to Christina? What were their names, when were their deaths? Why do you think I did it?"

    "The chorus girl. The stagehand. A Madame Chomette. Two of the de Changy's," Grace said, serenely. She stood just behind him, her hands patiently clasped, mousy hair half dried.
"George believed the Palais Garnier to be haunted or cursed. Gaston provided me with the real facts, Monsieur le Fantôme de l'Opéra."

   The Phantom of the Opera, the title he never gave himself. The Phantom had been a legend yes, a rumor, partially started by him, and undeniably finished by him as well. The murderous mastermind living underneath the theatre, in the catacombs where a monster like him belonged, with his death's head and fascination with the morbid.

    "Some people deserve to die, Grace," he gritted out.

   "Oh? Or just people interfering with your obsession with Christina?"

     "It's not an obsession. I love her."

   "It is an obsession and you do not love her. Though I don't understand either of you, her especially. And I can't blame you. If a man were obsessed with me, I'd throw myself at him. But answer me, Erik."

      "The de Changy's were insolent fools who taunted me with what they had and I did not, with what they would have and I never would. They tried to expose me, to rid Christina and the Garnier of me themselves. Thank god Christina never performed at the Garnier. She would have come to her senses much sooner. Madame Chomette was about to betray me -"

   "You dropped a chandelier on a woman's head!" Grace interupted.

   Erik paid no heed.

   "And Buquet was a drunken scoundrel no better than your Monsieur."

     Grace cautiously approached him.

   "How did you come to such firm beliefs against my character?" He asked, sensing her closeness.

   "How did you recieve that bullet? I should go to the law."

    Erik's vision went red. He turned around, his leather gloved hands catching her breakable shoulders in their brutal grip, his fingers achingly digging into her soft, unprotected flesh.  Yet he could not harm her, as much as he should to ensure his safety.

    "Leroux poisoned your mind against me!" He shouted, shaking her once. "How could you believe the ramblings of an idiotic journalist, and the views of family member when it is I who you have known the longest?" He should tear her part. But he couldn't

  The image of Grace as a child, staring up at him with large, hazel, trusting eyes that admired and adored flickered in the back of his mind. Then Grace as an adult, clearly exhausted, worn down, and in pain appeared. She pushed all of that away though, and brought forth brightness and cheer to give little Mai, a prostitute's daughter, some joy. All his life, he searched for two things he would never have: beauty and goodness. Grace was so innocent, so pure, and so very good. Grace was such a creature. She possessed goodness and kindness which she had repeatedly shown throughout her life, or what little he'd been blessed enough to witness. He couldn't destroy something so good. He could not commit such an act of ridding the world of someone like Grace.

   He stared down into her face, trying to untangle it from it's pained lines as he crushed her in his heartless grip. Erik released her, crossing the room again.

   "It was not Leroux who poisoned my mind, but you who is poisoning it against yourself. It is offensive to me to know that you think I would rely solely upon what other's tell me instead of going off of what I know and have witnessed. Or that you consider me incapable of drawing my own conclusions. I have but one question left now."

   "Ask it," he hissed.

    "If you needed to, if it was a last resort, would you kill me?"

   "No." The answer came quickly. "I could never harm you or your family, could never want to. I don't exactly know why, but you... you are just... something."

  He swallowed and bowed his head. "Go to the police Grace. Go tell the Gendarmerie what I've done, who I am. I won't stop you."

    But Grace made no move to leave. She in fact, moved closer. Her hand drifted to his good shoulder. "Erik," she said softly. "I see no wrong. I have nothing to contact the police over. I find nothing wrong with what you've done."

   "And your conscience believes that?"

    "My conscience would be guilty if I sent an innocent man to jail."

    His eyes locked with hers. "I was an assasin Grace, after you left. The Garnier death are not the only soakings of blood my hands have had."

   "Did you not think I already knew this? I've known you were a murderer since I was a little girl. I knew you would never let men like Red and Hen live."

     "Go sit down by the fire; you're shivering."

    Grace complied, truly cold, and now it was Erik's turn to ask questions. There were many things he was curious about, for he could not believe she could be so forgiving.

      "Why is it, when you were so young, and you knew what I had done, did you stay with me? You could have run sooner, I would have let you." He settled down on the sofa, away from her.

    She drew his cloak closer. "Well let's return to what you said. Some people don't deserve to die. They need to, as twisted as it sounds. Do you know what Red and Hen did to countless children? What they taught them to do? The kind of people they sold them to? In every child's eyes, you were a hero that day, when that filthy blood was shed. Those two and the guards tortured us. There would be at least two deaths a week, every night someone would be coughing, another screaming in pain, and the sound of drunken laughter floated disembodied around our ears. You had more than redeemed yourself in my eyes, and I only started to hate you when... I didn't run away, Erik. You made me leave. I knew you might do to me the very same thing Red had done. Or worse."

   Erik's face twisted in disgust. "I would never."

   Grace laughed. "Oh that's just it. The one thing that always bothered me. If Christina had asked you to, you would have."

    "She's too kind."

    "It's not her kindness you are obsessed with."

   "I'm not obsessed - when did Leroux have time to tell you all of this?" Erik thought changing the subject would be best.

   "We had cake."

    "You went out with Leroux!" He exclaimed more than questioned.

   "For cake. Which I should bring you, seeing as it was delicious and it might make you smile or stop yelling at people for a little while."

   "Do you love him?"

     "Why does no one listen to me? I am an Old. Crazy. Spinster. I love no man other than Leo and Rodger. And possibly you, but I don't think you don't want to be loved by anyone other than Christina. But again, I do not and will not love anyone like that. I will never marry or have an affair, or fall in love, so please, please, stop! Leroux is quite honestly annoying, and he wanted me to help him catch you, the worst mistake anyone came make with me. If you ask me to ruin my friends, I don't want your friendship."

    Erik's expression made Grace groan. "No! I'm not lying. I shall only, for the rest of my life, share my heart and bed and mind with my dog. That is it. Do you want me to marry him? I'm sure it can be arranged."

   "I do not understand you. There is no reason you cannot -"

   "Again, that would be like saying you do not need a mask."

     "Touché. But please stay away from Leroux. I don't want him following you all over the place. Having very little privacy is extremely irritating, and I had to redesign a building once already when he figured out my traps."

    "That explains all the times I've caught him feeling up the walls," Grace chortled.

   "It would seem though, that I need to change my designs further. Next time I live under a theatre, there shall be no water. I will not have you catch your death swimming in it again."

    "My constitution is not that bad."

   "Oh, but my patience with you is."