Phantom of the Opera 1. Prologue

The Most Beautiful of Love Stories...

A rose.

A Beauty.

A curse.

A man.

One hope, one dream.

A love to last forever.

* * *

_**Le Fantôme et la Belle**_

* * *

Stories…fairy tales, legends, fables, and their like…they all start out so easily, with such simple words, such effortless phrasing. A child of a mere three years of age could utter them without much difficulty: "Once upon a time."

Babes have been reared on such tales; the hearts of young and old alike thrill to hear them. _It seems all so easy._

And yet the fairy tales that we love hardly ever begin happily.

Without this, however, there would be no need for a story. There would be nothing to tell about, if everything in the world was perfect and good—or we, with our lowly mortal imaginations, can simply not grasp an idea such as that.

It is beyond us.

The downfall of a soul, the placement of a curse or enchantment, the need for restoration and the greed for power…these are the things that begin stories, that make them necessary. And of these things, you will be told, in this tale.

Now, imagine, if you will… _What if, one day, Mme. Le Prince de Beaumont, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Ms. Susan Kay got together for tea?_

We can only begin to explain the result by stating the immortal words…

_Once upon a time…_


	2. The Curse

_**Chapter One –**_

_**The Curse**_

* * *

It all began in Kryslora. 

The kingdom of King Desmond and his queen, Madeleine, was a beautiful and prosperous one: an immeasurably priceless and peerless gem even among the other countries that surrounded it.

Desmond had come to the throne at an early age, having been the second son of the previous monarch, who had died—along with his eldest son—engaged in combat in one of the realm's border wars. The new, young king was beloved by the masses in his kingdom. Both the common folk and the nobles felt inspired by his optimistic and self-assured outlook on life, and his charisma and winning smile were irresistible. It was no wonder that everyone immediately accepted the second son of the old king as their new ruler, in the wake of his father and brother's tragic deaths.

Then there was Madeleine, or _Lady Madeleine_, as she had been known before her marriage to Desmond. Their marriage had been, above all else, a marriage of true love, and not merely political alliance. The people prided themselves on this, and on their queen's exotic and unparalleled beauty, hailing her as the most dazzling creature to walk the earth in that time.

And it was true.

Before her marriage, Madeleine had been the only daughter of a low-ranking knight, but Desmond had immediately fallen in love with her kind and sweet spirit, her perpetual good-humor, and, of course, the love of all things artistic that she shared with him. They had met at a court-function—Madeleine remembered it as the autumn-festival in her village in the southern section of the kingdom; Desmond recalled it as the dance to herald the new spring—and had instantly fallen in love. Within three months, they had been wed, and Kryslora had a new king and queen.

As one of his first moves as king, Desmond established firm and well-returned alliances with all of the border-countries. He recognized that Kryslora was a beautiful, wealthy, and prosperous kingdom, and that as such, it must have protection. So make friendships and peace-agreements he did, and soon all but a few skirmishes with the Krysloreans' most stubborn enemies had disappeared from the land.

Desmond also called for reforms in the treatment of the separate classes, in the various businesses and farming issues, and in the very court of his own principal castle itself. He created a new academy, to foster greater learning in the sciences, agricultures, medicine, and the arts. Desmond had long been an avid follower of the art of architecture, and the new castle that he built—in Madeleine's honour, he proudly informed anyone who asked—was of his own design.

Madeleine kept herself busy as well. Not to be outdone by her husband, she quickly set up a new and extremely well organized house of healing, and began to encourage the use of beauty in daily life.

"There are only a few things on this earth that absolutely _cannot_ be beautiful," she once stoutly declared. "As for everything else, there is no excuse for a lack of loveliness; if someone only takes the time to find the beauty within an everyday, so-called 'dull' object, life could be so much for the better."

Such was life, in the kingdom of Kryslora.

It seemed, then, that things would take an even better turn, for the day soon came when Desmond and Madeleine announced, with beaming smiles that exactly matched, that very soon the royal palace would house within itself a prince or princess.

Madeleine was to have a child.

* * *

As it was the first royal birth in that realm for quite some time, everything and everyone was immediately sent into an absolute blur of excited and joyful activity. Preparations for the nursery of the unborn child were begun the very hour after the notice of his or her imminent arrival was made. 

It would be a fine, strong boy, the lords, dukes, and marquises of the court declared—"And he shall have the bright golden hair of his father, and the sparkling eyes of his beautiful lady mother." But their ladies protested that no, indeed—"It will be a girl, and she will have her mother's chestnut hair, and her father's blue eyes."

"It will be _twins_," said the common folk.

But even the lowliest stable boy and the most distant goose-girl knew that everyone held a high anticipation of the birth. The kingdom held its breath for almost seven months, no easy feat for anyone, even in a realm where many had strains of fey blood running freely through their veins.

* * *

Well, eventually the day came when Madeleine was taken with labor pains, and retired to her room. It was early morning then, and by afternoon, a very tired-looking but unquestionably proud and jubilant Desmond came forth and proclaimed to his eagerly waiting people that a child had been brought into the royal house of Shadowrose that very day. It was a son: a young prince who had come into the world as red and wrinkled as any other infant, but healthy and quite vocally announcing his extreme displeasure at such a rude awakening. 

_Erik_ was the name that they gave to him, and it was a name that was spoken with pride—and nothing less—by many a tongue.

As he grew, everyone soon decided that the prince would not only have his father's captivating, bright blue eyes, but his noble bearing and bone structure as well. By the time he reached ten years of age, he was graceful and slender, but his youthful frame promised to be powerful, wiry, and tall in maturity. Erik had his mother's smooth, shining dark brown hair and her small, pensive rosebud mouth, which the ladies at court cooed and smiled over whenever they saw him. Many of the younger, unattached girls began to think of just how companionable the young prince might one day be, for them. In short, the fascinating and beloved prince looked to be quite soon the impeccable combination of both of his parents' beauty.

Madeleine and Desmond lavished every luxury, encouragement, and effort they could on their son. Both of them quite doted on him, and yet the boy never once showed any signs of becoming spoiled or bad-tempered. _He was perfect,_ everyone said. Absolutely and fundamentally perfect.

He _was_ the prince, after all.

Erik was given the finest schooling: the best instructors, textbooks, and environment to learn in. At the mere age of three, he distinguished himself as a profound genius, and he was working out complicated problems in calculus and trigonometry by the time he was seven and a half. He showed an amazing aptitude for everything that he did, but his best moments resided in music.

Erik loved music.

He wrote music, he listened to music; he played, sang, critiqued, ate, drank, and slept music, music, music. His parents could have scarcely been more overjoyed, and—it appeared, at that time—that the kingdom was headed for its golden age: a glorious era in which an incredible dynasty arose, and ruled over the land.

* * *

Desmond died on Erik's eleventh birthday. 

It was a shocking and tragic event. The king, who had been only in his early forties—celebrating his son's birthday one moment, laughing and playing along with the boy and the fete guests—suddenly fell ill, and retired to his rooms. He never again left the north wing of the castle, never again left his bedchamber.

No one quite knew what had caused the illness, but its result was easily seen. The lights all over the castle went out at only a few hours past midnight, three days after his initial lapse, and the mournful call went up on the air, carried by the sentinels at their positions on the battlements—

"The king is dead; long live the queen!"

_The king is dead; long live the queen. _

_Long live Kryslora. _

_Long live the young prince._

* * *

Madeleine and Erik, both looking exceedingly pale, drawn, and almost entirely lost in their stark black funeral wear, were the only two people besides the detachment of the royal guard—five of Desmond's most devoted and loyal knights—to escort the coffin to its final resting place. The widowed queen then accompanied the party back to the castle, and the train of mourning souls wound its way back through the silvery-green foothills that composed the royal burial grounds just outside of the city: resting to its east. Legend said that the departed rulers and protectors could watch over the kingdom of Kryslora, from their place in the Halls of the Everlasting, with each new day. Erik did not know if he now believed this.

The tall, serious, and nearly expressionless young boy stood for a moment, looking at the white lily that someone had cast upon the soft green turf over his father's grave, and contemplated everything in his memory.

His father wasn't this…some lifeless figure imprisoned in cold death beneath the earth. His father was alive. Alive, warm, smiling, bright-eyed and golden-haired, strong and kind.

_Your father is dead,_ the world whispered.

And Erik closed his blue eyes—his curse, a living memory of his father—and felt the icy-cold tears gather behind the lids, freezing against his long, dark eyelashes. He tilted his head back, and stood still: so very, very still, as the wind began to whisk and whirl around him, racing down from the highlands and the forests that so gracefully, so timelessly, etched into the craggy mountains that framed the small, beautiful little kingdom that he knew as his home. It seemed to pluck at his thick black cloak, his black woolen shirt, and tug at the uneven ends of his longish hair, asking with inquisitiveness, _Who__ is this? Who is he? Where did he come from? Who is he? _

In that moment, Erik decided upon one thing.

Death would not take him—no, indeed! Nor would life be able to reach him, either, for if he hadn't known the feel of life, he wouldn't have the memories of his father and the past that now seemed so distant…felt so cold and tasteless and gray in his heart. He would be as cold and hard as the blade of the sword that hung at his side, sheathed in its scabbard of pure black leather and onyx.

Kneeling, he took it out, and reverently forced the tip of the steel blade into the earth, until the sword stood freely. Then he placed both hands on its hilt, as a squire would upon his knighting, and stared into the distance that no one but he himself could see or touch. He closed his eyes again, and spoke to the wind.

"I will never again feel the pain of death, nor the torment of life. I will feel nothing—I will be what I wish—I will know _nothing _but that which I accept."

But inside, his heart was crying.

Warm tears that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul were gushing out of his broken heart, as the very frightened, very lonely, and very uncertain young boy mourned the loss of his father…

And feared the life to come.

* * *

Years passed, and life in Kryslora went on.

Queen Madeleine proved herself to be a capable and firm ruler, and no one could find any fault in her authority. However, after Desmond's untimely death, Kryslora's few remaining enemies took it upon themselves to make her rule every bit as difficult as possible. As time went on, the skirmishes on the borders became more frequent, more drawn-out, and—it had to be said—more bloody than before.

Yet no one, for even a moment, resented the queen for this; the entire kingdom stood loyally by her, and every one of the attacks was dealt with as they came.

And what of the young prince?

Well, some time after the king's death, a number of Madeleine's wisest and most trusted advisors came to Madeleine, along with some of Erik's own teachers and professors, and told her that it might be best for the young prince, given his current state, if he were to be given a…a _distraction_, of some sort.

Erik—now seventeen—had become prone to recurrent but often unpredictable bouts of black disquiet, sullen and wordless brooding, and even _dangerous_ anger, which was sometimes very convincingly masked, and sometimes allowed to burst forth freely. It was not good for him to remain in the royal palace, they told her, where so many memories of his father remained. Ever since Desmond had passed away, they had seen a more and more disturbing side of the boy, and for the good of the kingdom—and Erik himself—_something_ must be done.

So Madeleine acquiesced, and gave the order that Erik should be allowed passage at whatever Kryslorean port he desired, on whatever ship he so happened to choose.

With a small entourage, the prince left the country of his birth—the realm he would one day rule—and passed from the sight and knowledge of most.

His mother would, from time to time, receive letters from her son, and they would all hail from distant and exotic lands, the likes of which many of the people in Kryslora had never heard of, or even imagined. Erik sent her back fabulous and bizarre gifts: a set of beautifully-plumaged, long-legged and long-necked water birds, a robe embroidered almost entirely of diamonds, trunks of incense, end-tables made of ivory and jade, in the shape of stocky and portentous elephants, a funny little troll toy who could dance and sing in forty different languages, and various others.

Madeleine, however, greatly desired the day when her son would return home from his travels abroad, to his home and his kingdom, and twilight would often find her gazing longingly eastward, in the direction that Erik had last ridden.

Then, finally, the day of arrival and reunion came.

It fell upon Kryslora almost without warning, as well. One moment, the people inside the royal city were sitting down to their noontide meal, talking about the events of that morning and pondering what their next chores were—the next moment, there was a blare of gold and silver trumpets, and all at once, mounted guards were riding through the streets, announcing the imminent arrival of His Esteemed Royal Highness—

Erik Shadowrose.

Madeleine instantly flew from her salon, her ruffled and elated ladies-in-waiting trailing behind her, and ran to the grand courtyard that fronted the palace, just as a troupe of horsemen—all garbed in smooth gray and shining silver: their horses' livery matching their garb perfectly—came galloping into the courtyard.

The foremost of them was, of course, the black-robed Prince, who immediately swung out of the saddle and went to meet his mother and receive her embraces and kisses, and all her words of happiness, relief, and wonder. He then revealed even _more_ presents, more stories of wild and exciting adventures, and many other wonders. It was late in the night when the entire castle finally sat down to a glorious and sumptuous banquet, to celebrate the Prince's long-awaited return.

When the queen at last had her son off, away from the eager eyes and ears of the court, she questioned him more thoroughly on his travels, and Erik gave his answers to each of her inquiries. Madeleine was not certain, though, whether she was _entirely_ satisfied with what her son had told her. It seemed that he was still somehow aloof—detached from her, and the world—in a way that disturbed and chilled her far more than his previous depression had.

But in spite of all of her well-intentioned prodding and questioning, Erik only laughingly brushed her concern off, and said that he had had his fill of world-traveling, at least for a while, and now, if she wouldn't mind, he would like to be off to bed. It had been a while since he had last slept in his own room, on a proper mattress.

She would forgive him, of course?

Madeleine watched him with uncertain, concerned eyes, and found that her motherly gaze rested upon not a self-destructive and defiant young boy of seventeen, but a full-grown, powerful, and yet still enigmatic and mysterious man. Erik was now twenty-six years of age…

"Yes, Erik," she replied. "You have my leave to go."

And he turned and left.

* * *

The next few weeks after the return of the prince soon proved themselves to be quite a busy time for the kingdom. Now that Erik was once again residing in Kryslora's grand capital city, just about everyone wanted to be there, to see him and learn of his incredible travels. Madeleine—thinking that now the proper occupation for Erik was the search for a _wife_—promptly gave the order that a series of elaborate and amply proportioned balls be given.

As might be guessed, this was done with all due taste and alacrity. Within a space of five days' time, the royal palace was teeming with people: its perpetual residents, royalty from throughout the rest of the kingdom, and foreign guests as well. The days were filled with water-parties, luncheons, teatimes, picnics, hunts, games, and all manner of other revelries, and at night—oh, at night!—at night, the glorious fetes took place. There seemed to be no end of new colours, tastes, sounds, and scents, even through the festivities stretched on past a month.

Erik attended each event, in accordance to his mother's wishes, but though he very politely and graciously danced with every female who expressed a wish to take a turn with him on the dance floor, or walk with him in the gardens, or whatnot—

He did not show any particular interest in any one of them.

Then _she_ came.

* * *

Ellexssya Scarlet-Heart was, perhaps, the most outlandish and yet intriguing woman to set foot in the Kryslorean court in quite some time. She had an appearance that both bedazzled and set askance anyone who looked upon her, even those who merely happened to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of their eye.

For the standards of women in that realm, she was not exceptionally tall—she was more rather medium-sized, if anything, and her build was somewhere strangely between willowy and curvaceous. She wore her hair long and straight, letting it fall freely—save for an ornament here and there—down her shoulders and back. It was an odd colour, or, rather, an odd assortment of _colours_. Most of it was uninhibited and unapologetic jet black, but then there was a bold and very nearly brazen streak of deep, dark, scarlet red and even a line or two of stark white in it.

Her face and complexion were also a bizarre mix of those three colours: her skin was fine and smooth and ageless as any porcelain, and nearly as white, with perfectly shaped red lips, black eyes and brows. Her gown was never the same on any night, which was usual for any of the ladies present, but it was always of scarlet, black, and white, although the first two shades tended to dominate.

Her country of origin and rank was unclear, though everyone instantly recognized her as nothing less than a sorceress. Ellexssya was uninterested in any of the fineries of the Kryslorean court, and unimpressed by the kingdom's people or lands. Her eyes were, clearly, from the very beginning, fixed on the Prince himself…

And him alone.

She was shrewd, unlike many of the other females who were vying for his hand, and did not openly throw herself at him. Instead, she would make certain that she was within his range of vision whenever he stepped out onto the dance floor. During the day, he would often catch a fleeting glimpse of her in the gardens at the palace, or within the gold-gilded walls of the palace itself.

So she unabashedly purposed to intrigue him, and it eventually appeared that her tactic was beginning to work upon the Prince of Shadowrose Castle. Erik now looked directly at her when she stopped nearby and fixed him with her own penetrating gaze. A meeting between the two was imminent, and there were not a few rumors flying around the court about the pair, and what that eventual meeting would bring.

Then, one night, it happened.

Erik stepped off of the dance floor—in the middle of a waltz, leaving his partner, a peach-gowned duchess, befuddled and confounded at his sudden lack of interest—and went at once to Ellexssya. He paused, staring at her for a moment, and then his left hand lifted from his side, and reached out to her. The sorceress smiled: the expression was cool and almost taunting, full of pleasure at her accomplishment.

The prince's expression did not alter, however, except in the slight darkening of his stunning blue eyes. He led them out onto the floor, signaling that a new strain of music should be begun.

A wave of whispers and murmuring went through the crowded room, but the prince paid it no heed as he took his partner into his arms and elegantly, easily, began the dance again. Madeleine, from her seat in her throne overlooking the ballroom, clearly stiffened, as she watched the figures of her son and the dark lady meld together in the waltz. The way that Ellexssya's hands closed around the Prince's shoulder blades, pulling him to her as if she and she alone had a right to him—to hold him that way—made the queen's blood run cold…

* * *

This was only the beginning.

From that moment on, Erik and Ellexssya were very rarely seen out of one another's company, and it appeared, to anyone who looked, that they were besotted with each other in a manner that was rarely witnessed in that day and age. When Ellexssya stared at Erik's retreating back as he left her to attend to some inescapable duty, thinking that no one was looking, it was obvious that she had more than respect for him as the future sovereign of a country on her mind.

Erik was less readable than the sorceress he had chosen as his almost constant companion…but, then, the Prince had always been just that: unreadable. Everyone chose, instead, to count on the appearances of things to gauge the situation.

Madeleine did not like her son's interactions with the sorceress, and she did not like the sorceress herself. So, one night, she went to the wing of the castle that housed the Prince's chambers, and went directly into his rooms. She found Erik there with his best friend, a young lord from a foreign kingdom that lay in the deep south of the continent, far beyond Kryslora.

This youth's name was Nadir, and he was a son of the house of Khan, a very old and respected family in the kingdom he hailed from. Erik had described him to Madeleine as 'his conscience', since Nadir had always striven to keep the prince from behaving in a reckless or coldhearted manner, during their travels together. Nadir was a devoted friend, and infinitely more grounded in all affairs of humanity than Erik, which Madeleine was vastly appreciative of.

And now—as she approached her son, who sat at the incredibly beautiful, glossy black piano that he had been given for his sixth birthday—she hoped that Nadir's calm and logical outlook on life would assist her in saying all that she knew she somehow must say. Erik looked up almost as soon as she had entered the room, startling Madeleine. She hadn't made any noise. But, somehow, he had acquired a sense of hearing that was so acute that it seemed quite inhuman, and it had alerted him of her presence. Inwardly Madeleine verbally lashed out at herself.

Now that he knew she was about to speak to him, his guard would be up, and there would be no reaching him unless he willed it. Still, she was resolute—she _had_ to go on with this.

"Mother…" the Prince drawled, in a low voice that was as smooth and sensuous as velvet. He sat back away from the sheets of paper that he had been etching a string of notes onto with his quill pen: mapping out the melody of a new song.

Then he rose to his feet. His long black velvet cloak fell into place around him with the movement, slipping to drape with a liquid, sinuous grace around his perfect form, its hem fluttering slightly as he raised an arm, gesturing grandly for her to take a seat in the nearby chair. Madeleine came to stand by it, but did not sit down.

"Good evening, Your Highness," came the soft, polite voice of olive-skinned, raven-headed Nadir, and she nodded in acknowledgement of his greeting.

"Erik—Nadir." she said.

A line formed between the Prince's dark eyebrows.

"Is there something amiss, m'lady?" he inquired.

Nonchalantly, he walked around behind the piano: trailing a long ungloved hand along its gleaming black teakwood surface after him. Once he stood at its opposite end, he paused, and looked at her: his blue eyes catching the light and seeming to stare incisively into her soul itself, laying her every thought bare to his mind. "You seem somewhat…"

He paused; he allowed a silent beat to pass, and finished, lightly—

"_Out-of-humor_."

The way that he said those words rankled, as if he knew why she had come, and simply desired to make her disquiet into a means of amusement for himself. Madeleine straightened to her most queenly posture, and looked him dead in the eyes: holding his gaze commandingly with her own, without flinching.

"Erik, you may have no doubts as to the nature of my visit to you," she said, firmly. "I wish to speak to you of your companionship with Lady Ellexssya."

He had already turned back to his music.

For a moment, the air was filled within only the sound of his fingers gently riffling through the cream-coloured vellum manuscripts. Then his voice drifted over the air to her: still as ingrained with elegance and power and expression as ever, but slightly tainted with boredom—and what else? There was some other emotion…

"What of it?"

"I do not approve of you, and her."

"Well—!" said the Prince, finally turning back around, and meeting her gaze with his once again. Madeleine saw that he now wore a lopsided, rakish grin on his face, and it was an expression that told her that he was being secretive and mischievous.

"Much as it may _surprise_ you to be apprised of this, my dearest queen and mother," he began, with an air of casual indifference. "You are not the first person to have come to this conclusion."

"No?"

Madeleine vaguely noticed that Nadir had moved off to a discreet distance, so that he would not hear this personal conversation between mother and son.

Erik shook his head, slowly, still smiling darkly.

"Of course not," he replied. "After all, what could this…_liaison_…possibly come to, by any stretch of the imagination in this world, but an eventual betrothal, and then marriage? And how acceptable could it be to have a prince of a renowned and prosperous kingdom suddenly throw all caution and forethought to the wind, and simply and unquestioningly allow himself to be wedded to a wandering sorceress?"

"_Erik_."

Madeleine's voice was filled with growing apprehension.

The prince moved restlessly, having thrown himself nonchalantly onto the chaise lounge that resided a little ways off from the piano. He suddenly rocketed to his feet again, his black velvet cloak snapping and unfurling in his wake as he strode towards her.

"I _do not love her_, Mother."

A curious silence met this, and the sparks in Erik's eyes returned, as he regarded his mother with a look that was almost a sneer on his face.

"Do you doubt me, Madame?" he questioned, coldly. "Is _that_ what I am to infer from your lack of comment?"

Madeleine shook her head.

"No," she replied.

Some of the flame—traces of the smoldering fire that had sprung up in the prince's suddenly dark eyes—went out of his gaze, and he looked on her then with an expression that was almost gentle, almost pitying, almost grieved.

"Mother."

She looked at him again.

"I will not wed her. You needn't worry yourself about the trivial little matters concerning my bachelorhood, nor my impending duties. Ellexssya is…"

And he laughed abruptly, and the sound was ringing and bright, and cold: jarring off the walls and turning the marble pillars to ice. Madeleine suppressed an urge to shiver, again. It seemed as if her son had now turned into an entirely different man—dark, unfeeling, and arresting. And frightening.

"A distraction."

_Merely a distraction…_

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Erik became entirely bored of the sorceress's company, and told her of it. The breakup of the supposed relationship fell upon the kingdom of Kryslora without warning. 

One night, the Prince simply turned to the sorceress, and coolly informed her that their time with one another had been amusing, but it had now drawn to an end: he had no further interest in extending things between them.

It was over.

But Ellexssya was a sorceress, and she reminded him of that fact before long…

* * *

_The throne room was dark: the panes in the many tall, elongated windows that ringed the chamber seemed almost pale in contrast to the seething black thunderclouds that had suddenly swept into the formerly sunny afternoon sky. A flash of lightning—ominous in portent—illuminated the place, and flashed across the faces of the room's only two inhabitants. _

_On the face of the sorceress was a look of pure delight and triumph; her infuriated and defiant victim looked at her with pure, unmitigated hatred in his cold blue eyes. It was the sorceress who spoke first. _

_"You could have had anything, were you to have chosen to stay at my side, Erik of the Shadowrose," she said, "but, foolishly, you have thrown that chance away, and lost it; so also will **you** now be lost to the world. From this day forth, you will no longer have a kingdom, or any of those who formerly knew and loved you. Your palace will be your prison, and your roses will be your only companions—and when they die, you also will find your life at an end. And for reward of your cold heart and ugly soul, which refused to tame to my hand, you will now wear your hideousness on your outward person. Be as you truly are!"_

_"And do I have no alternative, but to accept this?" he asked her._

_She smiled again: a cruel and triumphant smirk. _

_"Questioned as a truly learned enchanter, Prince Erik," she replied. "Yes—you have an alternative. When you have come to your senses, if your death does not claim you first, you may surrender yourself to me, and **I** shall be your salvation from this curse."_

_"And if not you?"_

_The sorceress's black eyes flashed, and thunder clapped through the air. _

_"If not **me**!"_

_Silence followed, for a long, long moment. _

_"Then you must find my replacement—the woman whom you will love in exchange for me. And if **she **can learn to look past your freakish exterior and love you truly, then you will be released from my curse. But somehow I doubt that such a thing will ever come to pass…"_

_And then, in the next moment, his life was plunged into a pit of silence and misery, so immense and torturous and fathomless that it seemed—to him, as the years began to wear on—that his torment was destined to never end…_


	3. The Long Journey Northward

**_Chapter Two –_**

**_The Long Journey Northward_**

**_-Christina-_**

* * *

Was it simply my own strange sense of hearing, or did there seem to be a mournful sound of sighing on the wind?

When I looked up, the misty gray sky seemed as morose and cheerless as I'd ever seen it, and the fine, invisible speckles of rain that quickly covered my uplifted face seemed as if they were the tears of the clouds. But, then, I knew in my heart what I had mechanically told myself over and over again, while putting on a brave front and smiling for all of the rest of them—

_I must not cry. _

My two older sisters—Carlotta and Portia—had made a great show of their intense grief when we had received word of the demise of the once prosperous and wide-stretching shipping and trading business that our father had managed. I could not, would not, be the same as them. I refused to behave as they did.

It had only been about a month before when our world had come crashing down around our ears. I could still see the traces of devastation upon my poor father's face. His hair, I had noticed, looked as though it was greyer than it had before the tragic destruction of his livelihood, and his face was drawn with lines of disappointment, care, and unhappiness, instead of smile and laugh lines. He rarely smiled now.

It was a great blow, to have what we had all once considered our perfect and happy life taken away from us within only a few days…but really, things weren't as bad as they could have been. After all, we were still living. None of us had died. We were together, and not separated by time and sand.

We were simply…poor…

After Father had paid off his numerous debts—caused by the destruction of his fleet of trading ships, at the merciless hands of storms at sea, pirates, and dishonest crews—there had been nothing left of his former wealth. His name had been so maligned by this series of horrid accidents that no one would even consider working with him any longer and there was nothing left to keep us in the city.

Among his few last possessions—beyond a few pieces of furniture, and our clothing and one wagon and horse—was a small cottage that was part of my long-dead mother's inheritance. It was to this place that my family was now traveling, on the long dirt roads that wound through the foothills and woodlands of the countryside. Our grand city-home had been left behind us for the rest of time. We were to make our living in farming now, as we had no other option.

To the wild and widely untamed north of Kryslora we would go.

* * *

My family was an interesting one, it must be said. My mother—the lovely and effervescent Isabella Daae—had died the spring after my sixth birthday, leaving my father, Charles Daae, a widower with five children. Fortunately, as that point of Father's career had been its zenith, he had been able to stay at home with us and make certain that we were raised properly, overseeing our upbringing and schooling.

Yes, there were five of us. Most families were large in that day and age—even the families of the rich folk.

First there was twenty-year-old Richard and Carlotta.

Richard was tall, slender, dark-haired and dark-eyed, a combination of my mother and father's looks. He was a scholar at heart, possessed of a quiet, dry sense of sarcastic humor and a great intellect; he had been at the _Coeur de la Empire University_ before Father's misfortunes, and had hoped to one day win himself a position in the Emperor's navy fleet, perhaps as an admiral.

Carlotta was so much unlike him, both in temperament and looks, that it was hard to imagine that they were twins at all. She had inherited my mother's beautiful red hair and hazel eyes, and her complexion of ivory and curvaceous figure were, as many friends of the family and admirers had often told her, quite flawless. She liked nothing more than being at the absolute center of attention, and it was a good place for her, for she was sociable and very capable of holding that position with ease. She had had many suitors, and many offers of marriage.

Then there was Giles: dear, stammering, shy and reticent Giles, who best liked to be away from crowds and the spotlight, preferring instead to remain holed up in a study or library somewhere, with his books. He had wanted to become a pioneer in the study of the sciences, and it had looked as if he was well on his way to this goal during his time at the University, which both he and Richard had attended for a time. Giles was nineteen, just barely younger than Richard and Carlotta, and he also had gotten my mother's hair and eyes—though his longish locks had become a shade more towards a dark auburn than a true red as a result of his time spent more indoors than outdoors.

Portia was next, at seventeen. Her hair had originally been the dark brown of my mother, but upon reaching the age of thirteen, when she recognized that fashion was to become_ a dire necessity_ in her life, she had insisted that she be permitted to have her wavy strands dyed a pale, ash-blonde, as was haute-monde among the upper class ladies of society. She shared my father's iris-gray eyes, and had a figure and complexion almost identical to Carlotta. It was no small wonder that those two got along _very_ well, and often stood against the rest of us whenever there was a battle among the siblings. Carlotta was the more vocal of the two, and Portia was her helper in all things.

I was the last child of M. Daae and the first Mme. Daae.

The name that had been bestowed upon me on the day of my christening was Christina, and my age—in the year that Father's business was ruined—was fifteen. I had my mother's dark hair, which I wore in thick, long curls that hung down past my elbows, held away from my face by a ribbon, and my eyes were an odd mixture of both my parents'. Like my siblings, I had clear, pale skin and curved features, although my lips and jaw were much squarer in their angles, my cheekbones much more prominent, and my frame clearly less filled-out than either of my sisters.

Oh well. Couldn't do much about that.

I hadn't been to school as of yet. Father had made it plain that any of us would be permitted to attend whatever university or finishing school that we so desired early on, and my brothers had jumped at the chance, although Carlotta and Portia had not. It was more of the proper lady's lot in life to stay at home, attend social events, and marry young, than anything else, proper society said. I was too young, however, I stated, and so I purposed to stay at home for as long as it took me to adjust myself to the idea of leaving my family and going off to live elsewhere.

Up until our family's disaster, I had enjoyed my life at home, with my few tutors and governesses, my father and stepmother, my little stepsister, and my other siblings—when they were around. Books and the studying of far-off lands held great interest for me, as did the myriad of changing fashions and customs that I saw in the world that surrounded me. It was my dream to one day become a fine lady and go off to the fabulous court of the Emperor himself, in the City of the Sun…

* * *

My silent contemplation of the misty, dense forest that lay just to the side of the road was brought to an end by the feel of the wagon grinding to a halt, its wooden wheels scraping against rock and dirt. I looked up, putting one hand to the back of my neck and applying gentle pressure to relieve the cramped muscles that suddenly informed me of their displeasure at having remained in one position for so long.

It was time for yet another rest, I surmised.

Giles and Richard were already swinging down out of the saddles of their two horses, and now they came around the side of the wagon and went to help with the horses that drew its heavy load. My father jumped to the ground, leaving his seat on the wagon bench, and turned to his wife: the former Duchess Antoinette Giry, whose first husband had died of the scarlet fever, leaving her a widow with a daughter scarcely out of her toddler years. Antoinette gave him a soft smile and put her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to help her ascend from her seat, and they went to speak to the boys together. I heard their hushed voices through the moisture-filled air.

Deciding it was high time that I also got out of my place in the back of the wagon, which I had kept for the past nine, silent hours, I turned my attentions to the slumbering four-year-old at my side.

Margot—or Meg, as we all called her—was a perfect little cherub of a child. Her hair was all fat curls that were the colour of sun-kissed gold, her baby's skin was rosy, and her eyes were just about as round and blue as a child could get them. She was a sweet little creature most of the time, but when her mischievousness was awakened, she could be quite wicked.

Carlotta and Portia did not often tolerate her, and Richard and Giles, I think, were so amazed and bemused by her seemingly inexhaustible amount of energy that they most often either gave her a wide berth or gently ignored her. Meg was a distraction to my studies as well, at times, and her temper tantrums were something that even _I_ feared—but she was a good girl, and I did not mind being her playmate. After all, we _were_ the two youngest in the family. We _had to_ stand by one another.

Carefully, now, I moved my arm off from around her and said softly, "Meg…little Margot…wake up, sweet. It's time to stop again."

I didn't blame her for awakening reluctantly. It had been a long day for all of us, and we would all have likely welcomed the chance to fall into a deep sleep for the next hundred years or so, but I had too much on my mind to sleep, now.

_Everyone_ did.

"Christina…" came Antoinette's voice from the front of the wagon. "Bring Margot and come have some tea and way bread with us. This is to be our last stop before nightfall—then we'll be home."

"But…(yawn)….I 'tot we weren't goin' to go home ny'more," Meg said in her baby voice, standing up in the wagon bed and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I had already slid to the ground, my legs reveling in finally being stretched out again, and now I held my arms out to her, gesturing for her to come and get down.

"We _are_ going home, Margot," I told her, in a firm and matter-of-fact tone, "We have a new home now, that's all. It's in a pretty little village in the hills, below a valley deep in the roots of the mountains, out where the basilisks and griffins still like to fly. Wouldn't you love to see a griffin, Meggy?"

She shook her head solemnly, hugging her china doll—Queen Esmerelda Sapphire-Diamond-Rose—close to her as her eyes widened slightly. "No, I don't like gwiffins, Chrissy. Do you think they'll have _dwagons_ there?"

I smiled a bit, tugging on her hand to get her to follow me over to the small fire that my father and brothers had made, knowing that Antoinette would be warming up the tea that we had brought along in our durable travel canteen. If there was any beverage I found myself really capable of loving, it was just tea. My stomach growled too at the thought of the crusty, plain way bread that had been our chief provision on the entire journey thus far.

_Dragons…_

"I don't know. Richard—you'll know this—are there any dragons out near Sumer's Flax?" I asked, raising my voice to call out to my older brother. Richard and Giles had just been to gather more firewood, and they came to the fire almost at the same time, and fed the scraggly kindling into the flames. When he had finished this, he looked up at me, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes, which—I noticed—suddenly held a little of their former lighthearted sparkle.

He shook his head.

"Nay, pretty Christina…there haven't been any dragons this far south for at least a good three centuries now. They stay up north nowadays, hiding away from the dragon-slayers and quacks who are running about after their blood."

Antoinette handed me a tin mug of tea, which I eagerly wrapped both my hands around, relishing the warmth, and then I sat down. Meg went over to her mother and, without preamble, climbed into her lap. From somewhere, Antoinette managed to procure a sweet biscuit of some sort, and the child set to eating it, contented.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Carlotta and Portia at the wagon, digging through a carpetbag of what had to be their combined clothing. They seemed to be looking for a mirror—or anything that had a reflective surface—and were becoming agitated at their lack of success. I shook my head and went back to concentrating on my tea.

* * *

Sumer's Flax—the village that we were to live near—was one of the larger rural communities in the country of Kryslora's north-easternmost corner, and, as such, its residents took a great pride in it. I had read much about it in books before, as I was greatly interested in the world as a whole, and traveling.

Its main wealth lay in the vast forest that surrounded it on its three sides; woodcutting, carpentry, and exquisite furniture and carriages were all common there. As a small river, the Seine, lay close by, which also provided the place with an ample fishing industry, and many people had opted to take advantage of the good land that could be found in the valley, and had become farmers.

The actual landscape of the area was fascinating, I had learned. The city we had previously lived in had seemed to be made entirely of stone, with grand canals and harbors etched into it like the winding twists and turns of a labyrinth. Sumer's Flax was located in the wild northern section of Kryslora, where the level ground turned into foothills and mountains.

The village itself lay in a valley, set into the rugged base of the Rouen Mountains, and one had to approach it by a road that led a long and winding way down a steep, wooded hill. History had informed me that, hundreds of years before, this part of the realm had been the common haunt of mythical creatures and fairy-tale beings, such as stories were made of.

As Richard had said, dragons were very rare now indeed, and I didn't think that I would be seeing any basilisks or griffins or goblins or witches anytime soon, but the mere thought of it…just living there, in such a stretching, mysterious, untamed and unconquered landscape…would have to prove itself fruit for adventure. And I craved adventure with a passion. I just hadn't _really_ considered the downsides of having dragons in my backyard before.

At any rate, Sumer's Flax and other towns like it were the places I had read about all of my life, and dreamed about visiting. But I had never expected that I would one day actually go to live there. Some of my friends in the city had had a saying among themselves, which now often came to my mind—

"I'm not certain how I feel about that."

I went back to my neglected tea, and found that it had turned cold. I stifled a groan that felt as if it had come from the depths of my being, my toes themselves.

_Definitely not certain how I feel about this._

"Antoinette, may I have some more tea…"

* * *

We reached the village just as the sun fell behind the darkened mountains, providing us with a magnificent first view of the valley and its backdrop. As we all stood atop the hill that looked down on the neat little rows of buildings and roads that would be our own community from that day on, my father sighed deeply. He was smiling a bit, and his shoulders were back slightly, not hunched in depression and defeat.

"Well," he said, briskly. "It certainly is lovely, isn't it."

"It's a backwoods heap of dirt and rock," Carlotta said, in a scathingly disgusted tone. She wore a look that spoke of just such sentiment on her face, as she regarded the little village with obvious contempt. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Ah, Carlotta, you are such a pessimist," Father said, smiling fondly, but otherwise not responding to her sour attitude. He then instructed Richard and Robert to lead the horses on: we were to make the descent down the hill.

As we began to move, again, I found that I had been biting the inside of my lower lip with such a fierce passion that the skin had given way, and I bled. The coppery, bitter taste did nothing to improve my irritation at that moment.

Why did she have to ruin everything with her foolishness? That girl could not make anything more difficult if she tried! Poor Father; he was only trying to take care of us, and she was so cruel—and he didn't even say a word to her of it—

And then I realized, belatedly, that I had also been clenching my fingers into hard little fists all during this barrage of angry thoughts, and now my nails had left scores in my palms. I stopped, pausing by the side of the dusty path as my family moved past me, and looked at them. Carlotta was a selfish, vain, ill-tempered thing.

That much was true.

But so was I, then, if my thoughts carried me into such terrible anger.

_Pride goeth before a fall,_ I told myself, clenching my jaw and resolutely hitching up my skirts from my ankles so that I could hurry to catch up with my family. What would my many governesses and deportment teachers think of me now, if they could have read my thoughts, and seen the look, the glare, I had turned upon my sister?

_Pride goeth before a fall, pride goeth before a fall. _

I suppose they didn't drill all those time-tested proverbs into our heads for nothing then, did they…

* * *

The villagers who were near the gates of the diminutive city looked us over, calmly and politely, but otherwise did not react to our motley entrance. It appeared that they had either seen large and obviously evicted families from the grand and wealthy city before, or they were simply unimpressed by us at all. A few of the men and some of their more outgoing wives approached, at length, and stopped to talk to Father.

Their conversion was, again, polite and genial, but nothing to any extreme of sentiment. I stood near the back of the wagon and pretended not to be eager to move on again, and get to our new house, and—hopefully—a bed that wasn't the tree-root-infested forest floor. As we waited, I looked around, my eyes curiously scanning the faces and forms around me.

The people here were all simply dressed, and had honest, good-looking features. If they weren't set to an uproar by the arrival of newcomers, they weren't untowardly cold, either. They were just like me: curious. I caught the eye of a few of them, from time to time, and smiled uncertainly, not quite sure how to take this situation in stride. At length, though, a tall, bearded man stepped forward and told Father—

"Your way lies a little while out of the city itself, but I'd be happy to show you the path if you'd like, this first time."

Father nodded, and smiled again.

"You are very kind; thank you."

And so this man—the chief blacksmith in Sumer's Flax, one Josef Buquet, by name—went on ahead, with Father and Antoinette, leading the way out of the village to the small, long-deserted cottage that was our new home.


	4. Starting Anew and Getting Acquainted

_**Chapter Three –**_

_**Starting Anew and Getting Acquainted**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

The cottage on the hill had once been a rather nice place, I supposed.

It certainly wasn't the tiny, dismal little shack that we had all imagined when we had first learnt that of our impending fate—the removal to the country—but it wasn't exactly in the best condition, all the same. More than a few years of abandon and neglect had left a disaster of what had once been a cheerful dwelling that rested atop a small knoll, with flower and herb gardens set into the bright green turf of the lawn.

Antoinette determinedly set her shoulders and proudly lifted her chin, and spoke, then, summing up everyone's thoughts as we stood before the picket fence of faded white wooden stakes—

"We certainly have our work cut out for us."

And so we did.

That night we were content to simply get everything inside, put the horses in their stalls—in the rickety, undersized barn that was a little ways off from the house, closer to the woods—and then grab whatever blankets and pillows we could to ensure we'd have at least _some_ rest that night. I think, however, that we would have slept like rocks regardless of what we were sleeping on.

We were all very tired.

* * *

The next morning I awoke—late, as usual, having been accustomed all my life to sleeping in until whatever hour of the morning I so pleased—to the smell of food wafting through the house.

Remembering where I was and panicking, I abruptly lurched up, off of the dusty window-seat that had been my sleeping area, forgetting in my haste my cramped body, which cried out in protest as I moved too quickly. Pushing back my disheveled and highly tousled curls, which had come undone from the neat twisted bun I had worn them in the day before, I dashed into the kitchen.

Most of my family was already there. Richard and Giles were finishing off their individual plates while Meg scampered around over by the woodstove, neatly avoiding getting under her mother's feet as Antoinette gracefully moved about, tending to the breakfast she was making.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, transfixed by the change in the room.

The night before, the entire kitchen had been one massive mess. The floor had been covered in what looked to be at least an inch of dust and debris from a window that had been smashed by a fallen tree limb.

Various and oddball objects had been left there as well: there was a spinning wheel, a broken hoe, a rake, an entire crate of chipped crockery, and more. The table had had several large gashes in it, and the pair of long, heavy benches that were meant to stand on either side of the table itself had been overturned. There had been a puddle of water, long stagnant, on the floor, and the wood box beside the stove had been absolutely empty, except for more dust, a cobweb, and a fragmented pinecone.

Now everything looked as if it had been transformed—granted, the window was still broken, and the miscellaneous objects had not been put away yet, having been merely moved off to the side, out of the immediate vicinity of the kitchen. But the dust was gone, there was a cloth on the table, covering the gashes; there was firewood in the box, the stove was lit, the benches were righted, and, oh bliss, best of all—

There was _food_.

My father met me at the door and put a plate in my hands.

"Good morning," he said, and I smiled at him, in spite of my just-awakened state.

From his seat over at the table, Richard gave a little teasing snicker and began to sing, off-key and somewhat under his breath—"_You are my sunshine—my only sunshine! You make me ha-ppy, when clouds are grey!_"

I stifled an urge to sing a second verse of the song back at him: an equally teasing repartee that would end with a rhyme for 'grey', but decided not to when I saw that Antoinette had made her special custard-toast that morning, with compliment side dishes of fried potatoes, sage, and onions, a compote of the dried fruit that she had somehow stewed, and coffee, my second favorite warm drink next to cider, tea, and chocolate. We had brought all of these provisions along with us from the city—since potatoes, onions, tea and coffee bags, and bread all traveled relatively well—but I was at a loss of knowledge as to where they had gotten the herbs and milk.

All the same, I completely understood my parents' aim. As soon as everyone was awakened, we would all be much more likely to go to the day's work with a good will if we had made a proper start of the morning _first_.

I appreciated that logic.

Giles and Robert made room for me on the bench when I came to sit down with them, and soon Meg plopped down beside me, and launched into a lengthy treatise on how Queen Esmerelda Sapphire-Diamond-Rose had fared the night.

That lofty and exalted lady, she informed me in all due seriousness, had not appreciated the squirrel who had tried to get into her room sometime near dawn that morning—and I could tell, from the slightly tired lines under my father and stepmother's eyes, that they had spent some time in calming the ruffled nerves of 'the queen'.

My father noticed the flickering traces of a mirthful grin at the corners of my mouth, and shot me a look that told me to watch who I poked fun at, or risk being the one to comfort panicking four-year-olds at five o'clock in the morning from thence on.

I took the warning, and clammed up.

The order of business that day resided in the commencement of making the cottage—and the farm as a whole—into a livable place again. Richard, Giles, and Father would be attending to the heavy work, such as cutting the many fallen trees and limbs into manageable pieces to either be hauled into the woodpile or turned into lumber for the repair of various parts of the house and the barn. The two boys were also to be given the responsibility of making the first journey to the outpost some eighty miles away, in order to return the horses we had hired out upon leaving the city.

But that would come later.

Meanwhile, Antoinette, Carlotta, Portia, and I would tend to the house itself: straightening up the inside and making what little repairs we could, and getting the gardens into order. Eventually we would have to go into the town and barter with what we had for chickens, ducks, and other livestock and goods, but that would have to wait until we could at least sleep through the night without the concern of a leaky roof hanging over our heads. Literally.

I quickly downed the rest of my coffee, glad to have its sustaining warmth in the pit of my stomach, gave Antoinette a swift peck of a kiss on the cheek and murmured, "Thank you!"

Then I whirled and took off, out the door, to see if I could track down my little trunk of clothing—shared with Meg and some of Father's old books—and find some attire that would be suitable for that day.

* * *

Not two days after we had arrived and were getting settled into the cottage, we informed by a villager, who had stopped by to see how we were faring, that part of our first duty as residents of Sumer's Flax was to make the trip into the village and pay a visit to the resident Steward. The Steward was, we found, was as close to a governor as you could get, out in that part of the country.

This particular man—our steward, the steward of Sumer's Flax—was the Comte Philippe de Chagny. And, as I hurried along behind my father, trying to keep up with his longer strides in spite of my hampering skirts and shoes, I envisioned already that he would be every bit as stuff-shirted and preposterous as his name.

Arrogant, condescending, and guided entirely by ulterior motives was more like it.

The man was _insufferable_.

Father and I were the only two who went to the meeting with the Comte; everyone else was to stay at home, and continue on with the work on the house. Even to this day I do not know _why_ exactly I went along, but it seems to me—now—that fate had a strange card in its hand, as of yet hidden from all of us.

Only time would tell, as anyone might inform you.

After about a half an hour's walk, we reached the city gates and went inside, quickly passing by the townsfolk, some of who greeted us cordially as we went on our brisk and determined way, and the numerous buildings.

The Comte's residence—_le manoir grande_, as I had heard it termed, in a way that had seemed half derisive—was at the far end of Sumer's Flax, located in the enormous square that also contained the courthouse, the hospice, and the library. Father strode on quickly, in front of me, and so I was only able to have a moment's look at that last, seemingly incomparably beautiful building. Whatever the simplicity of the rest of the little village, the library was certainly _quite_ fine.

There could be no doubt of _that_.

Its façade was nobly crowned with the mythical figures of Knowledge, Truth, and Inspiration: sculpted of solid marble, granite, and—I couldn't quite tell—what looked like jade. Other smaller, more whimsical-looking forms had been placed about them, and I recalled the superstitious belief of some people that gargoyles would protect buildings and the people within them from misfortune and calamity.

Gargoyles were so ugly that everything else was frightened off. I didn't believe in this myth, but the gargoyles were indeed quite ugly.

I liked the look of Knowledge and her sisters much more.

The building was fronted by a set of sweeping stairs, which led up to a pair of tall, iron-bound doors, guarded on either side by snarling marble lions, their manes inlaid with some sort of shiny material; perhaps brass. Beyond them were a great number of windows, finely made pillars, and other sorts of architectural workmanship.

I found myself beginning to wonder, even in that split second that I took to pause and gape at the place—my eyes scanning over the sign that announced it to be the library of Sumer's Flax—first, who had come up with the amazing building design for it, and, second, how on earth such a seemingly simple and humble village as this could afford such a grand library; and third, when I could possibly manage to visit it.

"_Christina_!"

And I shot back to reality, blinked once or twice to remove my daze from heart, soul, and mind, and sped off to catch up to my father.

"Here!"

* * *

Three minutes later, we had mounted the grand staircase of the Comte's manor—and this staircase was no less grand than that of the library, but perhaps more overdone, and completely ostentatious—and were at the front entry.

Father glanced shortly at me before he reached up and put his hand to the doorknocker, which was also in the shape of a snarling lion. The brass of it was buffed so perfectly that I could see my reflection in it quite clearly. I was furiously fighting off the temptation to make faces at my distorted reflection when the door suddenly gave an enormous groan and swung inwards.

A neatly dressed, silver-haired butler stood there in the cool shadows beyond, looking at us with calm and silently questioning eyes.

I tried not to squirm uncomfortably, as I now abruptly felt out of place, and ridiculous for being there. Still, however, Father _had_ asked me to come along, as he knew that I would like to be able to get out and see more of the city—after I had been at home for the last few days, working hard and never once leaving, for fear that Antoinette would be left alone to do everything herself. He had also added that I had a great gift for diplomacy: however _that_ would affect anything in our meeting with the Comte, and that he thought my charm might help to diffuse the solemnity of the situation.

I nearly snorted with laughter even now, and the stately old butler's eyes shifted ever so slightly, in my direction, and I saw that his left eyebrow had quirked a bit. I bit back my amusement, feeling the reproachful weight of my father's eyes on my scalp, and stood still. The butler then turned to Father, and addressed him.

"What may I do for you, Monsieur?" he drawled.

Father smiled, a bit nervously, I could see, and replied—

"Ah—monsieur, we are here at the behest of the steward of the city, the Comte de Chagny. Our family has just come to reside in the area, and—"

"Very well," the other man cut him off, and stepped aside, opening the door enough so that Father and I could enter. With a slightly frazzled look on his face, Father swept a gesture at me to go on in ahead of him. I obeyed, and he followed me in.

The butler closed the door behind us, and said tonelessly—

"I shall inform His Lordship of your arrival. Please await me here—and _don't_ touch anything."

With that, he left us.

As soon as he had gone, Father and I immediately swiveled to face one another, and then we both burst out in sputtering, only half-contained cackles of laughter.

_Don't touch anything,_ the butler had said, eyeing us as if we were backwoods gamin who would, the moment we were left unattended, steal every last piece of the good china and silverware, right out of the cabinet! It was indeed fortunate that we had been exposed to the rigid and good moral values of a fine city life, then, I commented to my father. He chuckled again at that.

Falling into silence, we both began to look around at the room—stringently and exactly following the butler's command, and not moving from where we stood, and certainly not even _thinking_ to touch a single object in the room other than the floor that we stood upon.

The manor had an infinitely less inviting atmosphere and look to it than the library. Outside, the build of the place had been heavy and oppressive, like some ancient battle-fortress, and dark green, heavily embroidered flags had flown at all the peaked turrets in the roof, hardly waving in the warm, early summer breeze. The grounds were meticulously kept up and plotted out, with not a single fallen leaf to mar the grass, or a single blade of the grass itself a different length from its fellows.

Inside, the manor was just as stuffily and haughtily designed.

The floor was a gleaming pale toffee- and cream-swirled marble, polished to an impeccable sheen. The gray stones in the walls had been hung with all sorts of tapestries depicting magnificent scenes: hunting parties, the ancient adventures of all the most celebrated heroes of Kryslora, and the empire as a whole.

There was a gold and crystal chandelier over our heads, set with at least fifty tall white taper candles. All of the woodwork in the room—from the molding along the floor and ceiling, the chair-rail, the frames along the doors, and the staircase that led the way up to the second storey of the house—was of a smooth dark brown. The furniture was clearly that of a nobleman, as were all of the accessories, decorations, and other objects we could see. And we were only standing in the foyer of the manor, which was but a small part of the house.

"Clearly, they've come into some money in the family," I commented dryly to my father, who nodded to the words—failing to note the sarcasm in my tone, which he would have reproved had he not been so intent on the luxuries around him. I knew that he was thinking of the same thing I had been thinking of just before I had spoken.

Our old home in the city had been much like this place.

Just then, I heard the click of a footstep on the top stair across the room from us, and then the sound of a male throat being cleared. I felt a pair of eyes come to rest on the top of my head—or, rather, looking just over it: taking note of me and yet superiorly disregarding me. I turned my gaze upwards, as did my father.

"Actually, yes—that is true. The de Chagny family has been among the wealthiest in a hundred-mile radius for somewhere around four centuries, now. But we do not like to call attention to our prosperous state."

The person who spoke these words—the man who stood at the head of the staircase, staring down at us with an impassive and glittering cold gaze—was a tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed man. He looked as if he were somewhere around the age of thirty-five to forty, and might have once been something akin to good-looking. Time and comfort, however, had slightly rounded out his form and features. He wore his hair slicked back perfectly on his head—not a single hair out of place—and there was a neatly groomed, thin mustache over his top lip. His clothing was unquestionably fine: nicely tailored and well made, and he stood with a bearing that was both proud and dignified. I saw a snake in his eyes, even from across the room, and I didn't like it.

_Why am I here …_

"Monsieur, my head-of-the-household informed me that you are Charles Daae, the new owner and proprietor of the cottage just off of Rowanberry Brook."

So saying, the man began his descent down the stairs, and within moments stood on the floor next to us. His thin lips twisted into a bit of a smile, as he lifted one hand from his side, and held it out to Father.

"Our warmest welcome, Monsieur Daae. I am the Comte de Chagny, steward of the city of Sumer's Flax."

My father reached out his own hand and shook that of the other man.

Then the Comte turned his dark eyes upon me, causing me to nearly flinch back in resentment, but I held my ground, attempting to be graceful about it. He inclined his head a few degrees to the side, and inquired—

"And who may this lovely little May-blossom be?"

I clenched my teeth—but not enough for him to see it—and my fists too, hiding them in my homespun cotton skirts. I hoped that he hadn't taken note of the lightning bolts that I felt must have surely gone through my eyes at that moment.

_Who is this lovely little May-blossom?_ I mimicked in my mind. _Only the fragile slip of a flower who would like to turn you off the nearest bridge over rapids, Monseigneur._

Why I disliked this man so much, already, after not even five minutes' of conversation with him, I didn't exactly know. There was something about him—some feature, some sense—that immediately told me to beware, and I didn't like it. It was like seeing a snake in one's backyard, and not knowing whether it was poisonous or not. Still, one knows that a snake _is_ a snake, and those are the kinds of creatures which are very rarely to be trusted.

I forced a saccharine-sweet smile, and put my hand in his—his skin was very, very smooth; actually, it was more towards slick. It felt as though I was setting my palm and fingers into a huge pillow of cold, puffy dough. And then I tried not to envision myself sprouting spidery black wings and glittering fangs when he leaned down and brushed his lips along the back of it.

"Christina. Daae." I said, shortly.

My father interposed, explaining—

"Christina is my fifth child, Monsieur. She is a great help at home, since our move here, and since she is such a good girl—when she might otherwise be otherwise employed—I had her come along with me. To see the city, you see."

"Of course. I hope you are pleased with your new home, Monsieur Daae?" the Comte inquired, standing—mercifully—away from me.

"Sumer's Flax is a very well-built and scenic village, Monseigneur," my father replied. "We found that there is much work to do on our cottage, but our efforts have thus far gone well, and everyone has been very helpful to us since our arrival."

"I had hoped for as much," the Comte said.

Then he stood to one side and gestured for us to follow after him.

"But, please, before I go on any longer, allow me to offer you some greater courtesy. Your walk was a long one, no? If you will join me, we shall have some refreshment in the Green Drawing Room."

"Thank you, m'lord; you are very kind," my father rejoined, and then the Comte led the way out of the front room.

We passed under a large doorway, through a set of thick evergreen velvet curtains, and found ourselves in what was obviously the Green Drawing Room that the Comte had mentioned. He bade my father be seated in one of the armchairs there, and ushered me to a place on a chaise lounge, before taking his own place in the twin of my father's armchair. Then he paused to lightly ring a little silver bell that sat on the conveniently placed table at his elbow.

In another moment, the silver-haired butler appeared again. The Comte instructed him to bring a light morning tea, and the butler disappeared. I listened to the sound of his footsteps clicking off down the hall, until they were entirely gone.

* * *

The event lasted approximately two hours, during which we all partook of the prettily arranged and exquisite repast that we had been served. I found myself enjoying items such as I had never expected to again relish in my life.

On the black-and-white marble inlaid table rested a huge platter of cold smoked salmon canapés, deviled eggs with salad burnet and chive blossoms, tiny crustless cucumber sandwiches, four different kinds of scones, a glazed ring-shaped fruit and nut cake, and chocolate mousse-filled tarts. To go along with all of this food there was iced lemon balm tea and cool rose-almond milk, and afterwards, my father and the Comte sipped little cut-crystal glasses of sherry.

This all seemed very grand—almost suspiciously so, as if the Comte was attempting to win us over by displaying and treating us to all of this sumptuous finery—but since then we have learnt that this was the way of the steward with everyone who came to Sumer's Flax. He was, everyone said, "a charitable man".

And newcomers were quite rare in the village.

I sat back, eyeing the view out the window with longing in my soul.

Outside the sun was shining brightly after a brief mid-morning shower. Birds would be singing now, as everything in creation dripped with sunlit diamond-like drops of rainwater left over from the little storm. Antoinette would, perhaps, be working on the herb garden I had started to replant, and Meg would be running around with her hoop and stick in the yard.

Richard and Giles would be just outside the yard: joking, talking, and whistling while they put the new roof on the tiny barn where our horses were housed. Carlotta and Portia would be inside, doing their best to stay out of the warm sunshine, which would ruin their beautiful fair skin, and they would both be working on their embroidery, or the mending. Carlotta's one faultless accomplishment was that she had always, always made the most perfect, straight seems, with tiny, very nearly invisible stitches. Her governess had taught her well, in that.

Father and the Comte were still discussing things, seeming almost as though they had forgotten me. I think they'd now moved on from the subject of the state of the roads leading across the countryside to the recent advancements in the area's lumber industry, but I couldn't be sure. To tell the absolute, strictest truth, I really didn't even care.

I sighed, shifting restlessly in my seat.

Couldn't they possibly get this all over with?

Then the idea came to me.

I abruptly sat up on the chaise lounge, as if someone had just put a ramrod up my back, and gasped softly. This, as I had intended, got both my father and the Comte's attention, and they turned to me as one.

"Christina, are you all right?" Father questioned.

I put on my most convincingly innocent and guileless face, flaring my eyes wide, and made brushing motions in the air with my hands.

"Oh, Father, I just recalled—! Monsieur le Comte—"

—and I even fluttered my eyelashes at him, for extra effect—

"I marked, on our way in, that Sumer's Flax is in possession of a most wonderful library. I was wondering if, perhaps, you would be so kind as to tell me how I might become a…a member there. It _quite_ caught my interest."

The Comte looked at Father.

I did not miss the arch of his eyebrow.

"Your daughter is a reader of books, Monsieur Daae?"

My father's eyes held a bit of surprise, but he masked it well—as a seasoned merchant knows how to—and replied, "Yes; yes, Christina loves to read. She is an industrious student, and very much enjoys the arts, and history."

"The library is a very old and refined establishment," the Comte then informed us, leaning back in his chair. "The head librarian—one Monsieur Reyer—is a methodical and highly regarded man, who has held his position there for many years, and takes great pride in his work. I am concerned, Monsieur, of his reaction to the entrance of…_young_ ladies…into such a sanctuary as the library."

"Christina is among the _best_ behaved of my children, Monsieur le Comte," my father assured him. "And as I have made certain that all in my household are held to the same letter of respect, courtesy, and graciousness, I am certain that I may tell you, in complete confidence, that Christina will _not_ abuse any of the privileges the library may hold for its patrons."

"Well then," the Comte said. "By all means, Mademoiselle Daae, go to the library and seek out Monsieur Reyer. He will give you the aid you seek in utilizing the benefits of our library. I will have Renaud show you the way out."

I fairly bounced out of my seat, exhilarated that I was now—finally—going to make my escape. Before I went with the butler, Renaud, to the door, I turned to the Comte and swept a quick, almost obviously careless curtsey.

"_Merci beaucoup_, Monsieur le Comte—truly!" I said. "_Bonjour_!"

And with that, I followed Renaud out of the room.

* * *

As soon as the heavy front door of the manor had groaned shut behind me again, I picked up my skirts in one hand and flew down the steps, my feet rendered all the more nimble by my intense desire to reach the comforting interior of a building filled to the brim with books.

Across the square I went; I dashed up the steps, pulled open the door, and stepped inside. Instantly, a smell of ink, paper, and furniture polish flooded into my sense, and I breathed in deeply.

_Now I am home. At last._


	5. Bonjour, je suis

_**Chapter Four –**_

_**"Bonjour; je suis…"**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

A few more weeks passed, and we at the Daae cottage eventually settled into our new life.

Richard and Giles found jobs in the village as assistants to the blacksmith, and Father began working out plans for a new business as a property manager and legal interpreter. Even a tiny, rustic village such as Sumer's Flax had its little matters concerning land lines, shop rights, patents, and other things of that nature, but never before had anyone in the vicinity set up a practice exclusively devoted to such business.

Father, having had much experience in this aspect of the business world, decided that he might do some good for others—and provide for his family—by starting out on this enterprise. Meanwhile, Antoinette, Carlotta, Portia, Meg, and I remained at home and slowly the cottage was transformed into a lovely, although close-quartered dwelling.

And it really _was_ quite jam-packed in there.

Father and Antoinette shared a room together, and Meg slept in the room attached to it. It was a small chamber in comparison to the others in the house, which even then wasn't saying too terribly much, and yet it wasn't quite the size of a typical closet, so we all simply decided that it had once been a dressing room of sorts. Meg adored her tiny, out-of-the-way bedroom, and could often be found there, playing with her dolls: a cornhusk Grand Duchess Sarah added to Queen Esmerelda's company.

Carlotta, Portia, and I also shared a room, which was located just across the little hallway that one first saw upon coming up to the second floor. Our separate places in the room were incredibly varying, though you could tell which corner was mine right off. My bed was always littered with books, courtesy of my new membership at the library. Giles and Richard shared the attic-room just above the second storey of the house, which we had converted into a proper bedchamber and living space.

Somehow, we managed.

Quickly, summer burst full upon us, and then slowly transformed into fall.

Then, late one cool September evening, just an hour or so after sunset, I had an adventure—or perhaps, rather, a _misadventure_—that seemed to speak of a dark secret over the simple, happy little village of Sumer's Flax…

* * *

I'd been at the library all afternoon, on a mission to search out a book I remembered reading once when I had been about thirteen. Then I chanced to look out one of the windows that were nearby, and with a start I saw that the sun had quickly begun to fall beneath the far-off horizon. I left off my quest and quickly ran down the spiral staircase, earning myself a rigid and unbending glare from the strict head librarian, Monsieur Reyer.

With a hasty apology and wave over my shoulder, I dashed out the front door and began my run for home. If Carlotta and Portia had had to prepare for dinner in my absence, I was in for a tongue-lashing when I got home…

Normally, the walk from the village square to my home took only about a short fifteen minutes of walking—but tonight the marketplace was exceedingly congested with people seeking to make their last purchases of the day, close up shop, and head home as well. I finally decided to take one of the back alleys that led a winding and circuitous route out of the village, and wound up standing on a steep hill to one side of the gates.

In keen exasperation, I gave a frustrated sigh.

Now I had _totally_ lost my bearings, and already it was dark in the valley. Not a good thing for a tardy young creature such as myself.

It was then that I had something come my mind that hadn't ever occurred to me before. I could see Rowanberry Brook from my place on the hill now. Rowanberry Brook ran through the forest that surrounded Sumer's Flax on all but one of its sides, and was quite near to my home. If I could somehow cut through the forest, I could make it home much more quickly than I could if I took the road.

And so this is what I did.

* * *

Now, before I proceed any further in my tale, something must be said about the forest that lay just beyond the safe, quiet little village of Sumer's Flax. I had seen some forests before in my life, both in pictures and in reality, but _never before_ had I ever set eyes upon a wood such as this one.

It was…_different_.

Vastly different.

The trees were enormous, far larger than most trees were wont to be, all stretching their lofty crowns up to the sky above the lowly earth. Their trunks were so huge that I was certain it would require at least eleven or twelve full-grown men to span their circumference with their arms. The forest floor was rugged and uneven, covered in the leaves and debris of the trees themselves from countless ages past.

There was still some sunlight left in the sky, although most of the valley was now in shadow, and normally, I thought, the sunlight could pierce through any trees' branches to the ground beneath. But in this forest, there were no gleaming rays of sunlight dancing through the leafy green boughs, not even during the day.

It was all curiously dark, and yet not pitch black.

A wind had begun to kick up now, and I decided that I needed to hurry on my way. I held the shawl that I had wrapped around my shoulders close to myself and took off at a run towards the forest. A strange whispering sound came from the trees as the wind stirred them, and I knew that—from the angry-looking dark gray rain clouds that had begun to roll into the sunset sky—a thunderstorm would soon be taking place. _Perhaps the trees will shelter me,_ I thought, as I stepped across the barrier between field and forest, entering the wood…

The moment I had set foot on the moss of the forest floor, I felt a gentle waft of breeze come up to greet me. It was refreshingly cool, unlike the humid air I had just left behind, and I welcomed it as it whisked around me and teased at my hair.

On a whim, I pulled out the hair-tie that I had been wearing, in order to keep my unruly locks up off my neck in a neat bun, and shook out the tresses, letting them tumble down to their full length.

_Ah,_ I thought, with a rueful little smile. _So poetic, Christina Daae.__ And now all you need is a Prince Gallant to catch sight of you, standing in the midst of this deep dark forest, looking so peerlessly lovely and alone; he'd fall madly in love with you, sweep you off your feet and into the saddle of his noble steed, and ride off with you into—_

Just then, a loud crack of thunder reminded me of reality.

I started.

"Into a bloody thunderstorm, _that's_ what," I muttered as I began to make my way through the trees, climbing over fallen tree limbs and huge tree roots, and boulders, and whatnot. I forded a little stream and got the hem of my skirt wet, but didn't really care. As I walked, I listened to the sounds of the rainstorm that was going on over my head, but didn't once feel a single drop of water splash down onto my head.

Odd.

_The tree branches must be really thick,_ I thought, looking up at the leafy canopy over my head in piercing scrutiny.

Every once in a while, I would hear a dim rumble of thunder, and the sound of the pouring torrents of rain, atop the trees, was both rhythmic and rushing. There were no other noises, though, but for the burbling of that one little stream, and the breeze. I didn't see any forest animals or birds, nor did I catch sight of any insects, much less anyone of my own species. I hadn't ever seen anyone this deep in the forest, which was odd all over again, considering the fact that it surrounded our village on three sides.

Only one side had been left open.

I didn't have any idea why they wouldn't enjoy any more of the forest than the first fifty feet of it. It wasn't as if it was dark or treacherous or threatening in any way. Of course, _any_ forest could be one or all of those three things, and more, but I didn't feel that it held ill intentions for me…although I didn't know why.

_Best to just get home, Christina,_ my sensible mind's voice told me.

_They're waiting for you._

* * *

In another few minutes, I had found Rowanberry Creek and was making my way along it, towards the road.

As soon as I had stepped up to the side of the dusty road itself, however, I became aware of the sound of clopping horse hooves—two riders were coming in my direction, walking their mounts leisurely down the road. I was about to turn and continue on my way, and let them pass, when I heard someone call out my name.

"Mademoiselle Daae?"

I stopped short, and about-faced. It was then that I took note of who it was that had spoken my name.

The Comte de Chagny.

"Monseigneur le Comte," I greeted, dipping a bit of a curtsey as he and his companion—some male figure whose features and form I couldn't quite make out, as he was wearing a bulky traveling cloak, and night had now fallen upon the land—rode up to me.

The Comte reigned in his mount quite close to me, and looked down at me with distinct displeasure in his dark eyes.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "Why are you out at this time of night?"

I sensed that there was something wrong. I had, perhaps, transgressed some law or edict or guideline that I had not yet known of, and suddenly I felt a gnawing, uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The wind in the forest seemed as if it were louder now: growing more violent, insistent, commanding me to acknowledge its presence. Daring me to defy the Comte, and his companion—whoever he was—and look back.

Again.

"I-I left the library late," I stammered, and looked up at the Comte anxiously. "And the marketplace was crowded, so I came through the forest. I hope I haven't done any harm, have I?"

I asked this last with an involuntarily concerned rush of feeling. I didn't want to have my family's name sullied because of one of _my_ careless mistakes!

"I didn't know—"

Still, the Comte's unforgiving dark gaze was bent upon me, as he sat there in the saddle of his fine grey horse, looking down at me.

"No, perhaps you did _not_ know, Mademoiselle Daae," he said, cutting me off, "But ignorance is all-too-often the fount of many a folly. I know that you are very new here, Mademoiselle, but tell me—have you ever seen _anyone else _go anywhere near this forest, even though it surrounds our village on three sides?"

I had already thought of this; the answer came without a moment's pause. I shook my head negatively and replied, slowly—

"No, Monseigneur le Comte."

"And you did not think of this when you went into it this afternoon, in order to return home?"

"I am sorry, milord," I said, contritely. "I did not mean—"

Again, he cut me off.

"Whether you _meant to_ or not is scarcely the matter here, Mademoiselle. You were careless, and inobservant. Now, I will tell you only once: do _not_ go into the forest. Do not go anywhere near it. I do not wish to come across you here again. Do you understand?"

Awed and in truth quite mystified by his strange vehemence about my—and apparently everyone else's—staying out of the forest, I nevertheless nodded, in silence.

I felt another pair of eyes on me and marked, from the view out of the corner of my eye, that the Comte's companion was also looking at me. I wondered who exactly he was, suddenly.

"Yes, Monseigneur le Comte." I said.

Seeming satisfied at last—but not all the way returned to good humor, although I had begun to wonder if _good humor_ was something he entirely possessed, in a pure and undiluted form—the Comte gathered the reins of his steed into his hands and made a gesture of farewell to me.

"Good evening, then, Mademoiselle Daae; we must take our leave of you," he said. "Go home, child—your family will be missing you. And remember our conversation. Stay out of the wood."

And with that, they rode off.

* * *

I did not see the Comte or his companion again for a long while after that, though I heard the day after that bizarre conversation alongside the road that the Comte's brother—the Vicomte, who was some years junior to his brother—had lately arrived at the manor.

His name was Raoul.

He was the pride of his exalted family, everyone in the village said, and a great favorite in Sumer's Flax as well. Like many young men his age, which was seventeen, he attended a school somewhere far from our village, and was now home for a holiday from his studies.

From what I heard from Carlotta and Portia—already those two were up on all the latest gossip and news, even though they still complained and griped about the lack of society in our new situation—this young man was also quite handsome and talented. Every eligible young woman had her eye set on him, and even some of the married ladies could recall the feeling of a fluttering in their hearts when he had walked by, in days past, before their marriages.

Well, this was all very interesting and nice, but as of yet I had neither seen nor met this supposedly incredible youth, and so I went on my life just as usual. I had my studies, my chores at home, and my other occupations, including my frequent visits to the library, and I did not have time to waste frittering my time and emotions away on some fantastical figure. Although I did find myself wondering what he was like—if he was really just as wonderful as everyone said he was—because I had a feeling in my heart that he had been the Comte's companion, that night.

* * *

A week after my escapade in the forest, I was leaving the library at dusk—only this time a good twenty minutes earlier, as I had become much more conscientious about my timing after the Comte had caught me wandering through the 'forbidden forest'—when I stopped short in sheer horror.

One of the possessions that I had inherited from my mother upon her death had been a beautiful scarf of the loveliest shade of red imaginable. This red was redder than cherries, than blood or rubies; the scarf itself was made of the softest, silkiest angora wool, and was delicious warm and comforting on a chilly fall day.

I had left it in the library, somehow.

More upset with myself than I had been in some time, I turned about and ran back up the steps, reaching the door just as it opened. I started back, and tried to regain my breath as Monsieur Reyer stepped out. He had his hat, coat, scarf, and gloves on, with his cane in one hand and a pile of thick books in the other.

"Monsieur Reyer!" I finally managed to gasp.

He turned to look at me, and—realizing whom it was that had addressed him—his expression shifted to one of petulant and disgruntled annoyance. He was, I had discovered, of much the same mind as the Comte in all manners regarding me. Neither of the two of them liked me very much, but as I was wont to come to the library very often, he had learnt to either ignore or tolerate my presence.

But I was not concerned about this now.

"Monsieur Reyer," I said, "I am so sorry to bother you, Monsieur, but I just discovered that I've left my scarf on the table in the library—mightn't I retrieve it before you lock the doors for the night? I know exactly where it is; it won't take me but a moment…"

But he was already shaking his head.

"Absolutely not, Mademoiselle," he said. "This library closes promptly at five thirty in the evening, and it is now five thirty-one. You will have to wait until tomorrow to retrieve your things."

"But it's only a scarf!" I protested, feeling the apples of my cheekbones begin to flush a warm and fiery red. "Monsieur, my mother left me that scarf when she died, and I mustn't leave it; please, just let me go and get it—"

"Mademoiselle, I said no!"

In the next split second, the librarian and I might have had a true face-off, but we were interrupted by a light and easy-going sally from the steps below us.

"You didn't just dare to refuse a lady, did you, Monsieur Reyer? I would have thought that you, of all people, would find it utterly impossible to resist such a request."

And we turned as one to face the speaker.

It was a young man, a little older than me, perhaps.

He was of medium height and had a strong and athletic build, yet he wasn't overwhelmingly muscular, either. His hair was cropped short, but not short enough to keep it from falling in slight waves over his forehead on one side, nearly obscuring his right eye. His eyes were a warm green that sparkled in the twilight, and he had very nice, attractive, and boyish features. His clothing gave nothing away about his situation in life, however: I couldn't tell whether he was a commoner, a traveler, or a royal from the plain vest, breeches, boots, and shirt he wore.

Monsieur Reyer, though, seemed to know precisely who this youth was, for he abruptly turned at least three different shades of red, and sputtered, "She was—the rules say—Monsieur le Comte—the library—"

"The young lady was simply asking you to let her retrieve her mother's scarf! _You_ should know a show of respect for the departed when you see it, you preposterous baboon, and the rules say nothing about leaving the library doors open for two minutes longer than normal. The library itself will certainly not be subject to any ill effect from the likes of one such as _her_! And as for Monsieur le Comte…"

Then the young man—my rescuer—grinned, and I could only be too certain of the mischievousness in his green eyes.

"You can just put _me_ to fault for any displeasure this event may cause, and you can tell the Comte that himself. Now, hold the door open, man!"

Monsieur Reyer hastened to obey, and I rushed inside. My scarf was just where I had left it; I gathered it up to myself, briefly burying my face in its warm softness, and then ran back out to join my companions.

To my surprise, the boy was still there, standing at the head of the steps and making small talk with a very miffed-looking Monsieur Reyer, who gave me a curt nod, and then went to locking the door behind us. As soon as he had left, I looked to the boy again, and gave him a sheepish, lopsided smile. Something about him told me I had just run into yet another interesting situation.

"_Merci_, Monsieur," I said to him, and curtsied slightly.

Then, surprising me, he took my hand and bowed over it, just as all the fine young men had done for me in the grand days when my father had been rich, and lived in the city. I wasn't quite sure how to react to this.

Anyone could tell, by looking at me, that I wasn't exactly material for such genteel treatment anymore. I was a village maiden—a farm girl. _A backwoods gamin._The words echoed back to me through the corridor of time.

"You are very kind; I can never repay you for your help."

He grinned again, and stood back, watching me.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Someone needs to come around every once in a while and remind old Reyer that no matter what Philippe tells him, he's still_ just_ the village librarian. And a gentleman, besides that. I'm sorry he gave you any trouble."

"Well, it's not as if I didn't deserve it. I've gotten myself in trouble before on account of my….shall we say, irresponsibility before."

So saying, I gave him a wry little smile, and he laughed. The sound was youthful, golden, and warm—nothing condescending or hurtful. Just pure, amused laughter, as if he knew how I felt.

"Ah, well, don't let it put you into too much of an ill-humor, m'lady. I quite understand why you wouldn't want to lose sight of that scarf, regardless of anything else. But I've been indecorous again—my professors of human relations and etiquette would have my head if they saw me now. Allow me to introduce myself."

But I already knew what was coming—

"I am Raoul de Chagny."

And now I returned his grin, matching it with my own.

"Christina Daae."

* * *

That night I slept dreamlessly, feeling strangely half-awake and half-asleep—aware of reality, and yet not. And somehow I seemed to feel that the deep, dark forest: the forest that I and everyone else were forbidden to enter, the forest that pulled inescapably at my heartstrings, playing on my soul…

_I felt that it was calling to me. _

The wind seemed to rush out from underneath the great, proud trees, blowing and whisking across the grassy fields that separated the world of the forest from my own world, trying to reach me in my bed. They seemed to be whispering, whispering in a thousand different voices, but above all of the rest of them, I heard the forest calling _my name_. It seemed to sing to me—

_Christine. Christine._

But that was not my name…and yet it was…it _was_…

_"Christine…"_

* * *

_A/N: And that is all for now, sports-phans! Expect more chapters to be posted in rapid succession, but only if you review! I have a lovely hit-counter, and I can see if you're reading this...so do us a favor, luvs, and drop me a little note!_

_Ta._


	6. Frightful Darkness

_**Chapter Five –**_

_**Frightful Darkness**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

****

_I stood in the middle of a forest_—_The Forest, the dark, forbidden Forest_—_and it seemed strangely different, somehow. _

_The trees around me were a much inkier shade of black than ever before, and the patches of light in the air around me were a cold blue-grey colour. The wind was blowing again, catching at the glorious, shining golden ball gown that I was wearing. My hair was done up in an elaborate style, with an ornate headpiece of some sort. There was a weight around my neck as well, which my inquisitive fingertips found to be an enormous bejeweled necklace of some sort._

_But I felt cold. _

_The breeze was icy and insistent, as it tore around about me. It sizzled through the underbrush in the forest and swept through the trees over my head, making a terrible rushing noise. I could hear the trees groaning as they moved back and forth, and the sound was so sad, so helpless and despairing, that I felt as if it would crush my own heart with loneliness and grief. I heard a hundred voices on the wind, saying a thousand and one different things, but over them all, I heard one name being repeated over and over again, followed by a question._

_"Christine…Christine…where is she?"_

_I turned about every which way, trying to find the owner of the voice, but it was like the wind_—_bodiless and invisible. And no matter where I looked, no matter how hard I tried to see, it was never more than a voice on the rushing wind. _

_Then my surroundings seemed to shift, and I was standing on a stone walkway of some sort. The sky over my head was ablaze with fierce and angry red, purple, and orange colours, with the most distant point of the horizon painted an unforgiving pitch-black. The wind seemed to have grown stronger, and now it was tearing at me so violently that I felt I might be thrown to my knees at any second. _

_I moved over to the waist-high wall that framed both sides of the wide walkway, hoping that perhaps I could find a way off it—_

_And saw that there was nothing beneath me but a great stone wall that dropped straight down into the blackness that was beyond the light of the stone. The stones in this wall looked as if they had been stained with blood. _

_The wind began to howl._

_Suddenly, then, I was dancing along the walkway in the arms of a handsomely uniformed gentleman, who handed me off in a moment to another man. I kept dancing as I was passed from man to man, whirling about like a mad thing, as if I was a wind-up toy who couldn't stop dancing or she would die. _

_There were people around us_—_many, many people_—_lining the walls, watching us. They, like the men who were dancing with me, were all fabulously costumed, but over their faces each person wore a horrendously hideous and garish goblin mask. I wanted to shy away from them, to run and find my way back to sanity, and the light: to get out, but all I could do was continue to dance. _

_I heard a bizarre music playing from somewhere, played by a strange montage of instruments. There were words to it, though no one sang them_—_I simply heard them in my head. Strange and disjointed verses, without meaning, and yet still massed together…_

_Masquerade! _

_Paper faces on parade… _

_Masquerade! _

_Hide your face, so the world will never find you!_

_In the dark of the night evil will find her. _

_In the dark of the night just before dawn!_

_Where once was light, now darkness falls… _

_Where once was love, love is no more. _

_Don't say_—_goodbye… _

_Don't say I didn't try…_

_Masquerade! _

_Every face a different shade…_

_So in the end I will be_ _what I will be… _

_No loyal friend was ever there for me…_

_Soon she will feel that her nightmares are real…_

_Masquerade! _

_Look around_—_there's another mask behind you!_

_These tears you cry have come too late… _

_Take back the lies, the hurt, the blame!_

_Masquerade! _

_Grinning yellows, spinning reds… _

_Masquerade! _

_Take your fill_—_let the spectacle astound you!_

_Masquerade! _

_Leering satyrs, peering eyes… _

_Masquerade! _

_Run and hide_—_but a face will still pursue you!_

_My entire skull felt as if there was a small army inside of it, with a battering ram that they were employing in a bid for escape. My vision began to cloud over and I felt dizzy_—_so very, very dizzy, and all I wanted to do was stop dancing, and rest, to go back to sleep…to sleep…_

_"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…"_

_That voice! I **knew** that voice!_

_And the figure that I danced with now began to whirl me around in circles, skillfully using his hands to twirl my own hands around, forcing me to twirl as we danced down the walkway_—_ever keeping our pace and never once slackening. _

_"Darkness stirs and wakes imagination…silently the senses abandon their defenses_—_helpless to resist…"_

_How desperately I wanted to see the speaker of those words! How cruelly the shadows that had suddenly surrounded me refused my heart's deepest desire! All that I could see was the blur of darkness that was my companion's black velvet cloak…_

_I felt him releasing me; slowly, the music began to ebb away, dying like a rose that had been cut from its stem. But now I did not want to go. I did not want those hands to leave mine_—_I wanted to remain in the darkness. _

_'Don't make me go!' my dream self pleaded._

_But he_—_and everything in that strange, frightening, and yet somehow inexplicably beautiful dream world_—_was already gone. The last words that I heard the voice whisper to me were the same ones that the wind seemed to carry to me every single night, borne out of the Forbidden Forest…_

_"Christine…Christine…"_

* * *

My eyes flew open and I sat up in a rush, not entirely conscious of my surroundings or anything in reality for a moment. Then it all came back to me: I was in my own room, the room I shared with my own two sisters, Carlotta and Portia, and it was morning. Already the bright, cheerful sunbeams had found their way in through the window nearby, and my sisters were still slumbering away in their beds. I leaned back on my two hands, remaining still for a moment.

_What an odd way to wake up,_ I thought.

Then I pushed back the white coverlets of my bed, swung my legs to the wooden floorboards, and got up. Going over to the window, I pushed open the perfect, snow-white eyelet curtains—much to Portia's disgruntlement; she rolled over in bed, pulling her covers up over herself—and gazed out the window.

It had been three years since we had come to Sumer's Flax. Three years had passed since our lives had been totally uprooted and changed forever.

We had all considerably altered since then.

Carlotta and Portia retained their resentment at being forced out of their city life and into a backwoods existence, but they tended to keep it more to themselves now than before, unless someone made a reference to something that reminded them of their former grandeur. Then the whining would be brought back out in full-force, until something came along to distract them again. This distraction most often proved to be either town gossip, or news from the city.

My father's business in the town grew and began to be prosperous. I had always known that he had a knack for simply making things work, and once again, that spoken fact had turned into a living truth.

Richard and Giles continued on in their jobs in the village, and eventually raised in position and admiration of their respective employers. We were all exceedingly proud of them: Richard, Giles, and Father. Antoinette, Meg, and I had worked very hard—with Carlotta and Portia lending a hand, from time to time—on turning the cottage and the grounds that surrounded it into a livable space again, and our efforts had paid off.

It was springtime now, and every year Sumer's Flax had a grand festival to celebrate the beginning of the new season. This chain of picnics, dances, and other types of pastoral revelry was to last an entire month, with each event being held at numerous different places in the town. Feeling at last confident in the look and comfort of our cottage, Antoinette and I had—with Father's permission—gone to the village council and received permission to hold part of the merrymakings at our home.

This morning I was to go meet Raoul de Chagny at the bridge over Rowanberry Brook, so that we could go in search of decorations for the picnic we would have at the cottage that afternoon. Even though we only saw each other during the holidays when he came home from his studies, the young Vicomte had become a wonderful and close friend of mine over the past three years. Now that his school had officially let out for the summer, we planned on spending every last moment we could having all sorts of adventures.

But, of course, we couldn't have any sort of fun-filled escapade today until I'd prepared myself for it properly.

* * *

Without making a noise to interrupt the sleep of my sisters, I slid the curtains shut again—closing the room to the view of the mint-green fields of shimmering grass that separated the cottage from the forest—and went back across the room.

In my space in the chest of drawers that we shared, I found a fresh chemise, a corset-style vest of spring green, pale yellow, and white stripes, and a toffee-coloured cotton skirt. The chemise was a new one that I'd made for myself, with lace at its full, elbow-length sleeves, and just a bit around the neckline as well. I then went pawing through the basket on the top of the chest, where we kept our hair ribbons.

After I had found a nice sage-green ribbon, I used it to tie back my hair and went in search of my shoes. I'd left my slippers by the door, and when these were on my feet, I quickly tossed the covers on my bed back into their proper places, gave my pillow a swift and perfunctory pat, and whisked out the door.

Father was already gone for the morning when I came downstairs, into the kitchen, and Richard and Giles were likewise not to be found in the house. Antoinette nodded good-morning to me, fully occupied with the green-herb soup she was making for the picnic that afternoon. I hastily grabbed a wedge of raspberry tart off of the plate on the countertop and scanned over the picnic menu, as Meg flipped pages in the book she was reading, sprawled out on the floor next to the table.

'Green-herb soup,' I read; 'Endive and watercress salad, sorrel and nectarine salad. Onion tart with spinach and pine nuts. Chicken pot pie. Summer pudding, apple almond tartlets, lemon geranium pound cake. Lavender ice cream.'

"_Bonjour_, Antoinette! _Bonjour_, Margot! I'm off in search of rowanberry garlands and ivy wreaths!" I said, finishing off my tart-slice and giving them both a quickembrace as I made to dash out the door. If I stayed another five minutes, I would be late to meet Raoul.

* * *

The bridge over Rowanberry Brook was a scant five minutes walk from my house, but I lingered along the pathway as I went, bending over to sniff the freshly bloomed flowers and gaze contentedly at my surroundings.

All was green and lovely.

My friend was already at the bridge by the time that I got there. He was sitting on its railway, looking off into the distance where the brook blended with the trees.

I smiled fondly.

_Oh, Raoul._

It was hardly a surprise to me why Raoul was so sought-after by the girls in our village, but…I somehow couldn't name myself as one among them. He was very nice-looking, but perhaps that was why I couldn't bring myself to fall head-over-heels for him. He was already plagued by so much of that.

And I had needed a friend when we had first come to Sumer's Flax. He had been that friend. From the moment we had first met at the library that fall night, when I had left my scarf behind, he had truly been my friend, and I his.

"And a good morning to you, Monsieur le Vicomte," I called out as I walked down the path. "What in this forest so fascinates you this bright dawn?"

"For _one_ thing, Christine Daae," he said, as I approached, "It's not exactly dawn anymore. It's nine o'clock in the morning—closer to ten, actually. You're late."

I lifted my chin, defiantly.

"You presume to inform a lady of her inadequacies, Monsieur?"

He gave me a look, and replied—

"I presume to censure my friend and comrade, who isn't renowned to have all the greatest sense of timing."

"And for another thing?" I prompted. "Assuming that there _is_ one?"

"For another thing, I didn't think you _believed_ in 'good' mornings."

I laughed merrily.

"Well I don't."

And without further ado, we went off to look for decorations for the picnic.

The hour of noon found us about three miles down the road, a little ways into the forest. Raoul was working on cutting off a limb of a blooming cherry tree while I knelt on the ground, sorting out the myriad of greenery that we had accumulated over our time out. I had a veritable rainbow of colours, sizes, and textures before me: daffodils and wild amaryllises we had, along with some tulips, gardenias, irises, dahlias, and wild roses. We had gathered long strands of ivy and rowan, and I'd plucked some lavender, chamomile, and forget-me-nots.

When I had finished sorting out the different flowers and whatnot, I sat back in the grass and was quiet for a moment. I could easily see the patches of blue sky and farmland scenery through the tress, as we were only about twenty feet into the forest, but beyond me—behind me—there was the forest itself.

_And it reminded me…_

"Raoul?" I suddenly called to him.

He, his attention riveted on his work, was too busy to answer me for a moment. Finally, his voice drifted back over the air to me—

"Yes, milady Christina."

I picked up one of the little chamomile blossoms between the tip of two fingers, and began to roll it back and forth, so that the tiny flower became a whirling, miniature vortex of white.

"Did you ever have a dream so odd that you felt it couldn't possibly be a normal dream—but that it had to be something else? A dream that was so unusual that you knew it _had_ to mean something?"

"No."

He sounded puzzled.

"Why?"

I shook my head, brushing off my own question. "Oh…no matter. I was just…thinking out loud, somewhat. Ignore me."

" 'S kind of hard to do that, Christina. I think anybody'd be willing to wager that if you wanted someone's attention, they'd be hard pressed to _ignore_ you."

I pitched the flower at him, trying to be offended, but smiling sheepishly all the same.

"Quiet, you."

He grinned and went back to his work, and I lapsed into silence again.

Even now, however much I tried to push it into the back of my mind, the memory of my dream—bizarre, frightening, and yet somehow wonderful—kept returning to my conscious mind, until it felt as if the dream world had curiously begun to bleed into reality: blending the two.

I glanced at Raoul. He wasn't looking at me. Then, I turned my gaze over my shoulder, looking out into the woods.

Those great, green depths called to me in a way that only a forest can call, and I wanted desperately to go back into them. That one stretch of time, during the thunderstorm, when I had traipsed through their silent, wind-filled depths…I had felt as if I had come home, in some strange, incomprehensible way.

I didn't know why the Comte had forbidden anyone to enter the forest. It simply defied all fairness and justice that we should stay out of it, just because _he_ had said so, and without giving us a single good reason…

"Christina!"

Raoul's voice broke through the void to me, and I started, freezing in my tracks. I had somehow gone even deeper into the forest, where the sun-dappled shadows ended at a line with the complete darkness beneath the trees.

And worse, I didn't even know how I'd gotten there.

I turned back around, and looked over to my companion. He looked absolutely, undeniably tense, and unnerved. This perplexed me. Was there indeed something to demand and _deserve_ such fear within those trees?

_And if there was, what could it possibly be…?_

"I'm sorry, Raoul," I said, coming back towards him. When we stood facing one another again, I looked up into his face with a truly apologetic expression. "I…I don't know what I was thinking."

"You _weren't_ thinking," he replied, but the statement wasn't unkind. It was true. Oddly enough, I hadn't been thinking. I'd been…spellbound.

Now I _had_ to know.

"Raoul, please tell me," I begged him. "Why does your brother refuse to let anyone go into the forest? Why is it that no one, not even the bravest man in the village, has dared set foot any further than the first fifty feet of the trees? Is there some horrible creature in it, or some sort of curse meant for those who trespass within it?"

He was silent.

"Raoul."

I locked my hand over his, giving it a slight tug.

"I _want_ to know. When we first came here, the Comte told my Father that your family—the de Chagny family—has been the only government of any sort to reside in this part of Kryslora for ages. Yet in the annexes of _The History of Kryslora_ that I read in the library, it says that there was once a royal family that ruled from a castle very near here, within the Rouen Mountains…"

I paused, and brushed an errant silky curl off my face.

"Raoul, what happened to them? Does that have something to do with why the forest is forbidden to everyone?"

As soon as my last words had dissipated into the warm spring air around us, a curious silence fell upon the world, it seemed. Everything became very still, so that all that I could hear was the babbling Rowanberry Brook, the birds singing and insects buzzing. But the wind had stopped.

Finally, Raoul brought his green eyes back up to mine, and I saw a haunted darkness in them. He looked very, very serious, and almost afraid.

"Christina…" he began.

Then, he looked back and forth—all around us—as if he wanted to make certain that no one was about to see or hear us.

"Come here."

And he grabbed my hand and made me follow him behind a nearby tree trunk. Its roots were so huge that they made a knoll in the ground that would easily hide the both of us when we were standing upright. Raoul made me sit down there, and then took a seat beside me. He took a breath, looking quite nervous and uneasy, and then all his next words came out in a reluctant rush.

"All right, fine—if you really must know—!" he said, with more than a touch of bitterness in his tone. "_Yes_, there _was_ a royal family that ruled over not only this part of the countryside, but all of Kryslora. It was more than fifty years ago now. They had a castle deep in the Rouen Mountains, and this castle was so beautiful and grand that it was rumored to be second only to the Sun-Palace itself. The king then was a good man, and an able ruler. He had a beautiful wife, and the entire kingdom was utterly and unquestionably happy."

Here he stopped, and I wrinkled my nose in confusion.

This didn't sound as if it was a good reason to have the forest under perpetual quarantine. He was being exceedingly roundabout and stubborn about this—but, as far as stubbornness went, _I_ really _did_ take the ultimate prize.

But I _had_ to know.

"And…?" I prompted, again.

Raoul sighed, heavily, and looked even more exasperated, as if he really didn't want to be telling me about any of this.

"Then, as far as I know, one day it just vanished."

" 'It'?" I asked, needing clarification.

He made a brusque, sweeping gesture with his arms, seeming as if my inquisitiveness was causing him an immense amount of stress.

"The castle, the city around it—all of the people, the royal family, the grounds. Then the forest appeared, and so many people got lost in it and never came back, all of those years ago, that people around the region started to get frightened, and frightened people mean anarchy, eventually. So when my brother became steward of Sumer's Flax, he simply made the rule that no one should ever go into the forest. He was weary of the troubles that the forest had caused, and suspicious of what it all meant."

"And hence we're not allowed in the forest."

I sat in silence for a moment, musing over the story.

"No one has ever tried to find the castle, or learn more about what might have happened to it? I mean, after all, if it _was_ a _real_ castle, then it must still be in there somewhere. Someone could find it…"

Then it occurred to me that perhaps the reason why people got lost in the forest, and were never seen again, was that the forest—for all its seeming innocence—could very possibly have some strange sort of power residing over it.

A hex—a spell—

"It's been cursed, hasn't it?" I asked him, suddenly as alarmed as he. Ripples of cold fear ran up and down my spine at the very thought of such a dark truth—and the reality of its presence so very nearby us. I couldn't imagine anything more frightening, at that moment. "That's why everyone fears it. That's why they tell us to stay out."

Raoul nodded, his face devoid of all its usual merriness.

"So it would seem, Christina. All I know is that when I was a child, my mother used to make me mind her by telling me stories about the awful things that lived in there. Sometimes she'd say it was a horrible monster of sorts: a creature that wore a black cloak and would come and fetch me away for its dinner if I didn't behave myself. Other times it was a cruel sorceress, or a heartless, bloodthirsty swordsman who would slice me to ribbons if I ever ventured near the trees."

He paused, seeming to be mulling over those memories.

"I knew enough to mind my mother, but it didn't even take her stories to convince me to stay away," he added, thoughtfully, his eyes distant as he rested his chin on one hand. "Sometimes, at night, the wind would start to kick up, and stir among the trees, and if you had a wild enough imagination or you simply let your mind get carried away…you would almost _swear_ that you'd heard voices in it."

My blood ran cold.

Raoul shook his head, grimly.

"All I _really_ know now, Christina, is that there is something very dark and very powerful in those woods, and anyone who has even the slightest bit of sense in their skulls knows to keep away from it. Christina—"

And he turned me and grasped both my hands in his: his green eyes searching mine pleadingly.

"Tell me that you'll never go in there. I want you to promise me now that you'll _never_ go into that wood."

I pulled away, trying to laugh the seriousness of the moment off.

"Raoul," I protested. "You know I would never—"

"But you almost _did_, just now," he said, quietly. "Christina…I don't want to see you hurt, by anything, especially if I'm going to know, afterward, that I might have been able to stop you from being harmed. Please—_please_ promise me."

And I must say that the earnest, raw emotion in his eyes—the real, tangible fear that was in his face, and traveling through the warmth of his hands to mine—so shook me within that I knew that I couldn't evade this promise.

Raoul was my dearest friend, who understood, accepted, and cherished everything. He was more devoted to me than I could have imagined a friend as being, and he had never asked me to do anything without good, true reason. I knew that I couldn't refuse him—that I _mustn't_.

I took a deep breath, straightening my back, and wriggled my fingers a bit in his. "All right, Raoul," I said, in a low tone. "I won't. I promise."

He looked vastly relieved.

"Thank you, Christina."

His voice was barely over a breathy whisper. I reached out then and flipped his ever-errant locks of hair off of his forehead, and tried to smile.

"You're welcome, Raoul. Don't ever worry for me."

He glanced over, towards the fringe of trees that marked the end of the forest and the beginning of the fields that surrounded Sumer's Flax, and stood up abruptly.

"Cripes!" he groaned. "It's past noon by now, and that picnic of yours is starting in a few hours. We've got to get you and all these lovely bushes that we've hacked down back to your house before they all start to wilt. Come on."

I got up from my mossy seat and ran off with him towards the place where we'd left the baskets and flowers. The warm golden sunshine fell over us again as we stepped out from beneath the trees and let our footsteps begin to lead us home.

But as Raoul pulled me after him, out of the wood, I felt an indescribable urge to turn around and look behind myself, once more, at the forest that I had promised to never set foot in ever again. The emerald depths glimmered back at me, like the memory of a dream long past: still present in one's conscious mind, but faded with time and reality. I almost fancied that I heard the great, tall trees whispering to me again, calling my name softly.

But then I told myself—

_That's not true. You don't know what you've heard. Talking trees and voices on the wind no more exist than ghosts or enchanted castles. _

_Besides, you've made a promise._

And I fully intended on keeping it.

* * *

That afternoon, during the picnic, someone caught sight of movement along the road that ran just outside of our cottage, and the call went up—

"_Gypsies_! The gypsies have come!"

Some of these wandering caravans were an ill omen to any sort of village or city, but in Kryslora, the gypsies were often welcomed. Their appearance heralded fun and merry-making, and so without much time wasted, the group was invited to join our festivities. They had all sorts of wonderful things with them: items from other lands, talking songbirds that would crack jokes and sing bits of gypsy-songs, and intricately-detailed, colorful wagons.

The little gypsy children were soon running around and playing noisily and happily with the young ones of Sumer's Flax, while their adults mingled with the village folk. Music started up, and I was whirled into a fast-paced reel in which I got to dance with not only Raoul, but an attractive gypsy youth as well.

Out of breath, my cheeks flushed and hair flying about in joyful disorder, I threw myself down onto one of the picnic table benches, and tried to calm the wild beating of my heart. It had been an incredibly spirited song, and my feet had been flying.

A voice from behind me caused me to start a bit.

"Such a pretty young thing—pretty girls like pretty things, don't they?"

I turned to see an old gypsy woman standing behind me, her hands folded over one another, and I smiled. She reminded me of a kindhearted grandmother in our village, and it was simply impossible to return the smile she had given me.

"Well—yes." I replied, mischievously, "But that all depends on what the pretty thing is, I suppose."

She looked at me as if she knew we understood one another, and beckoned.

"Come: I think I have just the thing for you, little dear. Follow me."

At the moment, I didn't have anything better to do, and this command bespoke of potential interest, so I did as I was told. The old gypsy woman led me over to her cart, and bade me wait outside while she ascended the steps and disappeared inside for a moment. She emerged a moment later, and held an object wrapped carefully in a finely knit woolen scarf out to me.

"Perhaps you will find this to your interest?" she said.

I slowly removed the scarf, and the sunlight—as it glanced through the trees that shaded our lawn on one side of the house, caused a gleam of silver to show through. I pulled the scarf off entirely, and found that I held a beautiful mirror in my hands. It looked as if much time and care had been put into its making: the frame that held the mirror itself was etched with swirls, vines, flowers and leaves, and the mirror's reflective surface was absolutely spotless, and incredibly bright.

"This is for me?" I asked, not just slightly astounded.

"Pretty things for pretty girls," the old woman repeated, with a nod. I looked again at the mirror, holding it out so that I could see my reflection.

I hadn't changed much over the past three years.

Perhaps my eyes held a bit more memory now, and my skin had become a tad bit less pale after all the time I had spent out in the sun, and there was a distinct honey-gold tint to my hair now, which had formerly been a dark auburn-brown. But the dark, curving eyebrows were still there—not pencil-thin like fashionable society said they should be—as were the prominent cheekbones, huge waif-like eyes, jaw line, and chin. My lips still pouted in their squared lines, and I was still what you might call 'stick-thin', or waif-like. Somehow, though, I didn't want to contradict the woman's words. Whether _I_ was pretty or not was immaterial.

I _did_ like pretty things.

Suddenly, the mirror began to vibrate in my hands.

It shook, with a queer ringing sensation that felt something akin to the air just after lightning has struck close by, or—more accurately—it felt just as one's hair did when one had just pulled on a static-charged chenille sweater. At any rate, it seemed to come alive in my hands. I almost dropped it, in sheer shock and confusion…but then its surface clouded over, with a strange silvery mist.

And I found myself mesmerized.

With painful slowness, a picture formed.

Suddenly, within the mirror's silver depths, I saw a beautiful castle: so large that it could have easily been much larger than the entire village of Sumer's Flax. At its turrets waved silken flags of pure white, upon which could be seen the insignia of two interlocked crowns—one golden, the other white, outlined by gold. I had never seen anything so majestic, and so lovely.

Then…

I saw a darkness growing at the foot of the castle walls.

All at once, a veritable forest of tangled, vicious-looking brambles grew up around it, nearly hiding the lovely place from sight. Angry, billowing clouds that were almost black rolled into the sky. I winced back as lightning struck out of them.

The picture shifted, and changed.

I saw a doorway at night, lit by wicked-looking metal torches; a group of four people walked up to this doorway, and one of them—a man—lifted a hand, and knocked on it. All of this was in silence, yet I could imagine each noise. The door swung open, and the picture seemed to collapse in on itself, zooming forwards so that I, as I continued to look, was plunged into the darkness beyond the door.

Through countless rooms, hallways, and other places the picture in the mirror now went, moving with a speed that dizzied and disoriented me, yet I still couldn't look away. I saw many things, but nothing clearly. Everything was blurred. The picture became still again, coming up to an abrupt halt as a figure—entirely shrouded in a bat-like black cloak, which billowed in a fierce gust of wind—came into view.

And then I found myself staring into a pair of glaring eyes of the iciest, most entrancing blue that I had ever seen…_which slowly began to turn red, staining a bloody hue from their black pupils to the outer ring_.

A hypnotic, deep baritone voice whispered my name in my ear, seductive and song-like—I saw a hand gloved in black reach out to me. I felt as though I was being sucked into the mirror, into the horrid image itself, and I couldn't escape. I was rooted to the spot, and I couldn't move—!

"Christina!"

Suddenly my father, Antoinette, Richard, Giles, and Raoul were all standing around me, calling my name. Father reached out and put his arms around me, yanking me back to reality, and I fell into his and my stepmother's comforting, safe embrace. Raoul had moved to stand protectively in front of me with my brothers, and he now held the mirror, hiding its face. I shook myself free of my family's arms and lunged forward, grabbing for the mirror like a madwoman, as I cried hoarsely—

"The mirror—there were _eyes_ in it! _Look_—!"

Now something very strange happened.

The old gypsy woman had been staring at me, all along—but, suddenly, when I said this, she stepped back, away from me: staring at me as if I were a three-headed venomous serpent or worse. Her eyes glazed over with fear, and she cried out breathlessly in her own language for a moment.

Then she said—

"The curse of the forest! She has the mark: the darkness in her eyes! She is of that place; a hex is upon your family! It is he! Him, him, _him_!"

My father, stepmother, brothers, and best friend stared at her as if she were the madwoman now, and I felt myself detach from reality—from all of them and everything else—as the words began to resound and echo relentlessly in my mind. _The curse of the forest…a hex is upon your family…the mark…the darkness…_

_Who is 'he'…?_

* * *

_A/N: The lyrics employed in this chapter are not my property, so don't sue me, please. I am not...talented...poetry-wise. The songs in this chapter are property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers,and the cartoon version of Anastasia._

_Oh...and I have heard...rumors...of new rules on being implanted here: rulesthat forbidding authors toreply to their reviewers (however many or FEW they have! Hmph!) in the texts of their uploaded stories. So...if you have any truly pressing questions about this story, or whatever...please don't hesitate to drop me an e-mail at the address that's listed in the bottom of my profile. I lovecorresponding with my fellow phans!x (underscore) snarkywench (underscore) x ("at" symbol) the spaces and verbal cues. Haha._

_Oh! And don't think I haven't been checking my hit counter the last few days! It says I have 300+ hits, and only 8 reviews! (Thanks, by the way, to all of my lovely reviewers: the terrific **Chantal**,** WildPixieChild**, **sporkish fiend**, **Laurethiel1138-MlleOG**,**Carkeys**, **Waiting for Calm**, and **AngelMusic**. Ya'll are the BEST, and I luvs you.) _

_But as for the rest of you--__**please, **for the love of all that's good and holy in phandom, by Erik himself!--drop us a review, eh, poppets? Make a struggling authoress very happy. (pulls long and impossibly sad hound-dog-type-face) _

_Well._

_Ta!_


	7. An Unexpected Engagement

_**Chapter Six –**_

_**An Unexpected Engagement**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

****

"You're not honestly going to still let her go, after all the trouble she's caused!"

Carlotta's usually low contralto voice rose from a deadly even note to a shrill and high-pitched shriek that easily carried up the stairway, through the thin wood-and-plaster wall, and into our bedroom. I awoke with a start, hearing her, and instantly knew what was going on downstairs.

They were talking about me.

I remained still and listened, curled up in my bed underneath the warm covers. "Carlotta, you will remember that you are a daughter, and not a queen, in _this_ house," my father replied to her, calm but authoritative. "And you will also remember that you are _never_ to speak to any of your elders, especially your parents, in such a manner. Do I make myself clear?"

There was no answer to that.

I shivered at the silence that came over the house. It was too quiet.

Finally, my father continued.

"I don't know the reason behind _anything_ that happened to Christina at the picnic," he said. "The Comte de Chagny informed me that he chanced upon her out in the forest one night quite a long while back, and that he had told her to stay away from it…and now that word of this…_incident_…has spread around the village, he seems to believe that her venture into those woods is tied to yesterday afternoon."

A pause.

"_Why_ he thinks this is so, he will not tell me, nor will he reveal the reason behind his law against anyone's going into the forest, but he is set on believing, like the old gypsy woman, that Christina has now done some sort of irreparable damage to the village by her misadventure. We do not need _you_, Carlotta, or anyone else of this family furthering laying fault to her. It was a simple _mistake_."

I turned over, onto my back, and gazed up at the stark white ceiling of the room, letting my father's words sink in.

_It was a simple mistake._

A mistake.

I hadn't known to stay out of the forest, just as no one likewise knew the true story behind the Comte's rule. But now would my error bring trouble to my family?

_It seems, Christina,_ my mind's voice said, squarely, _that it already has._

That thought made me want to cry, as did the memory of my sister's voice, from just a few moments before. If the Comte had demanded that I be cast into the forest with nothing in my possession but the clothes on my back, I was certain that my two older sisters would have enthusiastically applauded his decision.

They really, truly hated me.

Strange, that I hadn't seen it before.

"Everyone is saying that we've been hexed."

That was Portia's voice now. She was speaking in a considerably more quiet tone—I supposed that after Carlotta's initial outburst, the two of them had been quelled by my father. I felt guilty and ill-at-ease, knowing that—in all likeliness—my entire family was sitting down there, directly below me, in the cottage parlor, discussing the events of the afternoon before...

* * *

The picnic had been put to an abrupt end after the incident with the mirror. The gypsies had departed into the village along with all of our guests, and my father and stepmother had promptly bundled me off to my room. Then a messenger from the Comte had arrived at our door, and informed Richard—who had answered his knock—that the steward wanted to see Monsieur Daae at the manor, directly. Obviously, news of the episode had already traveled through much of the town.

But I had been too troubled and distracted to brood on this fully.

Antoinette had gotten me to put on my nightgown and stayed with me while I sat in bed and sipped a cup of her chamomile tea; then, when I had finished it, she took the teacup and saucer and left the room. I fell asleep so quickly that it would have seemed, to anyone else, that I might have just come back from a month long, sleepless journey. I awoke late that evening and learned from Meg, who brought me a tray of what had been left over from dinner, that Father had gone into town and stayed there for a long while. He had only just returned.

Something told me that going downstairs then would have been a bad idea, and so I ate my dinner, thanked Meg, and tried to go back to sleep. I had pulled off an exceptionally believable performance, I thought, of pretending to be fast asleep and dreaming when Carlotta and Portia came upstairs to bed.

But make-believing that I was asleep could hardly prevent me from hearing the horrid things that they whispered to one another about me, thinking that I couldn't hear them. I hadn't cried, though. I had rarely cried, even as a child, and I wasn't about to start now that I was a full eighteen years of age.

My older sisters had often been unkind to me, I remembered, but I had always thought that that was simply the way that all sisters behaved towards one another. Their cruel and cold words had cut at my heart, but I still did not cry. I had only snuggled down deeper into my covers, as soon as I was certain that they were themselves asleep, and gazed at the streaks of moonlight that had found their way in through the white eyelet-lace curtains that hung at the windows.

The silvery, pale moon wasn't angry with me.

After that, I had spent most of the night between an uneasy sleep, and an even less peaceful wakefulness.

When unconsciousness claimed me, I saw snatches of the dream—again and again, until I thought I would go mad with it—and then visions in which the gypsy woman stood before me, and held out the mirror, telling me to look into it again. I tried to shy away, but then she caught hold of my wrist and forced the mirror into my hand. Then it had seemed if she had diminished in age somehow, and became a tall, dark sorceress, who loomed over me, and mocked me, in her cold magnificence. When I was awake, my mind played an endless loop of memories: the night I had walked through the woods, the storm, the wind in the trees, calling my name, and the picnic.

* * *

Now it was morning again, and I still did not get out of bed.

I felt strangely wide-awake, but detached from all of reality. I felt as if the bedroom I was in, the graceful golden gleams of sunlight that were falling in a glorious profusion through the window, and myself were the only things that existed in the entire world.

Yet I knew that this was hardly true.

In the end, I also knew that I could hardly stay here, in my bedroom, hiding away from the truth and reality—however fear-inspiring they could be at times—for the rest of my human life.

I got out of bed, making certain that my weight did not make the floorboards creak, and went over to the narrow closet I shared with my sisters. I pulled out my favorite gown: a comfortable, simply made item of a dusky mauve shade, and dressed silently. Then I drew a brush through my limp and lifeless hair, and tied its long, slippery curls back with a ribbon. There were shadows under my eyes, and my skin was pale.

_This will never do,_ I thought.

I tried to put some colour back into my face by pinching the skin over my cheekbones and moistening my lips. This helped a little, but not much. There wasn't much, though, that I could do about anything right now—no matter _how_ much I wished that this were otherwise.

I opened the door of the bedroom and stepped out into the small hallway beyond it, closing the door silently on its latch behind me. I paused a moment, listening. I could still hear the quiet murmuring tones of my family's voices from the parlor room down below me, but now I could not quite tell what they were saying.

"Best to go face facts, Christina," I told myself softly, out loud. "You got yourself into this—you know that."

Never once in my life had I run away from anything, no matter how unpleasant…but now, at the moment, there wasn't anything else I would rather do than run far away. I came down off of the last step and moved to stand by the side of the doorway into the parlor.

There I saw my family, seated in a circle around the room.

My father occupied the armchair beside the fireplace, and Antoinette stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Carlotta, Portia, and Giles sat on the couch together, and both of my sisters wore distinctly displeased expressions on their faces.

I winced.

Richard stood at the other end of the fireplace, leaning one shoulder against the mantelpiece. He and Giles looked pensive, and serious. I didn't see Meg anywhere about.

"Good morning," I said, softly.

They all instantly looked up and saw me, and I somehow managed to stand still, and refrain from running away. The tender-hearted, accepting light in Antoinette's eyes nearly made my heart bleed, even as I felt my sisters' glaring slice into my profile.

"Ah! _Here's_ our little flower!" Carlotta spat.

Portia said nothing, but the look in her eyes was enough to tell me that her greeting for me would have been the same, had she spoken.

"Good morning, Christina," my father said, wearily.

* * *

The event that Carlotta had been so opposed to my attending that night was the spring gala that was the crowning glory of the festivities that month in Sumer's Flax. Everyone attended it regardless of their level of participation or rank. I hadn't really expected that I would be allowed to go, after what had happened at the picnic. My sisters had also anticipated such a judgment to fall on my head, as they made plain to me.

My father and Antoinette, however, overruled their opinions.

It was not my fault that I had broken the Comte's rule by entering the forest, they said, because I had not been told of the rule, and anyone new to the village could have made such a mistake, when no one had bothered to inform them of it. The scene with the gypsy woman was an unusual circumstance, they concluded. What it meant, they couldn't decide—and as long as nothing dire immediately rose from it to threaten our family or anyone else, we could put it aside. We would not forget it, of course, but there was no need to dwell on such a thing.

There was no hex on our family, my father firmly declared, putting an end to Carlotta and Portia's arguments. I had not done anything wrong, I had not brought a curse down upon our heads; it would be all right.

So to the party we would go.

* * *

Carlotta and Portia did not speak to me all that afternoon, which hurt even though I knew that I could expect nothing more than coldness and hostility from them anyway. Antoinette kept me with her all day, and her company helped to cheer me. I felt at times that I could almost forget the awful dream and the picture I had seen in the mirror, and everything else that was so darkly frightening in my life…

But still the whispering voices of the trees called to me, and every time I looked towards the Forbidden Forest, every time I even so much as caught a _glimpse_ of it out of the corner of my eye, however unintentionally, I saw their branches stir in the breeze.

_Beckoning to me._

The gala had the theme of a costume-party. My father and Antoinette would be going as Snow White and her prince, from the fairy tale of that name. Meg was Goldilocks; Richard was to be a dashing outlaw, and Giles a bearded wizard with a tall pointed hat and a staff. Carlotta had elected to be a dryad, and Portia a queen.

And I?

I went as an angel.

To tell the truth, I was rather impressed with the costume I had managed to come up with. It had taken me no small amount of time and effort in order to procure the look I was searching for, but my exertions had finally paid off. I found a gorgeous white satin gown in the milliner's store: an old piece that a lady-client had given to her for repair, only to later decide she no longer desired to have it in her possession.

I knew it suited my criteria for my costume perfectly.

It had a full cut skirt that fell to calf-length, allowing some of my lower leg and feet to be seen, and its neckline was gracefully scooped. Originally, the sleeves had been long, but I had trimmed them to elbow-length and added lace to the edges. Underneath the skirt I would wear a fluffy white crinoline, which caused the skirt to poof out nicely. It moved divinely when I twirled around.

For the final touches, I found a white-and-silver silk flower, which I attached several white ribbons to and fastened about the waist, pinning a section of the skirt's hem up to it in order to reveal some of the petticoat. Then I made a corsage out of a few more silk flowers, as embellishments to my décolletage.

Antoinette let me borrow her pearl necklace and earrings, and I curled my hair, piling most of it up on the top of my head while I let a few stray tendrils hang down about my temples, ears, and neck. Since a tiara or halo were hardly things I would find anywhere in Sumer's Flax, I improvised with the most pale and delicate flowers I could find in our gardens. I already had dance-slippers, and as soon as these were on my feet, I was ready to leave.

* * *

As a family, we walked down the worn path through the trees to the village. The festivities were already underway when we came to the gates, and then our group quickly dissipated as Meg ran off with some of her little friends to play games and run wild, Richard and Giles sought out the two maidens that they had come to admire during our three years in the city, and Carlotta and Portia went to find their favorites.

Father and Antoinette looked at me, as they stood arm-in-arm.

"Christina," said my father, smiling. "Aren't you going to join the dance?"

And he made a motion with his head that directed my attention to the lively jig that was being danced by about thirty people of my age nearby.

But I shook my head, returning the smile.

"I don't think so, Father," I replied. "I have no one to dance with."

"Ah, but Milady would not presume to so quickly forget her oldest and dearest friend, would she?" came a voice from behind me, and I whirled around in confounded delight.

"Raoul!"

My friend came up and caught me as I threw my arms happily around his neck.

"Christina Daae," he said in mock-reproach, when we had pulled away from one another slightly. "You didn't _honestly_ think I'd knock around with all those stiff adults that my brother seems so fond of rallying around him, and never once come to enjoy the evening with you? Shame, child!"

I stood back, scanning over his costume with impressed eyes.

He was dressed as a toy soldier, complete with a glittering gold-and-navy blue uniform, epaulets, a sword, and cape. His hair was the only thing that threw off the grandeur of the look: his ever-present fall of locks over his right eye testified to the mischievous and adventurous boy that he really was.

"You look beautiful, Christina," he told me, and I became keenly aware of my father and stepmother's smiles, as they looked on at my friend and I from behind us.

My cheekbones began to burn with a fiery blush.

"Yes, and _you_ look like a monkey on a wind-up barrel-organ," I told him, promptly, as I grabbed his arm, wound it around mine, and propelled him towards the circle of dancers: moving out of the shadows and into the firelight. "But a rather handsome monkey, at that."

"Oh, you are _such_ an angel!" he came back at me, feigning a fluttering heart with his hand over his chest. I laughed, twirling around and reveling in the feel of my luscious tulle skirts as they whirled with me.

I wasn't really an angel.

But I _felt_ like a princess tonight.

It didn't seem odd at all: me, dancing the night away with my best friend, even though I took note of how many village maidens bent a furious and resentful glare on Raoul and me as we went spinning through the crowd together.

Everything was all light, colour, and sound; I inhaled a million fragrances and tasted a hundred different new and familiar flavors. Sumer's Flax was ablaze with firelight from the scores of torches, bonfires, and candles that had been lit everywhere. The ruddy glow reached up into the sky, shining in the night, but even through the haze, I could still see the distantly gleaming stars.

I imagined for a moment that one of them had winked at me, and that made me smile, for some odd reason.

* * *

When the merrymaking was over, I stayed for an hour to help clean up the village square, with Raoul and my brothers working alongside me, and then Raoul walked me home. Richard and Giles had gone off with their respective sweethearts, to escort them to their doorsteps. I planned on inquiring as to whether they had earned their first kisses as soon as we were all awake and up for the day, the next morning.

Raoul and I paused at the bridge over Rowanberry Brook, and spent a long while in silence, looking over the rail at the silky black waters as they ran on their way: steady and never-ceasing. The moonlight fell through the trees and danced on the surface, causing shards of sparkling white light to quiver in the shallow ripples. He spoke, suddenly, surprising me.

"It's beautiful."

I stood back, away from the rail, and walked to the other end of the bridge, running my fingertips lightly along the smooth whitewashed wood.

"Strange, isn't it? Night seems to transform _everything_."

"I meant the forest."

I halted. The cold, uneasy feeling that I had come to know in my dreams, and every time I recalled them, settled into my stomach again, and I felt icy-hot chills run through me. I felt as if someone—an invisible but very much alive someone who knew precisely what he was doing—was running deft fingers up and down the back of my neck. I repressed an urge to shudder, and instead concentrated on staring at a clump of night-blooming irises at the foot of the bridge.

"It…it's very beautiful, but dark."

"Christina."

I turned around, and looked at him.

He stood there, several feet away from me on the bridge, with one hand halfway stretched out to me. His expression was sorrowful, and full of compassion, and it burned me.

"There's a lot to fear in this world…" he said, softly. "But…don't ever let _them_ make you fear it, Christina."

I shook my head; then the night sky caught my attention, and I looked up at it. Again, I thought that I saw a star twinkle at me, and my heart fluttered slightly.

_What…?_

"No." I said.

I looked down again.

"No."

* * *

He left me at the gate to the cottage, and I stood there, watching until his figure faded away into the shadows beneath the trees.

And I was alone.

I didn't feel like going inside yet; my family was not yet home, and the moonlit yard was so inviting that I couldn't resist. I took off my slippers and went out to the swing beneath the willow tree that was on one side of the yard, and took a seat on it, curling my bare legs up underneath myself. The breeze was quiet tonight, and the air was filled with the scent of lilacs, and the evergreen woods, and earth.

Everything was still.

In a little while, I heard noise coming from down the pathway, and the dim forms of my family came into view. Father had discarded his tri-cornered costume hat, and was carrying a sleeping Meg in his arms, as Antoinette walked beside him, carrying Queen Esmerelda and a new clown-marionette. I'd be helping to find a name and title for that one as well, come morning. Carlotta and Portia walked behind them, and seemed to be arguing about something—as usual, I noted with an almost cynical twist of my lips. Richard and Giles brought up the rear, but I couldn't see how they looked or anything else because it was so dark.

A cloud had drifted over the moon.

I stood up and went over to meet them at the gate. Father and Antoinette smiled at me and inquired after my evening as we walked up to the house—all eight of us—and I told them how much I had enjoyed everything. Father unlocked the door and we went inside. Antoinette disappeared into the kitchen to find something suitable for a light, late-night repast for us, and the boys immediately went upstairs, closely followed by my sisters and me. Father came up as well, to put the slumbering Margot to bed.

The quiet of the house was broken by a loud bout of knocking at the front door.

I came out into the hallway, with Carlotta and Portia close on my heels, and there we met Father. Puzzled, I exchanged glances with him; then he gestured that we should remain where we were, and descended the stairs himself. I stepped back into my bedroom and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain.

Whoever our visitor was, he or she had not arrived here in a carriage, or by horseback, or any other mode of transportation.

Was it a villager, then?

"Christina."

My father's voice traveled up the stairway to me, and I jumped, not expecting to hear _that_. Carlotta and Portia stared at me, clearly as perplexed as I. Then, again, and more insistently—

"Christina. Please join us."

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest: so violently that I was sure anyone would be able to hear it, and I swallowed the raging cloud of butterflies that had come up into my throat the instant I had heard my father calling me.

What had I done _now_?

My bare feet made no noise as I came down off of the last wooden step; I swallowed again, inching towards the doorway to the parlor with extreme reluctance—fear what might meet me inside. Slowly the portal loomed up before me, like impending doom, and I felt my skin begin to crawl, as if a million icy spiders were scurrying over every inch of my skin. I stopped, unable to go any further—

_Unable to walk through that door._

"Christina, please come here."

There it was: my father's summons, again. I had been commanded to enter my parent's presence, and the presence of the other with him. There was someone else in that room; I knew it. But I felt as if I had been turned into a statue of concrete. My feet were rooted to the floor.

_What now what now what now?_

I took a step forward, and went into the parlor.

There was my father, standing by the fireplace, looking at me with serious, somehow disbelieving eyes. I kept my gaze fixed on him for a long, long moment, wondering why he was staring at me that way—as if he had just been told something that had so shocked him that he could no longer bring himself to recognize me, his own youngest daughter. Then I turned my head, and sought out our visitor with my eyes.

He stood across the room from my father, just a few feet away from me.

I had never in my life seen such a person.

It wasn't that he was extraordinarily tall or massive of build; he was rather more average in size, if anything…it was his features and garb.

He had the olive-toned, deeply tanned skin of someone who originally hailed from a land much further south than any of the countries that surrounded temperate Kryslora, and his hair was a sleek jet black, with a few streaks of silvery-gray in it here and there. His eyes were an amazing shade of jade-green: surprisingly light in his bronzed face. I decided that his age was somewhere around sixty or so, if I didn't totally miss my guess; and he was rather good-looking for an older man. His garb was certainly outlandish, with silken robes, an elaborate cloak, and a sheathed scimitar—its hilt encrusted with enormous gems—hanging at his left side.

I could hardly refrain from staring.

"Christina," my father said, and his voice was uneven.

He cleared his throat, and I remembered my manners, and gently inclined my head to our guest. The man met my gaze with his and bowed a bit at the waist, placing one hand on his chest—the other to his forehead—in a salute of some sort.

"This is Monsieur Khan. He is an…an emissary who hails from a country far from here. He…he has come here to propose something to us…to _you_."

I couldn't help the startled frown that formed between my eyebrows.

What on earth could this man possibly have to 'propose' to me, of all people? I was only the youngest of my family; we had hardly any money, and almost no property or wealth, and I wasn't exactly the most accomplished or stellar of any person within the environs of Sumer's Flax…

"Mademoiselle Daae."

His voice was tenor and gravelly, with an intriguing accent, and I would have found it both interesting and comforting to listen to such a voice if I hadn't been so unnerved and shaken.

"I understand that this is an incredible surprise, to say the least, for you—to have someone such as myself show up, uninvited, on your doorstep, and at such an hour of the night—for which I apologize," he added, with sincerity. "But please understand that it is a matter of great importance that I have come to discuss with you."

"Then, please…tell me, Monsieur," I said, finding my voice.

I paused.

"What is it?"

He looked at my father, then, instead; Father looked at me, and seemed to be struggling to find the will to speak. I stared hard at him, demanding with my eyes that he—that one of them—should speak.

_Let the suspense end, I wanted the truth!_

"Christina…Monsieur Khan comes on an errand from a friend of his: a great prince whose castle is to be found not far from here. The Prince…"

_Out with it!_

"The Prince desires your hand in marriage."

And the world started swirling around me, like water in a glass…

_Here ends Part One of Le Fantôme et la Belle._


	8. A Brief Sojourn in Shadowrose Castle

_**Chapter Seven –**_

_**A Brief Sojourn in Shadowrose Castle**_

_**-Charles Daae-**_

* * *

I stared at the large sheet of paper I held in my hand, upon which was etched line after line of scrawling, elegant script written with ink that was the colour of old, dried blood. 

There was a peculiar stinging feeling in my fingertips where they touched the paper. My eyes registered the word in my mind, and I read them, but somehow it seemed as if only they existed, and nothing else in the world was really there.

* * *

_To whom it may concern—_

_Monsieur, if this letter causes you distress in any manner, please accept my most sincere apologies. I mean no harm to your family, and harbor no ill intentions in sending this. I write to you on the subject of what must surely be one of your most valued possessions, and I would fully understand if you are loathe to part with it, and refuse my request. Nevertheless, if I may, I will presume to present an offer of sorts to you. _

_My home is found within the woods that are just outside of your village, and it is there that I once saw your young daughter. She was there, some time ago, and I happened to notice her; **she**, however, did not see **me**. I cannot forget the sight that I had of her. Again, I do not mean to alarm you by this. Do not think that your daughter has been in the way of any harm, or that she will come to any harm by my hand or any other in the future. It has been a long while since I have seen anyone from outside of the forest, and she was the first. No one has been brave enough to venture that deep into the trees for many years, and she thereby impressed me. _

_Thus, Monsieur, I come to my purpose. I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage. Understand, Monsieur, I am not a voyeuristic charlatan, and certainly not a backwoods bumpkin who has summoned up the nerve to present such a proposal to you. For reasons that I may not disclose to anyone alive, I have been unable to leave my home for a number of years, but I assure you that my home is the perfect abode for a young maiden such as your daughter. My messenger will inform you more fully of who exactly I am, but I will tell you this much myself—Should you consent to this, and your daughter accept my proposal of marriage, you will both find that she will be given everything she could ever want, and your family will be liberally recompensed for your loss. I am the master of Shadowrose Castle, which makes me_—_you see, Monsieur_—_a prince. Your daughter will be my princess; your family will be elevated to a position of wealth and prosperity. I can give her anything in the world._

_Again, I would remind you that you should not feel imposed upon by my request; it is simply the entreaty of a bedazzled would-be lover, who has set his eyes upon the fairest creature that he has ever seen and cannot bear to put her out of his mind. Should your daughter be willing to accept my proposal, you will please accompany my messenger to my castle, where I will meet with you to seal the bargain before the betrothal takes place._

_I remain, sir,_

_Your obedient servant,_

_le__ Fantôme_

* * *

_Le Fantôme_, was it, then? Well, for all his skillful handwriting and finely-tuned words, I was very much unwilling to give my youngest daughter's hand to any man—or whatever he was—who called himself a ghost. Again, I stared at the broad, sweeping letters that formed the last two words on the page.

_Le Fantôme._

Indeed!

Yet, after I had first read the letter and Monsieur Khan had stepped into the stunned silence that followed, and told me more of the person behind the words, I began to feel my resolve to absolutely refuse crack at its base.

The man was a prince, or so he claimed, and though no one had had any knowledge of him for a number of years, he was still _a prince_. His castle—Shadowrose Castle—was located within the Forbidden Forest, and it was among the most beautiful places in the entire eastern hemisphere of the world. The Prince was vastly wealthy, I was also told, and had been quite the world-traveler. He was exceedingly accomplished and was—Monsieur Khan believed—a good man at heart. When I asked how old this 'good man' was, in comparison to my child of a daughter—_Christina was only eighteen! And to receive such a proposal!_—Monsieur Khan looked away, and said that the blood of the fey ran in the Prince's veins, and that he was not quite certain himself of the Prince's age. I pressed him for more information, and was informed that he had been a friend of the Prince when they had both been in their late teenage and then early adult years.

I had been asked to give my daughter away to a man who would not even dare to come out of his hidden castle and ask me to my face for her hand—a man who was surely more than three decades her senior!

That almost sealed it again right then and there. I would never give away any of my children, no matter what riches or benefits were promised to me.

But Monsieur Khan looked at me squarely, and begged me gravely to at least let my daughter have a part in the decision. Christina was, after all, I reminded myself, eighteen now. That age was particularly young in the eyes of the world, but I couldn't keep her hidden behind it forever.

So I called her downstairs.

Christina walked into the room looking perplexed and curious.

Poor child! She had no idea what kind of shock the world was about to spring upon her! I could hardly bring myself to say the words, but in the end, they came out, with Monsieur Khan's help.

My daughter stared back and forth at the both of us, and I saw Antoinette step into the doorway, and move to stand behind her stepdaughter.

I looked at her, helplessly.

Our family, it seemed, really was doomed to misfortune. First, there had been the disaster of my business; then Christina's run-in with the gypsy woman, and now this!

_But perhaps the Prince could afford a way to repair all that…_ my mind whispered; I brushed the treacherous thought immediately and mercilessly away.

Meanwhile, Christina had put out a hand to the chair she stood behind, steadying herself. Her eyes had became round with some emotion—whether it was fear, shock, disbelief, or any host of others, I could not tell—and she looked as if she was trying very hard not to react indelicately to the moment. Poor thing! It _was _a shock! Finally, she looked up, meeting the dark eyes of the foreign man with her own large brown eyes. She bit her lip, moistened it slightly, and opened her mouth part way.

At last—

"Why does the Prince want to wed me?"

I admired her equanimity, in the face of such a situation. Monsieur Khan bowed, again, and replied politely to her—

"He has seen you, Mademoiselle Daae. Your beauty, he said, quite possessed him, as did your bravery in entering a dark and lonesome wood. All these are not _entirely_ grounds for marriage, but he _is_ willing to enact a sort of test period to see if you would grow to…to _like_ him enough to accept his proposal, and thus come to know you better himself. The Prince is not so superficial as to beg for your hand merely because you are beautiful, my lady."

"And yet that _is_ a part of it." Christina rejoined, but her words were more soft and almost disappointed rather than angry or cutting. She studied the back of the chair again, and was silent for a long moment.

Then, looking up again—

"When does he desire my reply?"

"You may take as long as you wish to decide whether your answer is yes or no, mademoiselle," Monsieur Khan informed her, gently. "The Prince does not wish for you to feel at all discomfited or threatened by his proposal. He greatly admires you, and would do everything he possibly can to make certain that both you and your family benefit from this arrangement."

"He said that?"

A nod.

"Yes."

Christina had a sort of light in her eyes—one that had started out low and gleaming, but was growing second by second to a brighter sheen—and it made me increasingly more uneasy. What was she thinking?

_What was she about to do?_

"He will aid my family, in return for my hand in marriage?"

_Christina, no!_

I hastily interposed here, stepping between my daughter and the other man. Locking my hands around the girl's thin upper arms, I looked down into her face and said, desperately—

"Christina, please—listen to yourself! Are you really about to even consider this…this _Fantôme_'s offer, just because he has said that he will compensate us, your family, for the loss of our precious daughter? Christina, you cannot possibly do such a thing. You _mustn't_!"

"Father."

The way that she said that single, two-syllable word made me freeze right where I was, and stare at her anew.

I had always known Christina to be one of my more spirited children, but never before had I ever heard her speak in a tone such as she had just employed. She was looking up at me with a hard, determined, and very even look in her eyes. I thought, for a moment, that I saw a goddess from one of the old legends in those eyes, instead of my young daughter.

Then, in the next instant, the daughter returned, and Christina gave me a gentle little smile: seeming tired and resigned.

"We've had enough trouble already," she said, softly, and almost sadly. "And I…I've been the cause of some of it; no, don't say anything."

She held up a hand to cease my protests before they'd taken audible form. Then, she sighed deeply.

"You all deserve more than this…you…Antoinette, Meg…Richard, Giles…the girls. You shouldn't be out here where no one can appreciate you fully. And I…I just don't belong in a place where people will always be telling me to stay within the marked territory, and never even try to imagine what lies beyond it. I just can't, Father…I've tried, but I can't."

I felt helpless, and hated it.

"But…Christina…" I tried, one last time. "He's _le Fantôme_."

She gave a rueful smile.

"Well, that's what he calls himself," she replied, with calm simplicity.

Then she shrugged.

"If he can write letters and send messengers with proposals of marriage, then he must be man enough."

"You don't know that." I told her.

"And neither does anyone else among us," she replied. "I don't want to cause any more trouble, Father—and as it seems I've attracted His Majesty's attention, then I suppose I'd best do something about it. _Someone_ should."

Then my strong-minded young daughter turned back to our visitor.

"Monsieur Khan, if my father will consent, I would learn more of the one who wishes to have my hand in marriage. What must I do?"

The dark-haired man bowed to her once again, with a look that bordered on astonished amazement on his swarthy face.

"If your father consents, he shall accompany me back to the home of the prince. Shadowrose Castle is where he abides, and there he has promised to meet with your father and finalize the agreement, before your betrothal takes place. Once this has been done, we will come to fetch you, and bring you back to Shadowrose Castle."

"Shadowrose Castle."

Christina's eyes took on a far-off, thrilled gleam, and I felt myself become tense as soon as she had murmured those words.

_So, Christina,_ I thought, looking at her and knowing that, for better or worse, something enormous had just changed in our lives. _So you've found your adventure, my daughter. My little courageous one. You've longed for it all of your life, but we never once expected it to present itself in such a form, did we? __And now it is here. Are any of us ready for it? Could we ever have been ready for it? Can you possibly be prepared to face this strange, dark new future…?_

The decision had been made.

* * *

The very next day, I closed up my business in the village, promising to return within the month, and returned home. I'd put together a pack of clothing and some provisions, but didn't think to bring money or any maps. Monsieur Khan had informed me that we would not be in need of them.

My farewell to my family was one of mixed emotions.

Antoinette and Meg bade me good-bye with reluctance and slight grief, as did the boys. Both Richard and Giles had wanted to accompany us on the journey as well, to meet their sister's would-be fiancé, but I had denied them this. Had the mysterious _Fantôme_ desired anyone else's presence at our meeting, he would have indicated as much in his letter. And somehow I received the feeling that displeasing him now would have been a very bad move, on our part.

Carlotta and Portia were cold and yet tempestuous in their send-off. I wasn't quite sure why this was so, but I gathered, from their attitudes and words, that they would have much rather been bidding me farewell as I rode away to meet with _their_ fiancés, instead of their sister's possible intended.

I said good-bye to my wife and stepdaughter and Christina last. My eighteen-year-old smiled through eyes that were bright with tears at me, and I tried to hold back my own flood of emotion as I embraced her tightly.

"Oh Christina," I said as I pulled away. "Why do you insist that I consent to this madness? We don't have to do this—we don't have to go on with it. It's not…"

"But it _is_, Father," she told me, softly. "I want you to be happy."

"We _are_ happy, Christina!" I protested. "If you leave us, we will be desolate."

She shook her head.

"No, you won't," she said, firmly. "You've all learnt to be happy here, but if there is a chance for you to be even happier because of something _I_ must do…then I am fully willing to do whatever is asked of me. And besides…"

She shrugged, smiling through her tears.

"Who knows what glorious escapades may come from this? Who knows if he'll even want me, after he's met me? We can't know unless we try to find out. Father, please…it's pointless not to try…"

_It's pointless to give you away,_ I wanted to tell her, but I simply closed my mouth and nodded. Whatever her reasons, Christina was resolute in this matter. Perhaps she had a clearer idea of what the future would now be than the rest of us. Perhaps she somehow knew what would come to be…perhaps she simply trusted in the unrevealed plan for her life.

And I, as her father, should do the same. So I looked to Monsieur Khan, who was already mounted on the horse he had somehow mysteriously procured, and took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Monsieur, I await upon your will to depart."

He nodded, and brought his horse around to face the forest. I kissed Antoinette one last time and swung up into the saddle of my own steed, gathering the reins into my gloved hands. The entire family stood by the gate at the end of the lawn, in front of the cottage: grouped together in a still, grave little tableau.

_What will the Comte think of this latest transgression of the Daae family—going into the forest again…_ I wondered, and then Monsieur Khan had lightly dug his heels into his horse's sides, and they were cantering off into the trees.

Hastily, I moved to follow, and within moments, when I looked back, the cottage was already entirely lost to sight.

* * *

I wasn't certain how long we rode, but it must have been for hours upon end. Monsieur Khan was wordless and calm as he led us through the trees, and I wondered—looking around myself—if he was taking us along some sort of invisible path that he and precious few others knew, and no one else could see. I certainly couldn't make out any road or path markings. But, then again, I was no woodsman. 

Eventually, though, the silence of the forest became so heavy and oppressive that I simply had to speak, and break it. "You said the master of Shadowrose Castle is an accomplished individual," I called up to my guide's silk-caped back. "What are his enjoyments?"

"The lord of Shadowrose Castle is a reserved and sometimes enigmatic man, Monsieur Daae," he replied. "And he does not often interact with the living world. I have not seen him for many years, and so I cannot accurately answer such a question."

"But before—when you knew him—surely—"

"When I knew him, he was a passionate musician and artist: a world-traveler gifted in all kinds of extraordinary and fantastic occupations. He was capable of many wonderful things—ventriloquism, legerdemain, building design, and could play any instrument he touched. His voice was renowned in a great number of countries—including my own—as the voice of a being who was more than human, _greater than human_. He was an enchanter."

An enchanter.

A magician. A musician, architect, and artist. My daughter was the object of the affection of an _enchanter_. Why, oh _why_ had I allowed myself to get into this!

Finally I ventured another timid question.

"But if he is so gifted, monsieur, then why has he not left Shadowrose Castle for so long? Does he not wish to remain part of the world any longer?"

My companion's voice in reply was terse and abrupt.

"I cannot say, Monsieur. That is the Prince's secret. And I would not presume to broach that subject to him myself, were I you."

The silence came back again after that, as I looked around myself and couldn't help but feel incredibly thoughtless for asking such a question. If I had already displeased my guide, within a matter of mere hours, how much worse would I fare in the company of the lord of Shadowrose Castle—the powerful suitor of my young daughter?

Yet the questions and answers were still not adding up.

For many years, there had been no knowledge of any monarch in the entirety of Kryslora. I knew that there had been a royal family some time in the past, but I—along with everyone else in the country—simply had no idea where they had been, or who they had been. It was as if there was a gap in history: an empty spot in the passage of time that not even the most knowledgeable historian could explain. And now someone calling himself not only a royal, but a prince, at that, had made himself known to my family—out of everyone else in the region, and the country, and not only that: _he was asking my daughter to marry him_!

It almost defied belief.

But I had held the letter he had sent in my own hand, and knew that it was no pixy-trick, no hoax. The letter was real enough. The one who had sent it must then, also, be real.

_No,_ my mind said. _No. That's not true. There's enough fey-blood left in this country for you to know, Charles Daae, that it still possible to be pixy-led. The Comte put a ban on entering the forest for a reason, though he will not say what it is. And this so-called prince has all-but refused to tell you openly of whom he is, much less show himself to you! Why should you trust any of this?_

Suddenly I heard a rustling in the dense bushes not ten feet away from us, and my horse abruptly threw up its head, eyes rolling so that their whites showed, and snorted fearfully, pawing the ground and bucking a bit. I struggled to control it, even though my own fear must have been evident.

I'd heard a low, guttural growling noise just then.

Ahead of me, Monsieur Khan unsheathed his curved sword and held it at attention in one hand. A shaft of light, somehow broken through the thick canopy of tree branches overhead, fell down onto the blade, causing it to gleam bright silver, and I heard him call back to me—

"Monsieur Daae!"

"Y-yes?" I answered, nervously.

"You will please follow closely behind me, Monsieur. For your protection. Do not continue to stare at the forest."

I did as I was bade, and rode up beside him. Monsieur Khan lowered his sword, but did not replace it in his sheath. As we rode on, he said to me without taking his eyes from the space ahead of us—

"I am sorry I did not warn you before, Monsieur Daae, but I must now inform you that this wood is forbidden to the people of your village for a very good reason—as you have no doubt already guessed, having lived there for three years. Look out of the corner of your eye, but do not turn your face aside. Tell me what you see."

Again, I did as I was instructed to do, and caught sight of three—four—five—seven tall, hulking white shapes in the undergrowth not four yards away from us.

"_Sacre bleu_!" I uttered breathlessly, appalled. "What are the horrid beasts?"

Monsieur Khan replied without a second's hesitation.

"Lycans," he said. "Lupine guardians of the Forbidden Forest—they are there to keep the master of Shadowrose Castle's secrets in, and everyone else out. And they've done a startlingly good job of it, over the years, I must say."

I shuddered, remembering all of the tales of the unfortunate souls who had ventured into the darkness past the trees.

So, _that_ had been their fate.

My mind shied away from the images of blood and gore that my companion's words and the sight of the lycans created. I didn't dare glance back; one look had been enough. I knew that I would never forget the creatures: each one had been easily seven feet in height, with the head, paws, and tail of a wolf, but standing upright, every inch of its muscled body covered in pure white fur.

And their eyes—such penetrating, unnerving, glowing yellow eyes that watched me, as if contemplating how good of a meal I might make—

"They won't come near us, though," Monsieur Khan added, as if he had sensed my thoughts. "No one comes this deep into the forest unless the prince of Shadowrose Castle desires visitors, and as we are expected there this night, the lycans will be aware of it. But do remember to refrain from making eye contact with them, or moving too quickly. They don't like it."

I didn't think I would, either.

We rode on, unharmed, and I noted that the forest had become even darker than before, it that was at all possible. Monsieur Khan revealed that night had fallen, and we would be very near to the castle, now. And not five minutes after he had said this, I perceived that we had come to a slight rise in the ground, and there was a clearing up ahead; through the trees I could see slices of the sunset sky. We continued forward—then Monsieur Khan raised an arm, and pointed, dead ahead.

"Shadowrose Castle, Monsieur Daae."

I stood up in my stirrups, and stared.

What was easily the most enormous and beautiful castle I had ever seen lay below the hill we stood at the top of. It seemed to float there, like an island: set into the backdrop of the towering mountains behind it and the valley in front of it, into which etched the gorgeous, winding pale ribbon of a roaring river. The castle had been placed in such a way that allowed it to rise effortlessly above the valley, over the river, so that it was completely detached from the valley below and around it. Behind it, I could only see yet more mountains and rolling green ground, and the castle itself was built into the many-tiered land, towering above both water and earth.

It was so beautiful in the sunset, but that beauty—it seemed to me—was a deadly one, though I didn't know why I thought so.

Wing upon wing, tower after tower, dome after pinnacle after rampart and more it stood before us, seeming to look down on us in spite of the fact that we were geographically high above its base. The fading rays of the golden sun gleamed upon smooth walls and rooftops, causing the white limestone and hammered copper to sparkle in the waning light, and I noticed that flags and pennants waved at every single peaked tower: flags of snow-white, with a golden crown depicted upon them.

There were gardens all about, and extensive castle grounds; there were waterfalls, bridges, watchtowers, and parapets everywhere. I could easily imagine the place being the busy epicenter of a grand city—for that was in fact exactly how large the fortress was. It was a gigantic, shimmering jewel: multi-faceted and aglow with a myriad of deep and rich colours and hues. The prince who named it as his home had not spoken falsely when he had claimed that it would be the perfect home for a young maiden, whom he desired to make his princess.

_His princess._

That phrase was startling when it came to mind, and quickly turned ugly and sour in my mind. I was brought out of my awe and appreciation of the place's immense and almost heart wrenching, peerless beauty by that turn of my thoughts. Monsieur Khan made a slight gesture to me, indicating that I should follow him down the pathway that led into the valley, towards the castle. At the bottom of the hill, which was hundreds of feet tall, there was a bridge that would take us across the river to the castle itself.

"Come," the guide said.

"The prince will be waiting for us."

* * *

As we approached the castle, the last bit of the setting sun fell beneath the dark line of the mountainous horizon, leaving only a ruddy trace of its former glory in the sky behind it. Everything was cast into the hazy, muted shades of dusk, and much of the valley was in deep shadow. I was glad that we were out of the Forbidden Forest, now.

Monsieur Khan took us across the beautifully made stone bridge, confidently leading the way as if he had been there many a time. As we progressed, I saw that there were tall and statuesque lanterns, made of silver and ivory-hued marble, built into the railing of the bridge, and they lit at our approach.

I stared at this, at first, marveling at the sudden burst of amber flames that lit the air around us and perfumed the air with the fragrance of sweetly scented lamp oil. The place must surely have been under the control of an enchanter, and a powerful one at that, for such wonders to be possible. Lanterns that lit themselves!

But that was only the beginning.

Upon crossing the bridge and reaching the other side, we found ourselves riding beneath a massively built watchtower with golden gates and two turrets on either side. Past these was a wide courtyard that was at least three times the size of the village square in Sumer's Flax, and I saw what must have surely been at least a hundred different doorways, corridors, and other passageways leading into the vast labyrinth of a castle that we'd entered into.

Here, we dismounted, and as soon as our feet touched the ground, a host of glimmering lights went up all around us. The castle sparkled from within, seeming to glow in the dusk. Then Monsieur Khan turned to me, and again gestured that I should follow him.

"Please, monsieur," he said. "If you will follow me, I shall show you to the stables, where you may leave your steed. He will be well attended."

I nodded, wordless in my amazement, and followed behind as he guided his horse across the courtyard, taking us to a building that was separate from the castle, but not terribly far away from it. The enormous gold-bound doors eased open as we came towards them, and both my horse and I started back, unnerved by the unanticipated movement.

Monsieur Khan, who had already taken his horse into the cool darkness beyond the doorway, stopped and called back—

"All is well, Monsieur Daae; do not be alarmed. Please follow."

My horse was less inclined to put its faith in the man's words, but thus far the _Fantôme_'s messenger had not led me astray or into trouble…so I did as he asked. I only had to pull slightly on the bridle to make my uneasy horse obey, and we passed under the doorway.

* * *

The stable was, like everything else I had thus far seen in the castle, quite amazing. I cannot even begin to accurately describe its size—all I could come up with was more than forty of the village houses _and_ the steward's manor combined—nor its finery, which was resplendent and eye-dazzling with all kinds of gems, precious metals, and fine masonry. Monsieur Khan and I placed our horses in two of the stalls, and then left them to the food and comfort that had somehow been provided for them. 

"Magic, again, Monsieur Khan?" I asked, as we left the stable.

"But of course, Monsieur Daae," he replied. "I shall take you inside, now, and leave you to your provided quarters. If you will follow me…"

"Quarters? I beg your pardon? Should I not see the Prince first…?" I began, but already Monsieur Khan was shaking his head, with a rueful smile.

"I am quite sorry, Monsieur Daae, but that is impossible," he said. "_Le Fantôme_ informed me that he would be unable to see you this evening, and that it would be best for you to take some time to recover from the journey here. I am sorry."

"Apology accepted." I grumbled as I climbed the steps of a flight of steps leading up to the grand and fabulously detailed façade of an outlying wing of the building, once again following behind him. So I would not see the man who wished to marry my daughter tonight.

So I would wait.

During our walk to the quarters that had been set aside for my use during our stay at the castle, I soon began to wonder if even the Emperor himself could possess such wealth, such mind-boggling and enormous finery, as I now saw before myself. We passed through countless rooms, corridors, and doorways, finally coming to the set of doors that Monsieur Khan informed me would lead into my rooms.

Then he turned and left.

I stood, wordless and still, until I noticed that the silence around me seemed to be both listening and wondering at me. This unnerved me, and I hastily turned my attentions to getting into my room. A quick twist of the handle was all it took, and the doors swung open, admitting me a view of the space beyond it.

Again, I was quite taken aback by the heedlessly elegant grandeur I saw all about myself. There was a bedchamber—the room in which I now stood—with a drawing room and a washroom off to its left and right sides.

All within was composed of rich scarlet, gold, and white, from the hangings and coverlets on the huge canopied bed, to the rug on the floor, to the elaborate crown molding at the edge of the floor and ceiling. There was even a vibrant fresco painted on the domed roof above me, which I stared at for several shocked moments, unable to believe how real and well done it was.

Then I noticed that there was a table by the fireplace, and a deep, plush chair drawn up beside it. On the table was a wide and entrancing variety of the most delectable foods I had ever seen, and in spite of all the past strain, unease, and fatigue I had experienced with my family, I found that I simply couldn't resist.

As one compelled inexorably, I went over to the chair, seated myself, and promptly made a satisfying meal.

Whoever was in charge of seeing that Shadowrose Castle's visitors were properly accommodated had done a masterful job of it, I surmised, when I had done. The thought that I had not yet seen any other living being besides Monsieur Khan, in the entire castle, since our arrival, briefly went through my mind…

But I suddenly felt so drowsy and removed from reality that I quite abruptly forgot everything else, even the mysterious _Fantôme_ himself, and could only think of falling into that luxurious bed and sleeping for a hundred years, at least. For most of my life, I had not known the sensation of falling asleep as soon as I had lain down, but that night I did.

My sleep was deep and dreamless.

* * *

The cheerful singing of birds outside my window awoke me the next morning, and I sat up quickly in bed, looking over to the gilded golden grandfather clock that stood across the room from me. Its hour and minute hands told me that it was late in the morning—almost afternoon—and this motivated me to get up.

When I went over to the chair where I had left my things the night before, however, I found not my worn and patched villager's wear, but a fine waistcoat of stiffly embroidered cream-coloured taffeta, a white silk shirt with a skillfully-made lacy cravat and bejeweled pin, and a pair of icy turquoise velvet breeches, with a coat to match. I marveled at this, wondering if such courtly clothing could indeed be meant for me—it was so much finer than anything I had ever worn before, even in the city!—and pondered a moment if I should dare to wear any of it.

Then I considered the fact that I _was_ going to meet the master of the castle, who was without a doubt every bit as wealthy and powerful as anyone had yet made him out to be. For the sake of making a good impression and because it seemed to me that the clothes had been placed in my room for the purpose of my making use of them, then, I decided to don the suit.

Moments later, I took leave of my room, closing the door softly behind myself. I paused just outside in the hallway, looking up and down the wide, silent, sun-lit corridor; still I could get no glimpse of any sort of life—human or otherwise—and I began to doubt the usefulness of leaving my room at all.

There was no possible way that I could navigate the castle!

Still, the bright sunshine outside seemed to call to me, and so I went out the first door I could find. If the master of the castle was anywhere about, and he truly wished to have his requested conference with me, he would make certain that this was worked out.

* * *

The gardens of the castle were, unsurprisingly, amazingly beautiful, but they had the look of being slightly overgrown, which puzzled me. Everywhere about myself I saw literal walls of thickly twined rose vines, upon which bloomed but two colours of blooms: a deep red that reminded me both of blood and the blackest ebony, and a pure, stark white. Their fragrance was so heavy that it was intoxicating, so flooding my senses that I felt quite dizzy. But when I stepped close to examine one, I took note of something that was especially unnerving—

Buried within the perfectly shaped, glossy dark green leaves and the blossoming flowers themselves were thorns as long as my entire hand, as wide around at their bases at my wrist, with points that looked as if they could puncture an elephant's tough hide.

I stood back, staring at them aghast, and knew that such thorns could easily be as deadly as any dagger. Still, the roses beckoned to me, seeming to say—

_But you do not fear us, do you? We are naught but blossoms; we cannot harm you. Touch our velvety petals, and see._

I had never been one to succumb to less-than-clear-minded temptations, but this castle must have had some strange magic about it, for as I thought this, I was already reaching out to brush my fingertips along the curving petals of a full-blown white rose. And it was soft—so very, very soft, much more so than even the most expensive velvet, and felt almost warm to the touch…it quivered a bit, and I wondered why the wind had begun to blow so suddenly.

The air around me felt a bit colder, but that was because clouds were now rolling in from the horizon, casting a shadow over the bright afternoon sky…

The rose broke off of its stem, and fell into my palm.

All at once, I knew—unquestionably, and inexplicably—that I had just done some great evil, committed some awful crime.

* * *

The wind came howling, _howling_, around the corner of the castle, into the little plot of garden where I stood, and blasted into me, tearing at my hair and clothing. It forced me to whirl around and look towards whence it came, as I still clutched the rose, like a guilty thief caught in the act of his heinous crime, in my hand.

"So, Monsieur!"

Oh, that voice! I had never heard anything like it! It was a voice filled with immense power, and anger. I wanted to cower down on the green turf at my feet and hide myself from it and its owner, in any possible way. It seemed to be the voice of a man, but no man could have had such a voice. It was deep and baritone—rasping in terrible fury—thunderous and cold.

Dragged on by an inclination that I could not explain, I dared to look up, and saw an awful figure coming directly towards me.

How can I describe how terror-inspiring it was? Even the most descriptive and specific words cannot properly convey the dreadful specter that I beheld in that moment!

The creature was clothed entirely in black, wearing a cloak that billowed out about it in the gusting wind, lashing and snapping and unfurling in the wake of its wearer's stride. It seemed to glide over the grass, instead of walking on it—and I fancied, in that horror-filled moment, in which my mind went entirely numb with fear, that I saw the grass _wilting_, shrinking back and dying beneath it, as if even the ground itself was too paralyzed with fear to live, when such a thing was so nearby.

I made the profound mistake of allowing my gaze to remain where it was, and was favored with a view of the coldest, most heartless, soulless, and unfeeling eyes I had ever seen. They were of an icy shade of blue, with a ring and spokes of a darker shade of that colour going around their irises, and spiking into their centers.

The total absence of light and emotion in those eyes told me that begging for forgiveness for my transgression, even my life, would have no effect on the owner of those eyes. He would be merciless.

And his face…

_He had no face_…

There was only a blank expanse of pitch-blackness, and then those eyes, which glared at me from behind a curtain of thick, tangled dark hair. (1)

I found the strength going out of my knees, and fell to the ground as the ebony-cloaked figure came to a halt a little ways off from me, and looked down at me with his cold eyes: towering before me like an enormous black bat, its wings set against the backdrop of the thundercloud-filled sky. Lightning struck the air.

"Sir, please," I began, quaking. "I did not intend—"

"Do not speak to me of what you did or did_ not_ intend, merchant!" the figure spat, and I felt as if the acid in the words and tone had scorched me. I could not doubt the depth of contempt and ire in his voice. "I do not know of what you meant to do; all I can see is that you hold a rose—one of _my_ roses!—in your hand. And know this, merchant—for such a thoughtless crime, there must be recompense!"

It was a rose: a _rose_!

How could anyone be so obsessed with a flower—?

As if he had somehow heard and comprehend my thoughts from the mere baffled and stunned expression on my face, the figure then gave a low, cold laugh that rumbled deep in his chest, and he said, stretching a hand that was gloved in black out towards the rose in my hand—

"You do not know of the magnitude of what you have done, merchant. You could not know. Nor _shall_ you, for it is not an element for you to concern yourself with. What concerns you now is only this—before, when you came here as an honoured visitor and guest in my home, you were safe, and to be treated accordingly. You were here by request, and you could have answered 'no' to my proposal to your daughter."

He paused, and drew back, looming over the ground.

"But now—now, good sir, you have doomed yourself, for I must demand my payment for your crime against my rose. You shall no longer have a choice in this matter. As recompense for my loss, you _will_ give me your daughter as my bride. For the death of my rose, your daughter will be mine. Do you understand?"

Surrender my dear little Christina to such a monster—a creature that could easily have hailed from the deepest, darkest circle of the underworld itself? And all for my misfortune to have 'taken' a simple rose?

_Never!_

Finding the strength to stand, I straightened slightly and tried to look evenly at the…_the thing_…that was before me. I failed miserably, and lowered my gaze, unable to meet that cold and unyielding glare again.

"Monsieur, I could not—_will_ not—give over my daughter because of my folly," I declared, wanting to be firm but utterly incapable of such resolve as I felt the pure acid of the creature's eyes upon my scalp: burning past hair and skin, past bone, and into my brain itself. I felt as if the complete and dire loathing and hatred and anger contained in that gaze would be forever etched into my psyche, to remain in the part of my mind where I would see a pair of terrible blue eyes staring at me from the darkness in all of my very worst nightmares.

Nevertheless, I continued.

"If a crime has been committed here, it is mine, and mine alone," I said. "If you desire recompense from any living soul, have it from _me_."

The creature gave another low, cruel laugh—more of a chuckle, this time—that was so wholly vindictive, so thoroughly sinister, that it sent a thousand chills up and down my spine, putting the hairs on the back of my neck on end. A monster, with the voice of a heavenly creature and the countenance and figure of Death!

"No," he said. "I am afraid that that is not at all possible, Monsieur Daae. For, you see…"

—And he made another movement with his hand. I saw a flash of white in the black palm, and my heart stopped when I realized that the rose that I had held in my trembling fingers a fraction of a second before was now in his—

"My proposal of marriage was—_is_—still very serious. I intend to take a bride, and she shall be none other, _none other_, than your daughter. And now, thanks to you, Monsieur, there is an unbreakable bargain in place."

He paused, and then said the terrible words.

"My rose…_for your daughter_."

I didn't hear him move; I didn't see him even begin to shift position, but then he was standing directly in front of me. I knew that I would have jumped back involuntarily at this, normally, but felt as if the movements of my limbs were no longer my own. I felt as though I was being held in some magical thrall: my very being suspended in animation by the will of the ominous figure before me.

I gaped stupidly.

"Now return to your home, merchant," said that cold voice, "And give this rose to fair Christina. Tell her from whence it came, and that the giver eagerly expects her gracious and _willing_ company at his palace—her _new_ home. Spare no detail in your tale of me, merchant! I will have her on no other condition than that she knows me as I truly am…if she is brave enough to keep her honour and willingly comply with this bargain, then she is a much better child than you could ever deserve. Give it to her."

And he handed me the rose.

I took the flower into my hands, and it suddenly seemed as fragile as the thinnest sheet of glass: each petal, leaf, and thorn meticulously sculpted by some master artisan. The wind whipped around the corner of the palace again, and stirred the velvety white petals.

I barely suppressed my resulting shudder.

"Do not think for even a moment that you will escape this, Monsieur," said the creature. "My roses are of all things most precious to me…save the hope of your daughter's obedient and amiable company, and I do not freely give them to anyone—_especially_ inconsiderate and discourteous charlatans who masquerade as guests within my household! You will find your horse waiting for you by the palace gate. Make for your home without delay, and return to your loved ones."

Was it the haze over my unnerved and befuddled brain that caused me to think I heard nothing but the bitterest contempt for that word—

'_Loved_'?

The specter had turned, and those last words were spoken over his black-cloaked shoulder to me as he began to move off again across the grass, towards the place where he had first appeared. I stared after him, remaining where I was with the beautiful white rose clenched in my fingers.

"You will return here in three weeks' time."

A myriad of questions, protests, and other statements leapt to my tongue, and I could only choke out—

"But—but Monsieur—!"

"You will have no need for a guide," was the terse remark that cut me off, mid-protest. "The forest will arrange itself to suit your journey here—the castle will find _you_. Bring only your daughter, if she is not too ashamed to travel in your company once she has learnt of your fault in her being compelled to come here. And should these commands be ignored, Monsieur…"

There was a pause.

"_A disaster beyond your imagination will occur_."

* * *

Whee! And Erik makes his appearance! Ido love SCARY!Erik.

(1) If you were wondering about this part...our masked Phantom-Prince does have a face, but it is hidden by a combination of his concealing magic, and a full-face, Leroux-esque black porcelain mask. M. Charles Daae is simply so terrified and unnerved by the sight of him, though, that he sees the Phantom as having no face; he DOES have a face, however. Not to worry.

Now leave the poor starving college student/authoress a review, pretty please?


	9. And Yet We Are Argumentative

**_Chapter Eight –_**

**_And Yet We Are Argumentative_**

**_-Nadir Khan-_**

* * *

He'd gone too far this time—much too far. 

Really; I couldn't take it. I couldn't just stand by and watch the self-initiated destruction of my one-time friend, the adventurous comrade I had known in the long-gone days of my youth.

The Queen—bless her soul, wherever she was—was no longer about to keep Erik from throwing himself madly, thoughtlessly, into whatever abyss he saw himself as destined for. But _I_ was here, and _I_ wasn't just about to let him go through with whatever insane design he'd now come up with.

I repeated the orderly, logical speech that I'd come up with after hearing from the terrified merchant, Monsieur Charles Daae, of his meeting with the Prince Erik, or _'le Fantôme'_, as he'd come to call himself, as I marched resolutely up the curving stairwell that led up from the sixth floor of the particular wing of Shadowrose Castle that I had been in.

Aging, however, had many more downsides than anyone would like to admit, and I had to stop time and time again to allow myself a brief pause for breath. Then, as I continued, I cursed Erik every step of the way for the arthritic pain his latest idiocy was causing me.

The man was mad indeed!

Eventually, though, I made it to the top of the thrice-accursed stairway, and found myself standing in a doorway that opened up into a long, wide hall of gleaming cream-white marble. Shafts of moonlight fell from the large open windows that lined this corridor, glancing upon the immaculate floor and pillars there, and on their sleek and pristine embellishments of fine silver. There was not a speck of dust or debris to be seen anywhere. Erik, if nothing better could be said of him, was an exceedingly fastidious and well-ordered individual, and he would not tolerate the slightest bit of overgrowth or disorder in his domain.

_At least if he had the choice, he would not,_ I reflected morosely upon catching a glimpse of the palace gardens, far below, through a window as I passed down the hallway: the soles of my boots making no more sound on the cold floor than the gently sweeping wings of a moth on the air. The castle was completely—one might almost say disturbingly—quiet.

But that was only if one had never been there before.

I had gotten used to it now.

With every year that passed by, Shadowrose Castle grew more wild, more overrun by the thick and entangling rose vines that had sprung up out of the ground, a seeming lifetime before when a powerful enchantment had been laid over the place. The former beauty of the palace still shone inexorably, clearly, out of the thorns and leathery green leaves, but it seemed as if the forest of vines was growing moment by moment, second by second. I knew I wouldn't have been at all surprised if I'd seen another rose unfurl before my eyes, or a vine snake its way up one of the once immaculate stone walls.

Every year, Shadowrose Castle became darker.

Of course, Ellexssya _would_ have left Erik just that much—a beautiful prison to remind him of former days, of the life he had once known as his own, but a prison that would gradually turn more and more into a place that could only serve to ultimately hold him captive. And of course she would have left him scores of personal reminders of herself: the roses that were so reminiscent of her appearance, which marked his time left to live under her curse…

My heart nearly left off its beating in my chest as I stopped dead, realizing with a jolt just what Erik's latest madness meant.

_Is he hoping that the girl_—_this Christina_—_will save him? She's only a child! She could never go up against the dark power of one such as Ellexssya Scarlet-Heart—!_

Now I knew: I _really_ needed to find the cursed prince of Kryslora.

* * *

One of my former friend's favorite haunts about his deserted palace was the lovely glass-domed tower atop the entire castle. From this vantage point, one could look out and see the entirety of Shadowrose Castle, its grounds, and the forest surrounding it: set so high above the ground that the tower had a view of the landscape surrounding the castle for miles and miles. It was here that I knew I could find him on most nights.

He had nowhere else to hide now.

I climbed the stairway that led up to the tower room, rehearsing my speech for the last time in preparation to give him the piece of my mind that I thought he deserved, and all at once found myself in the doorway. I looked instantly for the tall, black-cloaked figure that I was certain would be lurking within the tower's shadows, as it was almost every night after sunset.

And he _was_ there—standing alone at the three-tiered ledge that was all that kept anyone who was standing in the tower from walking right off of it, into thin air. I didn't like to go very near that ledge. The awesome drop to the waterfall-filled gorge below and my inescapable, untamable fear of heights prevented that.

So I stood where I was, and looked at him for a moment.

* * *

Many long years had passed since the day when Shadowrose Castle had been transformed by a powerful sorceress's spell into a place of ghostly memories of the past and the even bleaker prospect of a dark, uncertain, enchanted future.

I had been away from the place when the sorceress had returned to wreak her vengeance on the prince, the man she had assumed to be her lover—though many other rumors had said otherwise—and so I had not been included in the curse. Ellexssya had been unaware of my existence at that time. After all, I was Erik's friend, and she had had eyes only for Erik himself.

At any rate, when I had returned from my time of sojourn away from Shadowrose Castle, I had found it utterly devoid of all its former life, movement, and sound. There was not a soul, not a single living being about, and just to get in, I had had to hack my way with my sword through a thick net of rose vines that had grown up over the silver gates of the castle. The entire place reeked of foul enchantment, and when I had found Erik, and at last viewed the ghastly horror that had been visited upon him, I had known that this could be nothing but the out-workings of the most dreadful curse I had ever seen.

Much time had passed, and the world beyond the castle had gone on.

I had found a new home for myself in a manor not far away from the forest that had once been known as the royal park of the Kryslorean royal family, and lived there quietly, with only a housekeeper and a butler-footman to keep my company on a few days of the week. My youth had drifted past me, and I had journeyed into adulthood, then middle age, and now, finally, the beginning of my twilight years. I was now an older man with silvery-gray in my mustache and hair, lines at the corners of my eyes, and considerably less energy and agility than I had had in my younger years.

But Erik, because of the sorceress's spell…

Erik himself had not changed since his last encounter with the sorceress. He had not _visibly_ aged, at least, though I noted—watching as he stood there, looking out over the lands without acknowledging me—that his clothing tastes _had_ altered a bit.

He wore stark and uninhibited black now, and nothing but black, and his sleek dark brown hair, inherited from his lady mother, had been left to grow out. Untouched by scissors and perhaps even a brush for so many years, it had become tangled and long. This gave him a look of a lion or any other sort of predatory creature possessed of a mane. This particular mane reached down to its owner's shoulder blades in choppy, matted dark locks: nearly blending with his high-collared black cloak.

* * *

At the moment, I couldn't see anything of him but the back of his skull, and the outline of his cloak, but he knew that I was there. I was sure of it. With hearing like his, it was scarcely surprising—

Yet he did not turn from his contemplation of the night sky.

I shifted on my feet, feeling a prick of irritation, almost wishing that he would hurry up and turn around, and be done with it. The last thing an old man like me wanted was to stand around on top of some forsaken tower while the cold wind lashed around and threatened to send him to who-knew-what doom.

Just as I was about to speak, then—

"You know, unless I am greatly mistaken and the world's rules of etiquette have been _massively_ altered, Monsieur Khan…"

And Prince Erik turned around to face me, his eyes boring into my face.

"It _is_ considered proper to knock first, and announce one's arrival, instead of lurking silently in doorways, staring."

He paused.

"What do you want, Nadir?"

I hadn't been prepared for this—but, then again, I was fully aware that Erik could be incredibly cagey and unwilling to enter a conversation directly at one moment, and then turn around and be as abrupt and prompt about initiating an argument or debate as one could imagine. I suddenly found myself floundering to recall the points of my reprimand, caught in the full glare of his cold, pale eyes.

"Your interview with the merchant Daae, Erik?" I said, in a low voice.

Erik made a scornful scoffing noise and turned his back on me again, going back to his contemplation of the moon's progress into the night sky.

"He reaped the just benefits of his actions, Nadir," he told me, in a thoroughly bored and careless tone, as if we'd had this conversation countless times before, and he was growing weary of having to explain all the details of his madness to me. "He will bring her here, and she will remain…with me, and no one else. And we will get along very well, in this new little life together; I will be happy, because _she_ will be happy. She _will_ be happy. She will be my princess, and she shall never want for anything."

"And what of her family, Erik?" I asked him.

He did not look back at me.

"They will give her up to me, out of fear. Her spiteful older sisters will be glad to have her gone, and her father is too much of a quavering old dotard to entertain even the _idea_ of disobeying my commands. He fears me; he will give her over. Her brothers will have no choice in the matter, after their father has spoken, nor will the stepmother or the younger sister. There is no one else beyond them to account for this. Really—what _are_ you worrying about, Nadir?"

"_Her_, Erik!"

I stepped up onto the first level of the tier, and glared at his impassive profile, feeling suddenly very incensed at his callous and overbearing attitude. I had known that he could be arrogant and cold when he wanted to, passing over the wishes of anyone else but himself, but I hadn't thought him to be _this_ tyrannical! Apparently, I had been much mistaken, or this Erik was no longer the man I had known.

"She is only a _child_—"

"She is eighteen; she is of age," was his cool reply.

I stormed on, not at all deterred by this—

"She is only a child, who has only known the sanctity and protection and kindness of her own family, and the little village she has lived in. She will have friends, and other acquaintances—a life of her own! And you propose to take her away from that, giving her no choice but to come and live in your lifeless palace as your pretty bird of paradise in her gilded cage?"

"Spare me your lectures, Nadir," he drawled, without any inflection of emotion in his tone. "I've no need of your spouting of the convictions of your own conscience."

"Why her, Erik? Why must you have her, at whatever cost? There is nothing here for either of you—there _cannot_ be! You want to pluck her away from her blooming young life and force her to remain here, in your crumbling shadows with you…because of what? Have you become so embittered against Ellexssya for what she did to you that now you feel you must mete out your bitter vengeance on the rest of the world, unsuspecting and undeserving as it is?"

There was a sweeping of black velvet and then I felt as if a cold, immensely strong hand had been clasped around my neck. I put my hands up, trying to free myself, but there was nothing there to fight against—magic.

Erik was using his magic.

His right hand—ungloved—was stretched out, away from his side, and his fingers were locked in position. He had used his magic to suspend me in mid-air, just as he might have with a length of rope. I couldn't breathe; I felt as if my lungs had been frozen. I began to see black spots in the corners of my eyes as I fought to keep my balance. Erik's merciless blue orbs seared into my vision, scalding me with their contempt and intensity.

"Do _not _speak her name in this place, Nadir!" he snarled at me, in a horrifically powerful voice that was filled with pure animal rage. "Do not speak her name, or I shall find myself forced to visit the consequences of such folly upon your unfortunate person! And therein end our acquaintance."

Then he released me, and I stumbled back a step, rubbing a hand across my neck.

Erik took a step backwards as well, returning to his position beside the pillars that supported the glass roof of the tower, and his voice drifted over the night.

"She will come here, and we will see where things go from there. Even _I_ cannot foretell the future, my _friend_," he turned the term into a bitter sneer, almost an insult. "I can look across space and see what is far off in the distance, but no one can know what is to meet him in the dawning of the morrow. She will come to me."

The quiet of nighttime reigned for a moment.

"Now leave me."

And I obeyed, knowing that I had nothing else to do.

* * *

_A/N: More Erik! And this time, it's not just Scary!Erik, it's Scary-MAGE!Erik. Fun fun fun. I do luv my mages. _

_(glances affectionately at her harem of gorgeous magic-wielding gentlemen.)_

_Oh. Anyhow._

_Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed! You all make my day! Already, I begin to dream...perhaps I'll eventually break the twenty-reviews mark...perhaps...I have hope now! And bah-humbug to everything else._

_To answer questions: my other stories are on hold right now, including The Phantom's Labyrinth. Why? Because school and work are consuming my life right now, and I have no time to write anything GOOD. If I added more to Labyrinth, it would come out as messy half-hearted drivel, and I will not subject any of you to the horrors of that. (small timid voice) I'm sorry. Why am I reposting this? Eh, because I wanted to bump it up in the lists again, and because I wanted to go through the do some editing with it. I promised a sort of "director's cut" a while back, over on PFN--complete with new and extended scenes. You won't see many of those yet, this far in the story, but I promise, there will be some new material. Eventually. So._

_The French language issue, with emphasis on my use of "Bonjour": Hehehe, maybe I just want to confuse you. Or maybe that's just the strangely altered form of French that they use in Kryslora showing through. Either way, I was using "bonjour" as meaning "good morning", or "good day". Savvy? And I took French for a while myself--so I try not to use an onlinetranslator, like Babel Fish, because I've discovered...that that thing is truly HORRENDOUS when it comes to translations! (shudders) I will not blatantly butcher a language. Which is why you won't find the characters in here using too much of the French language._

_Now, assuming that there are no other urgent issues to be addressed...do us a favor, and leave a contribution in the box! Yes, the little blue box of life and death at the bottom of the screen! Press the button, and the chapter count will jump--and it jumps jolly high!_

_Ta._


	10. Saying GoodBye, Part I

_**Chapter Nine –**_

_**Saying Good-bye**_

_**-Raoul de Chagny-**_

* * *

The wooden gate of the Daae cottage clacked noisily shut behind me, pushed roughly open by my own hand, but I paid it no heed. My whirling mind would not allow me such a concrete grip on reality.

Vaguely I was aware of the warm late morning air, and the bright shards of sunshine, and the wind in the trees of the cursed forest behind me. I shivered and tried to push the thought of this out of my mind.

The last thing that I needed to be worrying about now was the oldest fear that preyed upon our innocent village. I hastened my pace, continuing my ascent up the hill. I felt as if icy bands had been fastened around my heart. The Daae clan had become my own, in a way, over the past three years; I often visited them, so often that I knew the door was perpetually open for me. They had accepted me as one of their own, which was almost more than I could say of my own family.

Philippe. I didn't even want to think of my brother at the moment. Too many other more charming appellations came to mind.

And I couldn't afford to be distracted right now.

* * *

The first people I saw upon walking through the front door were Christina's siblings: her brothers, little Meg, and the two horrid older sisters, whom I had always avoided as much as possible, knowing that they were about as pretentious and unlikable as two creatures of the feminine race could get. Carlotta fixed me with one of her characteristic hazel-eyed glares as I stalked without warning into the kitchen, where they all sat around the long table.

"_Bonjour_," I said, shortly, nodding to Richard and Giles and Meg, while largely ignoring Carlotta and Portia, who sniffed and rendered me much of the same treatment.

I didn't care.

"Christina?"

Richard wouldn't look up from the wooden tabletop, nor would Giles take his gaze from the view out the kitchen window. Only little Meg would look at me, and her large, long-lashed eyes were full of strangely un-childlike sadness.

"Upstairs," Richard told me. "In their room."

He gestured vaguely in the direction that I should turn, and I was out the door.

The moment I reached the top of the stairs, Mme. Daae appeared out of the bedchamber I had been headed for. She was carrying an armload of assorted clothing and other items in a large reed basket, and looked slightly preoccupied. She started when she looked up and saw me there.

"Raoul!" she gasped, and hastily closed the door behind herself. It seemed to me as if she didn't want me to go near the room, for some odd reason. "I didn't know you were here—"

"No one was expecting me," I replied, with a wave of one hand. "I…I must speak with Christina, Mme. Daae. It…it's very…_very _important."

She gazed intently at me, and for a single, wavering moment, I thought I had seen the faintest flicker of uncertainty and, yes: even nervousness, flit through the dark-as-charcoal depths of her eyes. "Raoul, I…I'm sorry, but…it isn't a good time right now; please—"

"Mme. Daae, I _must _see her."

Again she stared at me, motionless for a few seconds longer; then, she gave the tiniest nod, and turned back to the door. At a twist of the handle, it swung open and I found myself looking into the room.

Christina, standing atop a dressmaker's ottoman, looked at me with grave, bleak eyes. On either side of her were two identically dressed ladies, and another older woman across from them. They were pinning up the hem on the half-constructed skirt of lavender silk that my friend wore; the delicate patterns of silvery vines, scrolls, leaves, and starbursts that had been woven into the fabric glinted in the light. A long, three-way mirror stood behind her, and there were piles of many different kinds of fabric lying everywhere about: hung on furniture and scattered on the floor, with baskets of thread, lace, ribbons, and other notions and frippery amidst it all.

And there I realized the truth.

She was being fitted for a new gown—a new wardrobe for her journey to her new fiancé's home. The home that was his, and would soon become hers as well. She was engaged to be married after all. My dearest friend was betrothed to some faceless, enormously wealthy city dweller who would take her far, far away from her family, me, and everyone. I nearly fell to my knees as awful, crushing reality broke over me.

I hadn't wanted it to be true.

"Christina…" I said, in my abruptly hoarse and uncouth voice.

She looked at me with the greatest sadness I had ever seen in anyone, and my heart bled at the sight of her grief.

"We tried to warn you, Raoul," she said, softly. "It's not a good time."

I took a step towards her, unable to look away. "No," I replied, distantly. It was so hard to process all of this. "They _aren't_ good times. Why else…"

_Why else…? Why else…what?_

Christina made an abstracted movement with her hands, and stepped down to the floor, her brown eyes flashing with impatience. She held out her arms, signaling to the dressmakers that they should halt in their work and free her. Underneath the unfinished gown of pale lavender silk was one of her simple frocks, over which she cast a lacy shawl as she told her stepmother—

"I must speak with Raoul alone, Mama. We are going for a walk."

Antoinette nodded, and then Christina took me by the arm and steered me downstairs, out the door, and down to the gate.

* * *

Only when we had reached the bridge of Rowanberry Brook did she speak.

" '_If__ these commands are ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur_...' "

Then she looked at me squarely.

"That is what he told my father. Somehow, he was gravely offended when my father _accidentally_ took one of the roses in his garden, and in return for the life of his rose, he demanded that I should come to his castle, and agree to be his wife. Before, we had a choice. Now we don't. We have no choice, no other way out."

She spoke as if all of this were as simple and uncomplicated as daylight.

But _I_ was flabbergasted.

"Christina, what on the green earth are you talking about?"

I seized her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. My hands were trembling.

"Christina, what is going on?"

And my friend looked up at me with her gorgeous silver-flecked eyes, which seemed to sparkle like gemstones as the light of the sun struck their tear-filled depths.

"Raoul, the castle in the forest…its cursed master…"

She told me everything then, from how the mysterious nobleman known as Nadir Khan had arrived at their cottage the night of the village masquerade, bringing with him a proposal of marriage from none other than the master of the infamous Shadowrose Castle—the fortress of nightmares and legend, to her father's disastrous visit to that very place. She told me of his terrifying meeting with the sinister _Fantôme_.

And last, she revealed to me the details of the bargain her father had been forced to strike with the monster.

"He will force you to wed him—because of an _accident_?" I asked her, white-hot anger and resentment growing in me until I could think of nothing else. To my eyes the world seemed craven and dark; such an atrocity could not be permitted to befall an innocent! Not _Christina_!

"Please."

Her voice was unsteady over that single word, and I sat down again quickly, cursing myself for being so inconsiderate of her feelings.

"I…we…my family cannot escape this," she continued. "My father made _a_ _promise_…terrible things will happen if we do not fulfill this vow. I am certain beyond anything else, Raoul…if I do _not_ go to that castle, and prove myself faithful in becoming _le Fantôme_'s betrothed, no matter _what_ kind of monster he turns out to be…"

And she shook her head, closing her eyes. Her shoulders flagged a bit, as they had never once done in all the time I had known her.

"I am certain that he would have no reservations whatsoever about finally, after all these years, coming out of his enchanted castle in that dark forest, and enforcing his will. I have_ no choice_—no choice but to accept his terms, that is."

"That's what he said, wasn't it?"

I leapt to my feet as I said those bitter words, my throat burning. I hastily turned away from her so that she would not see the expression on my face; it would only distress her more. "That's exactly what he wants you to believe: that you are trapped and submitting to his demands is the only possible way out."

Christina's eyes flashed suddenly.

"And what do you want me to do, Raoul de Chagny—refuse, and watch as he promptly destroys my family, perhaps even this very village, as vengeance for _my_ atrocity? No, thank you, my lord; I think I shall do what will best help the ones I love! You don't even _know_ him!"

"No, I don't, but neither, for that matter, Mlle. Daae, do _you_." I pointed out, succinctly. "I _do_, however, know of the tales of the creature that haunts the Forbidden Wood, and though they may be largely fiction, all legends must start out as part-truth, Christina. There is no good in that forest…Only _evil_."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "We are sworn to do this. _I_ am sworn to it."

I looked at her, part desiring to continue the argument until I had won—one way or another—and part wondering and incredulous at the tremendous amount of stubborn resolve and determination that she was exhibiting.

She would have made a peerless queen any day…but not the queen of a horrible monster under who-knew-what kind of curse.

"Let me seek out the castle," I murmured. "I'll go to it and reason with him—your brothers will help me. We will convince him to release you from this vow, or…"

"Or _what_?"

Her eyes were wide and dark now, with fear and some other emotion that I could not quite read.

"Or we will do everything we can to ensure your freedom." I replied, simply.

When it came down to that, I knew that I would do almost anything for her. It was beyond the power of words to tell why—but I knew I would.

_Gladly, as well…_

Suddenly, she shot up from her perch on the railing and had grabbed me by the shoulders. Wildly, fiercely, she said—

"_No_, Raoul! Don't ever even _think_ of that! He is a great enchanter; don't you know that he is? He would crush you without the slightest thought! I will not have you meddle with him! Because of me, my family is already condemned. Do not cause me to suffer by consigning _yourself_ to such dark fate."

"Christina…"

I reached out, touched her hand.

"What will _you_ do, then?"

Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as she looked into my own eyes, and shook her head ever so slightly.

"I will go to Shadowrose Castle and become _le Fantôme_'s betrothed," she answered, in a trembling voice. "And…and who knows? Perhaps he will let me come back to visit you all one day. Perhaps…perhaps it won't be as bad as we're all thinking…"

Then she crumbled into my arms, and sobbed.

* * *

_A/N: I'm back! Thanks again for the reviews! It puts a bright spot in my day. _

_On the subject of Mlle. Christine's character--eh, she has her attitude problems here and there, but, yes,she ismostly kind and "perfect", at least next to her evil older sisters. (Being an older sister myself, I can say that. So.) But to explain..._

_The overall reason why she is so sweet and loveable...well, my reason for **that** resides in the original fairy tale of **Beauty and the Beast**. In that story, Beauty is simply so good and so kind and so all-around-wonderful that everybody loves her. That's just how it is, and we aren't given a reason by the original storyteller, Mme. le Prince de Beaumont, as to why this is so. In this phic, you will see--later on--some of Christina's vices, and some of her strengths--and that, most importantly, she has a great capacity for compassion...and for love. Character development will come soon, and you'll see her flaws. For right now? Meh...she's just spirited and headstrong. Something that, for a teenage girl in her society, was fault in and of itself. _

_(shrugs)_

_She likes to keep 'em all on their toes._

_Please, leave a little contribution in the little blue box on your way out, dears..._

_(vanishes in a cloud of glitteringgold and purplemagic dust)_


	11. Saying GoodBye, Part II

**_Chapter Ten –_**

**_Saying Good-bye, Part 2_**

**_-Christina-_**

* * *

****

My head was aching abominably and my eyes were screaming with irritation: red and swollen from the tears that I had endeavored to hide from everyone that morning. The forest around me was luscious green, showing off its springtime finery, and it seemed almost cheerful…

_A strange irony in comparison to the cast of my own spirits._

In order to avoid the curious eyes and questions of our fellow villagers, we had departed early that morning, shortly after sunrise, in fact. The horses had been made ready the night before, along with what little we saw fit to bring along with us for our journey; however, it didn't seem likely that we would need any of it, for _le Fantôme_…my soon-to-be betrothed…had promised that the forest would guide us to his castle. Doubtless, then, our journey would be swift.

I didn't know what to hope for.

We rode in silence, with only Father and Richard breaking the utter stillness about us every so often to confer with one another on the state of our steeds, and once or twice to signal a rest. I kept away from them, secluding myself, as I couldn't bear to have them see me cry. That would only make things worse, and although I knew this quite well, I also couldn't help myself.

Never again would I wake in the morning to the noise of my beloved family moving about in the house around me; never again would I tend the little herb and flower garden I had so come to love during my time in Sumer's Flax. Antoinette and Meg would be responsible for tending to my blooming daffodils and sprawling, unruly mint. My brothers would have to find someone else to trade good-natured sarcasms with, and Carlotta and Portia would no longer have me to crawl underneath the bed to search out a missing shoe, or stand on a chair to dispense with the spiders that somehow managed to creep inside the cottage.

I would miss the sound of my father's cultured city-dweller's voice: reading the classics to us on snowy evenings during the winter. Never again would I help Antoinette and Meg perfect the art of cream puffs, or drive everyone in the house to the brink of insanity with my continual singing.

That life was gone.

I would share my days with another now.

Oddly enough, this: the thought of my fiancé to be, was the only thing that could really distract me from my sense of looming heartsickness. Or perhaps it wasn't so odd? There was certainly enough to think about, when it came to…him. Whoever and _whatever_ he was. My father had mostly evaded speaking of _le Fantôme_, and though I was fully aware of his reasons why, I still had my curiosities. After all, I _was_ going to be spending the rest of my life with this man. I _ought_ to know a little about him before I threw myself headlong into holy wedlock, seeing as how _he_ apparently knew at least something about _me_!

Just when I least wished for it, the faces of the ones I had left behind—Antoinette, Meg, Raoul—materialized in my mind's eye. I swallowed desperately, pushing the last memory I had of them, our farewell in front of the cottage, into the ether at the back of my mind. _I will not think of it._

What would _le Fantôme_ be like?

From what I had gathered from my father, his castle was the most peerlessly, stunningly beautiful place in the world, and its beauty was rivaled only by the great wealth and magic that he had glimpsed within it.

_Magic._

Father had told us that there was a vast tangle of roses growing over the castle itself and within its gardens: roses that seemed to have souls and voices of their own—along with startlingly sharp and long thorns. He had told us about how everything there appeared to be operated solely by invisible powers, almost as if there were hundreds and hundreds of dedicated servants walking about whom no one could possibly see. He had told us about the lanterns that lit themselves, the great moat that separated the forest from the fortress, and…

But _le Fantôme_…!

Father wouldn't say much about him at all.

What little I knew of my intended was that he was a towering black-garbed specter with a hypnotic voice of gold, from whom—it seemed—everything shrank back in fear. And, from what I knew according to the vision I had been shown in the old gypsy's enchanted mirror…he would have astonishing blue eyes. He was an enchanter: gifted in all kinds of magic that I had no grasp of, and had been a world-traveler and scholar. He was fabulously wealthy and powerful.

Then, after all of this, he'd somehow found something of interest in me.

* * *

I honestly couldn't decide whether I ought to freeze with fear, and then wheel my steed around and send him plunging back through the forest to home and safety, or swallow my trembling premonitions and forge ahead to meet my fate with what little bravery I could summon when suddenly Shadowrose Castle was looming before us.

"Christina?"

It wasn't just enormous…it was unimaginably monolithic! And so beautiful that it was almost painful to look upon…so very, very beautiful.

If roses truly were the most exquisite of all the blooms in the world, then this place was named very aptly.

Finally, I managed to wrench myself back to reality: closing my gaping mouth and allowing my eyes to return to their normal size, and looked to my father, who had spoken. He was turned halfway in the saddle, looking back at me with both question and concern written plainly on his face. Richard and Giles, I noted, were also staring at me with similar expressions.

I shook my daze off and shifted my grip on the reins restively.

"Well," I said shortly: trying to seem nonchalant and fearless even though I felt that my fingernails were digging into my palms, and my skin was now clammy. "It certainly _is_ something to look at. But there seems to be a storm blowing up…"

For indeed, out of the southern sky, a vast mass of dark, ominous-looking clouds had begun to move rapidly towards us, converging on Shadowrose Castle itself. Around us, a swift and cold wind swept out from nowhere: stirring my hair and causing our clothing and cloaks to whip about, and I could already feel a few large, surprisingly wet raindrops spattering against my face.

A low rumble of thunder caused the air to reverberate with the sound, and our horses began to move about restlessly, sensing the change in the weather. Father nodded, and gestured for me to move from my place at the back of our party to ride at the fore, so that I could approach the castle first: as a lady, and _le Fantôme_'s required guest. I clenched my jaw so fiercely that it began to ache: resolved not to show any sort of fear or nervousness, and then I did as I was bade.

Then, with this new order, we began our descent down the hill: moving steadfastly towards the castle as the storm drifted ever nearer.

* * *

As _le Fantôme_ had said, the forest and the castle itself had arranged itself to suit us for our journey, and thus it was that we approached it by an entirely different route than that by which Father and Monsieur Khan had led to it. Instead of crossing a bridge lit with silvery lanterns, we found ourselves winding around the hillside until the amazing vista of castle and countryside unfolded before us, in all its heedless, authoritative glory.

Now the trees continued to thin out until we had turned a final corner.

Here, a wide-open stretch of perfectly manicured, grassy lawn stretched out on either side of us, with a shimmering white dust avenue leading directly down its center. Stately cedar and pear trees lined this pathway, each set about twenty feet away from its fellow. The pear trees were blooming, and filled the air with their delightful essence as the rushing wind blew their delicate white petals through the air, scattering them on the ground, on my father and brothers' shoulders, and in my hair, like snowflakes that weren't cold.

We followed the path, slowly approaching the castle, which seemed to grow ever more enormous and imposing as we drew nearer and nearer. If I hadn't known that such a thing was impossible, I would have almost been tempted to think that the highest towers had pierced into the sky itself. The clouds, at any rate, looked close enough. I felt like an ant next to such extreme architectural proportions.

Finally, the avenue widened into an elaborately set out courtyard, laced with intricately designed rows of boxwood greenery and several different kinds of fountains: all burbling merrily in spite of the wicked-looking storm clouds that lurked above. My father and brothers began to wonder aloud where they ought to stable the horses, and I let my attention wander: staring at my surroundings in spite of the repeated grumbles of thunder.

And then I saw the door.

I remembered it immediately from the picture that the enchanted mirror had shown me: two torches, placed in sharp-looking iron sconces on either side of the frame, had been lit as if to beckon us onwards. I dismounted slowly, and approached the door as if in a dream.

_How strange that it should all be real…_ I thought, hazily. _Oh, Fantôme: whoever you are, wherever and however you are, I can't help myself…we **must** meet, and soon…_


	12. Reflection on Beauty

**_Chapter Eleven –_**

**_Reflection on Beauty_**

**_-Erik-_**

* * *

_How long must this go on,_

_this__ cruel trick of fate?_

_I simply made_

_one__ careless wrong decision…_

_And then that witch was gone_

_and__ left me in this state,_

_an__ object of revulsion and derision._

_Hated…_

_Is there no one_

_who__ can show me_

_how__ to win the world's_

_forgiveness...?_

* * *

The moment they had set foot into my cursed forest, I knew that they were there. The million far-seeking looking glasses placed throughout my cavernous palace broadcasted, in their loudest magical tones that were unheard by the simple human ear, the presence of the change, the addition to the life within the woods. 

I was aware of them.

All day, then, I spent hovering over the looking glass, standing within the confines of my tower and piercing the horizon with my eyes to find the first trace of the travelers.

The glass would not allow me to see them clearly yet; I could only get dim fragments of the picture on the shiny, opaque surface that would not reflect anything. Every once in a while, as I watched, I could see a shard of the world outside of my prison: the corner of a gray wool cloak's hem, a worn leather rein held by an ungloved hand, the nape of a graceful feminine neck with its soft, porcelain skin, and the fall of glimmering auburn hair escaping its net.

I knew that she would be as beautiful now as she had been when I had first glimpsed her within my forest.

_Beauty_—_beauty_—_beauty! _

_You are such a beguiling and yet capricious goddess: given first to winning the heart of your unsuspecting victims…and then you leave them either to die for lack of you…or cruelly slay them with your very own hands._

A bitter smile curved my lips, or what was left of them, at any rate. Yes, she _would_ be beautiful, this young Daae.

_More_ beautiful, in fact…

* * *

The moment they had crossed over the magical boundary that separated the forest from the lands of my castle, I knew that they were there. Abruptly, the fog that had obscured the picture on my mirrors cleared, and I dashed from my vigil at the ebony-paned window to eagerly snatch up the nearest looking glass.

The first face I was shown was that of the merchant Daae.

He was guiding his horse through the trees, and cast nervous glances about himself often. Then, after him, there were two more faces, belonging to a pair of youths who were obviously the merchant's sons, by their appearances.

So. There were more of them.

I sat back in my chair, settling my spine against cool silk cushions, and formed a steeple of my fingers, resting them against my lips as my vision became hooded.

_Ah, merchant, _I thought, darkly.

_You learnt _**_true_**_ fear that day, when you clumsily ended the life of my precious rose…and yet you still defy me. I only wanted _**_her_**_. I most certainly did not ask for _**_this_**

_Your blunders are trying my patience._

I remained there, sitting in silence as I contemplated this latest transgression. Time passed, and then outside, a violent thunderstorm began to rage. I could hear the torrents of rain pelting viciously against the window just behind me, and the relative darkness of the chamber I sat in was partially lit, every once in a while, by a sudden bright flash of lightning.

_Crack!_

What seemed to be the hundredth shock of thunder boomed loudly.

I hoped that the wind didn't cause too much damage to the forest. My roses were impervious to the effects of nature.

However, now I had a _new_ rose to tend to—a fresh bloom that I fully intended to treasure and covetously guard as a dragon might its hoard.

With a slight wave of my gloved fingertips, I called the looking glass—transparent, and incapable of reflecting anything—into my hand again, and stared into the obsidian depths for a moment. Then I murmured a few words in the ancient language of enchantment, and spoke her name.

"_Christina_…"

For a brief pause, it seemed as if the breath expelled in that single word had cast a mist onto the glass's surface; then it grew to the outer edges of the glass, and swirled.

In the next instant, it cleared, and I scanned the picture that formed there for the first glimpse of what I sought. Impatiently I waited while the magic raced through my castle, in search of her. In time, it would grow accustomed to the presence of my princess, and I wouldn't have to wait for any enchanted looking glass to find her.

As for the moment…

It wouldn't let me observe her, which meant that she had to be in her chambers.

_Good,_ I reflected, waving the looking glass back to its place on the shelf across the room from me. _That means that they've finally gotten into the castle, after goodness-knows-how-many delays! I've waited so long for her; they can never know…_

This was a train of thought that I generally avoided, as it brought far too many unpleasant memories and emotions to mind. Already I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to prickle with lurking rage and resentment.

So I stood, pushing the unwelcome thoughts into the back of my mind, and then forced myself to remember that, tonight, I had other tasks to attend to. Tonight, after so many long years of waiting, I finally had guests again …

_For the beautiful object of my enthrallment was here._

* * *

_A/N: More Erik, and this time it's version 3.0--Scary-Stalker!Erik. The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from Beauty and the Beast, the musical. And yes, I have read Robin McKinley's Beauty. It's one of my all-time favorite books. (huggles dog-eared novella) Isn't it the greatest...?_

_Now. _

_**On the subject of Mary-Sue-isms in classic fairy tales...**_

_Hmmmm. Now that is one that I really haven't heard before. But, if you want Fairy Tale History and Modern Applications 101...I suppose I'm up to the task._

_(puts on teacher's robes, a la Minerva McGonagall, and whips out pointer-wand and fairy tale chronology map.)_

_If I may draw your attention to the era of the glorious 1700's, France..._

_Mme. le Prince de Beaumont was a governess to a group of upper-class British girls, and while she was among them, she came up with the story Beauty and the Beast. This lovely tale of honour, courage, and all-encompassing selfless love was meant to be a morality lesson, of sorts, to Mme. de Beaumont's young charges. Beauty (or Belle, if you want to call her that) is the living embodiment of good human qualities: kindness, compassion, bravery, honour, and selflessness. She is everything that young women--and indeed everyone in the world--should be. As the heroine of the story, that is fitting. _

_(I mean...c'mon...you wouldn't want an evil cold-hearted wench to save the day, would you? That would just defeat the whole purpose of the story...)_

_Anyhow. In contrast to Beauty is Beauty's two sisters, who are (like Carlotta and Portia) selfish, proud, and vain, always complaining and scheming. And, in our case, you also have a vengeful sorceress. In them, we see all the qualities that Mme. de Beaumont did NOT want her pupils to display in their daily lives. _

_Basically, the whole story is a morality lesson, meant to teach the lesson of loving what is inside, not outside, and that goodness is--eventually--always rewarded, whilst evil is punished. _

_Now, this in no way connects to a Mary-Sue. _

_Mary-Sue exists solely to be beautiful, perfect, and good at everything, with a dark and tormented past and changing hair and/or eye colours, and a destiny to save everything on top of that. She's just there to look pretty, if you would. She has no flaws, and teaches no lesson. Hence,she has no purpose. The characters in Beauty and the Beast--whom I have modeled my characters in this phic after--are paragons of their individualcharacteristics. Beauty exemplifies kindness and goodness, the sisters are evil and selfish, the Beast is tormented but inwardly good, and the Father is protective but ill-fated. They're all models._

_(school room vanishes)_

_Our Christina here does have flaws, and she will show more of them later on. Erik is...well, Erik...so you know that he's going to have some issues. But they are not Mary-Sue-isms. And if they are out of character...well, there's this thing called Artistic Interpretation...heard of it? I thought so. Y'see...I tend to makecopious use of that nice little features. Don't like it?Very sorry. I have to combine two worlds here, and so, yes, the characters are not going to be PURE versions of themselves.But that's what makes it amusing...they're never going to be exactly predictable..._

_Give reviews, and I'll reward your pains with...oh, perhaps some photo manips? Artwork, even...?_

_Ta. _


	13. Shimmering Gold and Cobwebs

_**Chapter Twelve –**_

_**Shimmering Gold and Cobwebs**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

****

The rain began to patter down on the cobblestone courtyard as soon as we stumbled upon what was apparently the castle's stable: a structure so gigantic and almost cathedral-like in its outside appearance that I was surprised it was employed to shelter horses.

The tall doors swung open at our approach, as if propelled by invisible hands, and a gust of warm air swept out to greet us. Father, leading once more, dismounted and went inside, and my brothers and I closely followed him: not having any wish to remain out in the rain and cold.

I watched in amazement as blankets and feed for the horses appeared out of thin air, tending to the animals with infinite ease and care.

Then, Father beckoned.

"Christina—Richard—Giles," he said. "We must go."

* * *

The stable doors swung shut behind us again, closing with a groan, and we turned to face the wide courtyard.

Another loud clap of thunder resounded in the air, this time accompanied by lightning, and then the storm began in earnest. Rain fell in torrents from the sky, completely soaking everything in a matter of seconds, as a humid mist rose from the ground.

I gathered my wrinkled and dusty skirts in my hands, trying ineffectually to keep from getting the hem wet, and scampered in mad haste across the courtyard to catch up to my father and brothers' fleeing forms.

A door, almost hidden in the shadows beneath an elegant stone alcove, opened—a dim golden rectangle appeared in the darkness, announcing to us the presence of a way into the castle. I followed my companions inside, and watched as my father quickly pushed the door closed, without waiting for it to do so itself.

We were all breathing hard from our dash now, but I doubted that the pounding of our hearts and the heaving of our lungs resulted solely from our quick movement.

I was soaked through—so much so that even my dress beneath my cloak was sodden. I wanted nothing more than to somehow rid myself of the unpleasant feeling of being wet, cold, tired, and hungry. Suddenly, my fears took second place to my present requirements. A trickle of rainwater ran down the back of my neck, and I shivered, feeling cold in spite of the warmth of the chamber in which we stood.

Wondering just how disheveled and dirty my hair must indeed now look, I reached up and drew back the hood of my deep blue cloak, letting it fall to rest on my shoulders. Immediately, my hair came loose from the knot that I had pinned it into that morning, in the last predawn moments I had spent before the looking glass in my old room. Two hair pins fell to the floor, skittering across the surface that I now saw was gold-and-cream-swirled marble.

Richard spoke as I stooped to retrieve them.

"So—this is our friend _le Fantôme's_ castle…where _is_ he?"

My father, it seemed to my searching eyes, shuddered when my brother had uttered those two words: _le Fantôme_. However, then, he said with a surprising calm—

"The master of this castle is subject to the will of no one aside from himself, I have learnt; he will appear when he chooses. As for the moment…"

He turned his eyes on me, and I stood, slowly.

"Let us seek out a place where we may rest."

* * *

I couldn't tell how long or how far we walked through that enormous castle. It seemed as if hours on end passed by while we meandered past grand drawing rooms, libraries, hallways and corridors, gilded ballrooms and observatories, chambers of state, and many more.

Everything, absolutely everything, of my surroundings was the finest and richest and most beautiful I had ever seen, and I studied it with keen interest. Hundreds, if not thousands of years in Kryslorean history were contained within this place, at every turn, and soon enough, my fear and uneasiness vanished to the back of my mind. The scholar in me longed to leave my father and brothers, and examine the various tapestries, sculptures, paintings, and architectures, or to run off to one of the libraries and joyously lose myself in the stately leather-bound tomes held within them…

Then I saw, through a barely opened doorway, a warmly lit room in which there resided a beautiful, glossy black grand piano.

I ran to this door, and looked in.

This chamber appeared to be dedicated solely to music. Next to the piano was a tall, intricately detailed harp, a bass of cherry-wood, and a music stand. I would have darted across the room to them, but my father's voice impeded me—

"Christina!"

Reluctantly, I closed the door behind myself and followed after my family again…and only the very most remote portion of my brain registeredthe sound of the latch clicking_, as the door swung open again, very slightly_…

* * *

We kept walking, and eventually we found ourselves in a cavernous hall, whose ceiling was more than two storeys above its floor. Off to one side there was yet another partially opened door, through which a stream of golden light beckoned to us. Within this new room we found a banquet table with places set for four.

Father had told us of his visit to the castle, and of the magnificent treatment he had been afforded…but not until my brothers and I had seen it for our own eyes could we have truly understood what he had meant.

As we seated ourselves in our respective places around the table in silence, I recounted again my father's tales of this magical but frightening place.

All was as he had said: multitudes of tall, creamy white candles set in bejeweled sconces burned everywhere about us, perfuming the air with the fragrance of vanilla and patchouli. The chair I had chosen was upholstered in gorgeous red-and-gold brocade, and was more like a throne than a normal chair; it was almost seven feet tall, with a crest that grandly swept back, crowned with rubies and emeralds. The table was set with all of the finest silverware and china, and the food was so incredibly delicious…

But as I looked around myself, I began to glimpse unnerving reminders of just what this place was…

_A castle under a shroud of darkness_.

For all of the place's seeming perfection, there were shadows here—and they were shadows that seemed to be alive, in some bizarre fashion. Behind the pillars and tapestries there lurked a flickering darkness that I did not like at all, and the storm that continued to rage just outside of the windows did nothing to ease my fears, now returning to me after a short respite.

The roses that grew everywhere about the castle grounds looked darker than ever: the red blooms reminded me of the colour of old blood, and their thorns reminded me of daggers. On the candle sconces and the candelabras I caught sight of cobwebs, and the carpet beneath my feet had a coating of dust upon it: not enough to detect if one was to fleetingly glance at it, but there all the same…

And the blind marble cherubim in the mantelpiece!

They wept tears of smoke!

My fingernails had begun to dig into the arms of my chair, yet I could not help but stare at this unearthly phenomenon. I could almost feel the horrible searing weight of their stone eyes upon my face.

_Magic,_ my mind ranted. _Magic; that is what you are tangled up in now, you foolish child! Is this the life of adventure and change you were dreaming of? There: you are completely caught up in its net, and you will not easily escape. He won't let you go…_

"Christina?"

I looked up suddenly, returning to the real world out of my frightened delirium, and saw that my father and brothers were looking at me with expressions of mingled concern, fear, and uncertainty. Then I noted that I had knocked over my goblet of wine, and the dark red liquid was spilling across the tablecloth…

"Oh." I said, softly. "How clumsy of me."

_

* * *

_

_Le Fantôme_ did not appear to us during that angst-ridden dinner, nor did we see any sign of him afterwards as we once again went out into the castle and allowed our footsteps to wander far into it.

Finally, as it became quite obvious to us that we would not be greeted by anyone but the castle's immense silence, we began to discuss the topic of rest. Almost immediately after this subject was voiced, we turned the corner of the hallway that we'd been traveling down, and found that, somehow, we were back in front of the room where we had eaten dinner. On either side of it, two more doors swung open, revealing rooms made up for guests. Golden plates above them announced: _The Merchant Daae and his sons_, and _Christina_.

Our rooms.

I suddenly felt very tired: so tired, in fact, that I couldn't even concentrate on my fears anymore. All I wanted to do was sleep.

And so I did.

* * *

_A/N: Back again, with two chapters, this one and the next. Both are relatively short, but what can ya do..._

_**VagrantCandy**: (chuckles) Well, my mental jury was kind of out on the verdict of whether you liked this story or not. Sometimes I thought so, and sometimesI thought thatyou didn't like it. Enigmatic, you are, young Jedi. (winks) I take all of my reviews seriously, though, as I take all of my writing very seriously. If I hear the phrase "Mary-Sue" connected to my work in any way, my hackles tend to go up. It's not just you; it's anyone, anytime. Because, I mean, really...who LIKES Mary-Sue? _

_(I don't.) _

_Anyhow, I'm not offended, and am glad that we see eye-to-eye. And you gave me the perfect opportunity to have my little schpiel on fairy-tale history, which is something that I'm quite passionately interested in! So I think I should be thanking you. Also, by explaining myself and myreasonsfor writing the characters as Ihave in this phic, I can now be certainthat no onewill be able to come along and tell me that I'm writingunintentional, ignorant OOC or Mary-Sue. Again, thank you. _

_Now, on to the next chapter, shallwe...where we findourselves plunged into another version of Christina's dream world..._


	14. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

_**To Sleep, Perchance to Dream…**_

* * *

_An endless canal: its banks bordered with tall orange-trees and myrtles in flower…_

_'**Wait: I feel I have been here before…'**_

_Her mind filled with disconsolation, lamenting the sad and lonely fate that was hers._

_'**There are others who weep…'**_

_Then, from the mist, a prince: handsome as the god of love in picture-books, with a voice that went straight to her heart…_

_"Dearest Christine…you are not so unfortunate as you suppose. It is here you shall find the reward of your goodness, denied to you elsewhere. Use your wits to find me out under the disguise which hides me—that is, if as I stand here now you find me not altogether contemptible. For I love you tenderly—you alone—and in making me happy you can attain to your own happiness. Beloved, never distrust your own true heart, and it shall lead you where the heart has nothing left to desire…"_

_'**Ah! What can I do to make you happy?'**_

_"Only be grateful, and do not believe all that your eyes would tell you. Above all, do not abandon me until you have rescued me from the cruel sufferings I endure."_

_Darkness, as the shards of the dream fell into nothingness and her immortal soul returned to sleep…_

_"Do not grieve for what you have left behind; a far higher destiny lies before you. Only, if you would deserve it, beware of being misled by appearances…"_

**_BEWARE…_**

* * *

_Mmmmm...I LUVS William Shakespeare. Make a struggling college authoress very happy, and review! Photo-manips are nowavailable by e-mail! Get 'em while they're hot!_


	15. Dusty Death

**_Chapter Thirteen –_**

**_Dusty Death_**

**_-Erik-_**

* * *

****

All throughout the castle, there was nothing but shadow and quiet. The only sounds that even my ears could detect were the trillions of pattering raindrops that still washed against the glass windowpanes as the storm continued through the night.

I had grown accustomed to the darkness: it was my only true friend and ally now, and I liked and trusted it. In the darkness, no one would see me as the cursed monster that I was…and it was easy to pretend that the truth was what it ought to have been.

I growled softly under my breath, the sound rippling into the shadows as a reminder that I was the _only_ creature in this castle to be feared.

Then I continued on my walk.

* * *

The sorceress's curse was tightening its grip on my prison.

I had ignored the warning signs of this for years upon end—but now the magic that I could not control was beginning to declare its presence with greater and greater willpower within my domain, and I was powerless to stop its destruction. I could see evidence of this everywhere. There were cracks in the grand marble pillars, with dust and tendrils of ivy beginning to grow where gold leaf and jade had once glowed, and every so often I would spot a broken window pane, or a tattered curtain. And the roses…the roses…

My roses were beginning to_ die_.

I felt the old, familiar sensation of a stony, cold fist closing around the cavity behind my ribcage, where my heart beat within me, and I had to stop for a moment, leaning up against the wall for support. A wave of dizziness passed over me, and I clenched my teeth as the brief but nearly overwhelming pain surged through my chest. Stars began to burst in my vision—

And then it was over.

Again.

_Curse you to the deepest abyss of the underworld, you foul and abhorrent witch,_ I thought in fierce anger spurred on by my misery and pain.

I had been young and foolish when I had begun to keep company with the one being I now hated even more than myself.

_Ellexssya…_

She had been far from the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, though she was also far from the plainest woman that I had ever seen. She had been mysterious, and therefore intriguing…yet, besides all that, she had posed herself as a challenge to me…a sort of human-shaped riddle that—were I to solve it—would prove me to be even greater than I already was…

Oh yes, I had been young, and _incredibly _foolish.

There wasn't any way that she would expect _this_, I told myself.

The sorceress had left me, all those years ago: thinking that, since I was imprisoned in the forest that she herself had cursed, I would be incapable of ever finding the woman who would break the bonds of my enchantment. She had been confident that I would be running back to her in no time, to beg her forgiveness and seek her twisted love again.

But I had never wished for her love in the first place, for neither of us really had hearts to love with. I could see that in myself now. It was what had kept me alive—heartlessness.

And soon it would be what would free me.

* * *

I grew very impatient and irritated, as the minutes of my walk seemed to draw out into eternity; the castle had never been so immense before to me. Finally, however, I realized that I had almost reached the wing where my four guests were housed, and hastened my pace. Unobserved, I had watched them all evening.

I was disappointed to the point of seeing red when I was not favored with a view of my princess's face, as she somehow kept her back to me the entire time, but I was enthralled by her nonetheless. She was exactly as I remembered her, after such a long time of waiting…and perhaps even more lovely!

She had grown somewhat taller, and her hair had acquired the most gorgeous highlights of gold and chestnut, a testament to her time spent as a hard-working and industrious village maiden, along with her lightly tanned skin. Her figure was slender and willowy, and yet curvaceous and incredibly womanly. Her cloak and simple gown obscured most of her figure, but I could tell that she was possessed of an elegant, statuesque, and almost queenly bearing.

The perfect choice for the new Princess of Shadowrose Castle.

And then there was her father and brothers—the chief source of my annoyance, at the moment. I had not yet devised a suitable consequence for the merchant's disobedience. The two brothers were an uninvited hazard to my plans. If they were as muddle-brained as their dolt of a father, there was a possibility that they might attempt something as idiotic as fighting for their sister's freedom, or reasoning with me.

Ha! I was _le Fantôme_.

You cannot reason with _a_ _ghost_.

As I approached the place where my 'guests' were sequestered, I began to hear splinters of a conversation. The father and the brothers were still awake, and talking amongst themselves. My peerless Beauty was, I decided, asleep in her own room; the door was closed.

The merchant and his sons, however, had left their door partly open.

I heard my pseudonym mentioned several times within their conversation, along with the words 'Christina', 'ruthless', 'cold-blooded', and 'speak'. And this told me all that I needed to know. My lips curled in a gruesome caricature of a sneering smile.

_Oh, this is going to be good,_ I thought to myself. _The farmer and his spawn are going to play **war** with me. How adorable. _

_Unfortunately, however…I have other things to concern myself with. After all, I hate to have to cut the fun short, but the joke is wearing thin…_

* * *

_A/N: Creepy!Erik strikes again, at two o'clock in the morning, as per his usual habit. Teehee. I do so enjoy it when he plays all sadistic and cold-blooded..._

_(shivers) It's HAWT._

_Anyhow...ooh, a new reviewer! Thanks to **Tinuviel Evenstar**, for feeding my Muses. They would like to inform you of their supreme gratitude, and all seem very fat and happy right now. I, on the other hand, continue to hack my way through homework and regular work, and starve in the meantime. Ugh. But at least the Muses are happy. And that is what ultimately matters, as far as phan phiction and updating phan phiction goes, isn't it..._

_**The Dunadan**--my dear old girl, you may not have a magic forest near your home, but you **do**have a lake. And even a dirty lake is better than a smelly cowfield, which is what lurks beyond MY backyard. Thanks for reviewing; you're one of the greatest BFF's ever._

_And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed, or simply read this. I know that you're out there, whomever you are, and I know that you're reading this phic, even if you don't review. (Hint hint...) It keeps my number of hits up, at least. Which is cool. I'm still looking for a beta-reader, BTW. If you're in the market, I'd be ever so grateful to know._

_Now, on to the next chapter, where our beauteous young Christine has a run-in with the terrifying Phantom-Prince..._


	16. Crystal Tears Wept to No One

**_Chapter Fourteen –_**

**_Crystal Tears Wept to No One_**

**_-Christina-_**

* * *

Alone at the colossal gate of the castle, I stood and watched as my father and brothers mounted their horses and turned back to stare forlornly at me, for the last time. 

Stinging tears sprang to my eyes and I looked down, unable to watch them ride off and leave me. The wind seemed lonely now.

I had so longed for adventure; I had even thought, for a moment, that perhaps this new life would not be so awful, that I might learn to accept this change.

_But they were riding away from me._

"Papa."

_They were leaving me._

My voice cracked over that one word, and I clutched at the rose-vine riddled wall, sinking down to my knees as I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth as deep sobs convulsively shook my entire frame.

_They were going away forever._

"Papa…Papa, come back. Papa, please! _Papa_!"

_He_ had forced them to leave: commanded them to depart with morning's light, the horses laden with saddlebags that were mysteriously filled with gold coins and jewels. And I had not even _once_ seen him. For all I knew, this was how my new life was going to be…forever! I would be alone for the rest of my life, abandoned with a creature that I only knew as the _monster_ of all the stories that I had heard over the years—

A monster!

_This_ was the fate I had been abandoned to!

I was alone.

My mind began to whirl as my stomach twisted, and my mouth filled with the taste of bile. I had to get out—I didn't want to stay here! They couldn't force me to stay!

Desperately, I turned towards the gates, searching for a way out. But the gates were closed, and covered in vines, with black roses blooming all over.

_Closed, and locked. _

I put my hand to a jutting bar of iron, as if that would help me to escape, but instead the dagger-like rose thorns stabbed at my skin. With a cry of pain wrenching itself from my tightened throat, I wrenched my arm back, and whirled around.

Suddenly, a wall of blackness was in front of me—a living, breathing darkness, in human form, stony and immovable, yet warm—

I looked up—

—And found myself staring into two of the most beautiful blue but cold eyes that I would ever see in my entire life. From the faceless specter came a voice: terrible and stern and ominous, yet musical and compelling, and it demanded of me—

"_Where are you going?_"

I felt my mind go blank, my limbs numb.

The ground rose to meet me, and my eyes slipped closed as another kind of darkness dragged me away from the rest of the world.

* * *

When I partly regained consciousness, I realized in a dizzying moment of abrupt mental clarity that I was not lying on the cold ground, as I ought to have been after fainting. 

No.

Someone was _carrying_ me, holding me close in powerful arms that felt as if they were made of steel.

Half of my face was resting against what could only be the finest, softest velvet, and an exotic, smoky scent flooded my senses as I breathed slowly in. Then I drifted off into the black ether again, and was unaware of reality until an interminable amount of time later when I felt cool air whispering against my skin.

There was a creaking noise, like a door opening, and then nothing but the click of my companion's feet on the ground beneath his feet. I kept my eyes closed, fighting to control my fear and inner trembling, and remained still as I was carried even further, held as if I weighed no more than a dried leaf.

_Where am I…? _

I felt, and heard, a deep sigh whoosh out of my companion's lungs, and then the grip on me slackened, and I felt a soft surface cushion me as I was laid gently down. Carefully, a coverlet was drawn over me, and I lost consciousness again.

When my eyes next partly opened, my vision mostly veiled by my eyelashes, I saw again a pair of two inexpressibly beautiful but heartbreakingly cold blue eyes staring down at me. Some sort of emotion was kindled in them: something deep and fierce and powerful, almost feral, and even in my half-sleeping state I wondered what it was.

Then the blue spheres vanished, and I returned to sleep's void.

* * *

_A/N: (cringes as she feels the glares that are being aimed at her) Well? They MET, and that was what we've been aiming for..._

_Ah well. (shrugs)_

_The terrific artist, Ripper de la Blackstaff, has done some artwork for me on this phic--I commissioned a sketch of this scene, where Christine catches her first glimpse of Erik's hauntingly coldblue eyes in the midst of her delirium, and it's now available for you to see over on DeviantArt, if you'd like. And check her other artwork out too! It's simply amazing!_

_www. deviantart . com / view / 23678709 / _

_The above link will lead you to the drawing for this scene--if you can't see itor the link doesn't work,let me know, and I can e-mail you the link. If you can see it, and the link works..._

_Isn't he GORGEOUS...?_

_(sighs dreamily, then disappears in a flash of magenta light)_


	17. Shattered Hope, Dawning Dream

_**Chapter Fifteen –**_

_**Shattered Hope, Dawning Dream**_

_**-Erik-**_

* * *

I stood beside the pure white bed, looking down on her motionless, pale form: staring at her, letting my eyes devour her beauty. 

She was glorious...stunning...perfect, an incandescent and unparalleled incarnation of pure beauty. I could scarcely bear even the thought of removing my eyes from her face. To turn away would be to deny myself the intoxicating, mesmerizing drug of her beauty. She was even more wonderful than I remembered.

Then I remembered.

At once, the awful, cold truth broke over me, dashing my single moment of bliss and, yes, _forgetfulness_ into a thousand razor-edged shards.

She was beautiful.

…And she had fainted when she had seen me.

With a strangled cry that was only partly smothered, I suddenly fell back, stumbling away from the bed as I fought the overwhelming revulsion: trying to keep myself from throwing my arm across my masked face in order to hide myself from the divine beauty before me.

_No…no…this could not be! I was trapped! A mask…I wore a mask…and beneath it I was ugly, hideous; I was a **monster**!_

Fighting to control my self-loathing, blinded by my disgust, I hastily whirled around and ran from the room, ran from her: blissful, unknowing angel that she was. She had no idea what fate I had condemned her to.

The poor, innocent child!

And in that instant, as I fell to my knees on the gleaming marble floor, I finally recognized the _true_ aim of the sorceress's curse.

* * *

Years before, in my pride and cold-heartedness, I had viewed myself as invincible…omnipotent. I had no requirement for love or emotion, which I had forsaken many years before. Not a single living person could be important to me; I cared for no one.

And my fitting punishment?

SOLITUDE, which taught me the meaning of loneliness.

LOSS, which taught me that nothing could truly belong to me.

And, last and most awful of all...my face.

She had stolen my face, and left me with only the hideous features of a monster that was so terrible, so ugly and loathsome, that no one could ever love him.

The sight of me would either ruin her mind, or set her so askance that she would never be able to bear life near me. I had trapped her here, in my nightmarish, crumbling world; I had terrified her and her family; she would hate me forever. She would never love me. Someone so beautiful could never love someone so ugly.

_Despair, thou art my closest and enduring colleague..._

_Ugliness: I wear your face. _

_For I am you._

I could not remember a time I had felt such intense misery.

* * *

The rest of the day went by in a blur.

I retreated to my rooms and did not leave them again, did not stir from the throne-like chair that permitted me a glorious view of my lands from a clear-paned picture window. A shadow of despond and brooding sorrow veiled the world from my eyes, and I sank willingly into the oblivion.

Not until the sun began to sink into the distant, mountainous horizon did I resentfully drift back into the real world. True: I'd watched the fragile glass rose of my hope shatter into countless shards that morning, and now I was entirely uncertain of myself and the future.

For the first time in a very long while, I had seen her face, in person, and I knew just how beautiful she was…and I also knew that, no matter how hopelessly hideous and miserable I felt, I _could_ _not_, _would not _give her up.

Perhaps there was still hope, somewhere. If she weren't here, all hope would be gone, along with any chance I might have had in regard to breaking the spell. As long as the girl was within my castle, and my life, there was a chance. I _was_ a repulsive, disfigured monster, but why would fate have permitted her to be here in the first place if nothing was meant to grow from our possible companionship…?

I could not live without her beauty.

Somehow, my soul was irrevocably tied to this incredible maiden. I didn't know how, or why, but something within my mind told me that if I lost her…

If I lost her, I would die.

But now…now…what next?

Though I hoped otherwise, she would most likely be awake by now. Her room was such that it would provide her with ample occupation for some time, but she would undoubtedly venture forth from those chambers—

Augh! The rest of the castle! How much of it had they already seen? She would have been disgusted!

I bolted up from my chair, immediately throwing myself into action. It would be the work of a moment to magically command a thorough cleaning of the palace…then I would pull together a banquet fit for a princess…and there were a million other minute details beyond that to consider…

Then I dragged myself to a halt.

_Oh black underworlds. _

I would be forced to meet her. Face-to-face. I couldn't avoid it any longer, as the situation was now.

Tonight, the beauty of Christine would meet the beastliness of Erik.

* * *

The very first stars were beginning to glimmer in their proper places in the blue-black sky when I surveyed the dining room for one last time. I wanted the occasion to be as perfect as possible. Gold and silver candelabras in the shape of gracefully winding trees stood regally on the table, with pendants of topaz and diamonds hung from their arms. The room itself was filled with the heavy perfume of many flowers: white lilacs, lilies, snapdragons, and freesia, and there were two places set at the table.

I was incredibly nervous.

The mere fact that I was aware of this irritated me until I began to see red sparks in my vision—this was never a good sign. I twitched angrily at the cuffs of my shirt. The stiffly starched white linen was beginning to grow increasingly constrictive about my neck, and I found my eyes traveling repeatedly to the gold grandfather clock that stood at one side of the room. It was almost nine o'clock…

_Then I heard, ever so faintly, the soft tap of slippers on the gleaming, polished marble floor just outside of the dining room. I listened intensely, freezing where I was. I closed my eyes, stretching out with my enhanced magical senses, and heard… _

She inhaled deeply, slowly, as if she was preparing herself for some momentous task. Her fingertips brushed lightly against the wood of the door; she was hesitant. I still couldn't move, though my entire being was screaming for me to run, to hide from this beauty, who was about to walk into the room and catch me there.

Her heart was beating loudly: I could sense the increased level of adrenaline in her blood. I felt a similar reaction within my own body. My face was pale behind the mask, I had no doubt, and I was cold.

My heartbeat was pounding in my fingers.

The golden handle on the door began to turn, with movement as slow as the creeping centuries. At the very last possible moment, I retreated into the black shadows behind the heavy velvet curtains at the window, and watched from my hidden vantage point. The door eased open a crack, and then further…

Then there she was: standing less than ten feet from me.

I caught my breath as the old, familiar ache began to pound in my ribcage, and clenched my hands so tightly that my fingernails began to dig through the gloves.

She was so impossibly, incredibly beautiful…

It was _painful_.

She had arrayed herself in a shimmering golden gown that was embroidered heavily with innumerable tiny gold and white beads that sparkled like a thousand stars, as she gracefully, reticently stepped into the candlelit dining room: full skirts rustling softly about her as she tread the deep, plush carpet. Her silver-and-amber eyes swept over the table, and I noticed that she paled somewhat.

What could she be thinking?

I watched her skirt around the edge of the room, staring at her surroundings with intense, silent contemplation.

First she looked at the table, noting the presence of the two chairs and places that were set there. Gently, she reached out and touched a fingertip to the snow-white petal of a fresh-bloomed freesia; then she hurriedly returned her hand to her side, clenching her fingers around a fold of her skirt.

She turned around, then: giving me an exquisite view of her elegant swan-like neck. Her hair drifted in delicate ringlets about her shoulders, held away from her face in a few places by bejeweled pins. Once more her skirts rustled faintly as she walked around the other side of the table, inspecting the bookshelves and their leather-bound tomes, the intricate baubles that resided with them, and the grandfather clock.

Then I saw her eyes reflected in the glass of its face.

For one awful moment, I thought that she had seen me.

_It seemed that our eyes had met… _

My heartbeat eased somewhat, however, as she turned away from the clock and stood besides the table once again: looking down on it with that same, pensive and intensely serious air of contemplation. The grandfather clock chimed musically, signaling nine thirty, and she started very slightly, her hand flying to her collarbone as her eyes flared, growing darker by an infinitesimal degree.

_Don't be frightened,_ I silently begged her. _Please, don't go…_

Almost as if she had somehow heard me, she bit her lip—frowning a bit—and slowly crossed to stand next to the chair that was at the head of the table. There I had placed a slip of paper, with her name written upon it in gold script.

She stood still for a moment. She drew the chair out. She seated herself with effortless, unpretentious grace.

Suddenly, a breeze drifted out of nowhere and wound through the curtains, stirring the heavy velvet material and going on to journey into the room. The flames on the candles wavered dangerously and I froze, instinctively. Surely she had seen my shadow now—my entire figure was outlined by the moonlight outside the window, and my cloak caused me to sometimes appear like some gigantic bat.

_Oh no…_

I prayed that she wouldn't panic.

The doomed young beauty remained where she was at the table, although she too froze where she was. Her eyes were flared again, and she was very pale. In the depths of her eyes, however, I saw the reflection of some powerful, almost unfathomable emotion that was gone before I could recognize what it was. I felt…though…that somehow I knew that emotion, that same feeling, myself…that I had already felt that emotion, in my own soul. It caused my heart to ache.

Then she startled me.

She spoke to the silence.

"Are you there?"

I was silent, and did not reply immediately. I watched her carefully instead, trying to read her face and gauge what her reaction might be if I were to speak. Evidently, she was fairly certain that someone was in the room with her; otherwise, of course, she would not have spoken.

I didn't know if I could risk this, though…

Keeping my voice as low and gentle as I possibly could, trying to present myself as harmless and unthreatening, I replied.

"Yes, mademoiselle."

I paused.

"I am Prince Erik…and it is my most profound honour to welcome you into Shadowrose Castle, milady."

She was looking around the room for the place where my voice was centered. I could see her eyes darting back and forth, and her lips were slightly open, which I soon realized was a sign of her curiosity. She would not be able to find my hiding place by looking for me, though; I had noted her searching eyes, and kept throwing my voice to different points in the room. When I was certain that she was prepared for the sight of me, then I would step out of the shadows.

Then, and _only_ then.

"My lord?" she asked, slight fear in her tone. "Why can I not see you?"

Again, I did not immediately reply.

"Because, mademoiselle," I finally uttered, choosing my words with infinite care. "…As I do not doubt you were already informed…I am not the most pleasant creature to look upon. Your father did not even see my _true_ face, and he fled this place in fear and revulsion, after our first encounter. I…did not wish for _you_ to be so directly frightened…by my looks."

"I see."

She began to toy with the fine woven silk napkin that had been left folded in the shape of a swan by her plate. Then she looked up again, and this time her eyes seemed to pierce instantly through the velvet curtain that concealed me. I swallowed with some difficulty, trying to steady my pounding heartbeat.

"Forgive me. I should not have questioned you. It was not my place."

Well!

In spite of the fact that she had been kept in seclusion in the backwoods of the realm with spiteful older sisters who daily threw insults and unkindness at her, this young beauty was even more elegant and cultured than many of the ladies I had met in many courts around the world.

"Please, do not apologize to me, mademoiselle," I told her, softly. "I was not offended." Then I breezily changed the topic of our conversation, and revealed, "_I_ must—however—apologize for not availing myself to you earlier…again, I find I can only employ the weak excuse of my fears for my neglect."

"You are too kind."

She murmured this very softly, while studying the tablecloth with demurely downcast eyes. I knew what it was that she truly felt—that I was not kind at all. I did not comment on this, however.

"Thank you for everything," she continued, "My room, the books and flowers, gowns and jewelry are all very beautiful. I feel ill-at-ease here…I'm not at all used to such finery."

_You should be,_ I thought, as I looked at her fixatedly. _You are as beautiful as the dawn. You ought to have been born a princess. _

"Is there anything that you would have changed? Is your room entirely suitable? Is there anything that you have not been provided with?" I inquired, politely, though my concern for her well-being was earnest.

She shook her head, causing her hair to glimmer and shift on her shoulders as the pins in her hair sparkled brilliantly.

"No," she replied, readily enough. "I…I am very content."

"And yet you are not," I said, darkly, and pushed the curtain aside: revealing my hiding place, though I kept my features well-hidden in the shadows. I moved slowly and with great care, remembering her last reaction to encountering me—

_

* * *

With a soft sigh like the coo of a dove, she crumpled to the dusty pathway, eyes slipping closed and veiling the radiant spheres within. Her delicate chestnut and auburn locks pooled against the cobblestones like a sunburst around her face; her skin was pale, so pale. Her body was feather-light, slender, fragile as a lily against my chest as I gathered her to me, holding her in my trembling arms. _

_Oh, to know what visions within the oblivion she was now seeing! Could I have sent her into the grip of madness? I prayed not…I hoped…_

_Her, again: stirring slightly in my embrace as I carried her without effort through the winding halls of my immense, labyrinthine castle. Her: snuggling her face against my shoulder, drawing closer to me in her sleep, when she knew not what creature held her in his arms. She was breathing; she was living, she lived…_

_Pain: ripping through my chest, searing my soul, as I realized that I could never hope to win this innocent beauty's love. I was too ugly._

SOLITUDE.

LOSS.

_Ugly._ _I was ugly._

HOPELESSNESS.

_But her eyes had opened then, and she was looking up at me, half-asleep and half-awake, and she did not shrink away—_

* * *

—I caught my breath as the memory ended, and met her eyes with my own.

She looked frightened, though she very nearly hid this from me. Perhaps I was able to tell that she was fearful because I had anticipated such a reaction…it mattered little, however. The shadows were once again my greatest friends, keeping my features from being fully revealed, but nothing could disguise the unkempt, mane-like look of my straggling dark hair, or the unrelieved black of my clothing.

And I could not go back now.

"Don't be afraid, mademoiselle," I told her, gently. "You've nothing to fear from me. I would rather die than render you the slightest harm…please believe me."

Then I continued on my earlier statement.

"I have no doubt that you would be much more content if you were with your family, mademoiselle, in spite of what you tell me. You have heard the legends and rightly fear their dark villain; that is why they are told. Don't be ashamed of knowing this, and don't be frightened. I won't harm you."

She still only sat there, staring at me as I stared back, and my opinion of her increased when I noted that her eyes did not waver in the slightest as she looked upon my shadowy form. She nodded, slightly.

"I…I believe you," she murmured, softly.

Then she looked down again.

My silence at that moment, and the seriousness of our discussion, I could tell, was causing her to be uneasy. "Please," I said, mildly. "Don't allow me impede you from enjoying your dinner. I came here only because I wished to introduce myself to you, and amend my prior rudeness."

At this, I was about to turn and leave the room, but the sound of rushing satin skirts and the scrape of the chair on the floor stopped me, along with her voice following after me—

"Please—wait."

I halted.

Slowly, I turned around, carefully remaining in the shadows. She was so beautiful, standing there at the table in her bejeweled gown: the candlelight glimmering off of the thousands of beads embroidered onto it, her wide dark eyes sparkling, her delicate hand outstretched towards me.

"Yes, mademoiselle?" I answered.

The apples of her cheekbones flushed a faint crimson, and she averted her eyes to the carpet, and I noticed that her hands gripped the table's edge until her knuckles turned white. I waited for her to speak.

"When…when will I see you again?"

I thought about that for a moment, and then replied, slowly, "I will come to you here every evening at nine o'clock, and if you do not object, I would be greatly honoured if you would permit me to sit with you while you dine."

Then I watched her narrowly as she considered this.

"As you wish, my lord," she said, softly.

"No," I said, firmly. "I will not seek out your company unless you truly desire my presence. I do not enjoy being lied to or pretended to, mademoiselle. If my presence disturbs you, do not hedge from informing me of it."

She, bravely, did not drop our eye contact: her eyes, in fact, flashed dangerously: a spark of defiance that intrigued _and_ nettled me.

"If I am to be your betrothed, my lord," she said, "Then ought we not spend some reasonable amount of time together, regardless of whether one of us desires it or not? My preferences shall simply bend to the given situation. I do not mind."

_Perhaps you will, once you have seen the 'man' whom you will henceforth recognize as your intended,_ I thought, darkly.

"Then, mademoiselle," I told her, "I will look forward to enjoying your company in future evenings. You are very gracious."

I swept a bow to her, which she acknowledged with a demure nod, her eyelashes lowering delicately over her eyes.

"Good-night, my lady." I said, with finality. "Enjoy your evening and your new home—all you see around you is yours; nothing is beyond your fingertips, and I am your humble servant. Sleep well, and remember: there is nothing for you to fear."

_Ask her,_ my mind hissed angrily at me. _Ask her! Ask her!_

I resisted, and before my tumultuous emotions could overwhelm me and seize control of my better senses, I bowed again and hastily retreated from the room. My heart did not stop pounding for a long time after that.

* * *

_This chapter is dedicated to Ms. Susan Kay, and all of my lovely reviews, who have begged, politely requested, pleaded, and even poked me with pitchforks for an update. I luv you all! MWAH!_


	18. Encounters in the Twilight

_**Chapter Sixteen –**_

_**Encounters in the Twilight**_

_**-Christina-**_

* * *

****

After the Prince had left the room, I found that I could hardly breathe.

I was gripping the edge of the table so fiercely; I noticed that my fingernails had nearly left scores in the beautiful wood beneath the cloth. I leaned forward, letting my elbows rest on the tabletop, and put my face in my hands, trying to ward off the second bout of frantic, hysterical tears that threatened to overwhelm me. I hadn't ever been given to weeping before…

But that was before.

And there is a huge difference between 'before' and 'now'.

I was frightened—so very, very frightened. He had told me not to be afraid, but he wouldn't show me his face, and everything was so dark here! I longed for the morning, when the shadows would at least afford comfort from the hot sun, and not threaten me as a fearful cloak of darkness.

In these shadows, I found it very easy to believe that there really were all sorts of horrible creatures—trolls, goblins, satyrs, and worse—who would jump out and snatch at me with their twisted claws, and devour me if they got the chance. He had told me…he had promised me…

'_Don't be afraid…you've nothing to fear…I would rather die than render you the slightest harm…please believe me…'_

But he was a shadow, or rather someone who would have me believe that he was a shadow.

...How could a shadow protect me from the looming darkness?

I finally removed my hands from my face and looked at the tabletop again, really _seeing_ for the first time the marvelous, glittering finery laid out before me. The room was well-lit, and it seemed as if…someone…had made an attempt to give it as warm and welcoming an air as such a cavernous chamber could possibly possess.

Slowly, I took up my fork in fingers that trembled so violently I worried for a moment that I might drop the delicate silver utensil. Then I ate, and the silence was the only thing that remained to keep me company.

After dinner, however, my resolve dissolved as soon as I faced the task of making the walk back to my rooms.

_Just keep your eyes focused on what's in front of you,_ I told myself firmly, as I moved towards the door that led out of the dining room, and into the vast castle beyond. _Just look in front of you, and don't turn aside…_

_Don't look back…_

* * *

My sleep that night was filled with visions of my family.

In my dreams, I watched like a disembodied and invisible specter, as my father and brothers rode out of the Forbidden Forest and approached the little cottage that I had grown to know and love as home. I saw my father embracing Antoinette, as tears streamed down her face. Meg clung to her mother's cotton skirts, holding her doll close. Her large blue eyes were filled with confusion, sadness, and loss. Then I saw my brothers walking down the town street, and I could almost feel their grief and hurt as people turned to stare at them and whisper behind their backs. I didn't ever get any glimpse of Carlotta or Portia.

Last I saw Raoul.

He was standing at the bridge over Rowanberry Brook; he stared into its waters first, and then, something in his eyes changed. He looked angry, spiteful, and deeply hurt as he suddenly glared straight at me.

At the Forest.

Then the vision broke into a hundred sparkling shards that reminded me of a certain silver mirror, and blackness consumed my sleep once again.

So much grief.

* * *

When morning's first light crept in through the windows of my room, I opened my eyes slightly. In the following instant I realized that I _hadn't_ just been dreaming about being dressed, housed, and treated like a princess in a silent, shadow-filled castle. It was all real. This was my destiny. Apparently, it was going to be quite some time before I fully accustomed myself to my gorgeous new surroundings.

I promptly went back to sleep, utterly overwhelmed.

* * *

Several hours later I dragged myself back into wakefulness, and lay still in my enormous canopied bed, staring at the room around me.

Everything was very beautiful: all white and gold, with a forest depicted on the walls and an emerald green carpet on the floor. There was a dressing table with a full-length, three-way mirror, shelf after shelf of books, a writing desk, a window seat with several large silken and velvet pillows, and two doors besides the one that led out of my suite of chambers. These fronted a dressing and washroom and a drawing room.

There were enough books in the place to keep me busy reading for the next three months or so, and I could easily envision myself spending hours upon end just looking at the breathtakingly beautiful, gem-ridden gowns, jewelry, and accessories in the dressing room. I had instantly fallen in love with the first gown that I'd seen the night before: the shimmering golden creation had seemed to call my name, even through the haze of my fear and confusion.

Perhaps not everything in this castle was dark and foreboding. If gowns could breathe of goodwill, then perhaps not all was intimidating and fearsome.

I went into the dressing room and looked over the gowns again.

My simple clothing had somehow disappeared the moment that I had removed it from my body the evening before; I thought that I recalled reading of such things in a story sometime before, but I wasn't quite certain. Ah well, this was what one got for living in a cursed palace…

More magic than one could immediately comprehend.

* * *

After a short search, I chose a refined silken gown, of the palest shade of blue, to wear that day. I found that looking over it and noting its details in a poetical mental fashion kept my mind occupied, helping to soothe my uneasiness, borne of the immense silence that surrounded me. The gown's collar rose up high around my shoulders in a graceful swoop, easing down into a gently squared neckline that was embellished with shimmering mother-of-pearl and blue diamonds: sewn in the pattern of a bluebird's wings. Its bodice was sculpted with bone, fitted until the V-shaped waistline, and then the moderately full skirt rushed down to meet the floor, split in the middle to showcase the gown's soft yellow underskirt. It had a small train in the back.

I washed my hair and pulled it halfway back, tying it with a ribbon that matched the gown, and then I found a pair of white sapphire earrings and a topaz comb to accompany the ribbon. Immediately after this, I came across a collection of different coloured glass bottles, which contained various perfumes and essential oils. Of these I made use of a blend that had strong overtones of orange blossoms, dabbing the fragrance onto my skin at the pulse points in my neck and wrists.

Then I ventured out into the castle.

For hours, I strolled through the many wings and corridors of the place, marveling and inspecting all that I saw around me. One hall I walked past seemed to be entirely filled with row upon row of fine portraits, but this chamber I avoided. I would return to it later, when I had time to concentrate on what I saw.

Right now was not a good time.

A door swung open as I walked towards it, and I saw that within was a dining room—and it was _not_ the room I had eaten in the night before. This dining room was wide and open, with many-paned picture windows replacing its two side walls, something I was grateful for; the sunshine would be a welcome breakfast partner. I seated myself in a chair at the table and happened to look away from the table for a moment.

The next instant, when I turned my attentions back to it, I was startled to find that an all-out regalia of a sumptuous breakfast had been laid out for me.

I nearly choked.

_Well now!_

The food wasn't poisoned, though, and it didn't turn me into a frog or provide me with any other sort of adverse reaction.

It was really quite good.

Food, however, and gowns, and my elegant new abode were the least of my concerns. I wanted to see my fiancé, and talk to him. I wanted to know, with a passion, what had happened to the royal family—or rather, the rest of the royal family, as he was a prince—and what the curse was on the castle and the forest that surrounded it. I wanted to know who he was, and…

And I wanted to see him.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day wandering through the castle again, marveling at my surroundings.

There was a library, of course, and it was of a size that suited this most gigantic of castles; there was a hall full of beautiful tapestries depicting what I realized was the history of Kryslora from its very earliest times, and a hall of graceful white, black, and jade marble sculptures. There was a drawing room styled in the colours of spring, and another in summer, and autumn, and winter. I discovered a chamber with a glass dome towering over the floor: a room holding floral specimens that I had only read about before. I was amazed at the strange and exotic blooms and leaves that I saw.

Eventually, I found a sun-drenched terrace and went out onto it, wanting to breathe some fresh air after my long time inside. I was immediately provided with a view over the wide panorama of the castle grounds, and the lands that surrounded it.

Here I could see elegant knot gardens, flower gardens, and row after row of rose bushes: some were so large that I nearly mistook them for trees! Pure white paths—made of either pebbles or marble; I couldn't tell—led through the gardens, bordered by perfectly kept stretches of grass.

How ideal, I noted. I would be able to take some very long walks, as I had been accustomed to doing before…

_Before…_

I bit my lip until I tasted the very first salty-sweet, rather metallic traces of blood, and stared ahead of myself, seeing nothing, until the lump in my throat had gone away, and the stinging sensation in my eyes had faded. I put a hand to my hairline, brushing back an errant curl and took a deep, cleansing breath.

No, I told myself. No.

After a while, it became rather warm under the sun out on the terrace, and so I turned and went inside.

My vision momentarily dimmed as my eyes adjusted themselves to the cool shadows within, and then, when I could see again, I set off down the gilded corridor, hoping to find the library. I eventually recognized my surroundings, and reached the library within a matter of minutes.

The heavy set of double doors that fronted the book-filled chamber glided open as I stood before them, and didn't close again until I had gone inside. I went to the shelf that was nearest to me, and carefully pulled out one of the beautiful leather-bound tomes.

I turned it over and read the title on the front. It had an interesting name, and the story looked to be interesting too.

There was a picture on the front, one that looked curiously life-like: within it was a man on horseback, with wavy tawny-gold locks that framed his attractive face, and the scruffy beginnings of a beard on his chin and jaw line. Behind him was a seating gallery of sorts, decorated in bright and bold festival colours, and another mounted and armored figure, and a tall green hill with nothing but a large stone castle and the great blue sky beyond that. In one corner was a woman in a sea-green gown with a golden crown placed upon her pale flaxen locks. She had an almost worried look on her face, and the golden-haired man was looking at her with an expression of longing and pain.

I frowned and looked at the inside jacket, upon which was inscribed a brief description of the tale.

'…_In the twelfth century, Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe returns home to England from the Third Crusade to claim his inheritance and the love of the lady Rowena. The heroic adventures of this noble Saxon knight involve him in the struggle between Richard the Lion-Hearted and his malignant brother John: a conflict that brings Ivanhoe into alliance with the mysterious outlaw Robin Hood and his legendary fight for the forces of good…_' (1)

The author was one Sir Walter Scott.

I wrinkled my nose in genuine confusion.

Sir Walter Scott? What an odd name!

I certainly hadn't ever heard of him before: a matter of some great consternation to me, an avid reader of books and especially classical literature. And the rest of the book—so many strange names and places! Wilfred of Ivanhoe—Saxon—England—Richard the Lion-Hearted… It simply didn't make any sense. Was it all just some kind of elaborate fantasy fiction that I had not yet been exposed to?

I shrugged, and put the book back on the shelf.

Perhaps later I would make time to read it. As for now, I was beginning to think that this library, in this most magical of castles, might be even more intriguing than I had anticipated…

Upon further investigation of the library, I discovered that it held a mixture of literary works: those that I recognized, and those that I didn't.

Among the most interesting of the latter I listed _The Silmarillion_, _Les Miserables_, _The Scarlet Pimpernel_, _Wuthering_ _Heights_, and _The Symphony of Ages_, a series of books. I'd never seen any of these books before, nor had I heard of any of the authors who had written them, but this only served to intrigue me all the more.

What new worlds would I uncover within them?

Finally, I picked out one book—_The Forgotten Tale_—and took it with me as I went in search of the non-fiction sections in the library. After a little while of searching, I found the history, science, art, and government sections in the library, and spent a long time looking over the titles of the works that I loved the most: the histories of Kryslora and the world. The tales of the exploits of the legendary heroes of the country, and the biographies of some of the country's greatest rulers. I wondered if Prince Erik was listed among them…

Then my stomach began to impatiently remind me of the hour, and so I left the library, bringing _The Forgotten Tale_ along with me.

The door to the dining hall opened as I approached it, but—clutching the book to myself so tightly that my knuckles began to turn white—I halted, staring at the empty, shadowy space beyond the doorway with sudden apprehension.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like sitting in a huge, silent room with only the food and the silence and my own thoughts for company.

"Um…no…please," I said, hastily adding on the 'please' at the end in case I might have offended the…well…whatever it was that caused the doors around this place to open and close without even the slightest prompting. "I…I think I'd rather go to my own room and eat there…if it isn't any trouble."

The last part of that phrase came out as meek and timorous as the squeak of a country mouse. There was a pause, and then the door swung slowly shut again. When it latched closed, the sound was as loud as a cannon shot to my ears. I turned and fled into the shadows, not stopping until I had somehow wound up back at the door of my own room again. Here I stopped, looking up and seeing—for the first time—the plaque that had been placed above the doorframe.

It was a beautiful work of art, like the rest of the castle: made of some sort of silvery metal, it had the words 'Beauty's Room' engraved into it in a scrawling, delicate, and infinitely elegant script. Around its frame was a wealth of curling vines, with what I realized were starflower diamonds serving as the flowers in the midst of the leaves. The candlelight from graceful sconces on the walls reflected in the gems, causing them to sparkle marvelously, and I knew that no matter what I thought or imagined, someone here was doing his very best to give me an attractive and comfortable life.

I ducked my head, lowering my eyelids at this thought, and held the book close again, walking through the doors into my room.

* * *

I found my lunch waiting for me in my drawing room, and once I had dispensed with it, I spent the rest of the early afternoon curled up in one of the huge, comfy armchairs in that same room, reading the book I'd brought with me from the library.

It was one of my favorites—a good, thick and juicy tale of treachery and forbidden love, war, lies, revenge and heartbreak, full of tragedy and duels to the death and, of course, enchantment. Morthalion—or Lord Deathnner Raavon, as was his alias—had always been one of my favorite book characters: a mage, assassin, mercenary, and warrior of great power and ability. I had often imagined what it would have been like if I had been his lady-love, and had had him sweep me off my feet… (2)

I put the book down after a while though, and went for a walk through the castle again. Here I had everything I could have ever wished for back in Sumer's Flax, and it was all right at my fingertips.

Yet I found myself wishing for some company. I'd never been an exceptional fan of large gatherings or parties, being a more solitary and introverted creature than anything else…but the castle seemed to echo of silence so much. I could hear every sound I made, from the slightest whispering of my skirts to the gentle tap-tap-tap of my slippers—with their diamond-studded heels—on the marble floor.

Where were the servants in this castle? Surely someone had to tend to the making of the food I had tasted while I'd been here…and worked in the sprawling gardens…and mended the clothing…and all else… Either they were simply good at making themselves seem invisible, or I was more oblivious than I had ever realized.

Or…or…

I caught sight of an open door, through which was spilling a long stream of warm golden light; it looked welcome, and so I began to walk towards it. When I reached the door, I paused a moment and let my eyes rove over the room beyond.

I was delighted by what I saw.

This was a music room.

* * *

In the city, years before, Father had made certain that all of his children had been given music lessons of some sort. It had been the violin for Richard, the cello for Giles, the flute for Carlotta, and the harp for Portia. I had opted to play what I had thought, as a five-year-old, to be the most versatile and interesting instrument of them all.

The piano.

Unfortunately, after the disaster of Father's business, we had had to sell all of the musical instruments; they wouldn't have survived the strenuous trip to Sumer's Flax and were too costly to keep in our newly less-than-wealthy state. Besides, instructors were few and far between out in the further stretches of Kryslora.

My siblings had mostly abandoned music for other pursuits by then anyway. Richard had no interest in the violin anymore, but Giles would sometimes still pick up his cello every once in a while and play a bit of a tune or so before shaking his head and putting it back away, claiming that he no longer had the talent. Carlotta and Portia had long before found parties, gowns, jewelry, and young men much more to their liking than boring and tiresome music.

My first tutor, Madame Arnoud, had been a strict, taskmaster-general of an instructor where my piano lessons had been involved. I had spent hours upon end drilling over trills, scales and arpeggios, practicing until my fingers became numb, or until she decided that my work was up to her standards.

Generally, the two had gone along with one another.

But eventually I had begun to love music, in all of its facets. Whenever Father had announced plans to go to the symphony or the opera, I had been the first one to beg to be brought along. I had found an inordinate pleasure in listening to the strains of the different sections of the orchestra raised in the greatest crescendo of a concerto, or the uplifted voices of the world's finest mezzo-sopranos and tenors.

While I had never taken voice lessons, Father had always claimed that my voice was as beautiful as my mother's had been…something I had always relished, for it afforded me a connection to the woman I only knew as my mother through stories and pictures, and even vaguer memories…

* * *

Silently, I stepped through the doorway and walked into the room.

It looked as if it hadn't been used in years—as if someone had been within it, some great time before, and then departed in a hurry, leaving everything exactly where it was. There were papers left scattered on the floor, a quill pen and inkwell, the latter of which had long been dried up. Everything was covered in a thick coat of dust; even the carpet, as I tread upon it, had a layer of grime built up on it, and a dull gray cloud was raised as I moved across the room.

I went first to the single most entrancing object in the chamber: an exquisite grand piano, jet black and glossy. There was a candelabra sitting upon it, its candles having melted so far down that their wax had trailed onto the piano itself. On the ledge where the music was set for the musician to read I found several sheets of ancient, yellowed parchment, upon which had been written out bar after bar of elaborate, complicated-looking notes. They cut off in the middle of a bar, however. I frowned and carefully put a few fingers to the piano's keys.

When I applied slight pressure, the keys went down easily, and, pleasantly surprised, I tried playing a few notes. The sound came out crystal clear, of perfect tone and pitch, which surprised me, considering the level of disuse and neglect that the piano had seen. Interesting.

Without a second moment's thought, I swept onto the bench and adjusted it; apparently, the last person who had played it had been quite a bit taller than me.

_Oh stars,_ I thought, suddenly, freezing where I was and feeling a cold sensation rush through me.

_Could it have been **him**…? _

This momentarily immobilized me, but then the black and white ivory keys beckoned to me, singing a wordless, silent siren song to my mind's ear. I could not resist the call. I played a bit of a scale and then one of the first melodies I had ever memorized, years earlier. The sound of the piano was glorious, infinitely more beautiful than any other piano I had ever heard. In a moment, I lost my train of thought and my focus on the melody, and I stopped playing.

I turned around and looked at the rest of the room.

For all of the cobwebs and dust, it still was a rather fine chamber.

Shelves of books—probably librettos, sheet music, and other such collections—lined the walls. There was a harp and a tall bass standing in one corner. There was a desk and a row of quill pens and several more candelabras.

I stood and went over to the shelves.

They were, indeed, full of music books, and after taking a moment to look over the various titles, I chose a book and went back to the piano. Having selected a song, I began to play.

_Weep you no more, sad fountains;_

_What need ye flow so fast?_

_Look how the snowy mountains_

_Heaven's sun doth gently waste!_

_But my sun's heavenly eyes_

_View not your weeping,_

_That now lies sleeping,_

_Softly, softly, now, softly, softly lies_

_Sleeping._

_Sleep is a reconciling,_

_A rest that peace begets;_

_Doth not the sun rise smiling_

_When fair at e'en he sets?_

_Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!_

_Melt not in weeping,_

_While she lies sleeping,_

_Softly, softly, now, softly, softly lies_

_Sleeping (3)_

Suddenly, the wind outside picked up, and the window blew inwards. A gust of wind flew into the room, along with all of the old, dried-up leaves that had fallen onto the window ledge for however many autumns past.

I broke off in the midst of a strain, standing bolt upright. I realized what had happened and calmed my startled mind, although my heart did not stop pounding as I walked across the room and carefully closed the window.

Then I stood back, staring out through the diamond-shaped panes, and saw that the sky had once more grown dark with encroaching clouds. The breeze I had felt was cool and wet, which told me that it would soon be raining, and when I looked at the clouds I saw a faint flicker of light from within them. A dull, far-off rumble of thunder sounded, and I turned away.

I had spent enough time here, I decided. It was getting late. And I had other places to be.

Such as…at dinner…with my fiancé.

I ran back to my room, all the while listening to the sound of the thunder outside, its rumbling somewhat muffled by the castle walls and ceilings and windows. To me, this particular storm seemed to be trying to sing me a sort of song: some strange, arcane and covert melody that I could not quite decipher.

* * *

Once in my room, I shut the door behind myself—instead of waiting for it to ease closed on its own—and brushed my wild and disarrayed curls away from my face, looking around myself. The gold-and-crystal chime clock that stood on the table beside the enormous white and gold canopy told me that it was already eight o'clock, though the sun had only just begun to set. The dark clouds that had rolled accross the sky made it seem darker though, and I paused a moment to look out the window.

The wind had continued to whisk roughly over the land, stirring the tree branches and bushes and undergrowth, and, as it ran over the wide stretches of the castle lawns, the silvery-green blades of grass seemed transformed into a rippling sea. A few leaves rushed past my window, borne on that same wind, as the first few fat raindrops splattered against the crystal-clear glass panes.

I shuddered and stepped back, still looking outside, and remembered with painful clarity the night that my father…and my two brothers…had stepped inside the palace gates with me. They had been as fearful and uneasy as I…at least we had been together then: a family.

Now I was alone.

For the moment, that was.

_I had better not let myself be late for dinner…_

Turning my mind to the present once more, I went into the dressing room and opened the first of the gigantic wardrobes that I set eyes upon. The many gowns within threatened to spill out around me in a glorious confusion of colour and texture, shape and size, but didn't do anything of the sort, mercifully.

I considered them for a moment, and then went over to the next wardrobe, and opened it as well. There were so many choices…I had always loved pretty clothing, but had been taught by circumstance to do without it. Once again, it was going to take me some time before I accustomed myself to being a princess, whether I liked it or not…

When I finished dressing, I discovered that my gown from earlier that day had disappeared from the chair that I had hung it over while I had wrestled with the enormous tent of ethereal silver velvet and white silk that was the gown I had chosen to wear to dinner that evening.

Dressed to the nines with a proper lady's amount of jewelry—graceful chandelier earrings, combs for my hair, a necklace, and a beautiful fan that gave off the fragrance of sandalwood and roses when I waved it—I left my room and began my walk through the castle halls, hoping that I would be able to find the dining room in the increased darkness.

* * *

But my path didn't lead me to the dining room—not directly, at any rate.

No…it led me somewhere entirely different.

When I took note of the fact that the candles in the chandeliers above me and in the torches and sconces that lined the walls had ceased to light themselves as I walked towards them, I also suddenly realized that I was in a part of the castle that I had not yet come across.

Here, I saw that the castle had _aged_. When I looked closely, I noticed that there were cracks in the pillars that lined the walls like proud, solemn sentinels; there was dust on every surface, and tendrils of ivy beginning to grow through a broken window pane here and there; some of the curtains at the windows were torn and faded.

Then I saw the stairway.

_Christine…Christine…_

I flinched, clutching at the corner of the wall that I stood beside, and immediately cursed myself for being such a frightened, nervous little girl. Where had my past bravery gone?

I looked up and saw that across the corridor, on the wall opposite from where I stood, there was a doorway.

There was nothing but darkness beyond it, but somehow I sensed that this darkness was not one to be feared by me. It seemed comforting somehow…comforting and familiar, and reassuring somehow…

I picked up my skirts and went across the floor, stepping just inside of the doorway. As I peered into the darkness, I saw the even blacker outline of perfectly symmetrical, blocky shapes.

Stairs.

My eyes became more adjusted to the shadows, and I realized that I was standing at the foot of a winding staircase. Where it went, I had no idea. Then the wind whistled down the staircase to meet me, and I heard it again…

"Christine…"

Someone had said it that time, an actual living, breathing someone, and not just my imagination. Someone was calling me, encouraging me to heed it…and walk up those dark stairs…and that softly breathed, siren-like call was inexorable, even in the face of my fears of the dark unknown.

_Christine._

In the midst of the utter blackness, I glimpsed a diamond-studded blue space…then the pale, giant glowing pearl of the full moon appeared, and I knew that I had at last found the end of the stairway.

Cautiously, I stepped through the doorway and looked around myself. I found myself standing in a large, open space that appeared to be the top of a tower of sorts: a three-tiered ledge bordered it on all four sides, with four pillars standing at each corner supporting a dome-shaped roof. This, of all the other places in Shadowrose Castle, had to be the very best view of the palace itself and the lands that surrounded it.

If I had wanted to, I could have walked right off the ledge into thin air. The wind howled around me, tearing at my hair and gown, and I fleetingly considered turning around and returning indoors. If I was late for dinner…

"Hello, Christine."

A pause.

"It is a beautiful evening, is it not? Look at the stars—see how they sparkle? The storm has washed away the day, and now the sky is at peace once again, for night reigns. Look at the stars—they are shining for _you_, can't you tell?"

The voice, low, velvety, and completely entrancing, wrapped around me like a fall of summer raindrops, like the softest of furs. It found its way into my mind like warm champagne, and into my soul like a love letter. Its owner had spun a dream for me: a dream of magic, a dream of _words_, and then held me suspended within its world. It made me its thrall, and I went willingly into its enchantment.

Upon hearing those words spoken to me, I felt an electrifying, magnetic gaze on the back of my neck. Chills ran up and down my spine and I withstood the desire to shiver. No one—_no one—_had ever looked at me that way. I didn't even have to turn around and look to know.

And I couldn't turn around, for a moment.

"Come…look at the constellations," said the voice.

I turned around.

It was dark beneath the domed roof: all was cast in shadow there, in spite of the full moon. I had to look for a moment to see him: he was merely a slightly darker shadow in the midst of the darkness, and I could only see his general outline. Then he moved, without a single noise to betray him, and I saw that he had offered his hand to me. I followed the palm of the hand up to its wrist, and then followed the line of the arm up to a shoulder…

And thence on to the pair of glittering, ice blue eyes that I knew I would always remember so very, very vividly. They almost seemed to glow for a moment, when I looked into them. I shrank back and the glow in the eyes receded.

"Christine…come…" the voice repeated.

I obeyed.

Seemingly of its own accord, my arm rose from my side, and I placed my hand in his. Long, slender, and strong fingers sheathed in black velvet gloves closed over mine. At this, I looked up and met with my eyes the shining blue orbs that were focused on me. I thought they warmed a bit.

Then my arm was being drawn through my companion's arm: which was long, warm, and hard as steel. I could easily feel his muscles through his clothing, and immediately I thought of how easy it would be for a man as undeniably powerful and well-built as this to break a weak little thing such as myself like a twig. But then I noticed something else: his arm held mine as gently and as carefully as it might have held a porcelain doll, or a hummingbird's egg. The touch upon my arm was light and deft, and yet I felt safe and guarded within its encircling grasp.

'_Christine'…why does he call me that?_

Wordlessly, he led me up the three tiers until we stood together at the very edge of the tower, my skirts and his cloak blowing in the wild and untamable wind.

I looked down too soon, too quickly, and immediately regretted it. My stomach turned over when I saw the sheer drop below me and I shuddered, closing my eyes and shrinking back. Then my shoulder blades met a warm, velvety surface that heaved and resided. I instantly blushed and tried to move away, self-effaced.

"Forgive me, my lord," I said. "I…I am not at all used to heights."

I felt his arm move…

And it wrapped around my waist, its fellow following a moment later. Wispy, rough strands of dark hair brushed against my face, my throat, my shoulder, and I inhaled the scent of incense, myrrh, and some other dark fragrance.

Then the voice whispered directly in my ear, winding and insinuating itself into my mind like a beautiful, bejeweled serpent.

"Don't fear…I'll hold you. I'll keep you from falling."

And suddenly, I trusted him.

Somehow I knew that he wouldn't let me fall.

I stared up at the stars for a moment, marveling at the perfectly etched beauty of the manifold constellations, which were clear here in a way I had never seen before.

_Magical…_ I thought.

I felt as though I had somehow become a part of a mysterious game, where I was denied the privilege of seeing my betrothed's face, and yet had been left very much abandoned with him here, in a castle full of magic and beauty.

_Am I now part of this enchantment?_

Suddenly, my companion sighed deeply. The sound was as lonely and painful to hear as a bitterly cold winter storm wind, and it made my heart ache, though I didn't know why. The grip of the arms on my waist shifted, and then he murmured, so softly that I could barely hear him—

"Ah, _Christine_…"

_That name again…_

I turned my head, angling my face so that I could look up at his luminous blue eyes, and stared into the shadows.

"Why do you call me that, my lord?" I questioned. "My name…"

"…is Christina," he finished for me.

Then a gloved fingertip came underneath my chin, and lifted my face even further up. There was a silent pause, and then the words drifted out of the darkness…

"But to _me_, you are _Christine_. And none else."

And because he had said it, and none else…

I felt that it had to be true.

* * *

_So...how's about some nice dark fluffiness for Erik and Christine? I do love it so..._

_This chapter dedicated, fondly, to my brand-new beta-reader, VagrantCandy. So if you all want to thank or praise someone for carefully picking through all my ramblings and making them post-worthy...talk to her. Thanks, Ms. Candy!_

_In further notes..._

_(1) The description of the book, Ivanhoe, that Christine finds in Erik's castle library is actually the version that I own; the description of the picture on the front and the story summary really are like what I described in this chapter. So...the cover artwork and the story summary are not mine, but rather "quotes" of a kind._

_(2) Someone has asked me before if the story of Lord Deathner Raavon and Lady Valwen--The Forgotten Tale--is a real book or not. My answer to that is...well, not YET, it's not. The Forgotten Tale is an as-of-yet unwritten portion of my Travelers of Enchantment fantasy/fairy-tale series, which Prince Erik of Kryslora also has a cameo in. Check out my profile for details on THAT, though. And if you REALLY want to know about it...well, just ask me. I'd be glad to share._

_(3) This song, of course, does NOT belong to me; it is copyright of John Dowland. Some of you may remember it from the movie Sense and Sensibility--Kate Winslet's character, Marianne, sings it at one point, while playing the piano. It is SOOOO lovely, and I thought...well, it's a perfect choice for Christine to sing. Don't you think so too? _

_And on that note, I shall bid you farewell for now, until my next post. Do leave us a note..._

_Ta!_


	19. By Moonlight

**_Chapter Seventeen –_**

**_By Moonlight_**

**_-Erik-_**

* * *

For so many years I had endured the unceasing, maddening burn of a sorceress's foul enchantment upon my skin; my every moment was filled with the crawling stinging of a raw wound that was my curse to bear as punishment for my past.

My sleep was filled with nightmares—but the hours in which I was awake were much worse, for that was where the pain resided.

I had no means to escape it.

She stood there before me for a moment, in a perfect pool of pure moonlight, resplendent in her princess's gown and jewels. Her delicate fingertips toyed with the diamond-studded chain of her necklace, and her silver-and-amber eyes flicked back and forth rapidly, flitting watchfully through the shadows. Yet I did not feel a need to worry. I knew that she could not see me and that, in her heart, _she_ knew as well as I did that I had called her to me.

I greeted her then, and spoke in a light conversational tone of the stars and the nighttime. I watched—with a growing sense of delight—as the uncertainty and fear in her eyes vanished, leaving behind a mesmerized expression of rapt attention.

This was the way that I _knew _I could charm her.

If I had wanted to, I could have utterly captivated her with the mere power of my words, the sound of my voice. With my voice, I could spin a web of enchantment around anyone…around _her_…and she would not escape. She wouldn't even have a _hope_ to escape, a _thought_ to flee. More than that…she would not have _wanted_ to escape me, for my voice would have been like the sunshine, like water, to her.

But no…I didn't want a mindless thrall.

I wanted _her_.

* * *

Now I beckoned to her and spoke again: this time giving her a command, telling her to stand by me and look at the wondrous star-creatures in the sky.

She was motionless for a moment, looking into the darkness where she knew I stood, where I had let her hear my voice. Her fingers wrapped themselves around a fold of her full, silver velvet skirt, and tightened until the bones showed through at her knuckles. Her eyes were dark now, and watchful. I watched her as she was watching me.

We were at an impasse for that moment.

As I looked at her, watched her, I suddenly saw more than intelligence and wit in her eyes, more than bravery and thoughtfulness and imagination…I saw _knowing_.

She understood.

I didn't know how, but the strange, unearthly light of comprehension towards that which was not seen or heard, of understanding beyond the immediate reality before her…it was there in her eyes. And in that instant, I knew in my heart that I could _never_ use my powers against her. She would know. She would see it and despise me.

She would _see_.

I took a breath, so quietly that only I could have heard it, and stepped forward. I raised my hand again, holding it out to her.

"Christine…come…" I said again.

_How many years had it been since I had felt the human touch? _

As the prince of a large and prosperous kingdom so many long decades before, this had been something that I had been accustomed to—something I scarcely even noticed. As the prince, I had been expected to endure hand-shaking, embraces, dancing, athletic contact and uncountable others…

But I had not felt the touch of another human being for over fifty years now. I almost couldn't contain my raging anticipation and dread as she took those two short but seemingly endless steps towards me, lifting her hand to place it in mine.

_I hadn't felt the touch of another human being in more than fifty years…_

Her tiny hand slipped into mine, her fingers coming to rest within my palm, and I repressed the great, convulsive shudder that went through me. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, withstanding the rush of sensations that went through me.

I couldn't really feel her hand; my gloves prevented that.

But still…there it was…

She was standing next to me, our hands joined. She had no idea how she was affecting me, what her presence did to me.

With an air of cool, complacent ease, though I felt nothing of the sort, I drew her arm through mine and we went to see the stars. As I watched, she immediately looked up into the sky, her moist and full ruby-red lips parting as she beheld the wonder and glory of the night sky.

Then she looked down.

I was standing behind her, slightly to her left—nearer to her than she realized, as she viewed the sky. When she abruptly shuddered and took a hasty step back, I stepped forward and put my hands out to steady her, curling my fingers beneath her elbows.

She stopped however, and put the back of her right hand over her eyes as she took a few steadying breaths. Then she stiffened as her shoulders touched against my lower chest. I froze, paralyzed with the sensation of her living warmth so near to me…

_And for a moment, I could scarcely breathe. _

"Forgive me, my lord…I…I am not at all used to heights," she said, breathlessly.

In response, I raised my arm and carefully slid it around her slender waist. Then I put my other arm around her as well, so that I was holding her securely to me.

I wasn't going to let her go…

I would _never_ let her go.

The instant that I had put my arms around her, I felt as if I had somehow put my hand into a stream of pure, liquid musical sound. A humming vibration traveled through my gloves, up through my fingers, my arms, and wove me into its harmony. The everlasting burn in my skin entirely ceased.

I stared down at her.

I had never felt more whole, more contented and finally, at long last, able to rest, if only for a moment, than I did at that very moment.

I lowered my face down towards her profile, enchanted by the curve of her graceful neck, the faint nuance of a perfume that held within it the fragrance of roses, frangipani, and sandalwood, the sparkle of her jeweled earrings in the moonlight, the honey-kissed auburn silk spiraling curls of her hair.

"Don't fear…" I told her. "I'll hold you. I'll keep you from falling."

She was silent…

But she did not move away. She did not speak, but she did not run from me either.

Instead she merely folded her arms over mine and slowly, to my astonishment, relaxed in my arms. She had been stiff and cold at first, and now…when she finally leaned back, letting me hold her up, with her head resting on my chest, just over my _thundering_ heart…I knew that she had let herself trust me.

She _trusted_ me.

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation…_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the harmony that dreams alone can write…_

_The power of the Music of the Night…_

But would night prove, tragically, to be only another sort of curse for her, this child of the morning? I could hardly bear the thought of her rejection…

"Ah, _Christine_…" I sighed, feeling pain sear into my soul.

* * *

After that, I said no more and neither did she. We simply stood together, looking out at the stars, comfortable in the silence. My thoughts strayed into paths of the mind that I could not have possibly retraced, and I became neglectful of the time.

It was only when a particularly rough and rather cold gust of wind tore past us—causing my cloak to billow, and her fragrant hair to drift over my shoulder—that I returned to reality. I looked up at the moon, noting how it had progressed in its journey across the sky, and inhaled deeply, clearing my mind.

"Christine, milady," I said in court-mode, as I reluctantly stepped away, "It is getting quite late, and I do not believe that you have been able to dine yet. Perhaps we ought to return inside?"

She looked in my general direction, and some emotion flickered in her eyes again, darkening them slightly. I couldn't immediately comprehend what it had been, but it seemed that that was something about her that I was destined to become infinitely familiar with. There were more mysteries in her eyes, I thought suddenly, than in all of the books in my castle.

"Very well," she replied, lowering her eyes and inclining her head to the side. "You will, of course, be joining me at dinner my lord?"

"If you wish, milady."

Then I put up a hand, index finger raised, as a warning.

"However," I continued, in a cautionary tone of voice, "I must repeat my words of last night—I have long lived with the knowledge that I am among the most unsightly of creatures that has ever had the misfortune to draw breath in this world. I have seen how my appearance has affected others, and let me assure you milady, it is not something that I…_enjoy_. I may be a hideous brute, the most horrific and terrible monster of all, _but_ _I have a soul_. I do not wish to inflict my ugliness on you. Therefore, if I remain with you while you dine, I must impose upon you this one condition, a necessary demand—"

I paused, biting my lip until I tasted blood and felt exquisite pain.

"Do not try to _see_ _me_. Do not _look at me_. Can you promise me this?"

She looked into the shadows where I stood, and it suddenly seemed as if her eyes pierced directly into mine. I shuddered and looked away, unable to bear the intensity of her gaze.

"Yes," she said. "I will promise."

* * *

Our walk to the dining hall was largely quiet, and dark, for I had given a silent magical command that the candles and other fires around the castle be dimmed until we'd reached our destination, and I was safe within the shadows again.

Serene as a cloudless summer's afternoon, Christina strolled at my side, keeping up with me, which I very much admired. I was trying to change my pace as much as I could—without being obnoxiously obvious about it—in order to accommodate her, but the fact still remained that my stride was much longer than hers. She had a petite, though willowy and well-proportioned figure, and I…I was tall. I always _had_ been tall, like a specter.

I was momentarily interrupted from my customary silent brooding by the sound of her voice. She paused, her hand unconsciously pulling at my arm a bit as she stopped in the midst of the hallway, turning to look off to the side, and said—

"That corridor…"

I followed her gaze and saw what she was looking at.

A jolt of venomous trepidation and protectiveness went through me when I found myself staring at the open doorway of the room that had once been the grand portrait gallery of Shadowrose Castle, where the paintings of Kryslorean monarchs and nobility from ages past had been viewed daily by the court. I had not ventured into it for years, and the reasons were obvious. That room held within it the very last picture of the Prince Erik that I, and everyone else, had known for twenty-six years, a seeming lifetime before.

But that was not it either—yes, I said '_reasons_'.

Also within that room, between the paintings, were at least a hundred mirrors, and they had all been smashed, brutally and instantly shattered into countless silvery shards.

_My face…_

"What of it?"

My words came out more like a low growl than I had meant them to. I felt my heart nearly stop with dread as I searched for something else to say, to dismiss my rash question.

"What would you know of it, milady?" I continued, more smoothly. "I've not ventured into that chamber for some time, but I could tell you of the history of the portraits contained within it."

She turned her face up to me, and I saw that her eyes were filled with rapt awe and appreciation. Quite apparently, my companion was an avid admirer of history.

_Very educated then!_

"Oh yes," she breathed. "I read almost every history book I could find in the library back in Sumer's Flax, but that would be nothing, absolutely nothing at all, compared to hearing of it from someone who is more a part of it than any historian could ever be! Oh, would you? I would be so grateful!"

In spite of myself, I found that I had to smile. Her youthful, innocent abandon and eagerness was refreshing in an incredible way to my soul, and I saw that we were more similar than I had thought.

"I would not have offered my services had I not intended to offer them to you, my lady," I told her, raising a lightly sardonic eyebrow. "If you do not find my speech repugnant to your ears that is—my social skills are, I must admit, somewhat lapsed as of my recent hiatus from society."

She smiled back.

"When 'society' here is defined as only the two of us, your Highness, I do not see a logical reason why its predetermined social skills and rules should matter. You've been nothing but the very kindest to me, ever since I arrived here. I can find no reason to say that you are without courtesy."

And before I could reply, she reassumed her former position at my side and tugged a bit on my arm with her own.

"Come," she said, gracefully. "I do believe that I am at last beginning to be quite famished my lord and my sensibilities are loudly warning me that dinner would be a proper thing to seek now."

We reached the dining hall within only a moment or two longer, and I reached for the door handle, simultaneously murmuring the words of the dimming spell, which caused all of the candles within the room to lower their glow to a faint, ruddy hue.

I swept a bow to Christina, gesturing for her to step inside. With a gentle nod to acknowledge me, she gathered her skirts into her hands and whisked through the doorway. I followed a moment later and watched her as she walked down the long row of empty, ornate chairs that lined both sides of the banquet table, moving towards the place that had been set out for her.

She turned and looked towards where I was standing by the door, and her right eyebrow angled up slightly as she regarded me quizzically.

"My lord?"

"Forgive me milady," I said and made my way down to the end of the table where she stood. "Please."

I pulled out her chair for her and motioned for her to be seated. She awarded me another one of her dazzling smiles and effortlessly perched herself on the throne-like chair.

Quietly marveling at her ability to move so gracefully in such a gown, I went to one of the other chairs and sat down as well. Dinner was already spread out on the table, courtesy of the magic in the castle. Christina filled her plate with a healthy portion of everything she wanted and then looked towards me.

"My lord?" she questioned again, "are you not hungry?"

"Forgive me my lady," I told her evenly. "I…do not find it…_necessary_ to my metabolism to confine my eating habits to the established times in the day—breakfast, lunch, teatime, dinner."

I waved a hand to punctuate those terms.

"I eat whenever I find myself hungry; do not let me cause you unease. Would you rather I left?"

But I knew, even as I said those words, what her reply would be.

"No—no, not at all," she said.

And I saw the desperation in her eyes.

_Poor child,_ I thought, looking at her. _She knows true solitude now, because she is trapped here in a prison with a monster. She should have never known sorrow there…and she should never know loneliness with me. But how can I make certain that she is nothing but content and happy? I cannot transform myself into a replacement for her family…I am nothing but the man who bought her hand, a shadow whom she barely knows and cannot really wish to know…_

"As you wish milady," I replied.

* * *

Our conversation dwindled as she ate. From time to time, we would speak to one another again, but then it was only on light and general subjects. I was especially interested in inquiring after her interests, likes, and dislikes. It was my great desire to know more about her.

Then…

"My lord, there is one thing that I am very curious about in your castle," she said to me, as I escorted her to her room after dinner.

I replied, lightly—

"Oh? And what might that be my lady?"

She went on a few steps before revealing, "Today, while I was walking through the castle, I found your library."

"I hope it was to your approval?" I remarked, with a slight tinge of ironic humor.

She grinned and said—

"Oh, but of course it was! I've never seen, never even _heard of_ a library of such size and grandeur! Surely the Emperor himself could easily envy you! Such a collection of books…however," she continued, drawing the subject back to where it had been, "I happened across several volumes that I had never seen before, and this perplexed me. Where on earth did you get your library collection?"

"Tell me some of their names," I instructed her.

She named them off easily. _Ivanhoe_, the _Symphony of Ages_ trilogy, _Sense and Sensibility_, _The Black Arrow_, _A Room with a View_, _The Cat Who Saw Red_, and several others. I began to laugh, softly, deep in my throat, when she had concluded the list.

"As you've no doubt already surmised, milady, there is quite a lot of magic left to float freely and randomly about this castle…and in a world such as ours, where magic can exist, there is not a whole incredible lot that one can't bring oneself to believe…"

She was frowning at me now.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Christina…" I said, turning and gathering her hands into mine. Not so much to keep her from bolting away from me once I had said what I was about to say, as to feel the touch of her hands again. "There are more worlds than just ours. There are more people, creatures, countries, and cultures than there are stars in this very sky. Some of the books in my library come from those other worlds; some of them are from ours. All are engrained with magic—and magic, if it is good, knows no boundaries, and is within much more than a good portion of the world than it could ever know. Now—"

I pulled back slightly, tipping my face down so that I could look into her eyes with more ease. I smiled slightly behind the mask.

"Does that answer your question?"

Her eyes were full of wonder; they reflected the stars perfectly. "Yes…" she murmured. "I believe you…it does…"

If only I could hear her say yes to another question…

_Ask her! Ask her now!_ My mind hissed at me.

I took a deep breath, one that rattled within my chest.

"Christine?"

She looked at me inquiringly.

"Yes…milord?"

I struggled to find my voice; I began, my heart pounding—

"Would you…can you…do you think…"

I closed my eyes and said the fatal words.

"Do you think…that you might ever love me?"

_

* * *

_

_Disclaimer:_

—_Erik's library, as most of you have noticed, is my fictional nod to the genius of Robin McKinley, who originally came up with the idea of a library that contains not only her fairy tale world's current literature, but future literature as well. _

_But, summarily…well, I just don't own it. **Any of it**. Some of the concepts of this story belong to me, and some of them don't. I trust that all of you phans out there will know the difference._

_(End disclaimer.)_


	20. Angel

**_Chapter Eighteen –_**

**_Angel_**

**_-Christina-_**

* * *

****

As I dreamt that night, I found myself walking in the forest that surrounded Shadowrose Castle.

_

* * *

_

_The trees were tall, dark specters that stood out imposing and ominous in the thick grey mist, and the wind was blowing again, only now it seemed as if it were more of a mournful sigh than a calling. _

_I was looking for Erik, and I couldn't find him…I could never find anyone I was looking for in my dreams…but I heard voices in the distance, and I suddenly recognized his as one of them. I picked up my skirts and hastened towards the sound of the voices, tearing through the mist anxiously._

"_Oh, and what a very nice job you have done thus far, my dear Prince," cooed a silky female tone that dripped with maliciousness and spite. "You've caught yourself a little cherub in your net! It's only too bad, though: she came into your realm looking for an angel…when do you think she'll discover that her angel is really a monster? Her precious little mind will shatter in that very instant, I think…"_

_And the owner of the voice began to laugh, making my dream self shiver._

_Suddenly, Erik's voice cut in. His tone was steel-edged and angry, but cold and scathing as a paper-thin scimitar._

"_You've nothing to do with her, or this place anymore, sorceress!" he snarled. "Seek somewhere else to vent your evil_—_you can do no mischief here."_

"_So you believe that you are so very advanced in your powers?" questioned the woman. "Has the world changed so much, dark Prince? Or do you yet burden yourself with false hope? I tell you now, truly, that you may yet escape this entanglement of yours…you **know** what you should do…"_

"_And become your slave, witch? I think not." _

"_Then you will take your chances with this unremarkable mouse_—_this inexperienced little dreamer, a naïve little nobody? A mortal? You are yet a fool."_

"_She has a good heart, and her soul is pure, sweet, and noble. She will see something worth loving in the darkest place, and she will learn, in time, to see past the face of this monster. And then, witch, you will have no hope, and no place here."_

"_I think that I have no place here now…but time will amend that. See her, milord? She lies there before you, sleeping, and does not know that you observe her. You may reach out and touch her_—_I can see your fingers stretching to brush her rose-petal cheek, to caress back a curl of her hair from her face_—_and yet she will not know it. She is little, and unknowing. She will not see, and she will not care. Why do **you** still hope? Have I not shown you that **you have no hope**?"_

"_She will see something worth loving in this dark place," his voice said again, in a soft, tender murmur, so warm that I could almost feel it like the touch of spring sunlight on my face. "She will see past the face of this monster…the creature I've become…she will see."_

"_But if her life is ended?"_

_Suddenly, thunder cracked through the forest, and the wind howled, whipping the mist into a frenzy; the ground trembled and groaned beneath my feet._

"_You will not touch her, Ellexssya! I will abide none of your darkness upon her_—_no matter what hold you think that you now have over my life, this place is still my domain! And if you dare come near her, I will hunt you down through a thousand millennia, and you will wish that you hadn't."_

"_Very well, Erik…"_

_Then there was a hissing noise, and a burst of red light…and suddenly the forest seemed much cleaner and happier, as if some great malevolent presence had just removed itself from the earth. _

_I blinked, and found myself lying stretched out on the soft, springy green turf that lined the banks of the canal_: _the canal lined with orange trees and myrtles, all in flower, filling the air with their glorious perfume. I sat up slowly, feeling dazed and disoriented. My dream self didn't know quite where she was; I was confused and anxious, sensing somehow that I'd just been told something that I ought to remember, but couldn't. I seemed to recall that I had been looking for someone…but I hadn't found him. _

"_My love, where are you?"_

_Then I heard the faintest rustle of velvet from behind me, and turned around, startled. And who stood behind me, looking into my eyes with an expression of tender, ardent love and compassion._

_My dream-prince._

_He reached for my hands, and helped me to stand: we faced one another, staring long into one another's eyes, and then he spoke._

"_Where am I? I am here with you, dear one…never doubt that. I will not leave you. You are mine, and I love you…but I cannot come to you as I am now when you awaken, for there is magic that binds me to this, the world of your dreams. Will you hold on to my memory, and fight to remember our love, through everything else in the world?"_

"_Of course I will," I promised, breathlessly. "But how might I set you free? I know of no spells or enchantments; I can't wield a sword or command dragons…how can I possibly help you?"_

_He smiled at me, and I felt my knees go weak at the depth of love in his eyes. He reached out and caressed my cheek, his fingers curling beneath my chin, tipping my face back so that I was looking directly into his face. He was so beautiful. Then he told me…_

"_Listen to your soul, Christine…you will find what you seek. Your love will save us both. Never fear: I am here, in your dreams…"_

"_Who are you?" I whispered._

_He smiled, yet again._

"_I am your Angel. Didn't you know…?"_

* * *

Then my eyes flew open, and I awakened. It was morning: sunlight was pouring in through my window, pristine and bright and cheerful. Birds were singing.

But I could only think of one thing…

"Angel."


	21. The Music Teacher

_**Chapter Nineteen –**_

_**The Music Teacher**_

_**-Erik-**_

* * *

****

I stood at my window, looking out at the sunset and noticing, for the first time in many, many years, the faint reflection of my face in the glass.

The sky seemed as if it had been stained with blood: the place where the sun had but lately drifted beyond the dark line of the mountains that ringed my lands was glowing a pure, molten gold, as if the very edge of the world had caught on fire. Darkness was creeping over my kingdom, once again.

The face in the glass stared back at me with pale blue eyes that were framed by black. It was a masked face: entirely hidden within the smooth ebony porcelain.

_How strange…_

I had strenuously avoided looking upon myself since the curse had been laid upon me, but within the moments of my deepest reveries, when I felt the most alone, I always somehow found the will within me to face the monster again.

As my eyes roved over the terrible features—the daunting black mask, the straggling, wild mane of dark hair falling over the mask, and worst, my eyes themselves—I wondered for the thousandth time how the beautiful Christina could survive the sight of me, if she should ever come face to face with the horrors that waited behind my mask.

I wanted so badly to cease skulking about in the shadows, hiding myself. I wanted to be a man again—a man, and not a hideous beast.

And now I sighed, as I remembered.

She had been here a month now. A month—during which I refused to approach her at any other time but dusk, when I deemed the shadows thick enough to conceal me, and at night. I had watched her constantly, through my magic looking-glasses and through following her about the castle as she spent her days alone.

Was she lonely…?

I couldn't let her go…

I _had_ to keep her here…

Every evening, when we were together, I spoke to her and kept her company, and we slowly began to be more at ease with one another. She still treated me as if I were the lord and master of the castle, and I still kept distance between us, but we were less ill at ease with one another than before, in the beginning of her life at my castle. We could talk to one another and converse with ease on a number of different subjects, although we remained in silence more often than not.

Then, at the end of every evening, I asked my question.

_Do you think that you might ever love me…?_

In a sudden burst of pure black rage, I slammed my fist down onto the window ledge, my muscles tensing instinctively. The dull pain began to well in my hand, and I stared at it. She wouldn't love me, or she _couldn't_ love me.

She had said it to me herself—

* * *

_Her eyes widened and she looked at me as if she might have, had she actually seen my terrible features. Part of me wanted to strike that look of incredulous terror off her face with a vicious backhanded smack. The other part of me wanted to fall down on my hands and knees before her and, sobbing, beg her forgiveness for my being a monster, for keeping her here against her will, for being the poor monster that was so madly in love with her…_

_She shook her head, her eyes never leaving me._

"_I-I'm sorry, your Highness…" she whispered, in plain fright. "But…I do not know…"_

* * *

"Curse you. Curse you both," I said in a soft, murderous tone: staring blankly out at the darkening sky once again. I didn't know whom I intended those words for more—the beautiful, innocent, and unknowing Christina, or the seductive sorceress who had me trapped in her net. One had ensnared me, the other had doomed me.

No…

They'd both done the same.

I sighed, and left the window, going across the room to my favorite space: the wall that was entirely covered by the immense golden pipe organ that I'd had installed there in my youth. Lovingly, I ran my fingers over the faded ivory keys, as a wistful smile curved my misshapen lips.

Once, I'd been able to play such melodies on this grand instrument, and my soul had soared right along with the notes…

But my music, in its own terrible way, had doomed me as well.

No more could I bring to life my music, the endless melodies and strains that constantly filled my mind. I couldn't even write out my librettos any more, for my hands had been included in my curse as well.

I had had to abandon my music, for the pain.

Standing before the smashed-out frames of the three perfectly angled mirrors that had once occupied another space in my room, I reached up with both my hands and ran them over my scalp, digging my fingers into my rough hair. I felt the silk ribbons that were the laces to my mask and, trembling slightly, I gently pulled at them. In an instant, they slipped undone, and I put my hands over my mask, carefully—cautiously—hesitantly—easing it off of my face.

The air in the room, which was temperate and even on the rest of me, seared onto the flesh of my face, burning the sensitive skin that was so unused to being exposed. I hissed in a breath, and waited for the pain to ebb.

And then I looked in the mirror.

The remaining shards of glass in the mirrors held a thousand tiny reflections of my face, catching only minute pieces of its living puzzle: the corner of my mouth, an eyebrow, my eyes, my jaw line. I stared at the mask that I held in my hands, as it gaped up at me, relentlessly black.

_Oh, Christine…_

Tears stung my eyes, and I groped about like a blind man for something—anything—solid that I could hold onto. I reached a desk nearby and snatched a hold of it, gripping the wooden surface until my arms ached.

I had to make her love me!

Whatever I had to do, whatever means I had to employ, I had to win her heart! I had to possess her undying love, for I would not only remain cursed—and I would go mad!

She _would_ love me…

* * *

The candles in the castle had already been lit for the night as I walked down the corridor, the heels of my boots making the only noise I could hear: tapping hollowly on the marble floor. Suddenly, I thought that I had heard something from far off, distant and echoing in the castle. I frowned. It couldn't be….

But oh yes, it _could_.

_Nessun_ _dorma, nessun dorma! _

_Tu_ _pure, O Principe, _

_nella_ _tua fredda stanza _

_guardi_ _le stelle, _

_che_ _tremano d'amore _

_e_ _di speranza!_

_Ma il mio mistero é chiuso in me, _

_il_ _nomemio nessun saprá! _

_No, no, sulla tua bocca lo dirò, _

_quando_ _la luce splenderà!_

My steps led me to the doorway of a room that I had stepped into but little over the years of my enchantment. Here, some of my warmest and most beautiful memories were housed, and although the sight of that room brought me a bittersweet kind of sense of reunion, I could not tear myself away.

I crept to the doorway, looking into the room with eyes darkened by conflicting emotions: memory, disbelief, and pure wonder being supreme among these. The door had been left partly open; there was light inside, and from within came that music, and that exquisite, thrilling songbird's voice! I put my hand gently to the door, and pushed it open in silence.

Then I looked into the room.

_Ed il mio bacio scioglierà. _

_Il_ _silenzio che ti fa mio! _

_Dilegua_ _o notte! _

_Tramontate_ _stelle! _

_All'alba_ _vincerò!_

Without a sound to betray my movement, I stepped into the chamber, softly closing the door behind me, and remained still for a moment. Then, so very, very, painfully slowly, I took a step—another step—another, and another, stealing closer and closer towards the singer, who was blissfully inobservant of my presence. Her fingers continued to delicately coax the melody out of the piano keys, and she did not hear me, or sense me there, creeping up behind her.

As her song ended, I produced a fully bloomed red rose from within my cloak and held it out to her, tenderly grasping its long, thin dark green stem between my white-gloved fingers.

When I spoke, she did not react as though I had startled her. Her head came up as she removed her eyes from the piano keys, and I was favored with a small view of her pretty profile as she looked to the side. Her long-lashed, dark eyes fell upon the rose, and her lips parted slightly, as she slowly reached up and accepted the gift.

"You have a truly beautiful voice, mademoiselle," I told her, in pure wonder. "The angels must surely weep when they hear your song!"

"Thank you…but I _am_ sorry, my lord," she said, turning her face away from me again, as she looked down at her hands, which were now folded in a lady-like manner in her lap. "I-I did not mean to intrude. I presumed that this had been a room of yours…once…but I should not have let my curiosity go so far past its bounds. Please forgive me for my rudeness."

She stood, and I hastily averted my face from her: stepping back into the shadows, where she could only catch the murkiest glimpse of my features, and the occasional glint of the wavering candlelight on my eyes. She turned and, looking at me, stepped forward. She reached her hand out to me.

"This was your music, wasn't it…"

I watched her, warily, carefully.

Too many words, my heart warned, and the freshly covered wounds on my soul would be stung by the acid of memory.

"An idealistic, foolish young man wrote that music, long ago, mademoiselle…" I told her, bitterly. "He became dead to the world in a forgotten past, and I am glad."

"What a pity."

I was only barely able to catch her words, they were murmured in such a low tone. "They are truly beautiful songs. You write wonderfully."

"And you…"

I motioned to her, stretching my hand out towards her as well. I stared into her eyes, her beautiful young face, and read the emotions I saw there.

"I have not heard a voice so wondrous in many a year." I told her, with sincerity that I had never before shown towards another human. "You play the piano with passion…however, why does your _singing_ not reflect the same?"

"I…I sing only because I love to, my lord," she replied, in an almost self-effaced tone. She looked down at the carpet at her feet, wringing her hands together. "But there is no divine inspiration in my voice."

With a smile, I beckoned to her.

Like a puppet on strings, she came to me as though my voice had enthralled her completely. I reached out from the shadows, and gently intertwined my fingers with hers, drawing her to me.

Then I raised my other hand and brushed it along the curve of her jawbone, lightly caressing her, skimming my velvet gloved fingertips along her skin. She closed her eyes, and leaned into my touch with a deep, swelling sigh. I whispered—

"If I will teach you…my beautiful Christine…will you sing for me?"

"Oh: _yes_…" she breathed.

"Forever? Only for me?" I questioned, pressing for the answer that I wanted.

"Always: _only_ for _you_…" was her whispered reply.

I smiled, in dark triumph, behind my mask.

_Oh, little Christine…now you really_ **_are_** _mine. You cannot give yourself away: you belong to me, and I will **forever** possess your heart. _

_You see…the reason why I called you 'Christine' is because you are no longer Christina. Christina is an innocent, guileless, and unknowing little child who abides by the rules, and only breaks them by stepping for a few moments into the forbidden forest. _

_Christine is no less innocent…but she is not unknowing, and she is not blind, or naïve. She is enchanting, knowing…and a woman: a scarlet rose in full bloom, who has seen her power, and knows the shadows…_

…_for she has embraced them…_


	22. Sing Once Again with Me

**_Chapter Twenty –_**

**_Sing Once Again with Me_**

**_-Christine-_**

* * *

****

With a smile curving my lips, I stepped across the room to my dressing table, and sat down in front of it.

I looked into the mirror, and my smile grew even wider.

In the course of the past week, I had grown to love—yes, even that—my new home in _le Fantôme_'s palace. Once Prince Erik had begun to give me voice lessons, we were in one another's company all the more often in the evening, sometimes long into the night, as he taught me the right way to breathe and stand, how to shape my phrases and perfectly sing even the highest notes.

He was a strict and exacting teacher, who would not accept anything but my absolute best in music. Many a time, he would drill me over a certain phrase or arpeggio until I thought that it was all I could possibly hold in my mind. But then, when he was satisfied with the sound of my voice, he would tell me—with warm enthusiasm and immense pride in his voice, as his stunning blue eyes sparkled—that I had done well, and that my singing was the most beautiful that he had ever heard.

One day, he told me, all the world would bow before my gift.

At first, I doubted this, for I had inferred from all that I had learnt of him so far, that he had indeed traveled far and wide in his life time, and had seen and heard many wondrous things. My voice could scarcely be deemed as the most beautiful or amazing he had ever heard. But then, as time went on and our lessons continued, I began to realize…because it was he who was teaching me, it could be true. He _could_ make my voice the most beautiful voice that he had ever heard.

The enchanter had worked his magic…_in me_.

* * *

I adapted a new routine into my daily life, bit by bit—so gradually and subtly that I didn't even notice the change at first. Instead of getting up early in the morning, I began to awaken from my dreams later and later in the day. Then I would go about my favorite pastimes: reading in the library, exploring the castle, walking through the gardens, and sometimes drawing or writing in my room.

When the hour of sunset drew near, I would go out into the gardens, or certain places in the castle—the star-gazing tower was still a favorite meeting place—and then, like a tall and elegant shadow, moving with incredible liquid grace and silence, Erik would emerge from the darkness, and say my name.

"_Christine…"_

His hypnotic voice made the syllables of my name into a caress, like satin being brushed over a mirror, or the deepest red petals of a full-bloomed rose. It made me shiver, with both pleasure and anticipation; it stirred emotions within my heart that I had not yet discovered, and made me think of feelings…for him…that were unfamiliar, intense, and frightening.

There was something about him that drew me to him: it made me wonder who he was, what was in his heart and mind, made me desirous of knowing his soul. Every time he would pass behind me in the music room, as I sat at the piano—every time our hands made even the slightest contact, when he passed me a new sheet of music, or allowed his fingertips to glide tantalizingly over my waist, or even beckoned to me—I felt the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as if in response to the magnetism of his presence.

Thinking of the warmth of his tall, muscular frame behind me when we would stand at the edge of the tower and look up at the stars together, I shivered again, even now. Then, after we would walk about in the gardens, or look at the stars, or read together in the library by the dim candlelight, he would escort me inside, and we would eat dinner together in the grand dining hall.

Following dinner was my favorite time of the day: our music lesson. I would usually play the music to accompany my lesson at the piano, but sometimes Erik would make a delicate fluttering gesture with his fingers, and say a few low words, and then, all at once, a gorgeous melody would fill the room: played by all the instruments of a surreal, invisible orchestra.

And then, one night, for the first time, he sang to me.

I was lulled into a dream world by the sound of his voice. It surrounded me with a warm, drowsy feeling, and wrapped me up in its velvety but exhilarating magic, and caused my heart to pound wildly.

His voice was the most vibrant, richest of baritones when he spoke, but when he sang, he could soar into the high notes of the tenor scale or dip into the deepest ranges of the bass with perfect ease. He never made a mistake in pitch or tone, and even when he hadn't yet sung that day, he could always pick out the exact note he was looking for, without so much as hearing it played aloud. I was in amazement of him. His voice, both in speaking and in singing, was like that of some unearthly, celestial being, and it completely captured me with its power and beauty.

The first song that we sang together carried me into indescribable bliss. When we finished, I was breathless and could only stare into his blue eyes, which were still the only part of him that I had ever been able to look upon.

But I didn't care, by then.

His voice was all that I wanted, or needed; I knew that he was always with me, able to instantly hear whenever I called. My life was changing: slowly and infinitesimally…but undoubtedly, undeniably, more and more conspicuously changing…

Now, as I looked into the mirror, I noted with some interest that the girl that gazed back at me was quite a different young woman than she had been. This version of me was slightly older, more experienced and knowing of the world that was around her, exposed to darker and darker aspects of humanity. This Christina was not an innocent maiden, but a growingly confident and serene woman.

I didn't hesitate to wear clothing that was more flattering to my figure, nor did I balk at the idea of looking and behaving as a princess. I had begun to experiment with my wardrobe and hairstyles, trying out gowns and jewelry that was more and more extravagant—certainly quite unlike my former modest and unassuming village maiden's garb.

I wore my makeup slightly darker than before. My hair had all but lost its faint, honey-gold highlights; it was a deep, almost maroon-hued russet now, which I kept in glossy and intentionally beguiling, perfectly sculpted curls.

Some part of my mind, and heart, recognized this strange alteration in my life, and cried out against it—knowing that this wasn't right; this change was an omen of evil, and I was letting myself fall deeper into the shadows.

But then there was Christine…_le Fantôme_'s beloved Christine…

And Christine had taken the place of Christina. There were moments—very, very brief and fleeting moments, which I quickly brushed away and forgot—in which I felt as if I was living a double existence, leading two separate lives, in which two sides of me were in perpetual conflict with one another.

In the theatre of my mind…

Christina was frightened at the change she saw in herself, and was struggling frantically to be free, knowing that she didn't belong here, that she had been taken forcefully from her family, and ripped away from all that she had known and loved.

In the theatre of my mind, _le Fantôme_ was evil, and he would never let her go. But then Christine would make her grand entrance, and stare coldly and contemptuously at Christina, mocking her with her eyes.

And she would cross the stage, where _he_ waited for her, and step willingly, readily, into his dark embrace. They two would then stare back at Christina as she despaired, weeping and pale…and Christine would push Christina away, and she would fade into the darkness.

But that, of course, was all merely in my imagination.

I shook my head, smiling faintly—almost cynically—at the thought of anyone changing me without my being aware of it; it was impossible, and any change that I was enduring was that of my own choice.

I had agreed to come to Shadowrose Castle to save my father's life, and therein ensure the safety and prosperity of my family. It had been my choice; no one had forced me or tricked me into this new life. Anything that happened to me now was pure destiny, not some lie or falsity…

Calmly, I picked up my gold-gilded brush and drew it slowly through my hair, letting the curls bounce freely back up into their sleek spirals.

Erik had promised to show me a new portion of the castle grounds that night: the exotic garden, and the rose garden. And then, he had told me, with positively wicked, maddening suggestion in his tone, he had a special musical surprise that he thought I would very much appreciate…_and enjoy_…

I applied a rich, subtly smoky perfume to my wrists and the pulse point in my neck, just below my ear lobes, and languidly drew a line of garnet-hued lip gloss over my mouth with a tiny makeup brush, carefully applying the colour to my skin. The dark, dark emeralds and topazes in my hair sparkled beautifully in the low candlelight, and I felt a slow, pleased smile come across my face then.

_How could anyone find any wrong at all in this life that I now live…?_

* * *

The night air was cool and sweet-scented as I paced down the marble pathways that wound through the castle's shadowy gardens. It was late in the spring now, but the temperature was still low enough for me to find comfort in a light silken cloak, which trailed gracefully behind me as I walked, mixing with the dark train of my skirts. The soft _shh_-ing sound that accompanied the movement of my clothing and the tapping of my slippers were almost the only sounds in the early evening. There was very little breeze this night, and the moon was only a small sliver of pure, glowing white in the immense backdrop of the dark blue sky.

I looked slightly ahead of myself, and saw that a small gazebo was standing directly in front of me, covering part of the pathway. All beneath it was cast in shadow, and the fragrance of the jasmine was thick and heavy on the velvety night air. I smiled in undisguised anticipation, and hastened my pace slightly, walking swiftly towards the small building.

But when I stepped into the darkness, I did not immediately feel the electrifying, magnetic sensation that always seemed to alert me of Erik's presence: all was dead quiet, and very dark, and I felt quite alone. I took a step further into the space.

"Maestro…?" I called, uncertainly: using the name that I had begun to call him when he took up the role of my music teacher.

I felt a peculiar sense of urgency, and disquiet, as if I'd been set adrift in a vast, dark ocean without so much as the light of the sun, moon, or stars to guide me.

"Teacher…are you here?"

Then, all at once, I became aware of two eyes that had focused themselves on the back of my neck, piercing through my skin with their searing, profound blue intensity. I whirled around, as a jolt of startled _fear_ passed through me, though I knew not why.

"Christine."

He said my name in a low, soft tone, uttering it with his usual gentleness, and I expelled a quick sigh of relief, feeling my shaken heart begin to ease up from its rapid beating. I looked towards where I could just barely see his tall, black-cloaked figure, and took comfort in knowing that he was, in fact, there. I wondered, though, how he had come up on me so silently; he moved with the ease, grace, and quiet of a shadow…

"Good evening, my lord."

He paced towards me, his velvet cloak billowing majestically over the fallen, dried leaves of countless autumns past that lay scattered over the gazebo's stone floor. His luminous blue eyes never left me, and I was again unnerved by the intensity with which he regarded me.

"Good evening, Christine."

Sometimes, I felt almost as if I was looking into the eyes of a predator when I happened to meet his gaze with mine: I saw hunger, and raw emotion, there…but it was an emotion that I could not read, and one that quite frightened me. I did not know what to make of it, and I was fearful that one day, he might lose patience with restraining himself from showing that deep, brutal, and very real feeling in his actions.

I might have tried to run away.

However, even _Christine_ knew that the most impossible thing in the world was actually escaping the Phantom. I could not so deceive myself; and so I remained uneasy…

"Christine, my dearest, my own sweet one…" he murmured, in his melodic voice. "You look cold, and frightened…what has alarmed you so? What is it that I see haunting your eyes?"

And he stepped even closer to me: slender and preternaturally long fingers gloved in immaculate, almost glowing white reached out towards me, so near that I could see them clearly, even in the darkness.

I took a tiny step backwards.

The blue eyes did not change in their expression, but I knew that I had seen an ominous, bat-like shadow flit through them. He did not stop: he came nearer to me, until his fingers had brushed lightly against my cheekbone. In silence, he looked at me, and I felt that I was being studied, and read.

"Do not fear…"

His voice breathed this directly into my ear, and I started once again.

Then I shuddered. This was one of the moments in which I unexpectedly remembered _all_…

"Come, my dear," he said then, stepping away and offering me his hand. "Let us take our walk through the gardens. The moon is on the rise."

* * *

Arm in arm, we meandered down the pathway, pausing every now and then to view a particularly stunning garden statue or view, or to silently enjoy the fragrance of the millions of flowers contained within the castle walls. Fireflies drifted with silken ease through the dark air, lighting the shadows with their pale golden glow, and the night-blooming orchids and jasmine opened their petals to the glimmer of the moon.

We did not speak to one another very often, for I was wrapped up in the delight of viewing the gardens after nightfall, and he was inscrutable and unreadable, as always. I recalled, as I knelt to lightly caress my fingers along the fragile petal of a lily, that I had often wondered about what it was that went on in his mind, during my days at the castle. I rarely had any insight to his thoughts.

Then we reached the roses.

"Oh heavens…" I breathed, letting my eyes glide across the landscape of the rose-filled garden, stunned by what I saw. "Where, in all of creation, did they come from?"

"They came here from many different lands, my lady."

I shook my head with a rueful little smile as I gazed admiringly at one particularly large and flawless white rose.

"Where I lived, we only had wild roses, and those all had disease spots, yellow leaves, or imperfect petals. These are all varieties that I haven't even seen before. Were they always here?"

He was silent—curiously silent—for a long moment.

"They were…_a gift_, milady."

Something in his tone struck an odd note within me, and I thought the better of inquiring further of the roses' origins.

I turned around on the pathway and walked back towards him again, keeping my eyes carefully lowered to the ground, for I knew that he did not wish for me to look at him: directly, at least. I wished to respect his wishes, whatever his reasons. However, as I went past him, I risked a small glance out of the corner of my eye at him, and was rewarded with an indistinct glimpse of his figure.

He was very tall, and exceedingly well-formed, with broad shoulders and long, powerful-looking limbs. His neck was an ideal balance of strength and elegance, and his hair, from what I could see, was longish, thick, and slightly shaggy. It vaguely reminded me of a lion's mane, or a wolf's thick ruff—and it was dark, very, very dark. Whatever his true age, his outer appearance certainly didn't reflect it.

And now I wondered anew…

Why did he hide his face from me? What was is that he didn't want me to see? Was this all a test of sorts—some obscure game that I had to play, and win, before he would let me into his deepest confidence?

_No,_ my sensible mind told me. _No: he is more than that, he is better than that, and you know it. Your Phantom, whoever he really is, cannot be such a man, who toys with and deceives the minds of others for his own twisted pleasure. Give him your trust, your loyalty…don't hold back…_

_You belong to him, always._

This, needless to say, struck a strangely resonant chord of alarm and disquiet within me, again, and I hastily brushed by him, sweeping back onto the main path through the gardens again. As I moved away, I heard his voice question after me—

"Why, Christine, do you fear?"

I halted, but did not look back.

"But…Maestro…" I attempted to say: "I am _not_ afraid…why…"

Then he walked towards me, stalking quickly down the path as his footsteps clicked harshly, sharply, on the granite surface. His blue eyes stared into mine as he wrapped his fingers around my arm, holding me where I was and forcing me to keep my eyes locked with his.

"Well then…perhaps you _should_ be." he said.

"You…" I began, and halted.

"I…?" he said, coolly. "Yes—I told you not to be afraid. I promised to you, on my solemn honour, that I would suffer no harm to come to you from anything within my lands. I have kept my vow, and intend to keep it until the day I no longer have any of my strength. _However_—"

He suddenly turned me about and began to steer me with gentle but unavoidable firmness down the pathway, leading us deeper into the castle grounds, where the shadows of the forest fell over the wall into his realm.

"However…that is not to say that you need not fear _that which lies beyond my command_. For there is a world outside of our happy life here, at Shadowrose Castle, Christine…and I think that you know of it. For that world is the world that you came from…wasn't it."

I could not reply, for my throat had become tight, and my eyes were stinging with salt tears. Erik, though, did not give me the mercy of relenting.

"Look," he told me, directing my attention to a place in the forest beneath the hill upon which we stood; there, the land dropped steeply into a ravine where the trees grew thick, tangled, and tall.

I could see much darkness there…but it was not the kind of darkness that I recognized and welcomed. This darkness was immense and malignant, and it chilled me to the deepest quarter of my heart. Erik's gloved hand cupped itself around the back of my neck, giving him total control over the movements of my head. I continued to stare at the ravine, full of fright, trembling in his grasp.

"Look, and see what lies just beyond this: your inner sanctum of happiness and comfort," he told me. A gesture of his hand caused me to see the object of his intentions.

Lycans: my father had described them to us in his story of the journey to Shadowrose Castle. I was frightened beyond belief.

"_That_," my dark companion said, softly, "is the world that awaits you beyond my walls, Christine. _That_ is the realm that will swallow you whole, brutally and mercilessly, without pause, if you should ever leave this place. Do you see now? I can give you _anything_, anything at all in the world; I will do whatever I can to make you happy. But you must never, _never_ go beyond these walls…"

_Ever._

I was terrified—so very, very terrified, and confused, and desperate to escape, to return to somewhere, anywhere, that I knew I was safe from the dangers that I was now being forced to look upon.

He was forcing me to confront my deepest fears: the monsters that lurked in the dark, waiting for me, and the cold reality of my own world, which could sometimes be so very cruel. He was frightening me, compelling me to remain where I was, as much mentally as he was physically, and I despised it; I wanted to be safe again, and know that he wouldn't let the creatures of the evil dark drag me into their world.

All at once, my restraint broke and I whirled around, flinging my arms out and wrapping them about his waist beneath his velvet cloak; I buried my face in his chest and gasped out, scarcely able to breathe at all. I closed my eyes tightly—I would not open them—I would not—!

"Please—I promise—I won't leave, I'll never try to leave!" I gasped.

_Don't let me go—! _

If I didn't say the words that he wanted to hear, would he abandon me in the darkness with the horrible wolves to ensure my obedience to him?

"You have my word! I won't leave; I'll stay, I'll stay! Please…"

Now I knew why I could still fear this man, whoever he truly was.

In the end of it all, though I was becoming more and more aware of my burgeoning desires and even passions concerning him, and his role in my new life, _I did not know him_. I could not read him; he would not let me understand him, and he would not let me see him.

He was a shadow, and an enigma, and I could not predict what his next action or his next words would be. He was a master of darkness: an enchanter who could wield the shadows and indeed the security of my life at his own whim. If I did not trust him, he would prove to me what his anger could do. If I was dishonest with him…

I was trapped in his net…

He was either my life…or my death.

Then, in the midst of my terrified delirium, I felt the warmth of his powerful arms come about me: holding me close to him and securing me within their protective depths. In silence, his cloak fell into place about his figure, enclosing me within its silky interior. I breathed in deeply, my entire frame still shaking, and then I heard his voice.

"Very well then, Christine," he said, in a tone that was much softer and more tender than the tone he had employed mere seconds before. "I believe you. I will trust, on your word of honour, that you will do as you have promised. As long as you remain here, nothing can ever happen to you. As long as you are within this castle's walls, you are safe; you are under my protection. _But_—"

He paused.

"You must never break your promise to me. You must never leave me."

I pulled back slightly, filling my fists with handfuls of his black velvet shirt, and spoke, without looking up. His mid-chest was on eye-level with me, and I somehow did not feel impudent or rude by addressing the buttons on his shirt, rather than speaking to his face. I could feel his eyes on the top of my scalp, though, and they seared me with their raging intensity.

"Don't threaten me," I said, softly. "I promise: I will not leave."

At this, he sighed.

"Christine, _Christine_…"

His able, deft hands caressed my hair as it hung down my back, roaming over my spine and shoulder blades, and I shivered. His touch could kindle a long-slumbering delight and comfort in me even though he had menaced me in word and deed in the previous moment. Then Christine's voice whispered in my mind, with soft rebuke—

_You foolish child, you must endeavor to forget all your life before you came to live here_—_when he sees your eyes distant and vague with memory and fondness for the past, his heart is stung. You mustn't think of that life any longer…it is no longer you. _

_Silly, naïve little girl…you should not fear him! He will not hurt you! All you must do is keep your promise, and never leave. Your other life is dead and gone; forget it, forget everyone and everything in it. Erik is all there is, for you, now. You belong to him…you are his…there is nothing else. Accept this, Christine Daae._

_No! He has your soul; run now, or you are doomed! _

Erik's fingers ran slowly along my cheekbone, lingering, and I knew that he was smiling, faintly, in the darkness; I could feel his eyes on my face.

"Oh, Christine: _my_ Christine. _My _angel."

I laid my head on his chest, surrendering to the inevitable truth.

"Maestro…"

* * *

He led me to the grand ballroom of Shadowrose Castle that night.

Keeping my hand locked within his, he stepped over the ruins of a fallen statue, holding his long black cloak out of the way of his feet. Without a hint of uncertainty, he carefully guided me in a winding path through the countless razor-sharp slivers of glass that gleamed on the floor in the light of the moon; there was dust everywhere, and the air in the room was close and musty, which made it apparent to me that no one had set foot within this colossal chamber in a long, long time. I stared at my surroundings in awe, nevertheless; for all of its disuse and neglect, the ballroom was truly a work of art, even in this castle of wonders.

It was one enormous six-sided figure in shape, with ebony-paned windows taking up much of the wall space. In between each of the windows, set slightly in front of them, was an ornate gold-and-white marble pillar, with beautiful detailing at its crown and base. The floor, in spite of its layer of dust and grime, was clearly the finest of cream-swirled marbles, coated in a diamond-hard glossy wax that shone through the shadows. At one end of the room there was a gorgeous double staircase that swooped down in twin curves to meet the ballroom floor; at its head there was a balcony of sorts that overlooked the entire room, and before the ledge of the balcony the most amazing and mesmerizing of statues had been built.

It was entirely gold, and depicted the figures of three winged women, from what I could tell in the darkness; behind them were two troll-like masculine figures, reaching out and grabbing at the two women on the sides, while the woman in the front raised her delicate hands to the sky.

On the ceiling, which was so high that I could not quite see it in the darkness of the room, I could faintly detect the traces of a painting of some sort, below which hung five well-placed chandeliers. The moonlight, glinting off of these, revealed brief glimmers of the chandeliers' many crystal pendants.

Also lining the room, in front of and behind the pillars, were the most enormous and impressive candelabras I had ever seen: each were easily more than nine feet in height, and held dozens of tall white candles. There had once been a multitude of mirrors that had hung on the walls behind the pillars, too; these had all been destroyed, their shards lying forgotten on the floor at our feet.

_Such pain; such grief…what happened here…_

I turned to look at my companion.

"This place…it is beautiful," I said, and felt stupid for not being able to find words to accurately describe the ballroom as anything more than absolutely and fundamentally gorgeous.

Erik helped me through the ring of glass shards and released my hand, only for a moment, to tear a faded canvas dustsheet off of the object it had formerly protected: a piano that was twice the size of the one in the music room where we had had our lessons before. He let the cloth drop to the ground, and faced me, with a slight bow. When he spoke, his voice was as cool and elegant as ever, but I soon became aware of its slight edge of amusement.

"Now, my sweet angel, I shall give you the surprise that I promised you earlier this night; your patience has earned you the reward."

Before I could even breathe, he was standing behind me, and his long, gloved hands were cupping my bare shoulders gently, holding me where I was.

"Please."

I felt lightheaded and warm as his voice threaded its way into my ear: his breath stirring my hair and leaving a trace of its heat behind. He guided me to the piano bench and made me sit down; then, he disappeared into the darkness beyond me for a moment. He returned without warning, and I could see a distinct white shape borne in his arms.

"Maestro…?" I questioned.

His smile was evident in his tone.

"Patience, my angel."

I was curious, and baffled by his playfully secretive manner, but I refrained from asking any further questions. His tall figure blocked out the moonlight above me for a moment as he leaned in front of me, placing what I now realized were several sheets of music on the piano. With a flick of his long fingers, the candles in the small candelabra that rested at the end of the piano burst into flame, but their glow remained very, very faint: just enough for me to see the music, but not much else.

"Now you may see," he murmured to me.

Leaning forward, I squinted a bit to focus on the dark, scrawling words and notes that had been written onto the paper in front of me.

At once, I was enraptured.

" 'The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, But changes night and day, too, like the sky; Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, And darkness and destruction as on high: But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced, and riven, Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye Pours forth at last the heart's blood turn'd to tears.' " (1)

And I left off my reading, trying hard to steady my breath.

My heart was pounding.

"Do you like what you've seen, my dear?"

"_Oh_!" I exhaled quickly. "It…it's the most wonderful set of lyrics I've ever read in my entire life; there couldn't be more beautiful poetry!"

"Sing for me, then, my angel. Sing it for me—I wrote it all _for you_…"

I put my fingers on the keys, and began to play.

Somehow, my hands seemed to glide over the keyboard, striking each note perfectly…but I could not sing the words. After a moment, I stopped playing, and looked towards him. I could not see his face, but I knew that he was looking at me, and I could sense his emotions.

"I…I cannot sing it; will you not play?"

He was silent for a long, long moment.

"I cannot, my angel."

And he held up his gloved hands.

"My hands…I cannot play, with them…"

This plucked at my heartstrings strangely; I felt sudden, incredible remorse flood into my soul, and felt grief, for him.

He had written this beautiful music, and yet he could not play it. He wore those gloves for a reason, and I dared not ask him what that reason was. I did not wish to anger him…but, even more, I did not wish to cause him grief, or pain.

I bit my lip…and then, an idea drifted into my mind…

"Here." I said.

With as much carefulness as I could muster, I gently took his left hand and placed it over my left hand, which I then positioned on the piano keys. Mindful of his blue eyes staring in some incredulous emotion at me, which I would not try to read, I did the same to our right hands. Then I said to him—

"Play—use _my _hands."

He was still—so very, very still, for such a long, silent, and quite dreadful moment that I feared, again, that I had angered him, or wounded him by my words and actions. But then…then…I felt his left hand move very slightly: the very faintest flutter of motion. Another still, wordless moment passed. I held my breath, wondering, praying, and _hoping_. I heard him take a slow, painful breath.

And he began to play.

_Don Juan Triumphant_: that was the name of his masterpiece.

It was his life's work, his brainchild and tour de force, which he had poured his strength, passion, and gifts into. A limitless volume of new and ingenious tempos, scales, rhythms, and more were held within it: each strain of melody more amazing and beautiful than the next. And he wanted me to learn, for him, the role of its heroine.

We spent hours in the ballroom that night simply experiencing the hauntingly passionate melodies of Don Juan: sometimes I would play a few bars, or he would sing a phrase or two for me, or he would explain what a new term within the libretto meant. The work, an opera, was as of yet unfinished: most of its principle songs and score had been written, but he had not compiled the storyline or its script. He would not tell me what the opera was about. Then, he asked me to sing for him one song: just one song.

_How can I refuse you…? _

As the music filled the room, I let the wings of my song soar…

_I don't know what is going on_

_You turn around and touch my heart_

_A silent moment speaks the truth_

_Something has happened all at once_

_It should have scared me in the past_

_But I was falling in those eyes of yours_

_And so_

_Fear was gone_

_I knew there was nothing else_

_I'd ever want_

_I know you_

_You're not from here_

_I've waited for you to appear_

_To take my breath away_

_And make me weep_

_You're not from here_

_Not from this here and now_

_Just a touch of yours_

_And I fly…and I fly…and I fly…_

_I can't get used to missing you_

_If this is how it now must be_

_I need an angel to watch over me_

_No one can hold the hands of time_

_But I can hold you in my mind_

_Over and over like a melody_

_For now_

_I'll stand still_

_For now_

_I'll be filled by the memory of your skin_

_I know you_

_You're not from here_

_You don't belong to lies and tears_

_The greatness of your soul_

_Makes me weep_

_You're not from here_

_Not from this here and now_

_Just a touch of yours_

_And I fly…and I fly…and I fly... _(2)

Erik's ethereal, haunting enchanted music lingered in the air a few moments after my song had ended, and I slowly let go of the note: allowing it to drift into the thick, velvety silence.

I was slightly alarmed by the silence, and turned my head, looking back to where he had been sitting, at the piano. But he was standing now, and he was standing behind me, so close that we were touching; his hand closed over my shoulder, and I placed my own hand on top of it. His other arm went around my waist, holding me to him, and I felt him raise my free hand to his lips: the warmth of his breath sent thrills up my arm. His blue eyes met mine in an instant: sparkling shards of blue in the shadows.

"Christine…" he murmured.

I knew, then, that I wanted to reach out and touch him, to show him that I was there…that I cared for him, though I didn't know how…he was not alone, and I would not let him grieve. Hesitantly, for I didn't know how he would react, I reached up with the hand he had nearly kissed the moment before…and carefully drew my fingertips along his jaw line. He inhaled, sharply but softly, as I realized—by my sense of touch—why it was that he had kept himself hidden from me for so long.

And then…

The flames in the candelabra grew brighter at a gesture from him, and for the first time since my arrival at Shadowrose Castle, Prince Erik and I were looking at one another…

_Face to face._

His eyes—I recognized those eyes. I would always be able to know them, anywhere, for I had come to know _them alone_ in the darkness, and there could never be another pair of eyes like them in the entire world: I was certain of it. But those eyes…they looked out at me from behind a mask of flawless black porcelain.

_Erik._

* * *

_(1) From the poem of Don Juan._

_(2) Lyricsbelong to Lara Fabian, not Kates, who is borrowing them for the simple purpose of this story's plot advancement._

_Do leave us a note, lovelies..._


	23. Unraveling Fears

_**Chapter Twenty-One –**_

_**Unraveling Fears**_

_**-Nadir Khan-**_

* * *

****

Vastly annoyed and uncomfortable, I muttered various invectives and other sorts of verbal abuse in my own language under my breath: all directed towards Erik, the Prince of Shadowrose Castle, who was to be my host that very evening, when and if I ever reached my destination.

It was autumn again now, and I hadn't made the journey to the realm of my former friend in several months, since before he had actually acquired the hand of the maiden who was surely now his fiancée: Mademoiselle Christina Daae, of Sumer's Flax village. My last audience with the prince had not ended on a pleasant note, and I had therefore made myself scarce in his realm for some time; risking Erik's anger was not something that a sane person would choose to do.

Now, though, my conscience had finally gotten the better of me, continually prodding me with doubts, worries, and fears until I could not longer bear it.

I knew that the only way I could find rest was to brave the dark Forbidden Forest, return through the gates of Shadowrose Castle, and seek out its accursed master. Only then would all my questions be answered—my fears dispelled—my worries laid to rest.

Now, if only the thrice-cursed and abominable climate of Erik's native land would allow me a moment's respite—!

For what seemed to be the thousandth time, I shook the outer layer of my cloak: rain water flew everywhere, and I shuddered. It was a cold, wet day in Kryslora: a thick, seemingly impenetrable layer of misty grey clouds swathed the afternoon sky, completely hiding the sun, and from before dawn, a steady rain had poured down on the land. Much to my chagrin, even the trees in the Forbidden Forest had eventually succumbed to this slow, merciless downpour—which meant that a mere three hours into my ride to Shadowrose Castle, I was cold, wet, and miserable.

"Blast you, Erik." I grumbled.

I twitched the reins on my steed's neck a little, trying to prod the even-tempered mare, whose head drooped low, as she picked her way along through the forest, seeming as if she too were affected by the dismal grey weather, into a quicker pace. A mist had wound its way in through the trees and undergrowth as well, making it very difficult for me to see the ground.

I could only hope that Erik was in a good mood, and was still planning on my visiting him and his fiancée at their castle that evening. Otherwise, without his magical help, I would never reach the end of my journey.

Another five minutes passed, and I was contemplating whether or not Erik wished my death, when suddenly through the trees I glimpsed what appeared to be the gleam of fireflies in the air; however, now was not the time of the year for fireflies, and these pale golden lights were much to stationary and steady to be living beings.

I went on, a faint hope kindled in my heart, and in a moment longer, the trees before me thinned, and then cleared altogether, and I was standing atop the hill that looked down into the valley where the gorgeous, vine-shrouded Shadowrose Castle resided. I closed my eyes briefly, and thanked all the deities in my religion that Erik, for all of his darkness, still had somewhat of a sense of humor.

As usual, when I stepped inside of the immense castle, no one came to greet me, but there were candles lit everywhere about, lending a warm and inviting glow to the air. I took more note of the deep, many-layered shadows beyond the light, however, and shuddered. This castle haunted me with its memories, for it was not the place I remembered—and then _it was_.

From my previous visits to Erik's dwelling place, I had learned precisely where I could find the rooms that were typically set aside for me. I removed my hat, mindful of the drips of water that coated the deep blue ostrich plumes on it, and began to make my way to my designated quarters.

* * *

The sky had begun to darken at the furthest point in the horizon, where the black mountaintops met the clouds, and still the rain continued to fall: never once increasing or decreasing in its pace. I found, as always, a new set of clothing in my room's wardrobe; after changing my attire for the evening, I stepped out of my rooms, closing the door carefully behind me—though who would I disturb, with my noise, in this castle that was mostly inhabited by shadows and silence? —and tried to recall the way to the banquet hall. When I reached this place, however, no one was there.

_Perhaps they keep different hours now…?_

I thought this to myself with a slight tinge of sardonic amusement, but then my old worry returned to haunt me. How was Erik and the girl faring? How was he treating her? Was he good to her…or…

No.

A good part of me didn't want to think about this, at all, but something in me wouldn't let that brief pang of fearfulness dissipate fully. I knew that Erik could be a cold and unfeeling man, whose arrogance sometimes seemed to know no bounds; but I hoped…

* * *

Suddenly, a voice addressed me.

"My dear daroga, how very nice to see you here again. I hope your journey was not at all unpleasant?"

I jumped, and whirled around to face the speaker.

None other than Erik himself stood slightly behind me, off to one side, and he was only barely visible in the shadows. His mask—made of immaculate white porcelain this day—was all that revealed him, along with his pale, pale skin. He wore a cool and quite blatantly sardonic smirk on his face.

"No thanks to you and your arrangements, Erik Shadowrose," I retorted, as he swept a gesture for me to walk past him, standing aside himself. Then we walked slowly down the wide corridor, as the candles in the scones on the walls lit themselves softly at our approach.

Erik laughed, low and melodious, at my comment.

"Why, Monsieur Khan," he said, "I am a mere enchanter, not the deity who has charge of the elements; I cannot control the weather for anyone—even you!"

"Harrumph." I responded to that, as we walked into another corridor. "Well, you could at least give me a warning in regard to oncoming weather before inviting me to ride out into the wild so that I might visit your castle. You have the art."

"Indeed, I do," Erik remarked, in a cool musing tone; I could tell that he had one eyebrow lifted beneath his mask. "However," he said, pausing to wave a hand at a door to our left, which swung open on its enormous hinges with a low groan at his movement. "There would have been the difficulty of finding you, and informing you of the weather that you so acrimoniously label 'inclement'. Now, with that said, Daroga, please—allow the princess and me the pleasure of your company this evening? She is very eager to renew your acquaintance."

We stepped into a warmly lit, finely upholstered room full of gorgeous, thick tapestries of the shades of cerulean, green, black, and the deepest wine-red. Here the floor was composed of beautiful mahogany wood instead of marble, with an enormous patterned carpet laid over its surface. A few low settees and couches were placed about here and there, elegantly angled so that they were near to the warmth of the fireplace but not so close that their living occupants would become uncomfortable. A world-globe on an ornate wooden stand was set off to one side, along with several other fine artifacts and objects, and of course, a number of beautiful leather-bound books.

I recognized this as one of the drawing rooms that had been opened only and specifically for visitors, when the castle had had them. Queen Madeleine's refined tastes were evident here. I turned and saw that Erik was moving towards the door, with his perpetual, subtle silence.

Confused, I inquired after him—

"You are leaving so soon, Erik?"

He halted at the door, his fingers resting lightly, almost carelessly, on its golden handle, and looked across the room in my general direction, although his cool light eyes never seemed to focus on me—instead, they seemed to look through me, and beyond, though I knew not to what.

With a subtle twist to his pale lips, he responded—

"I go to retrieve the Princess, Daroga. She is yet in her chambers, for I promised that I would go up to inform her when you had arrived. If you will excuse me."

To this, I nodded, knowing that whether I excused him or not, he _would_ go to his princess. As soon as I had said those words, he disappeared into the dark: as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

I sat down abruptly into an armchair, eyeing a nearby decanter full of rich amber-hued brandy with some amount of rueful wistfulness and consternation.

Erik, for all of his ambiguous appearance, was quite as old as I was, and yet he did not reflect this in any way. I, on the other hand, was feeling my age more and more every day, and I found that this sensation only managed to increase when I was in the presence of my old friend. Only Erik could wreak such havoc on my aging heart.

_One of these days, Erik, you black-hearted fiend from the seventh circle of the underworld,_ I thought, blackly. _You are going to worry me to death._

Just then, I heard the sound of faint, feminine laughter from behind the halfway-open door of the drawing room, and I quickly rose to my feet. Then I heard Erik's voice—low, but with an unmistakable tone of mischief that I could recognize even though I could not hear his words—and felt a slight twinge of surprise.

She was laughing…he had made her laugh.

Perhaps all was not as awful as I had feared…

_Perhaps he really is capable of having a heart_—_for her,_ I thought, as I began to make my way across the room, and towards the door. I set my palm flat against the thick wood and pushed, and in the next instant found myself looking once again into the wide open foyer-like area that was beyond the drawing room. I looked up immediately, and was stunned but then pleasantly shocked by what I saw.

Erik Shadowrose and Christina Daae were walking arm-in-arm, together, towards the stairway that led down from the second storey of the castle: both were smiling, with eyes that sparkled with laughter and merriment, and, I saw, _happiness_.

She, especially, looked quite merry, as if she was heading to a party with all her dearest friends and kin, which was cause for no small wonder on my part. I had expected, upon my arrival, to find nothing but chaos and mayhem, and tragedy.

I had not thought that Erik, even Erik, could have been capable of creating an environment of such complete and utter peace and contentment for a young woman—a maiden he scarcely knew, at that! I had not thought that I would see her smiling, and _laughing_!—as he led her gallantly from her chambers.

I now knew that I had been mistaken…

Together, this most extraordinary pair reached the stairs, and descended to the ground floor with seamless grace and fluidity, moving as if they were at perfect peace and harmony with one another.

I, again, could not help but be immensely shocked by what I saw. They seemed to fit so well with one another!

Surely, one of them had to be counterfeit…

But no, I thought, as they came across the floor towards me, still smiling and laughing with one another over whatever little joke or amusement they had shared on their way down.

No, it was impossible.

This happiness and peace was much too genuine. I had truly underestimated them both: Erik, in regard to his capabilities to win and charm a frightened and likely resentful woman who was very much younger than him, and the fair Christina, in regard to her resilience and character.

My chagrin was great.

"Christine, my dear," said the voice of the dark-cloaked Erik then, as he held her hand lightly and courteously in his, "May I present our esteemed visitor, Nadir: Daroga of Mazanderan and Prince of the house of Khan."

There was a brief but meaningful pause, and then, he said, in a low voice, "And, Daroga…may I present Mademoiselle and _Princess_ Christine Daae: my fiancée."

He looked back to her then, his eyes shining with unmitigated, undisguised adoration as he looked into her pretty young face. Christina flushed deeply and looked down as he continued—

"My angel."

I stared at the two of them for a long moment: they were both silent, and I could scarcely decide what to make of the situation. To all appearances and presumptions, they were the picture of perfect, unbreakable, and idyllic true love…but was it?

_I remembered the terms of the curse…_

Clearing my throat and pushing these thoughts out of my mind, I stepped forward and reached out a hand to the princess, lightly brushing my lips over the back of her gloved hand.

Erik had spoken without bias when he had called her utterly and enchantingly beautiful. Even at her young and innocent age, Christina Daae was far lovelier than any other woman I had ever met. The finely made gown and jewels that she wore looked quite nice on her, although I couldn't help but wonder if Erik—in dressing her up so richly—was merely gilding a lily with extravagance, when it had already been flawlessly, and _purely_, beautiful. And she was smiling at me so warmly and so pleasantly that I could not help but return her look, in spite of my lurking doubts and suspicions.

"It was so good of you to come to see us," she said.

I noticed—as she stood back—that Erik's arm, mostly concealed beneath the folds of his draping black cloak, had lifted from his side, and stolen to rest with butterfly-light carefulness and caution about her waist. I noticed a slight spark in his eyes, as if he meant to challenge my disapproval.

I stood back, and addressed the princess.

"M'lady, you are very kind, and I am glad to have made the journey out to visit you and his majesty. It is not too presumptuous of me, if I might ask, to wonder whether the scenery of Shadowrose Castle is as lovely this autumn as it has been in the past?"

We had begun to walk back towards the drawing room now. The prince and princess—for so she was now to be aptly termed, though they were not yet wedded—were still arm-in-arm, as I walked slightly off to their right, nearer to her. Christina's eyes sparkled engagingly as she replied—

"Oh, they are quite lovely, I promise you, M. Khan. I know the weather today, and indeed near these past two weeks, has been dismally dreary, but the colours of the trees stand out beautifully even through the rain. We rather like the mist, though."

And she smiled up at the masked profile of her intended.

In response to this, Erik turned his face towards her, and smiled back at her, and I was again surprised at the immense tenderness in his expression.

_Could she not know?_ I wondered, and was baffled.

"My little beauty has a penchant for mystery, and the dramatic," he told me with fond amusement as we took our seats in the drawing room.

Erik himself remained standing while Christina delicately perched herself on the edge of one of the cushioned couches and I resumed my place in the armchair, and in another moment, he offered me a crystal glass of brandy, which I accepted with a nod of thanks. He placed another glass in the hands of his betrothed, and then seated himself beside her, one arm draped nonchalantly over the arm of the settee.

I eyed them both again: he looked so very casual and at ease, and she looked as prim and proper and confident as she might have had she been brought up in a palace.

"So…" I said, tentatively. "Life seems to have been treating you quite well, Erik…milady. It has been such a very long time since I had spoken to either of you…and I must say, Erik, that I was rather surprised when your note reached me at my inn."

He shrugged, his expression unreadable behind the white mask.

"I have never found it difficult to find you, Nadir," he said. "You are…how shall I say it…never very far off the edge of the map?"

"Why do I sense, Erik," I returned, with slight sarcasm, "That that was somehow spoken in regard to my sanity? You must understand, Mademoiselle Daae," I said, turning to the princess with a dry little smile on my face, "His Highness and I have been friends for a very, very long time; he first stumbled across me when I was being held captive by a band of brigands, way out in the most blazing hot sands of my native desert-land. I'd been on my way to my country's capital city, making a religious pilgrimage but also carrying gifts and tribute for my father: the ruler of my family's entire house, when out of nowhere at least fifty terrible bandits appeared, and slew most of my guards. They intended to keep the riches I'd had along with me, and then hold me for ransom—"

"And they most likely would have rid themselves of him as well, in short order," Erik added, acerbically, as he sent me one of his more sarcastic looks.

"—Meanwhile, however," I continued, after glaring at him shortly, "Through the desert, alone and seemingly unarmed, was traveling the famous Black Prince of the Barbarian North, as he had become known during his travels through our realm of the world. And he was quite well-known, at that," I added. "Late one night, the bandits had been carousing and reveling, and they were all a bit, well…intoxicated—"

"Schtonkered," Erik inserted, blatantly.

Christina shrieked with laughter, and I nearly fell over in shock upon hearing him use such an unorthodox and certainly _un-Erik-like_ word.

"And then what?" she asked, with endearing impatience.

"My dear, there is simply nothing more to know!" her fiancé informed her, succinctly. "The bandits were so inebriated and incapable of lucid thought that they were like to believe their own shadows were the dreaded djinns of all their ancient folklore. All it took to ensure M. Khan's freedom was the release of their camels from their halter-posts, and a few simple tricks with smoke and a smattering of ventriloquism. The bandits were so instantly terrified by the voices that seemed to hiss out at them from everywhere in the camp that they dropped everything and ran into the night, howling out their fear that a monster had come to fetch them away, and devour them alive."

"And thus began my friendship with the famous prince of Kryslora," I finished. "We were both in search of placement in our separate lives, and we both needed vision and initiative – and more than all of that, we needed adventure, as most young-bloods will. For reasons only that _he_ himself could tell you of, Erik tolerated my presence in his royal caravan, and I somehow managed to bumble along with them, and stay alive, through many amazing, incredible, and dangerous adventures."

Erik looked at me, and I saw that his eyes had turned dark.

"That was a long time ago, Nadir," he said, in a low voice. "It seems a different life now." He stood up, looming over the maiden who he called his angel like a tall, bat-like specter. "Come," he said, raising his hand, palm-up, towards her. "Let us go to dinner."

* * *

I watched as the last of the dishes on the huge banquet table disappeared into thin air, leaving only the faintest sparkling trace of magic in the air behind them. Magic, I had found, smelt very strongly of freshly-lit matches and vanilla, oddly enough. Shaking my head, still not quite able to believe all of the enchantment that I saw around myself—the workings of Erik's magic—I turned from the table, and absentmindedly looked out the dining hall window.

Then I turned my gaze elsewhere.

After dinner, Erik and Christina had left me while they went on a walk in the moonlit gardens. My increasing rheumatism would not allow me to tolerate any lengthy amount of time out-of-doors, especially in the chill air of autumn night, and so I had declined their offer to stroll through the grounds nearest to the castle with them. They had returned from their stroll, now, and were clearly in my view from the window: they stood out on the terrace that was just outside of the dining hall wing, and the moon was falling full and bright upon the white marble, illuminating their two figures.

Had I not possessed such trepidations about the whole matter, had I not known so much about the dark past of Shadowrose Castle—fifty years and more a-gone now—I might've almost been able to smile at the sight I saw out on that terrace.

They stood close together: very close.

Erik held her little form tight within his dark embrace, and the girl was resting her head confidently on his chest, one hand placed near her cheek. She wore a pale, cream-coloured cloak, its hood thrown back on her shoulders, away from her pretty face, and he, as always, wore his sweeping black cloak. The moon caused his mask to gleam.

_Erik, what have you told her?_ I questioned in my mind, glancing at the pair again. _What have you been keeping from her? How have you toyed with her mind, and lied to her? You can't have made her trust you otherwise…from what she had been told of you, before her coming here, she would have feared and despised you, for what you had done to her and her family…but how did you change that? Does she know of what you seek her to be to you…? Does she know…?_

Then, as I looked on, I saw that Erik had released her, and stood back slightly: he reached a hand out to her, palm-up, again. He appeared to be asking her something, and from the look on her face: from the way her eyes slightly widened and the way she seemed to shrink back from him, I could tell that her reaction to his words was negative. I saw her lips form the syllables of a single phrase—

"No, Erik…I can't; I don't know."

His hand dropped, and he turned his face away.

The girl's expression became even more fearful, and, I noticed, concerned, and she stepped forward, putting out a hand to him. Her fingertips just barely brushed against his jaw, where the mask did not conceal his face, and he abruptly whirled back to face her. He said something more, to which she shook her head. Erik then raised his own hand and reached for her, cupping her face against his palm.

I looked away, and decided it would be best if I left the room where I could so clearly see the two of them through the window. I did not want to be a silent third-party to their discussions.

As I walked towards my own rooms, suddenly the door from nowhere but the terrace opened, and the girl herself whisked inside, the voluminous, golden-caramel taffeta skirts of her gorgeous gown rustling crisply about her, like the richly coloured autumn leaves on the trees outside. She closed the door, leaning slightly against it for a moment, and I could hear her shaky breathing through the immense silence. Then, suddenly, she looked up, and her dark eyes pierced instantly through the darkness and caught me standing there, staring in her general direction.

Her frame went rigid and she stood straight and proud again, one eyebrow lifting as she regarded me in a truly princess-like, and quite disturbingly Erik-like manner. I balked at her righteous feminine glare.

"M. Khan," she addressed me, as she left the door and stood before it, regal as a queen. "I trust you have not been bored in the Prince's and my absence?"

Startled by the cool, even amount of sang-froid in her tone and bearing, I replied—"Oh! No, not at all, Princess. You are kind to ask."

She looked more than slightly cynical, and even somewhat mordant, as she briefly studied the many bejeweled rings that graced her slender, gloved fingers. When she spoke, it was as if she was addressing her hands themselves, for she certainly didn't look up at me—at least, not at first.

"You are our guest. Any guest in this castle ought not be neglected." Then she met my eyes with hers again, and the challenge in her look was back. "Of course, the hour has grown late, now; forgive me, my lord, but I must be retiring to my rooms. I have no desire to sit up all night."

"Surely not, m'lady," I replied, and bowed. "_Bonsoir_, Princess Christina."

"And good night to you as well, M. Khan," she replied, her tone slightly frosty. Then she turned and ascended the stairs. I remained where I was, listening as her high-heeled slippers clicked up the steps, measured, even, and calm…but then, when she had apparently thought that she was out of earshot, her footsteps suddenly increased in pace, and I heard her run away.

"Erik, what have you said to her?" I muttered.

I hoped that I could summon the courage to once again confront the prince…whenever he chose to show himself again…

* * *

The next few days of my visit were uneventful and pleasant, and I quite enjoyed my time with the betrothed pair. Never once did I hear or sense a single note of discord from either of them again, nor did I ask the princess anything more of what had caused her upset that first evening.

And never again did I witness a replay of that strange confrontation.

Eventually, however, I had to return to civilization, for I had a house and a life—however quiet and lackluster it happened to be—that I could not abandon forever. And so I bade Erik and the princess farewell, and prepared to make the journey back to the world beyond Shadowrose Castle. On the morning that I was to leave, though, I managed to catch Christina on her own.

She had walked down to the stable to inquire after the progress of my preparations, and to see if there was anything that my journey required. I assured her that I was nicely equipped for my journey, and thanked her for her kindness. I knew without a doubt that she was a sweet and even-tempered girl, who was vastly more intelligent and warm-hearted than either of her two catty sisters, whom I had briefly met during my visit to her family's cottage, in that lifetime that seemed so very distant now.

But I had often wondered, in spare moments during my visit, what it was that had caused such an icy and unbending side of her temper to show itself that evening, after her time with Erik out on the terrace. It was not within her character to be so cold, or so proud…_or so frightened_…

As she turned to leave, I asked her—

"Is he good to you, child?"

She halted, and turned around, staring at me with wide, dark eyes.

"I beg your pardon, my lord?" she said.

"Christina Daae, I am fairly certain that you heard me aright the first time," I said, trying to prove to her that I meant kindness in my tone. "I asked, _is he good to you_?"

A look of alarm flitted through her eyes, and her hand flew to her throat.

"I-I…well, y-es," she replied, uneasily.

Her eyes darted about the darkened stable, seeming unable to rest for even the briefest moment.

"How could you think…"

"Mademoiselle," I said, closing the flap on my mare's saddlebag, and resting my elbow against the saddle itself. "I am familiar with many aspects of Erik Shadowrose's character; I have been his acquaintance for far too many years to be ignorant of his disposition. Don't look so frightened, child: no one is going to hurt you, or censure you. But tell me the truth, now—is he good to you? How does he keep you here? Are you lonely, or afraid?"

She shrugged, seeming like a very little girl.

"I…I'm not lonely, most of the time," she said, softly. "I quite like the castle; it is very beautiful, and I have everything I could ever want here. My house was so very busy, for all of my life…I like the quiet, really, I do. Sometimes, though, I confess, I also miss having someone to talk to—my stepmother, my brothers, or even my sisters…but I love my life here. I _am_ happy."

"But is he good to you?" I questioned, again.

Her wide, thick-lashed eyes flickered up to meet mine, and I saw a depth of wisdom, maturity, and understanding in them that almost no girl of her age could possibly possess. She was silent for a moment.

Then…

"Yes, he is."

"The truth, Mademoiselle Daae?"

She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin regally, almost defiantly. Her amber-grey eyes were calm and determined, and unafraid.

"Yes."

"Very well then." I replied. "However…know that you have many people who are still looking out for your welfare—or they would be, if they knew where to look for you."

_And we will help you, if you should need us._

Finally, she smiled: softly, and gently.

"Thank you, M. Khan. I will remember that…but do not worry; do not let yourself, or anyone else, be troubled for me. Tell them all…if you see them, tell them…I am happy, and I am well. There is no need for them…for anyone…to be afraid. Tell them that."

"I shall, Princess."

"Merci, M. Khan."

And with that, the slender little princess of Shadowrose Castle gathered her skirts into her hands and swept out of the stable, vanishing through the sunlit doorway.

_Oh, whatever powers that may be out there,_ I prayed, silently: _hear now my prayer…keep this girl and her dark keeper from tragedy and pain. _

_I have seen the evil that lurks about the hedges of this place, and my heart fears for them. Let him see her goodness, and her purity; let him know. Do not allow him to wound her innocent young heart, or crush her brave, giving young soul…_

_Let the curse be lifted…_


	24. Heart's Betrayal

**_Chapter Twenty-Two –_**

**_Heart's Betrayal_**

**_-Christine-_**

* * *

****

One morning, a few months after Monsieur Nadir Khan had made his visit to Shadowrose Castle, I awakened from my dreams and, when I turned my head upon my silken pillow and looked out the window nearby, I saw that everything beyond the clear glass was wreathed in white.

The sky was a shade of grey-white that was so bright that it dazzled my eyes. Without a single sound to betray them, snowflakes fell through the air and whispered to the ground. It was the first snowfall of winter…

Thrilled beyond words, I hastened to free myself from the thick, warm goose-down and satin coverlets of my bed and put my feet on the smooth floor. Then I ran to the window and knelt on the bench before it, looking out over the glorious profusion of cold whiteness that now covered the land. It was so beautiful: the snow was utterly untouched, and all was in complete and profound silence and stillness. Not even a breath of wind stirred the icy branches of the trees.

The first snowfall…

Unable to contain my cheerful exhilaration now, I went to my dressing room and quickly riffled through the rows and rows of fine gowns, skirts, blouses, and other raiment in search of something to wear for the morning.

In a moment, I'd found the perfect match for my jubilant winter mood: a delicious velvet concoction of a shade of red that reminded me very much of cranberries and spiced cider. This gown had a diamond-shaped, lace-edged neckline, a neatly-fitted bodice with a V-waist, long sleeves with lace edging their cuffs, and a lavishly embellished skirt that, while it was not quite as full as that of some of the other gowns that I owned, rustled and bloomed gracefully out around me, courtesy of the creamy gold lace petticoat that I wore beneath it.

I piled my hair carefully atop my head, sighing in slight exasperation when I could not quite keep a number of curls from slipping out of the pins that were supposed to hold them. I added a pair of ruby and topaz earrings, pairing them with a beautiful necklace of white and yellow diamonds. To complete my usual morning routine, I brushed on a slight tinge of golden-colour to my eyelids, carefully lined my eyes themselves with kohl that was the colour of burnt umber, glossed my lips with rouge, and pinched my cheeks slightly to give my pale face a little blush.

Then I smiled radiantly into my dressing table's mirror, whirled briskly around, and swept out the door: venturing forth into the greater part of the castle alone.

* * *

I found the prince in the music room. Candles were lit all about the chamber, lending a warm and ambient glow to the air with the scent of patchouli and sandalwood, and highlighting his regal, perpetually black-garbed figure.

For a moment, I stood at the thresh hold, one hand resting nonchalantly on the door frame, as I smiled softly. I now saw that my dark betrothed held at least something akin to my own joy at the sight of the first snowfall in his own heart. His back was turned to me, as he looked out the window, but I wasn't at all surprised when he spoke to me without turning around.

"Good morning, my angel."

"And _bonjour _to you, your Highness," I said, and stepped into the room, taking his unspoken invitation to join him at the window.

I came to stand beside him and looked up at his masked profile for a moment. He wasn't wearing the full-face mask today; this mask was cleanly sculpted to the shape of his face, and left his lips and chin exposed. I looked quickly out to the snowy landscape of the castle grounds, knowing that I wasn't to stare at him.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I asked, breathlessly.

He nodded, the shimmering white snow reflected in his blue eyes.

"Indeed, it truly is."

And he turned towards me, capturing one of my hands in his, and holding it close to his heart: I could just feel its beat against my skin, through the layers of black velvet that he wore. "I take it, then," he said, with a smile that was warm and kind, lighting his eyes, "that you hold an affinity for the wintertime in your heart, milady?"

And, as I gazed into his sapphire-flecked eyes, I felt my heart skip a bit or two. I found that I could properly admire his features now.

There could be no doubt, ever, that Erik Shadowrose was indeed _quite_ a royal: full-blooded and absolute, through and through.

He had nobility and pride in his face, apparent in the elegant and well-defined bone structure of his nose, forehead, cheekbones, and chin. Even the mask could not hide this—rather, it was so perfectly fitted to his features that it brought them into sharp clarity, accentuating rather than obscuring. His eyes were wide-shaped and fringed with dark lashes, drawing attention to the sparkling, turbulently dual-toned orbs within them. The eyebrows of the mask were dramatically curving, the perfect balance between charisma, seductive arrogance, and intelligence. There was a slight dip in his squared chin, and his cheekbones were high and dramatically chiseled.

He was…_beautiful_.

"Well, now," he said, in a lighter and brisker tone, releasing my hand only to weave my arm through his, with practiced gallantry. "It is growing rather late, and I suppose that it would be best if I was to escort you to your breakfast. Shall we adjourn to the banquet hall, my sweetest? Or do you have other plans?"

I smiled up at him, my eyes dancing with merriment, and gave a slight tug on his arm, saying as we made our exeunt from the music room—

"Breakfast, it would seem to me, is an agreeable course to take at the moment, my lord. Even the beauty of the winter could not amply distract me from _that_."

He chuckled, and I felt myself shiver with delight at the sound.

_Oh, how I adored simply everything about my Phantom…_

* * *

Breakfast was as delicious as ever that morning, perhaps even more so because whatever magic it was that arranged our daily repasts had added a slight festive touch to the food. The table was set all in gold and silver, crystal and fine white china, with a beautiful red silk table cloth and ivory runner, hung with graceful loops of golden silk sashes. Glossy dark green holly sprigs and their blood-red berries, blooming mistletoe, and musky white winter-roses were everywhere, adorning both table and room, and the silver candelabras gleamed with spectacular brightness.

Erik chivalrously escorted me to my place at the head of the table, where my throne-like chair awaited me, and I carefully sat down, thanking him as he went around my back and went to be seated himself, in the chair to my left. I felt as if I could scarcely savor the scrumptious food enough: there was custard-bread, all sorts of pastries, flawless poached eggs delicately sprinkled with nutmeg, sausages that weren't too spicy but not at all bland, muffins, scones, warm fruit compote, large golden waffles, and more. In tall silver carafes in the center of the table there was hot chocolate, sparkling warmed champagne, and, of course, tea.

While I sampled this and that, Erik remained in his chair at my side, and only took a sip of the strange, potent-smelling black tea that he had poured for himself. When I asked him what it was, he replied that—as he was not a breakfast person, or really even very much of a morning person—he tended to skip eating early on in the day altogether, and only permitted himself the indulgence of his favorite kind of tea, which he had discovered during his travels years before. As always, the very mention of his mysterious world-faring adventures instantly piqued my interest, and I inquired where this tea had come from, and what it tasted like.

Another one of his rare, slightly playful smiles lightly curved his lips, and he held out the steaming teacup to me with his gloved hand.

"You may try it, if you would like, my dear," he said, in an unquestionably amused tone. "But I do not think that you will like it."

I eyed the teacup with sudden trepidation, but decided not to pass on the experience. If he had learnt to like this beverage…whatever it really was, for I did not know its name, and he had not told me…I could possibly endure it as well.

I was willing to take drastic measures to ensure his favor.

Cautiously raising the porcelain cup to my lips, I took a tiny sip. The black tea flooded instantly into my mouth, over my taste buds, and into my throat. I immediately recoiled—I had never tasted anything so potent, or so bitter!

Erik, who must have anticipated my reaction, stretched out a gloved hand, which I pressed the teacup into, and then I reached quickly for my beloved hot chocolate. When I was able to speak again, I inhaled deeply, steadying myself, and glared at the tabletop.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty!" I finally said. "But I think that our tastes in tea are not at all alike! Good gracious, I have _never_…!"

And as I trailed off, still trying to forget the unpleasant occurrence, my companion laughed again: this time, it was a real laugh, and not just a quiet chuckle. He looked at me, blue eyes sparkling, and shook his head, smiling.

"Forgive me, my lady," he replied. "I _did_ warn you."

"Aye, you did," I said, in a slightly shrewish tone, my eyes narrowed. "Well, then. I think that now the time has come for an accord: I will never again attempt to deprive you of even a drop of your tea, if you will promise to keep it far, far away from _me_."

His smile widened, and he promised—

"Very well then, milady Christine. You have my word."

I pushed the remains of my fruit compote around on my plate for a moment, staring at nothing in particular on the tabletop, and then I inhaled resolutely, set my shoulders straight, pushed my chair back, and stood up. I turned my eyes upon the prince, lifting my chin a bit.

"Now, will his majesty permit me a favor?"

He inclined his head to one side, eyeing me with his inscrutable blue orbs. "I would give the princess whatever she might wish for, if it is in my power."

_And there is not much that is not within your power,_ I thought, gazing at his tall, dark, and imposing figure: noting the powerful broadness of his shoulders, and the wolf-like mane that fell in dark waves upon them.

His long hands rested with seeming carelessness on the table, but I knew that the fingers of those hands were capable of much strong, and deft, action. _He holds so much strength…and I think that he knows it; how can anyone not…?_

I cleared my throat, and made my request.

Well, that began a bit of an argument, then.

The favor that I had asked of him was that he would join me in a walk through the gardens to enjoy the first snowfall. The master of Shadowrose Castle, however, was not entirely thrilled at this idea.

"Christine, _no_," he said, as I followed him around the room: traipsing along at his heels like an antagonistic little puppy who didn't know any better—

Though I _did_ know better.

I found that I had to take specific care not to tread on the hem of his long black cloak as he strode along in front of me, easily keeping out of my reach but never moving too far away, either.

"I told you before," he continued, "and you _know _it—I don't like the sun. I don't like walking outside at midday. I _don't_ like the sun. No."

Carefully, I smothered a grin as he said these firm but far from truly annoyed words; I could not, however, keep my eyes from dancing with amusement. As he continued to balk and hedge around my earlier suggestion—that we should venture out into the gardens that afternoon, to enjoy the first snow—I reached for his perpetually gloved hands.

"Oh, please, my _Fantôme_?" I begged, with intentional but seemingly guileless plaintiveness in my look and tone. "It is so beautiful out."

He quickly and deftly extricated his hands from mine—but not before I'd seen the flicker of reluctance that went through his blue eyes behind the mask that he wore—and made a quelling gesture at me.

"Christine," he said in a voice fraught with warning and denial. "Sunlight is…_bad_. I will not go. I have no interest in experiencing the effects of the early winter that you so happily and enthusiastically laud as the epitome of 'wonderful'."

Then he tried to move away, but I caught him by the hem of his cloak.

He jerked to a stop, and turned sharply to face me.

His eyes narrowed…

* * *

I had learnt, during my time at the castle, that Erik's eyes were the most expressive aspects of his person. In them, I was permitted to read some of his emotions: some, but not all. His face was yet a mystery to me and I could not read or decipher or even remotely predict the expressions, thoughts, or feelings that would pass through it every day. I'd also learnt, ever since the evening in which he had finally allowed me—after so long!—to look upon him more fully, that it was in my best interests if I avoided inquiring after or even vaguely wonder what lay behind the mask.

I knew, without him ever having to tell me so, that I was not to lay a finger on his mask, or try to look at his face. After not being able to see him without the cover of darkness and murky shadow for so long, though, I found that the presence of the mask on his face was no matter of concern or really even interest for me.

It was enough to be able to see him.

Now I knew that he was there.

And, strangely enough, I thought—the mask almost seemed to merely add to his entrancing darkness. I wondered what it was that he bore upon his face that caused him to conceal himself from me…but I did not know, and I did not truly desire to ask. I was happy to just be at his side.

And, in regard to his interactions with me, I knew that he would not often refuse to eventually render unto me whatever I might ask of him. And so there we were: walking out into the snowy gardens, both heavily bundled up in cloaks, scarves, hoods, and gloves. Around us, all was still and peaceful: the air was filled with delicate, lacy snowflakes that clung to his black velvet shoulders and my hair. I looked up at him, he turned his face towards me, and though his expression was fairly unreadable, I could not help but smile at him: my mirth was uncontrollable.

The first snowfall…

My first winter in my new home, in my new life.

I took my arm from within Erik's, and, gathering my heavy skirts into my hands, out of the way of my feet, I ran quickly to the nearest open patch of grass. Then, with my muff on one hand, I opened my arms wide and began to twirl around in circles, my face uplifted to the dazzling white-grey sky. The snowflakes danced with me, whispering against my cheeks and my throat, and melting against my eyelashes. I didn't mind the cold; I scarcely felt it at all.

_There was only the shimmering goose down sky above me…_

In another moment or two, I came back down to reality and opened my eyes again, ceasing to twirl. Erik's tall, black-cloaked figure stood a little ways off from me, on the smooth stone pathway; he was absolutely motionless, like a proud statue, but his blue eyes watched me with intense, alert, and very much living concentration. I laughed a bit at my childish silliness, and looked at the frosty blades of grass that were at my feet: my face flushed with both chagrin and the chilly air, and my rapid twirling about. That was certainly not at all princess-like behavior!

"I am sorry, milord; forgive me," I said, as I went to his side. "Please excuse me…I've always adored the snow…it has ever held a kind of magic for me."

"You are so beautiful," was all he said, in a low and almost reverent tone. "How can you apologize to me…why should you…?"

I looked down again, biting my lower lip because I didn't know what to say at all. Then his glossy black boots moved forwards, as he stepped closer to me, and the warm black leather of his gloves touched my skin as he curled his fingers under my chin, and tipped my face up so that his eyes were looking full into mine.

His halfway-concealed but full, warm-toned lips curled upwards at their corners, in a heart-melting smile. I was entranced by those sparkling, sapphire-shard eyes, and leaned towards him, as he came nearer to me…then…

"Perhaps I was wrong," he said. "Perhaps I do not entirely dislike the sunlight, or the first snow of winter, at midday."

He smiled again, broader, and little sparks of humor danced in his light eyes, and we laughed together. Heavens; even his laugh held the power to make me go completely weak in the knees! This man could have asked me to for anything, and I might well have followed him to the end of time and back…

We continued on our walk, thoroughly enjoying the deliciously cold weather and the beauty of the snow-and-ice-filled gardens, and, to my surprise and delight, Erik revealed to me yet another secret of the magical Shadowrose Castle. Here, even during the winter, the roses and their companion flowers still bloomed as fully, beautifully, and perfectly as they did in the other, warmer seasons of the year.

I marveled over the flawless blossoms, not daring to even so much as think about reaching out my hand to touch their petals. I had never known any product of nature to be so seemingly divinely-crafted.

Then, I stood back, placing both my hands inside of the warm, ermine-lined muff I had brought along with me, and glanced at Erik, who stood a little ways off from me. He was watching me closely again, and I felt as if I were the prey of some fearsome predatory creature, in the direct line of his eyes.

What was it that was causing him to stare at me so…?

The wind came howling around the corner of the castle wall, sending icy gusts of air and sharp, stinging flecks of snow and ice spraying at us: Erik's black cloak whipped and snapped about with an angry violence, and I turned my face aside.

All at once, I saw the horrid memory in my mind.

_My father was in the garden, precisely where I now stood. It was early spring again, and all was green and lush around him, but there were clouds_—_dark, dark, billowing clouds through which wicked fingers of lightning flickered with unnerving irregularity_—_rolling into the sky. The wind was blowing roughly about the land, stirring the branches of the trees in the forest; thunder rumbled…_

_Father reached out, slowly, and brushed his fingertips along the petals of a pure white rose. The rose broke off of its stem, and fell into his palm. A violent gust of wind tore at him; he whirled around—_

"_So, Monsieur!"_

_That voice_—_it was Erik's voice._

'_No!' my mind screamed…_

_Erik looked frightening_—_so much more frightening than I had ever seen him look. I hadn't imagined that he could be so terrible, for he had always shown me kindness, gentleness, and courtesy while I had been at his castle. He had been good to me…this horrible, looming specter with no face could not possibly be the man, the prince, that I had come to know as my friend, my protector, my guide and guardian, my teacher…my master…and…my Angel…_

_No; no, no, nooooo…_

_My soul sobbed in torment._

"_Now return to your home, merchant, and give this rose to fair Christina…"_

"Christine?"

I realized that I had closed my eyes, and both my hands were clamped over my face, pressing hard against my skull. Inhaling sharply, I opened my eyes, and looked up, feeling someone else's hands gripping my arms by the wrists: holding me still within their grasp. Erik's sapphire-blue eyes stared down into mine, and I momentarily, inwardly, flinched back from him.

The memory…

But no: these eyes that looked into mine, with such concern and tenderness and care, these eyes could not possibly be the eyes of a monster. My _Fantôme_ was not a monster…he had never harmed me, he had kept me from pain and heartbreak; he had given me my voice, and shown me the mesmerizing world of his music; I never wanted to leave him, and I dreamed of the day when he would be with me forever…forever…my _Fantôme_…_he loved me_…

And that was when I totally, utterly, gave into Christine. Christina was gone, beyond recall or desire. I knew I would not miss her; she was a shallow, frightened, vacillating and silly child. I was willing to live this life as a whole now. I wanted to forget the reality of what lay beyond Shadowrose Castle; I was willing to forget the reality of the past. It no longer mattered. I didn't care, and I didn't want to care.

I leaned into his touch as he cupped my face against one hand, and closed my eyes. I smiled, softly…and happily.

"_Mon Fantôme_…"

I opened my eyes again, and smiled up at him.

"Shall we continue?" I asked, pleasantly.

He smirked a bit.

"As milady wishes," he said, lightly, and swept a hand out to the side, in a gesture for me to walk on ahead of him.

I coyly skirted around him, casting a glance over my shoulder at him as I minced on down the path, without pausing to wait for him to re-join me.

Erik, I noted, followed behind me at a small distance, though I never once felt the searing touch of his sharp blue eyes leave me. A warm thrill ran over me, and I let my smile widen a bit, and hastened my pace a little.

The path wound around and around, taking us through more and more of the gardens, until it suddenly came to a fork: one route led downwards, toward the steep embankment that rose over the river that surrounded the castle, and the other led up to a high, wide wall of the castle.

I put a hand to the stones of this wall, seeing how the age of the castle was more clearly displayed here than elsewhere on the grounds. The stones were covered in moss and ivy and rose vines, and the wall itself looked as if it had seen much time pass it by, and was beginning to slowly crumble. I turned halfway, and glanced back at the prince, who was approaching me from behind on the pathway.

"I do not think that I have viewed this place before, milord," I commented.

He made a gesture upwards, drawing my attention to the castle above us.

"No? Perhaps you have merely seen it from a different vantage point."

And there, looming far above us, seeming as if it had pierced the cloudy sky itself, was the tower from which we had so often viewed the beautiful panorama of the nighttime sky together.

I blushed.

_How well I remembered that first evening; the feel of his arms around me, his heartbeat, the warmth of his breath, and the glorious sensation of his smile…_

"Indeed." I said, taking a hasty, steadying breath. "I stand corrected, milord. I cannot see, however, why I have not been here before in all of my walks through the grounds! It is a picturesque spot…the river looks quite lovely, from here."

And, picking up my skirts so that the hem would not drag beneath me, I began to ascend the stairway that led up to the top of the wall.

I sensed that he had followed me.

_He's with me even now; all around me… _

Once I was standing upon the wall, I took a few careful steps towards the edge. The view of the river and the beautiful valley unfolded beneath us, shimmering white with the first cold snow, and I caught my breath. Then, on some indescribable whim, I looked far out to the horizon, where the smoky grey mountaintops peaked above the dark forest. But what was I looking for…?

(1) "Aren't you cold?"

I shook my head, without looking back at him.

"No…" I replied. "The cold does not bother me; I like it, out here, in the snow. Besides…I'd prefer to walk with you."

I heard him come to a graceful halt behind me.

"Milady, you do me a great honour," he said, in a soft voice. I waited, and he came to my side again, and we continued on our walk, together.

"I hope you don't find the days here too tedious."

His words were sudden, breaking abruptly into the relative silence around us, and they startled me. I swung to face him, frowning slightly, and looked up into his unreadable face. The white porcelain mask gleamed in the bright light of midday, smooth and blinding: its whiteness made his eyes seem all the bluer, and for the first time, I saw just how pale his skin was. I had never once viewed him by daylight before…he had always, always remained in the shelter of darkness, and shadow: a tall, black specter that was almost nothing more than a large shadow himself.

A living shadow.

Again, I shook my head, and continued on ahead of him.

"I do find the days long…sometimes," I revealed. "But only when I am alone. I am very glad that you have chosen to join me in my walk."

"You are so kind, Christine," he murmured; he stepped in front of me then, and reached towards me: his fingers halted just short of touching my face, however, and I saw an unfamiliar emotion flit through his eyes as he gazed at me. "You are so good, and so sweet…I can scarcely bring myself to ask you the question that torments you so."

_Could you ever love me…?_

But I didn't know. I was still so confused…

I met his eyes evenly, lifting my chin a bit.

"Ask," I told him. "…But I shall always give the same reply, until my heart can tell me otherwise."

At this, he turned his face away, and I reached out to him, my hand closing over his heavily cloaked, velvet arm. It was as inflexible and cold as steel, and I felt that he flinched somewhat at my touch.

Imploringly, I asked him—

"Can we not remain as we are, my prince? Why do you ask this of me? Is it not enough that I am here…must I prove myself to you, in those words?"

His arm was still taut beneath my grasp; his entire frame was rigid, and I saw anger sparking in his eyes—anger, but it was not entirely directed towards me. I felt guilty, and terribly ungrateful, for my words and behavior.

I was his fiancée…was it, indeed, too much for him to ask that I should love him? If I was to be his wife, _shouldn't_ I be able to love him, or at least learn to love him, in time? But I didn't know…his presence with me stirred such emotions in my heart, brought into being such feelings within my existence…but I didn't know if I could love him. I didn't know if I did love him.

_I didn't know…_

"I cannot help but ask," he said, in a low, tight voice.

Biting my lip, I turned away, and took a few steps further down the path. (1)

Then his voice stopped me again.

"Christine…why do you try to stay away from me…but not really try?" he asked me, suddenly: I looked, and saw that he was eyeing me with a peculiar expression. It almost made me feel as if I were that little red-cloaked girl in the old, old fairy tale that had come face-to-face with a nefarious, hungry wolf.

I shivered, and backed away a bit. Seeing my movement, he stepped towards me again, taking each step with careful deliberateness, never once releasing me from the intensity of his stare.

"Why do you dance away every time I come near you this morning…_and every day_…and yet, you still remain near enough for me to catch you?" he asked, still coming nearer to me. "Why do your eyes beg me to keep my distance…but also challenge me to chase you?" He stopped, and a sinisterly playful look crossed his features. "Do you _want_ me to catch you?"

I opened my lips, nearly beginning to speak…but then I thought the better of it. I tried to pretend as if I was ignoring him, though I knew that this was something that I could never do.

"Christine."

The game was over: I'd started something that had led to a greater issue at hand. I could not deny that I felt myself compelled to be near him, drawn to him by some force more powerful than any I had ever known of before, and it frightened me to death. He already all-but owned me…but he would not accept this as true until I had given my word. Until I had made my choice. Until I had said the words…

So I ran.

My skirts seemed feather-light, unlike usual, and my heavy winter shoes did not hamper me as I swept away, trying to put some distance between myself and my opponent in this game of attraction and resistance. I could not let him catch me…

Then, everything went wrong.

I stepped too near the edge of the wall; the parapet yawned beneath me, suddenly seeming as if it were a hundred times deeper than before, and all at once all that I could hear was the rushing of the river as it surged through the razor-sharp rocks that were everywhere, buried in the seething, foaming-white rapids: the noise filling my mind. My shoe came down on a stone that was loose; it scraped against its foundation for a moment, for an awful split second, and then fell away.

I saw Erik's face in a blur, then: his eyes seemed preternaturally blue in his pale face, his black cloak billowing about him—

"_Christine_!"

Then I was falling, falling—

_Splash!_ The icy water of the river engulfed me, the currents dragged me down; I couldn't breathe, it was so cold, the light of the sky above broke into shards above me; I could never reach that light—

Blackness.

* * *

"_Christine…Christine!" someone sobbed my name, in anguish that was heartbreaking. _

"_It's all right," I said, trying to comfort the person, to ease his grief. "I'm here_—_I'm here; don't cry, it's all right. I'm here…I'm here; I always have been…"_

* * *

And I awoke.

My surroundings were unfamiliar: all dark red, black, with only a little gold here and there to relieve the immense shadowiness. My first thought was that, miraculously, I was not dead.

And…my second thought…my second thought was that those words, wept in unrestrained misery and despair…they were far too real.

_They had been spoken to me, now._

I sat up on my elbows, raising myself off of the silky, cushioned surface that I lay upon, and looked around myself.

I had been placed upon a curtained bed that had been fashioned in the shape of a boat: from its mast hung the thick black curtains, which had been draped about me, enclosing me within their filmy darkness. I had been covered with a wonderfully soft velvet blanket of sorts, and my cloak, scarf, and gloves had been removed, as had my shoes. Curiously, I peered through the lacy curtains. Beyond, I could just barely glimpse the dim amber light of many candles. It was too dark for me to see anything else, however.

I leaned forward, to the edge of the bed, and put a hand to the edge of the curtain, drawing it back a bit, so that I could see out into the chamber…wherever and whatever it truly was. I found that my skin had begun to prickle with tiny goose-bumps, and noticed that my gown was somewhat damp; my hair was loose and curling in ringlets about my shoulders and face, not quite dried either. I frowned, and tried to remember what had happened before then…

_Oh no. _

It all came back to me in a rush: I'd been trying to run from Erik, for some strange little reason of my own, and I'd been running along the wall, not looking well where I was going…and then a stone beneath my shoe had slipped, and I'd fallen…

_I'd fallen_…

I threw off the coverlet, and scrambled to get to my feet. My hair and clothing in a wild disarray, I pushed aside the curtains and looked hastily about myself. I was so worried—Erik! What had I done? I must have angered him so at my foolishness!

_Stupid, foolish Christine!_ I raged at myself, as I looked about the dark, silent room. There were so many shadows…which one of them held him within itself…if any did?

Was he even there…or was he no longer near me?

"Erik!" I whispered, in desperation.

I whirled about, frantically searching the chamber for him, and saw that the door to a balcony outside the room had been left open. I ran to it, and stepped outside, hoping…and he was there.

He was sunken down upon his knees, by the ledge of the balcony: his arms were wrapped about his head, hiding his face. He no longer wore his thick, long black cloak; instead, he was garbed in his breeches, boots, and a thin white silken shirt, which I could see was not enough to keep him warm—the light of the full moon, for it was now night, shone through it, illuminating the body beneath.

And, as I stood there, in aghast silence at the door—aghast at what I had done, the trouble I had caused—I saw that his great shoulders were shaking violently.

"Christine…" he moaned, in a trembling voice.

I could stand it no longer. What had I done to him?

Without a moment's hesitation, I rushed forward and fell to my knees beside him, clutching his arm with both my hands. He jerked in my grasp, recoiling, and his blue eyes stared into mine: disbelieving and dark with shock, and sadness.

"My sweet angel…" he murmured.

"Oh, Erik!" I gasped, flinging myself against him and grabbing handfuls of his ridiculously flimsy silken shirt: holding onto him as if I intended to never let go. I began to sob. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it; I didn't mean to be so careless! Forgive me, please forgive me, it was an accident—!"

"Christine," he whispered, as his arms came around me, enclosing me within their protective warmth, holding me to him with care. I felt his breath in my hair, and buried my face in his neck, my hot and penitent tears seeping through my eyelashes and welling against his skin. He inhaled deeply, shakily, and said to me—

"I…I was so worried. You wouldn't wake up…and I thought…I won't lose you; I can't…I won't!"

And he pulled back, holding my face between his two hands, making me look at him, and keeping me from looking away. His masked face was alight with protective fury and passion.

"You will _never_ die!" he whispered, fiercely. "You won't leave, and you won't change! I won't let you go—you are _mine_, do you understand that? _Do_ you understand it? Do you have any idea what living without you would do to me? Can you even begin to comprehend…?"

With an almost animalistic growl, he seized me, and held me close to himself again: the strength of his grip nearly crushing me. I squeezed my eyes shut, and held onto him. My Phantom wouldn't let me go, and I was glad.

"Oh, _Christine_…" he whispered. "I couldn't bear thinking of you as cold and dead…gone, and I could not hope to reach you! I haven't the powers to keep you from everything…but, oh! _Christine_…"

Then his hold on me slackened, and I was able to pull away from him somewhat. He looked down at me, his lips parting slightly, the brilliant blue vibrancy of his eyes veiled by his dark eyelashes, and I saw a thousand flickering shards of emotions pass through their depths. I felt a surge of emotion ripple through me, as well, and nodded, slightly, slowly.

"Erik…" I breathed.

His chin gently touched down on my shoulder as I leaned towards him, with infinite care and slowness; I felt the warmth of his face close to me, tantalizingly close, and his hair was still damp, falling down to surprisingly soft but disheveled and shaggy dark locks upon his shoulders. I felt my heart pound, and tightened my grasp on him as I uncovered more of the truth in my heart.

He, needless to say, had jumped off of the precipice into the raging rapids, following me into the deadly, icy-cold river, to save my life. He had rescued me from certain death, and brought me back to life.

_My prince had saved me…_

I felt him lean his face against my hair, and heard him sigh. His hands moved against my back, and then he held me away from him. He tipped my face back, looking into my eyes deeply.

"Enough for now," he said, gently. "Let's go back inside. You're still wet, and cold, and I will not risk your health; we cannot remain out here. Come."

And he stood, and held out a hand to me.

I placed my hand in his, feeling his fingers close about mine, and followed him back inside. This place that he had brought me to, after rescuing me from the dangerous escapade in the river, was a chamber that was one among his very own rooms; I blushed, when I thought of the care he had expended for me.

Again, as he led me to the door, I fumed at myself for my foolishness. However, before he released me so that I could return to my own rooms, he stood at the door—watching me walk away, into the shadows in the hall—and then spoke.

"Christine."

I turned around. I was willing to do whatever he said, now. I would obey him in everything, for there was no one living that I treasured more than him.

_My teacher._

"Meet me in the ballroom?" he said. His blue eyes shone, even in the dark. And I nodded, with a soft smile, at last.

All was forgiven; I needn't worry. The trouble was over.

"Yes." I said.

* * *

I stood alone in the dark ballroom, looking up at the shadowy ceiling far above me, at the tall windows and the night sky beyond them.

There were clouds in the sky again, and the snow was falling fast: every so often I could hear the wind shrieking outside the glass. It reminded me of the wolves in the forest, howling to one another on the night of a full moon. And there _had_ been a full moon in the sky tonight, before the clouds had swept in…

"_Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love That inward beauty and invisible_," murmured his voice in my ear.

I whirled around, my heart thundering as my knees seemed like to give out beneath me, but there was no one in sight. I could only see the darkness, riddled with moonlight. Breathing in to steady myself, I clenched one fist in the folds of my skirt: curling my fingers so tightly that my nails pressed deep into my palms and shot fiery waves of pain—but oh, sweet blessed reminder of reality, as the foundations of my mind threatened to sweep entirely away at the sound of that wonderful, preternaturally beautiful voice! —up my entire arm. I didn't know what I would do when I saw him: suddenly, I was utterly uncertain of myself.

_In this darkness…_

I sensed him, _felt him_, in some strange, unexplainable way, moving towards me. The room was so completely riddled with shadows that I wouldn't have seen him at all, then, if not for the stark whiteness of his porcelain mask and the fine white silk shirt that he wore beneath his tunic and cloak.

Yet there he was, standing a mere three feet from me. His ice blue eyes stared into mine with a peculiar intensity as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his gloved hand move. He held it out to me, and I immediately, mechanically, responded by putting my own hand within his.

"_Or were I deaf_," he continued, his voice barely above the breathiest whisper, yet vibrantly clear to my ears, "_Thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee…_"

The powerful living warmth of his hand sent ripples of sensation up my arm, as if I'd been struck by lightning. He slowly drew me after him, leading me…pulling me _towards him_...and then, as effortlessly and quickly as that, I was in his arms.

My hands moved, seemingly of their own accord, as he without resistance relinquished his hold on them, and I slowly reached up and put my arms around his neck. His long, shaggy, dark, dark hair was surprisingly sleek, again, and so very, very thick against my intertwined fingers. My lips parted in wonderment, I looked up into his face for only a moment before I felt unease stir again in the pit of my stomach, and I hastily averted my face.

A fiery blush crept up from my collarbones, and I became suddenly very, very aware of the careful, deft pressure of his elegant, gloved hands against my waist. His black velvet cloak draped about both of us, combining so flawlessly with my own dark velvet gown that we seemed to be no more than one shadow…

"Christine," he said to me, speaking in a low voice: more than his previous whisper. I felt his arms move about me, shifting their hold on me, and I shook my head, quickly. "No…" I whispered. "No."

Then I took my arms from his neck and grabbed onto the front of his shirt, pulling him to me, and pressed my face into the space between his chin and throat, glad for the safety and warmth of him…even though he was sometimes what most unnerved me.

"Don't speak…don't say anything…"

_Now I am here with you: no second thoughts, I've decided…_

_Past all thought _

_of right or wrong_—

_one final question: _

_how long must _

_we two wait, _

_before_ _we're one…?_

_Let the flames consume us…_

And then he smiled, in that way that caused shivers to run up my spine all over again: chilling me, and yet filling me with the most indescribable warmth.

"Then I won't." he said, simply.

I felt, and heard, him breathe in; then he sang softly to me, caressing his fingers through my hair…singing words of abandoning this world of idle thought, of succumbing to the blissful darkness of our dreams, of the fire that waited to overpower our minds…

_Past the point _

_of no return, _

_the final threshold_—

_what_ _warm,_

_unspoken secrets _

_will we learn?_

_Beyond the point of no return, Christine…_

"Erik?"

His brilliant blue eyes glittered as he looked at me, when I said his name. I hesitated a moment, trying desperately, at this last possible second, at this final moment, to steady myself…_the moment of silence before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge_…

"Erik," I said to him, calmly. "Kiss me, please. Now."

* * *

There isn't much that I can remember of the space in between the time when I said that last word and when his rough lips came down on mine with crushing force—and met with an equally fervent riposte from my own mouth.

I _will_, however, always be able to summon up a picture in my mind of the look in his eyes in that moment. It was as if nothing that I could have said would have shocked him more: a thousand—more than a thousand—emotions ripped savagely through his stunning blue spheres, nearly blinding me. Within them, I saw disbelief, uncertainty, memory, recognition, fear…

…And, above all else, _longing_…

Then his hands seized hold of me, dragging me to him, and the palm of his right hand pressed hard against my jawbone. He closed the gap between us with one swift movement, dipping his head so that his face was on level with mine, and claimed my lips with his. This was my very first kiss, and I know, even now, that I will never again feel any other like it.

Such sweet adoration was there, but such sweet, horrible but exhilarating pain, as well! I felt as if my soul had fled me and was now fluttering within my throat, waiting for its chance to soar into the heavens with his spirit.

His arms pulled me closer, closer, until his chest was crushed against mine, hard and unmovable as armor, and I let my hands begin to freely roam the broad, hard-muscled expanse of his back and shoulders: caressing the smooth black velvet. His eyelashes brushed lightly against my face as our kiss went on, deepening, and I felt my frame growing numb in the face of such feeling. I saw sparkling shards of light bursting behind my closed eyes…

_

* * *

_

_Crash!_

The sound of shattering glass startled me, and I lurched back in my dark betrothed's arm, instantly breaking our kiss as my eyes flew open. I looked to the ground, where the noise had originated, and saw the splintered shards of what had a split second before been…

…_A white porcelain mask, with black velvet ties, now lying on the marble floor broken into a thousand pieces_…

I would be haunted for long afterwards by the memory of what occurred next.

As soon as my eyes had focused on the broken mask, I felt a jolt of fright go through my entire frame as I realized that this disaster had been my fault—as I had embraced him, my fingertips had unwittingly untied the laces, causing the mask to come away from his face.

_He told you not to look at his face,_ my mind raged. '_Do not try to see me. Do not look at me. Can you promise me this?' That is what he said…and **you** told him, **Yes**, I will promise. **Yes**, I promise. **Yes**, you may trust me. **Yes**, I will not look at you. I will not look at your mask…I will not see it…_

But I _did_ look.

I broke my promise, and I looked.

Then I couldn't do anything but scream.

And my heart broke with guilt, and the knowledge that I had just betrayed the one being, the man, whom I had begun to believe that I might, one day, come to love.

* * *

_Authoress's Note: Heheheh. We all know what comes next, I think...and for those of you who might be wondering...no: Christine did NOT intentionally removeErik's mask, as she does in many other versions. She simply got her fingers tangled up in the wrong spot, and wasn't aware of it because she was so caught up in making out with her new boyfriend. Hahahah, just kidding, mon amies...don't gawp at me like that... (winks) Point is, she didn't MEAN to remove the mask...but will Erik realize that? We shall soon find out..._

_Oh!_

_And, **DISCLAIMERS**: The lyrics at the end of the chapter are, of course, owned by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and other respective artists; the poetry that Erik quotes is from Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis. Someone commented that adding in all the lyrics of Past the Point of No Return was a bit tacky, and on further reflection, I must agree--so I edited them out. Hope thishelps? _

_The dialogue between the (1) and (1) marksis partially taken from Jean Cocteau'sversion of Beauty and the Beast. Etc. etc. et al. Leave us a note, if you'd be so kind,lovelies!_


	25. The Angel is a Monster

**_Chapter Twenty-Three –_**

**_The Angel is a Monster_**

**_-Raoul-_**

* * *

****

It had been another long day of my winter vacation, full of dealing with the old and stodgy, various upper-crust relatives that were now staying at my house—invited by my magnanimous older brother, of course—and rigid formalities.

I'd wanted nothing more than to escape to the inner sanctum of my own chambers, but Philippe had been adamantly against it, and every time that I'd even so much as moved an inch towards the door, either he, the butler Renaud, or my Great-Uncle Wilhelm always caught me.

Now, it was almost midnight, and I was finally allowed to adjourn to my rooms, to relish what little time I had in the quiet by myself.

Tomorrow…it would start all over again.

Confounded by the miring set of events I found myself trapped within, I stormed across the room towards my four-poster bed, not caring if Philippe heard the angry staccato of my boots on the wooden floor. I threw myself unceremoniously across the bed, onto my stomach, and folded my arms, resting my chin upon them as I glared at the wall opposite of me.

Remembering other past winter holidays didn't help…

Before this year, when my one and only best friend—the beautiful, vivacious, and simply wonderful girl whose energy and adventurousness had almost dwarfed my own—I had spent almost every waking hour of my time with Christina and her family. The Daae clan seemed so happy, so content and warm and at ease with one another. They were able to laugh and chat, play games and decorate the house with festive baubles together—and all _without_ the stiff, decorous, and sanctimonious air that I found so abundant in my own family.

The Daae family had what the de Chagny family did not—

There was _love_ in that house.

I couldn't deny that Philippe had done his very best to give me a good life, after he'd become the one person who was solely responsible for me after our parents' deaths. I'd never wanted for anything, and the finest education at the most prestigious school in the land had been mine…but Philippe, I had found, was growing increasingly colder—more and more detached and unfeeling—as the years went on.

I shuddered as I considered the possible, though ultimately far-fetched implications of this.

_Oh please, whatever powers there are out there to hear my prayer, _I thought, closing my eyes. _Don't let him fall. _

_Don't let him become like **her**._

Susceptibility to malevolence ran in our family, on its matriarchal side…it skipped generations, generally…and the knowledge of this had been cause of my utmost fear, all my life.

My mother, Violetta Duquesne, had been a quiet and mild-mannered woman, who had never once, in her entire life, raised her voice above the most lady-like murmur…no, it was _her mother_, and the rumors of her, that I feared.

For my grandmother, you see, had been—and I was certain still _was_—a most powerful and malicious sorceress...

* * *

That night, as I dreamed, I found myself passing swiftly through the Forbidden Forest, and within moments, it seemed, I stood invisible upon the very thresh hold of an enormous castle that was covered in rose vines. The fragrance of the velvety blooms, which were all black, filled the air to an intoxicating level, awakening a sense of memory in me; my subconscious mind recalled the tale of another rose…_

* * *

_

_Once I was inside the castle, I walked quickly through its gilded corridors, passing by many ornate and beautiful rooms without even the briefest of glances. I felt as though I was driven by some strange sense of purpose, but could not fathom what that purpose was. My feet took an unseen path, leading me deeper into what I could only guess had to be the lair of the ghost himself…the infamous le Fantôme…the specter of darkness, the enchanter, the horror who lurked in the shadows…_

_I came upon a pair of gold-bound doors and stepped through them as if they were made of air. This brought me into the most gorgeous ball room that I had ever seen…it was dark here, as was the rest of the castle, but in a pool of moonlight, I suddenly glimpsed the outlines of two figures. My dream self's heart stopped instantly within my chest, ceasing entirely to beat for a moment…as I looked on, I could scarcely believe what my own eyes were witnessing…_

_Christine: shimmering, perfect, and utterly beautiful in a bejeweled gown, stood upon the smooth marble floor…she wasin the arms of a tall, black-cloaked man…and he was not just holding her…she was not simply embracing him…their lips had melded together in what could only be the sweetest, most passionate of kisses. __Her hands were laid flat on his back, pressing close to him, and he was almost lifting her off of the ground, his arms locked around her tiny waist. Her eyes were closed, but I could sense each of her emotions and feelings with awful, crystalline clarity. _

_She had given in to this dark, tainted love, the love that he felt for her…she knew of nothing beyond him and his domain, and she did not want to think of anything but him…she belonged to him now…he had claimed mastery of her…_

"_Christina!" my dream self called out, soundless in the void of silence, and she could not hear me. _

_I was helpless, and without a hope._

_Then, as I stood and watched in despair, I saw that her hands had somehow loosened the ties of the monster's mask, and when one of them made a sudden movement, the white object slipped aside, and fell to the ground. _

_There, it shattered into many pieces._

_Christina, startled, opened her eyes and pulled back. In that instant, the magic between them vanished, and I saw that the darkness was now flitting through her eyes. She looked up, and stared suddenly at his exposed face…_

_And **screamed**!_

_I could feel myself crying out in horror when I too caught sight of the ghastly, unearthly mangled features that the mask had hidden behind its porcelain whiteness. _

_Upon hearing her cry of fright, the monster wrenched back as well, with a shriek of his own. The stark hideousness of his terrible face was magnified a thousandfoldby the snarl which then etched onto his lips. He lunged for her, grabbing her violently by both of her slender arms, and roared at her—_

"_Are you happy now, child? Does what you see not satisfy you? You wanted to see the monster, and now here he is! Why do you shrink back, Christine? Don't you know your Erik? **I'm your angel!** Don't you remember!"_

_He seemed utterly transformed: the man I had seen blissfully and completely in love, at rest with reality, the man I had seen the moment before was now gone, beyond recall. _

_In his place stood a ravening, cursed monster that looked upon the terrified girl before him with hatred and fury in his blood-stained eyes. Christina was weeping; his hands were tightly clasped around her wrists, and hurt her as she tried to get away. _

"_P-please!" she begged him, gasping for air and sobbing piteously, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Erik, please_—**_please_** _let me go, you're hurting me! Erik, please forgive me; I didn't mean to—"_

"_It's too late for that **now**, my princess!" came the creature's unearthly, snarling voice. His eyes glittered, blood-red, as he shook her roughly. "You promised me, don't you recall? You promised your poor, hideous Erik that you would never look upon his face! And, well, now you have—and now Erik can never let you go, not even for an instant! Now you may **never** leave him! You foolish, disloyal girl, you prying Pandora! Do you know what you've done, you little demon? Curse you! Tell me—isn't **this** what you wanted to see? Look at me! Glut your eyes with the sight of my cursed ugliness!"_

_And he took her hands and pressed them to his face_—_Christina cried out, hysterically crying, as he forced her to dig her nails deep into the skin on his face, cruelly tearing the skin. _

_But the monster was not finished there! Oh **no**!_

"_Curse you!" he railed at her, and then he almost threw her to the ground. _

_Christina tried to scramble backwards, away from him and his suddenly mad eyes, but he stalked towards her, each footstep slamming like the closing of a prison door, and knelt beside her. Then he grabbed hold of her face with one cruel hand, forcing her to look into his horrific, skeletal features. _

"_You lying little brat!_ _You have no heart! You made me believe that you could see past my outward self; you made me believe, in my own foolishly trusting heart, that you could have grown to **love me**! Well, are you so certain now? Your mind has changed, hasn't it—now that you have seen your Erik's face! But it's far too late, my dear…we are far past the point of no return! You are mine, and you shall never go free! **NEVER! It is a monster that loves you, Christine, and adores you—and will never let you go!**"_

"_Erik!" she begged._

_But he would not listen; dragging her to her feet, he whirled her in close to him, and placed her hand flat against his bleeding cheek, as she writhed in his grasp. _

"_It is too late, Christine…" he murmured, in a deadly quiet tone_—_his voice was now even more menacing and terrible than it had been the moment before, when he had been raging at her. "It's much too late, child. Now we are both doomed. Now you must share my fate…now **you** are within the curse as well. Oh, my Angel…"_

_And suddenly he let go of her, stumbling backwards with one hand clutching at his chest as if his heart was in agony. He looked upon her, but didn't seem to see her._

"_Oh—Christine!_ _What have I done…" he muttered, in an abstracted tone: his eyes darted back and forth wildly, and he looked positively out of his mind. _

_Christina_—_her face pale and streaked with tears, her dark eye-makeup running and her beautiful, glossy hair mussed_—_looked at him with disbelief and fear in her eyes. He jerked his face up, and looked at her again: this time, the insane light in his blue orbs was gone, replaced by an awful fright and self-loathing, and sadness. _

"_Christine…"_

"_**NO!**" she shrieked, as he took a step towards her. _

_Then she ran from him, and the dream began to fade. As the darkness took over, I was able to hear her thoughts, clear and ringing, like a bell, within my own mind—_

_He's gone mad; oh, heavens, what have I done? I've driven him mad and now he's going to kill me_—_he hates me, and now he's going to kill me! Oh, help: I'm trapped, he won't let me go, he'll do something terrible, someone help me!_

* * *

I jolted back into wakefulness, and flew up in my own bed: cold sweat slicked over every inch of my skin, plastering my clothing and the bed coverlets to me.

"Christina!"

It had all been real. My dream was reality.

I didn't know how, or why, but there had been times in my life, before, when my nightmares or my dreams had become reality…and now I knew that this vision I had just had of Christina and—I shuddered, recoiling at the memory of what I had seen—and the monster, _le Fantôme_, had been no less than horribly real.

I had to go to Christina. I had to get to Shadowrose Castle and find her, somehow, and save her before it was too late. Panicking, I threw off my covers and jumped to the ground. I dressed myself hastily, all the while thinking—

_What can I do? _

"I can't just find my way through the Forbidden Forest," I muttered, as I yanked on a shirt and went in search of my boots. "I don't know anything about that wood! I'll get lost, and then what could I do for Christina?"

_But I have to do something!_

I could only move on blind trust. There were five people whom I knew could show me the way through the Forest—one was Christina herself, and one was her father, M. Daae. One was her brother, Richard, and another, her brother Giles.

And the last person who could help me, the fifth person?

There was no possible way that he could show me the way to Shadowrose Castle; I could not even hope…

* * *

And then who did I meet on the road, in an astounding twist of fate, as I rode out of the village of Sumer's Flax, alone and entirely uncertain, in the dead of the night, in the middle of the cold, snowy winter?

Nadir Khan.

"Monsieur Khan!" I gasped, scarcely daring to believe my own eyes, as he rode towards me, recognizing me. "Please, I need your help! _Le Fantôme_—Christina—!"

* * *

_Authoress's note: Three cheers for midterm break and time off from the academic side of life, eh? Hope you all enjoy the new chapters to come here. (winks) _

_...I hope the unmasking scene satisfied everyone. In all of my Phantom-flavored works so far, this unmaking is (to date) the most violent among them all. Don't you just luuuuuuuv Erik when he goes all psychotic? Anyhow, the major credit for the dialogue and events of that scene go to M. Gaston Leroux, and all those who followed relatively close in his footsteps. I bow to his superior genius. _

_And don't be too mad at Christine for the whole messy affair; she wasn't trying to misbehave, really. Poor girl.And let's give MonsieurleVicomte a nice, warm welcome back into the storyline.The unfortunate boy always gets a bad rap; I thought that I'd give him someattention here. He'sa sweetie. (huggles him) And so is Erik..._

_Well, MOST of the time, Erik is a sweetie.He's NOT being very sweet, currently. Read on to find outhow, and why..._

_Oh...and you WILL remember to leave us a note, won't you, dears? It'll be chocolate bonbons and truffles forever if you do..._


	26. After So Many Years

**_Chapter Twenty-Four –_**

**_After So Many Years_**

**_-Ellexssya-_**

* * *

****

I smiled and stood back from my magic mirror, absently stroking the eel-like creature that had crawled up near my shoulder with one finger: running my index fingertip slowly along its silky and smooth violet-black scales.

Oh, this was working out so very well!

Events had turned even more in my favor than I had hoped…

"Ah, Erik…"

I sighed, shaking my head as I allowed myself a triumphant smirk.

I had earned it tonight.

"When will you learn, you great, arrogant fool? You're too ugly for anyone to love you…even that girl, whom you staked everything, all of your stupid hopes, upon! Neither she, nor anyone else, will ever see past your face."

My eel-friend made a faint purring noise, and I turned my attentions more fully upon it, saying as I continued to pet him—

"What do you think, Osthrax? Shall we go pay a visit to Prince Erik? We've left him for so long in that palace of his…he must be getting lonely for us! I think I shall go talk to him for a bit. Perhaps he's gained some sense, after all this time…"

I conjured a filmy dark red cloak out of the air, in a shower of glimmering black sparks, and pulled it around my shoulders. Then, I went on the journey through time and space to the prison of my cursed prince…Shadowrose Castle.

Erik awaited me.

* * *

When I arrived, however, I received a far less kind welcome than I had looked for. And I had expected him to be angry. 'Angry' was a very pale and weak word, I found, to describe his mental state at the moment I stepped into his castle. The arrogant fool was positively livid, and if I hadn't moved to the side at the very moment that he spotted me, I would almost certainly have been burnt to ashes by the blast of power that he immediately sent my way.

"**_WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU WITCH_**!" he roared, stalking towards me: his black cloak snapping and unfurling furiously in his wake.

I blinked.

"Why, your majesty!" I said, in an even tone. "You seem quite out of humor this morning! What could have possibly set you into such a mood?"

Erik stopped, instantly ceasing to move, and stared at me blankly for a moment. Then, his crystal blue eyes began to turn red, as if blood was staining them from the pupils outward. Power began to crackle in his hands as he faced me.

"You know very well what caused this, Ellexssya," he spat. "She _saw_ me—she saw _my face_, without the mask, and now she's locked herself in her room, and refuses to come out. _You_ did this to me," and he jabbed an accusing hand at his face.

I smirked again, at that.

I really had outdone myself, with that work of art. He was, quite possibly, the ugliest thing ever to walk upon two legs.

Certainly ugly as sin.

"You turned my life into a living hell. You destroyed everything."

"And you've only _just_ now realized it, Erik?" I questioned, coolly as ever.

I stepped around him, and began to circle him. He watched me, wary as a wounded beast that had become trapped in a corner by its tormentor, and I smiled sweetly at him.

Oh, this was going to be too much fun!

"I told you, I think, all those years ago…" I purred. "You can end this, in a moment, my _beautiful_ prince...All you have to do is say the words…you _know_ that you want to say them, Erik: you can _taste_ them, sweet on your tongue, even now."

I stepped close to him, and traced a line on his shoulder, slowly and deliberately. He was as still as stone beneath my touch.

"Forget the girl!" I hissed at him. "She can only mean nothing to you! And let me assure you, Erik—you mean _nothing_ to _her_! She has already pushed all thought and compassion for you out of her childish little heart. She won't ever love you now…now that she has _seen_ you. You know that, don't you? Say the words, Erik…and it can all end, this very moment…"

With an enraged growl, he suddenly whipped around and caught me by the wrist so quickly that I was surprised. He shoved me back, and stood furious and fulminating before me, his eyes now glowing red.

I watched him, breathing hard.

"And surrender to _you_, witch? Never!" he swore. "I'd rather die first—and I'd prefer death by _her_ hand! She did nothing to merit this, Ellexssya! It was you and _me _who trapped her in this, and now her life is ruined, because of our folly!"

"No—it was because of _you_, Erik!" I replied, with cold anger. "_You_ were the one who went out into the woods and saw her there. _You_ were the one who foolishly gave your heart to her the instant you caught sight of her pretty little face. And it was _you_ who nearly broke her mind with your fury last night. I did not cause any of that."

_It is **your** fault…**your** doom…_

I laughed.

Then he seemed to abruptly grow in size, towering over me like an enormous, bat-like shadow, and I took an involuntary step backwards, away from him.

"Get out of my domain, you abhorrent fiend," he snarled. "You've done enough harm here; go, and be happy—you've destroyed my life, again. _Get out_."

"Tsk tsk tsk, Erik," I chided. "That temper of yours is going to get you into some remarkable trouble someday, just wait and see! And oh, by the way…"

I paused as I was about to vanish into thin air, and return back to my own dark lair. He looked as if he was about to murder me, then and there, regardless of any repercussions that might arise from that sort of action.

"You might consider checking in on your precious little ingénue sometime soon…" I hinted, with malignant, singsong playfulness. "It seems that the _handsome_, brave knight-in-shining armor has found his way to the dragon's lair—with the help of a traitorous friend—and he is riding up on his white horse, even now, to rescue the poor, helpless princess. If you move quickly, you _might_ be able to keep them from escaping your clutches!"

I stayed long enough to hear Erik's wordless and strangled exclamation as he tore out of the throne room in a swirl of black velvet. Then, as I looked on again from the confines of my own sanctum, gazing with a smile into my magic mirror, I observed as he ran to the ledge of his high tower, and looked down…

Three tiny figures—two male, and one female, all cloaked and hooded—were riding pell-mell through the tangled, vine-riddled grounds of Shadowrose Castle. Erik was powerless to stop them now: they were already at the gates.

Within seconds, they were entirely out of sight.

And then Erik threw back his head and _screamed_, in boundless, primal rage and despair: a caged beast in torment.

I just laughed.

* * *

_Here ends Part Two of Le Fantôme et la Belle._


	27. Behind the Masks We Wear

_**Chapter Twenty-Five –**_

_**Behind the Masks We Wear**_

_**-Raoul, Christine, and Erik-**_

* * *

****

**_Raoul_**

For the next two days, we rode without stop: plunging madly into the forest that surrounded the terrible, forbidden castle of the Phantom.

Monsieur Khan alone among us appeared to have kept his mental faculties under control, and managed to calmly and confidently guide us through the woods. I was too anxious for Christina to pay much attention to anything at all; as we rode, galloping so fast that we seemed to fly over the land, I kept glancing down at her still, pale face.

She had swooned when I'd climbed in through her chamber windows, and I had scarcely had time to run to her, and catch her as she fell.

Even now, many hours afterwards, she still hadn't shown any signs of life, aside from the shallow breaths that she took. She was so ashen and so motionless that I worried she had slipped past any chance of human aid. Monsieur Khan ordered me to have courage, and on we rode.

* * *

Finally, on the day of the second day, we came to the outskirts of an isolated but large city: Pariscia. Monsieur Khan informed me that he had stayed here often before, and that we could go to the inn where he'd taken up residency from time to time. The innkeeper knew him, and we were sure to be given a room.

My chief concern was whether we were far away enough from Shadowrose Castle or not…would the monster be able to come after Christina, and find her here? After all, we were yet within his realm, and I knew that he was a powerful enchanter; I could not trust his magic not to find us.

When I voiced these thoughts, however, Monsieur Khan bade me be at peace. Although we had not left Kryslora, he said, Erik would not be able to find us with any ease, now that we were so far away from him. We were over fifty miles from Shadowrose Castle—we hadn't gone as far away as we could have, but, then again, he reminded me, why would Erik look for us somewhere relatively close by? We'd fled for our lives from his domain…surely he would expect us to run as far as we possibly could.

Too tired and drained to argue for long, I gave my assent.

Monsieur Khan helped me slip Christina's unconscious body out of the saddle, and I carefully wrapped her within my cloak, to keep her warm. It was cold outside—a fresh blanket of snow already covered the ground, and more was falling steadily from the sky—and she was only wearing a simple, loose dressing gown of flimsy silk and gauze and lace.

Only too willing to obey, I carried her inside, following behind a determined Monsieur Khan, and in a moment we stood within the inn's great room. Monsieur Khan went straightway to the maitre'd who stood there, waiting to assist the inn's patrons, and told him his name.

"And I would like to speak with Monsieur Ghirelle."

The maitre'd scurried out and hastily fetched the innkeeper—Monsieur Ghirelle—with whom Monsieur Khan hastily conferred in low voices, and then we were directed to come upstairs, with the girl, and bring her to the Magenta Suite.

Once there, Monsieur Ghirelle's wife swept into the room in a rush of neatly pressed, ruffled skirts and gardenia perfume, and shooed all of us men out. Then she and a trio of maids went to work making Christina comfortable, and emerged moments later, forbidding anyone to approach the chamber on pain of exile to the stable for the night.

I went to my own room—located next to Monsieur Khan's, which was next to Christina's own chambers—and promptly fell into the waiting bed.

My sleep was deep and dreamless, and I finally felt somewhat at peace. After the past two days of horrific fear and worry, it was a welcome change. But I could not help but feel a strange sense of foreboding…for Erik, as we all well knew, was still out there—alive and likely crazed with fury, fully aware of what we had done to him—and somehow, it seemed as if it was only a matter of time before he emerged from his cursed castle to take revenge…we could hope and pretend that he wouldn't…but my imagination could only stretch so far.

_How long will we have to run?_

* * *

I woke that evening just after sunset, and stumbled downstairs to the inn's dining room, bleary and disoriented from the hours past and the mangling of my sleeping schedule. There I found Messieurs Khan and Ghirelle, and Mme. Ghirelle, also. They inquired after Christina, and I replied that she had not yet awakened, when last I stole a look into her room. Monsieur Ghirelle than informed me that they'd taken the liberty of sending an order to the tailor for me, and now I had been provided with a change of raiment, to be added to if and when I saw fit.

Gratefully, I thanked them for their kindness and returned to my room—but concern for my dear friend still nagged at my heart, so I went as soon as I could to her room. Christina lay there, upon her bed, and she looked exactly the same as she had looked when I last went to check on her. Her face was still pale, but her cheeks had begun to regain some of their former colour, and I noted that she wore a soft white nightgown, and someone had taken care to see that the messy black streaks of her eye-makeup had been washed from her skin.

Now I remembered what had struck a deep chord of fear into my heart when I had first seen her in the castle, after she had vanished from our village so many months before…a seeming lifetime before.

She looked as if she had changed, in some strange, unnerving way. She looked…darker, somehow…darker, and even more sinister. Her hair had changed colour, slightly—it looked almost black now—and her entire face seemed to have abruptly grown up. Her eyes were heavily lined in kohl, her lips stained with a deep, pomegranate red gloss; even that preposterous bit of lace that she'd been wearing when I found her—

_Or, rather, what he'd like her to think was a perfectly nice dressing gown!_ I thought, acrimoniously, and clenched my fists at the consideration of Erik. _That deceiver_—_that treacherous monster, that beast!_

—even her nightgown had been heavily plied with jewels: moon-diamonds and pearls and white rubies.

The Christina that I had known as my friend, the innocent and sweet, kind-hearted daughter of one of the humble village families…she had always relished the beautiful side of life, and she had always been enamored of pretty things. But she would have never bedecked herself in so much gilded finery.

No…that was not her doing…it couldn't have been…and in my dream, she had seemed so different. The Christina I saw before me now was another maiden entirely.

_And yet she was herself… _

"Christina…" I murmured, to her still form. "What has he done to you?"

_What does it mean?_ I pondered to myself, staring down at my friend as she slept on, unaware of my presence. Had he been trying to turn her into something else…had he been trying to change her? _Was she only inches from becoming Madame le Fantôme, in the flesh, when you arrived? _

_Would she have yet been rendered his, if you hadn't gone to her?_

I didn't doubt that he, with all of his powerful magic, could have done something like that to her…I didn't doubt that he would have tried to alter her, transform her into his dark consort…but, again, in my dream…what I had seen in it had seemed so real. She had seemed genuinely happy to have him embrace her. She had looked as if she was as in love with him as he was with her.

It didn't make sense.

And now I did not know what to believe.

Suddenly, she gave a tiny little moan, and began to stir in her sleep. A frown puckered her forehead, and she tossed from side to side, murmuring many odd little things within her dreams. I flung open the door, bellowed for the doctor and Monsieur Khan and anyone else, and then ran back to her side.

"Christina…Christina!" I cried, grabbing her cold hand in my own and holding it to myself. I hoped that she had not fallen into a delirium. "Christina—it's all right! It's alright! Wake up, _mon_ _cher ami_…_wake up_."

Her large, thick-lashed eyes shot open, revealing the beautiful, shimmering silver-amber spheres behind their lids, and she gasped. She looked wildly around herself for a moment, trying desperately to sit up, but both the doctor and I gently forced her to lie back against the pillows. I reached out and gently stroked her hair.

"Shh, Christina, little one," I said to her, softly. "You're safe now; everything is fine. It was a dream, and nothing more. You've nothing to fear."

"Oh Raoul!"

And she crumbled against me, weakly putting her arms around me as I embraced her, my eyes stinging with tears.

The doctor quietly told the nurse and the maids who stood behind us, watching the scene unfolding before them, that they ought to go back to the kitchen and fetch some tea for the young lady. In the meantime, he began to mix up a calming draught for Christina as we finally pulled away from one another. I couldn't help but gaze intently into her face: she was crying, tears streaking her skin, and her hair was a wild confusion of thick dark curls, but she looked absolutely beautiful.

"Christina," I choked. "_Mon ami_, I have missed you so!"

She sobbed, and hugged me again.

"As I have missed you, Raoul! Oh—it is so good to see your face! I feared that I would never be able to see you again…"

Then she frowned, through her tears.

"But…I don't understand…where are we? How did you know the way here…how did you know…?"

"Christina."

I pulled back from her, grasping her upper arms firmly, and looked down into her eyes. "Monsieur Khan and I came to Shadowrose Castle. We knew that you were in trouble, and that…Erik," I spat out the monster's name as if it were poison upon my tongue, "was going to harm you. We've taken you far away, to a city called Pariscia; we're staying in an inn here, and you've been unconscious for a long time."

She froze as I spoke; then, when I was finished, her eyes suddenly flared wide and dark. Grabbing a hold of my hand, she clenched it with an iron grip.

"No, Raoul!" she gasped. "No—please! Tell me you _didn't_! Tell me that you didn't take me away against his wishes! Oh, my friend, _please_ tell me that it isn't true! Please—_tell me it isn't true_!"

"Christina!"

I was confused.

"You yourself knew that he would have done something to harm you…sooner or later!" I amended, lamely, unwilling to hazard the task of explaining my dreams of foresight to her. Yet. "We had to get you away from him…it was either help you, or leave you to whatever fate he had in store for you. I won't let that creature hurt you anymore! He can do whatever he pleases, but I'm not going to give you over to him again without a fight. He cannot rule you, Christina—you are _not_ his _toy_!"

She put her face in her hands, and, to my shock, began to weep again.

"Oh, Raoul, no—_no_…" she sobbed. "He isn't…this…_oh_ _no_…"

And she continued to cry as if her heart was breaking inside her.

"Raoul, you don't understand! I _promised_ him! I promised that I wouldn't look at him! I promised that I wouldn't try to see him…I knew that he hid behind the mask for a reason…but I broke my promise…I _looked_! I saw _his face_! And I promised that I wouldn't leave…I swore that I would never leave him…and now I've broken that promise too!"

"Christina," I said, holding her close. "It's all right. Whatever you promised him …you cannot help it now. It's over. He's gone, forever."

Ignoring the shaking of her head against my shoulder, I continued—

"He's gone. The nightmare has ended for you—you never have to go back to him. And we won't let him come to try and reclaim you. You're safe."

"No…" she moaned, hopelessly. "You don't understand, Raoul…I'm so sorry…you don't understand, and you _can't_. _No one_ can…but _he_ knows, and _I_ know—he's part of my soul, just as I am part of his soul. We are bound to one another's hearts in a way that the world can't comprehend. Please…don't say anything. I know it's true now…I can't escape it…"

I put my hands on her shoulders and made her lie back against the pillows again; then I pulled the blankets up closer about her shoulders, and told her—

"Shh…enough. You don't have to worry or fear anymore…it's over. It was a bad dream, and nothing more. You're still delirious and sick, and you should rest. Sleep, Christina. You'll be better very soon."

I placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead—more like that of a brother than anything else, though I feel a brief flicker of fire ignite upon my lips when they brushed against her skin—and ran my hand over her dark locks one last time. Then I went to the door, waiting as the doctor and the nurse filed out after me, leaving Christina to the ministrations of the maids, who had brought her tea.

"Rest, and heal…my dear, sweet friend."

She closed her eyes, and I turned to leave.

But I saw the single tear that crept down her face.

* * *

**_Christine_**

**__**

I cried myself to sleep, after the maids had left, and when I dreamed, I saw only visions of Erik. Sometimes he looked at me with pride and warmth in his blue eyes…sometimes he simply stood and looked at me, or smiled at me so brightly that I felt my soul soaring into the sky with happiness…sometimes he looked sad and tired…and then he looked angry…and then he looked heartbroken and lonely.

"Christine, you _must_ love me…!" he begged, in my dreams…

_And all I could do was wring my hands and weep… _

I despised myself—what had I done to him, my one friend in his world, my Angel of Music? I had broken each one of my promises to him, dashing them cruelly to the ground, and then I had run from him. I had screamed at seeing his face, and then run from him, like a terrified, silly little child.

_I've run away from my Angel…_

Things could never be the same, of that I was certain—certain as I had been that awful night, when I had raced away to the safety of my own rooms in the castle and locked myself inside, hoping and praying that he would not come after me. I had seen ugliness before…do not be deceived by appearances, for true beauty is found within, the old proverb said…

And yet his face had terrified me beyond words.

What was it about his unmasked features that so unnerved me?

Was it the malformed upper lip, which had normally been hidden by the mask—and when exposed, proved to be rough and stretched out far to the side, lined and distorted as any corpse's maw?

Was it the appalling lack of a nose, which the mask had also effectively belied? Was it the cavernous hollows from which his eyes shone a maddened blood-red, as he glared at me? Or was it the sharp white bared teeth, the cadaverously-pale skin, the snarl twisting his mouth—the hideous gashes and pits in his cheekbones and forehead, the livid scars that reached far back into his hairline?

Or was it simply the shattering of my own vain, idealistic assumption that he would be as wonderful beneath the mask as he was beyond it?

I wept again as I considered this.

And then I continued to cry, until I felt that I had no more tears left within me, and my eyes were dry, swollen, and burning with irritation.

I got out of bed, absently remembering to make sure that the floor didn't creak and alert someone to my movement, and went over to the small mirror that hung on the magenta-coloured wall of my room.

I hesitated a moment, uncertain of whether I really wanted to look at myself, for fear of what I might find within the mirror's depths. After all that had happened…I wasn't so sure that I ever wanted to look at another face, ever again…

But I _did_ finally look.

My eyes were red and swollen, with dark circles beneath them, and my skin was sallow and pale. I looked gaunt and tired and cross…but the darkness within my eyes was gone. I suddenly felt as if my mind had cleared, and I could think properly again.

_Christine was still there…but she was a different Christine now._

"What can I do?" I murmured to my reflection.

I had betrayed Erik, who had never been anything but good and kind and giving to me, and I had betrayed him in the worst possible manner.

It wasn't enough for me, to break my promises to him, and treat him as though he were a monster…because of his face…I had also refused to return any of what he had rendered unto me. He had treated me as if I was his own priceless treasure—the princess whom he had spent his whole entire life searching for—and he had given me his wealth, his music…

_His love._

And I had left him.

Somehow, I knew that the hideousness of his face was not his fault. What had he said to me, on that terrible night, as I looked upon his disfigurement for the first time?

"_It's too late, Christine…" he whispered to me. "It's much too late, child. Now we are both doomed. Now you must share my fate…now **you** are within the curse as well. Oh, my Angel…"_

Then I recalled the old gypsy woman's words.

"_The curse of the forest!_ _She has the mark_—_the darkness in her eyes! She is of that place; a hex is upon your family! It is he_—_him, him, him!" _

I had known for a long while now that there was a curse on the forest, and on Shadowrose Castle…of course it would tie in with Erik—he was the place's master!

He was the prince.

It was his realm.

He was cursed, and he had tried to keep me from discovering that dark secret, for he had known that—if I were to uncover the truth—I would be cast into the same shadows that held him prisoner.

I would never again be happy until I had finished what had been begun in the forest beyond Shadowrose Castle, on that fateful day when the Prince of Kryslora had happened to catch a glimpse of me walking through the trees, on my way home to my family. I would never again be able to live my life—

_Until I returned to him._

I was frightened.

Erik and his rage terrified me beyond imagination, as did the power that he had come to hold over me. I knew that if I were to let him control me, I would be fallen past anyone else's help. I would be utterly his. Could I be brave enough to face that…?

_But…but he loves you!_

My mind whispered those words to me, startling me.

_You know that it is true,_ it went on. _You knew it all along, though you pushed the truth deep down into the darkness of your mind. He can never love anyone but you! He cannot live without you_—_he told you that himself. He loves you so much that his love would kill him…he is in love with you…_

_He loves you, Christine…_

And somehow, now I knew that I had loved him too, though I could not explain how I had loved him. I _did_ love him.

I loved Erik.

_I love him._

But I was afraid, and now my chance was gone, and the dream—our beautiful surreal, wonderful dream—had shattered into darkness.

* * *

**_Erik_**

**__**

I came back to my senses an interminable amount of time later, and raised my head up from the flat, cold surface that it had been resting upon. I was stiff, tired, and in tremendous, aching, long-wearing pain: my innards turned over revoltingly and my vision swam with dizziness.

And…_I was alone_…

Remembering all, I sat up and drew my black cloak about myself. I hadn't wept openly or freely since I'd been a child—the last time that I could really recall crying at all was when my father had died, many years before.

Now I let the tears flow, however.

"What have I done…" I moaned, despising myself.

I had gone mad with grief and despair when Christine had seen my face—my hideousness had been revealed when my mask had fallen to the ground—she had screamed, having come face to face with a creature of nightmares.

And I had lost my mind.

I remembered brutally grabbing her, throwing her around, only just refraining from striking her in my animal fury: I had roared at her, reviled her and insulted her, and cursed her. If I had only maintained my senses, she wouldn't have been so frightened, and perhaps she wouldn't have run away from me!

Ellexssya had then visited me, and taunted me, and I'd snarled like a wild animal at her too—though she had deserved it, and Christine had not.

And now Christine was gone: rescued, I supposed, by that gallant young acquaintance of hers.

She would never return to me…oh no, she had no reason to go back to monstrous, ugly Erik now! She had seen his grotesque face…she would never be able to love me…if there had ever been even a chance…

Crawling on all fours, like a feral creature, I managed to reach the enormous onyx throne that stood alone at one end of the room on a high dais. I put out a hand, and one of my magical silver looking glasses drifted into it.

I paused a moment, hesitating.

_Could I even bear to look at her now?_

Full of bitter, acrid grief, I pressed my ravaged hands—my only vaguely-human claws—against my ugly face, and felt the tears that still flowed from my eyes against my palms. I hadn't wept in years, and now I could not make my tears cease.

After regaining some marginal control over my emotions, I whispered the words that would bring her image into the looking glass, and stared into it, with some of my inherent eagerness.

I saw her, but only very faintly.

She was sitting on a bed, her hands clasped together over the blankets that washed in a sea around her, and she was staring far off into space. She was pale and had become even thinner than before…and there was a deep, awful sadness in her eyes.

Shaking uncontrollably, I passed my rough claws over the mirror's serene silvery surface, and gasped aloud, sobbing.

"Oh, Christine…" I said, through my tears. "What have I done to you, my love? You have left me now, and it is all my fault…I have destroyed us both!"

Then I collapsed onto the floor, bent over double with my arms wrapped around myself, and shook convulsively with sobs.

_What have I done what have I done what have I done… _

Then the looking glass pulsated with light, drawing my attention, and I stared back into it again, my eyes widening as I saw the new picture it held…

Christine.

And she was in the arms of a young man.

He was young, near her age, and he was very handsome. He seemed as if he were wealthy, too, for his clothing was fine and tailored.

And he was embracing her.

He kissed her on the forehead, and I saw the look in his eyes.

My grief instantly evaporated, transforming into the worst possible emotion ever—raging, white-hot jealousy.

Who was this mongrel youth who dared lay a hand on my Christine? What right did he think he had to kiss her—her, _my_ one true love? Who was he, that he thought he could take her from me? How dared he hold her in his arms? How dared he try to take my place in her heart!

_SHE IS **MINE**!_ my mind bellowed, insanely.

_**MY CHRISTINE!**_


	28. The Games We've Played 'Til Now

_**Chapter Twenty-Six –**_

_**The Games We've Played 'Til now**_

_**-Christine and Red Death-**_

* * *

**_Christine_**

It was another three days before anyone would allow me to get out of bed, and even then, I always had someone—Raoul, M. Khan, the maids and nurses—hovering around me, never out of earshot.

I began to feel somewhat claustrophobic in the face of their ministrations, though I _did_ appreciate all that they had done for me. I mentioned once that I wished to write to my family, and M. Khan instantly whisked away to procure paper and ink for me.

The letter would take a while to reach them—I knew that, but I still wanted to write to my father and step-mother, my brothers and sisters and step-sister, and let them know that I was all right.

In the letter, I did not even once mention Erik.

* * *

Raoul was as sweet and kind-hearted, considerate and good-humored as he had ever been before, in the village, and I was glad for his dear company while I regained my strength. He made me laugh and helped my long hours of prescribed bed-rest pass swiftly by talking to me, and reading to me. 

I felt out of sorts, however, for music was now almost entirely absent from my life: music, which had been almost all that Erik and I had lived for, when I was with him. What had he told me, once?

"_You are music…"_

I closed my eyes as I thought of this: my mind having momentarily drifted from reality into reverie as Raoul went on reading. He had grown used to my preoccupied state of mind, and did not question when I was silent and grave.

_If only I knew how I could have helped Erik,_ I thought.

If only I had known what I could have done to assist him in breaking out of his terrible curse…whatever it was…if only I had been able to see the emotions that were tearing him apart from inside…this could have all been different. I wouldn't have fled from him in fear of my life, and I wouldn't have cruelly shattered his heart.

I hadn't intended to remove his mask, but when the noise of its breaking had startled me, I'd looked, without meaning to do so. And the sight of his face had shocked me so greatly that my mind had instantly been overwhelmed. My scream, and the fear in my eyes, couldn't have eased the pain he bore in his heart to any degree. The awful truth remained: I had made his grief worse.

* * *

One morning, soon afterwards, I was sitting near the window of my room—reading, alone—when there was a knock at my door. 

"Christina?"

I smiled and set my book aside.

"You may come in, Raoul," I replied, and the door swung open, revealing the mischievous, boyish features of my dear friend. He looked like the proverbial cat that had eaten the bird, and I choked back a laugh, though I knew my eyes were glimmering with amusement. He'd obviously just been out in the town, for his face was slightly flushed against the warm air in the room.

"I come bearing a tantalizing gift, milady Christina!" he informed me, and held up a handIn his fingers was clutched an envelope, its seal broken. I raised an eyebrow in question as he continued—

"Would you like to see what this gift is?"

"If it is contained in something as miniscule and brief as the letter you hold in your hand, M. de Chagny," I said, gesturing for him to let me have the paper. "Then I suppose that my answer would have to be '_yes_'. Now hand it over, Raoul."

He did so, and I pulled forth an exquisite sheet of parchment, upon which was inscribed an invitation…to a masque ball!

"Raoul…a masquerade?"

He grinned and nodded, proudly explaining, "It's a tradition that, on the eve of the New Year—_every year_—the entire city breaks out in all festivity, and holds one enormous party. The mayor of Pariscia is an acquaintance of my brother, and he's invited us to attend the formal masque that the wealthier citizens of the city put together. It would be great fun, don't you think, Christina? We need to get you out of this inn, and let you have some amusement! Remember the spring festival?"

I _did_ remember.

"I would _love _to go to the masque, Raoul," I told him. "But…how are we to find costumes? The new year's eve is tomorrow, and the entire city must be awash with people trying to get their own disguises made; we can't possibly…"

But he was already shaking his head, an even more mischievous and knowing glint in his emerald green eyes.

"Ah-ah, Christina the Fair," he said. "That is far from true—for, you see, it just so happens that our good and kind M. Ghirelle and his wife are good friends with the local tailor and milliner, and these fine merchants have told me that they would be only too glad to provide costume-service for the pretty Mlle. Daae and her friend. Now, with that said—shall we go get fitted for our costumes?"

* * *

The rest of the day, and the morning and afternoon of the next day, went by with astonishing rapidity. Raoul and I were separated: he went to the tailor's and I went to the dressmaker's shop, and then we both met up at the milliner's. Whilst everyone else in the city was scrambling to find last-minute disguises, we were treated to the most thorough and specialized fittings ever, and walked back to Monsieur Ghirelle's inn laden with numerous packages, all of different sizes and bulk. 

Mme. Ghirelle invited me to her cozy, luxuriant salon, where she and some of the other wealthy ladies of the town had gathered to make themselves ready for the party. I was assigned a trio of maids to help me into my dress, style my hair, and apply my makeup. All around me as bustle and chatter and laughter; I saw swirling, bright colours, glitter, powered wigs and painted faces, and inhaled the fragrance of fine perfume every time I took a breath. But I had to remain careful and still at the dressing table.

The gown that I had chosen was that of a fairy princess.

It was many-layered, with innumerable silky scarves floating about me, dusted with tiny rhinestones, and it was white in colour, but seemed to shift shades whenever I moved, changing like an opal. Its sleeves were long and full, skimming lightly over my arms and gathered here and there with silvery ribbons. I'd chosen jewelry to match: diamond and pearl earrings, an elaborate necklace of the same gems, and delicate combs to place in my hair. To complete the ensemble, I wore a pair of gauzy silver-tinged butterfly wings, and carried a thin white mask.

The maids pinned my hair up into an impossible tower atop my head, leaving only a few of my curls to cascade down my back, mingling their darkness with the whiteness of my costume-wings. They brushed sparkling white powder onto my eyelids, highlighting the place between them and my brow-bones with a rich golden shadow, and then outlined my eyes with careful streaks of cobalt blue kohl, so dark that it was nearly black. My lips they painted with shimmering gloss that was the colour of a freshly bloomed red rose, and then they whisked a power-puff over my face, neck, bosom, and shoulders, giving my skin an ethereal, pearly sparkle.

When we were all prepared to depart for the masque, we went down to the spacious front hall of M. and Mme. Ghirelle's house. There we found our escorts—the husbands and fiancés and such of the other ladies, and Raoul, my friend—and received their appropriate responses of awe and delight at the sight of us.

Raoul immediately came to me, as soon as he'd been able to weave his way through the crowd of conversing party-goers. He looked very handsome, with his unruly locks of blond hair finally swept back off of his forehead, and his black, silver, and white troubadour's costume was very dashing and romantic indeed.

"_Quelle_ _surprise_!" I said to him, as he took my hand in his, doffing his preposterous ostrich-plumed hat and bowing with affected gallantry: brushing his lips against my gloved knuckles. "Heavens, Monsieur le Vicomte—you look quite the dashing rogue tonight! Should I fear to be your cohort, as you might infuriate all the brothers and fathers of the young ladies present with your antics?"

"None so pretty as you, Christina," he vowed. "I have never seen a maid so fair as you tonight; indeed, I shall not notice anyone else!"

"Fie, you miscreant," I chided him, tapping his shoulder with my jeweled fan in mock-reproach. "And none of that. Come now: 'we must follow the leaders'." (1)

And I minced off, in the direction of the hall's grand doors, through which the other party-goers, the adults, were passing.

Raoul caught up to me and linked his arm with mine.

" 'In every good thing!'" he said, quoting back at me.

One of the ostrich plumes on his hat fell over his face, and, with a laugh, I flicked it back up where it belonged.

" 'Nay!' " I replied, grinning. " 'If they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning!' " (1)

And we made our exeunt.

* * *

**_Red Death_**

I could see that the preparations for the city's New Year's Eve celebrations were under way: streamers and paper lanterns, confetti and other such things, could be seen in abundance everywhere. The entire city seemed as if it had been lit up from its heart by many coloured lights, gleaming amidst the cold white snow. Hoof beats approached from some distance away, and I hastily moved to hide myself further: I could not risk letting anyone, even the most random person, see me here.

_After all, I **was** uninvited… _

It was a carriage, stuffed to its maximum capacity with costumed party-goers, all of whom were so caught up in their raucous talking and laughing that they did not see me even when I stepped out of the frost-encrusted bushes at the side of the road and watched them pass by. To these people, there was only jollity and fun in the world; there could be no darkness, no fear, no loneliness, on a night such as this.

Glancing from side to side, I satisfied myself with seeing that there was no other living creature about, and moved out onto the road. I would hear if anyone was nearby…but as for now, I deemed it safe to make my way down the well-worn pathway in the open. Later, as I came closer to the city itself, I would be forced to cut my way across fields, through undergrowth and behind buildings. This would require an extreme amount of care and stealth, but it would help me accomplish my objective.

I _would _get into that city.

* * *

With a growl of fury, I dashed a small table and the rose vase that stood on top of it to the wooden floor: the vase shattered, but this did not at all help to abate my wrath. 

Gone! She was gone, and before I had even _seen_ her!

Around the room, I could see the signs of her leaving.

Her bed was unmade as of yet, a dip in the center of the pillow where her precious head had lain, and she had left a book out on the bedside bureau, a bookmark keeping her place within it. Her clothing—new, simply tailored yet fine—had been either hung up in the room's closet, or folded and placed in the dresser drawers.

I reached deep into one drawer, pushing my hand all the way to its base, and withdrew the item I had been searching for…a silky, lace-riddled nightgown sewn all over with moon-diamonds, pearls, and white rubies. I gathered it tenderly into my arms, my anger fading somewhat, and held it to my face, relishing the feel of its cool smoothness against my skin.

Heavens, it _smelled_ of her! Lavender and roses and even a delicate trace of freesia, alive and sweet and fresh: they were all there, just as I remembered. I suddenly buried my face in the flimsy gown's folds, closing my eyes and wishing that, if it were at all possible, I could simply suffocate myself in it…

It wouldn't be a bad way to die, I reflected…

Knowing that the imprint of her form in the silk was the only way that I could hold her—_for now,_ I thought, blackly—I folded the gown carefully to myself, and bowed my head over it, closing my eyes again and brooding in silence.

The noise of carriage wheels rumbling over snow- and ice-laced cobblestones, more chatter and laughter, and a sudden burst of very cold wind from the open window to my side dragged me hastily back to reality.

She was gone…she was not here. Not here.

I would have to find her.

She was not here.

Upon letting myself into the young man's room, I glanced swiftly around—no one was there—and then, with fiendish satisfaction, locked the door behind myself. So, this was the temporary inner sanctum of the knight-in-shining-armor.

"Well, Monsieur," I said to myself as I stepped further into the room and began to sift through the miscellaneous belongings that I found strewn about. "—Let's see how clever you _really_ are! Where have you gone this evening?"

_Where have you taken her?_

Five minutes more searching rendered me the answers that I sought—first, I found receipts from the tailor, the dress-maker, and the milliner, and then, to my utmost triumph, I uncovered a lavish and detailed invitation.

They had gone to a masque ball.

Almost before I had had time to savour my victory, however, I became aware of an invasive, clandestine presence that hovered behind the closed door of the room that I now stood within. I paused, straightening to my full height, and calmly flicked a length of coiled rope over my wrist—and walked purposefully across the room.

Of course, the eavesdropper was startled out of his wits when I flung open the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and stood, staring at him. It was a villager, from what I could tell, and he gaped at me for a moment.

"You—" he said, stupidly. "You're not the Vicomte! You're—"

"That's right," I snarled, stepping forwards and fixing him with my now blood-red eyes. "I'm not. But I don't happen to care, either."

Suddenly I felt a huge weight drop onto me from behind, and strong arms latched around my neck like a vice.

_Hmph! Unexpected… _I thought.

Then I lurched forwards, borne on by the momentum of the person who was now attacking me. Hastily I put up both of my hands, trying to detach the iron grip that had been fastened onto my throat. Stars were beginning to burst in my vision. The spy had turned, and was running to tackle me, as well, and then all three of us fell against the wall, with an enormous thud.

Clearing my mind, I summoned up my powers and finally succeeded in throwing the two men off. They tumbled to the floor but were up again in a moment, advancing on me: their dark eyes glinting in the low light of the hallway.

I stood, facing them, trying to steady my breath.

"To the abyss with you, freak," the second man told me. "Go and meet your fellow monsters. The Lady wants nothing more of you!"

"_Ellexssya_!" cried the other man, and they lunged towards me—

But they never reached me.

In a split second, my infamous weapon—the Punjab lasso—had caught the first man around the neck, and at a simple jerk of the hand from me, his bones snapped, with a satisfying crunch. He fell to the ground, dead in an instant. Without pausing in my attack, I dispatched his cohort in the same manner.

The hallway was silent again: the only signs of the struggle that remained being a pair of very lifeless corpses, my two attackers. I surveyed their scruffy faces and plain garb with distaste. Really, I might have imagined that Ellexssya possessed more sense than to go about employing simple village folk as her mindless thralls—but, in all honesty, I didn't have a single whit of care for that. Without emotion, I carefully stepped over the clumsy fallen bodies, with only one thought in my mind.

_Let someone else find them._ _I have a masquerade to attend._

_

* * *

_

_Beware: for I am Red Death, stalking abroad…_

* * *

_**Christine**_

The New Year's Eve masque was full of light, sound, colour, and noise: music whirled madly and joyously in the air while hundreds danced on the ballroom floor. Everywhere I looked I saw masks.

_Everywhere I looked…I saw masks…_

Raoul was suddenly at my side, putting an arm around my waist and grabbing my hand with his own. His green eyes were full of concern as he hastily made me sit down on a chaise lounge nearby, and I dimly heard his voice—

"Christina? Christina! Are you alright? What's wrong? Christina!"

I fought to clear off the daze, but it wouldn't dissipate without a fight. Finally, with an enormous effort, I shook my head and closed my eyes for a moment—and when I opened them, I could see clearly again. I felt as weak and helpless as a babe, however, and I spoke in a croaking voice to my friend—

"Raoul…Raoul, I don't feel well at all. My head is spinning like mad! Please…could you get me a glass of water? I feel so awful."

"Of course, milady," he said, quietly, and then he left me alone for a moment, going across the room to banquet table, which was heavily laden with all sorts of elegant and delectable foods. When he returned, he bore in his hand a frosty crystal goblet, full of water. "Drink it," he said, and handed it to me.

Grateful, I swallowed down the entire glass, and then reclined against the rounded back of the chaise lounge, closing my eyes. My head stopped spinning, and I felt my strength and control returning. I looked up at Raoul.

"_Merci_, Raoul—thank you so very much. I…I don't know what came over me. But I am feeling much better already."

He caught me by the arm as I tried to stand up, and made me sit down. I avoided his piercing eyes, for I knew very well that he was looking at me in both reproach and pity. I didn't want to answer his questions…

"Christina," he said.

I looked up at him, again, finally.

"When will you let this end?" he asked me, keeping his voice low; his tone, however, was insistent and troubled. "Why won't you believe me when I tell you that he—that Erik—is forever gone from your life now? He will never trouble you again! He will never find you or hurt you! Why won't you let yourself live again?"

"Because I can't, Raoul," I told him, cutting him off abruptly. "You never saw him—you never spoke to him or came to know his emotions, his thoughts, his joys, his losses, his fears and his hopes daily, as I did. You don't know him. I promised him that I wouldn't leave, and I promised him that I wouldn't look at his face. Don't you understand that? I promised him. And then I broke that promise. Can't you see…? That alone should be cause for my despising myself forever now."

"Christina," and he put his hands on my shoulders. "You should not give yourself this guilt…it will cause you everlasting grief, and pain. He tried to change you, to make you different from what you were. Every gift he ever gave you, everything he ever said or did, in regard to you…it all came with a condition attached. If you didn't let him rule you, if he couldn't eventually become your utter master…I shudder to think what might have happened. He's not the unfortunate, misunderstood soul that you thought him to be…he was cursed for a reason. Everyone knows it. Don't let his lies mislead you—he's every bit of the monster that all the old stories make him out to be. He has no heart."

I sobbed, and clamped a hand over my mouth.

_No…it is **I** who have no heart!_

"Let him go. He has hurt you in many ways, and you know it. Please, Christina…let him go. Forget all that you saw, all that you felt and heard. I can't bear to see you suffering because of him. He should be condemned for making you cry!"

"And what of me?" I murmured, despondent. "I hurt him too."

Raoul stood up, making me rise as well. He tipped my head back, one finger curled beneath my chin, and we looked into one another's eyes for a moment. He seemed to read me then, and nodded.

"We all make mistakes," he said, gently. "I don't deny that—you've made mistakes, and I've made mistakes. _He_…has made mistakes. But the difference between the cursed prince of Shadowrose Castle and you, my dearest Christina, is that you own up to your mistakes. He has only ever thought of himself; believe me, please."

"Oh Raoul…" I whimpered.

"Shh," he said, gathering me in his arms, and slowly, confidently leading us both out onto the dance floor. "Hush now, little Christina. Don't cry anymore. Don't say a word; don't speak. Hush…let's just dance. Waltz with me."

And so I did.

* * *

I tried my very best not to think of the past—of the Phantom, my former life with him, and our broken love—during the rest of that evening. It was very difficult, and I still felt a nagging sense of guilt…but I did as Raoul told me, and let my mind become caught up in the revelries, knowing that what he said was for the best… 

During one exceptionally fast and spirited dance, however, Raoul and I happened to become split up, and our paths soon took us to opposite ends of the room. I caught sight of his black and silver costume every once in a while, in the far left hand corner of the dance floor—but he was concentrating too hard on performing the steps correctly to look back and see me. I was in the very center of the room.

Alone.

It was then that I began to hear the whispers.

"…all dressed in crimson, and so very tall…" I heard one lady breathe, as another added, "And his mask…it looks like a death's head itself…but his eyes are the most stunning I have ever seen!"

I continued to dance, pretending to ignore them all, but I couldn't stop myself from beginning to shiver uncontrollably. The air in the room felt as if it had suddenly grown colder; I looked up, but there wasn't a single window open. People spun around me, going on in their insane, mad, whirling dance. Still, the whispers.

"…walked in alone…no one knows him…"

"Clothes as fine as the emperor's…"

"…hasn't said a word; he simply stares, and you shrink under his eyes…"

Following the moves of the dance, I changed hands with several different men, making my way even further into the center of the room. Eyes closed, I gathered my skirts in one hand, and began to twirl around, as I was supposed to…and then my fingers intertwined with fingers that were long and almost skeletal, encased in velvet and impossibly strong—

And with a faint shriek, I opened my eyes and stared up at the person who had caught me.

It was _him_.

Red Death.

He was looking down at me, our hands still clasped, and I could see the faintest glitter of his eyes behind the grotesque skeleton mask that he wore.

Fashioned with incredible accuracy, this mask almost looked as if it truly _was_ a human skull, and not simply a sculpted mask. It entirely covered his face and head, not allowing even the smallest bit of facial features or hair to show, and his eyes blazed out from within their hollow sockets.

His costume was beautifully made and certainly very regal, though in an unnervingly macabre way. His tunic, cloak, and breeches could have been those of some high-ranking and fabulously wealthy nobleman, but they were made of a startling, sanguine velvet, which no sane man would wear in the light of day. This was a masquerade, however, so everyone was entitled to dress as they pleased.

The full-cut sleeves of his tunic were slashed, the red velvet interspersing with black and maroon satin, and he wore black leather boots that were so tall that they came up over his knees, elegantly angled. His cloak was extremely long and bulky, embellished with draping length of that same crimson velvet and golden cording. On his head, over the skull mask, he wore a hat of truly diabolical shape: it angled low over his right eye, casting a mysterious shadow upon the mask. Like many of the other men's hats that evening, his also bore a number of proud ostrich plumes, dyed to match his costume. His hands were gloved in red velvet.

He hadn't moved as I looked at him, my eyes scanning over his costume and finally returning to rest upon his masked face. I flushed when I saw the look in his eyes—their colour indiscernible—and averted my gaze, glad of my own mask. We had stopped dancing entirely in the middle of the crowd, and people were now dancing around us. I saw that not a few of them were staring at us from time to time. Still silent, he held out his enormous gloved hand.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, almost seeming to challenge.

_Dance?_ they wordlessly asked.

I nodded. I was afraid to acquiesce, and yet afraid to say no to this mysterious, shadowy man who seemed all too familiar to me as he spun me—his touch confident and powerful upon my waist—out onto the dance floor again. We went through the movements of the dance together, rarely leaving one another's arms, and I continued to stare up into his eyes, unable to look away. He did not release me from the power of his gaze. And no matter how hard I tried, I could not see what colour his eyes were. Finally, I decided that I had to ask him my question.

As he began to twirl me around again, I opened my mouth, and said—

"Who are you? Where are you from—?"

Lightning fast, but with astonishing, liquid, and seemingly unhurried grace, he whipped his hand up from his side and placed a finger on my lips. I felt my heart begin to beat fast, and saw that his chest suddenly rose and fell: he inhaled sharply, and now there was a definite fiery light in his eyes as he looked down at me. Energy fairly crackled in the air around us, and I felt spellbound.

_Dance,_ his hand said to me, as he pulled at my wrist.

And I did.

'Round and 'round we whirled, moving faster and faster in the dance, and I began to wonder, distractedly, if it was ever going to end.

Would we just keep spinning forever…?

Red Death had caught me in his embrace, and he would not let me go.

* * *

I don't know quite when I fainted, but then I was swimming back out of the ether of unconsciousness, and slowly growing aware of reality again. I moved my head a little, and let my eyes slide open a bit. 

My face was resting against a hard, sloping surface of crimson velvet, and I could hear a heartbeat and breathing near my ear. The air was cold on my skin now, and all was relatively dark: the moon and stars glowed from the sky, however.

I began to recollect—I had been dancing, and Red Death had been my partner on the floor, and then I had fainted. Now I opened my eyes fully, trying to move. The arms around my shoulders, waist, and the back of my knees merely tightened, though, and I was powerless to move against the will of the man who was holding me. I was still, and allowed him to continue carrying me. He strode along with long, firm, and even steps, quickly eating up the distance on the floor beneath us.

A dark doorway loomed up in front of us, and he passed through it, angling his body to the side somewhat so that he could accommodate our combined bulk. Then we were inside of a tiny, shadow-filled room. He paused, and the skull-mask turned slowly from side to side. I could sense his glowing eyes, looking all about us.

_What now…?_

He stepped forward, and I was able to see more of our surroundings.

It was an attic-like chamber, filled with objects that were dusty and decrepit from disuse. There were windows in several of the walls, all with ebony-casements and diamond-shaped panes. The ceiling was far above us, and seemed to be in the shape of a bell-tower of sorts. There were platforms and catwalks up there, as well.

My mysterious abductor—for I knew not what else to call him, though I was beginning to have a good idea—carried me with perfect ease across the cluttered floor, and then set me down gently on one of the window seats. He moved back, still staring at me: staring as if he had never seen a woman before, or as if I was the most amazing creature that he had ever beheld. I felt again that fiery warmth flood into my face, under the weight of his gaze.

"Please…" I murmured.

I stretched out a hand to him.

"Who are you?"

He still did not reply. He stood there, and looked at me, and looked at me, and finally I began to be impatient. _No one_ took me away from my friends and put me into isolation without my consent. I was a free woman now.

I stood up, clenching fistfuls of my skirts.

"Tell me who you are!" I demanded. "Why have you brought me here? Who are you? What do you want? _Tell me!_"

He did not react to my words—not for a long, tense moment, at any rate. Then, suddenly, he reached up with both gloved hands and removed the hat that he wore, letting it drop to the ground. He held up one long finger, gesturing for me to be silent and wait. I froze, and obeyed, cowed into submission by that single motion.

Slowly, his hands went to the back of his neck, finding the laces that tied the mask in place, and began to loosen it—with painstaking deliberation, the mask came away from his face, and my eyes widened—

* * *

"Christina!" 

With a thunderous crash, the door fell in, and two dark shapes hurdled into the room. One of them, I saw in a moment, was Raoul, and the other was Monsieur Khan. Another person stood in the doorway, barring anyone from escaping: Monsieur Ghirelle. They all three held unsheathed swords. I whirled to face them, crying out—

"_NO_!"

Raoul lunged forward, towards me, and shouted at the man in the Red Death costume—"Get away from her, you monster!"

Then, as my friend put himself in between me and the towering figure arrayed all in crimson…I heard the most horrible, nightmarish sound ever.

Red Death was _laughing_.

The terrible sound started out low and ominous—a deep-throated, malicious chuckle—but then it quickly made a crescendo into a ringing, brutally cold and cruel, _mad_ laugh. An eerie greenish light grew around him, suddenly, seeming to emanate from the floor at his feet, and the glow spiraled up into the air, making rings around him—cutting him off from us. Then the light transformed into flames: roaring, blood-red and white flames, which seared into the darkness with their raging heat and intensity!

Raoul reached out and grabbed hold of me, yanking me back as the man dressed as Red Death stretched a hand out towards me—

And disappeared!

"The games we're played 'til now are at an end…" I murmured to myself, as the chaos slowly died away. "We've passed the point of _no return_…"

_The mysterious Red Death was Erik._

_He had come for me._

* * *

_A/N: The dialogue between the (1) marks is taken from William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, with all due thanks and admiration owed to Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branaugh for making the words come alive, in truly thespian talent._

_PS You can find some artwork from this story on done by the ever-so-talented flyingostrich. The link for it is here; just copy and paste the link to your address bar, and edit out the spaces in between the words--_

_www . musicalfans . net / forums / index . php ? showtopic 16482_

_It's Christine, from her pre-Phantom-princess life in the village of Sumer's Flax; this view of her was in the chapter "Frightful Darkness". Didn't flyingostrich do a MARVELOUS job on it? Just thought I'd give her a shout-out. _


	29. To the Prison of My Mind

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven –**_

_**To the Prison of My Mind**_

_**-Erik-**_

* * *

Seething, I stalked the streets of the beautiful city, Pariscia, that night: seeing, hearing, and feeling nothing in the midst of my fury. 

I could not control my anger—any precarious hold that I had once had on my highly volatile temper was now entirely shattered. I was enraged, and my soul felt as if it were burning up within me.

_Christine…_

_They are trying to take my beloved from me…_

I had had a tiny hope in my heart, when I had left Shadowrose Castle to go after Christine and convince her to return to me, that she might be able to accept me again—that she would forgive me, and we would understand one another. Yes, she had looked at my face after I had expressly forbidden her to do so…and yes, she had left me…but I had been harsh and violent with her, revealing to her my very most sadistic nature. I was the one to fault, here…I was to blame for all that had happened.

But I wanted her to return with me…I wanted her to come back…I couldn't live without her beauty, without the life and joy that she had brought into my shadowy, lonely existence. I couldn't live without her.

If she wouldn't be mine, I would die.

Her denial would kill me.

_I need her. I **want** her, _the sinister voice of _le Fantôme_ hissed.

Stopping in a dark alley, where I was certain that I would not be seen, I put my face in my hands. It was hard to breathe in the mask, but I could not very well risk removing it from my face now; there were too many people.

I knew that Christine hadn't been averse to the ideas that our association with one another presented. I had seen her reaction to my presence, to my touch: I had felt her pleasure when I had put my arms around her, I had seen the rapture that in her eyes whenever I had chanced to compliment her on her singing, or to tell her that she was so very beautiful. These were all very much apparent to me, for not only had I witnessed each—I had felt them grow in my own soul as well.

_Ah, my love!_

Christine.

She was a dreamer, and imaginative, but she was brave, as well—brave, and adventurous. Before, during our time in the castle together, I had relished the very thought of being her husband. We matched one another easily in intellect and wit, and she could act the role of the proud, pampered princess as well as I could act that of the demanding, arrogant prince. I had known very well that she, in all likeliness, would be a challenge for me—that she would even put me to the test, and force me to prove my mettle as well! Married life to her would have been a decadent and glamorous thing.

But the fairy tale was over: the dream was broken.

And now there was that boy in her life, keeping her from me…

* * *

I realized, as I continued to prowl the streets, that there had been something in that boy's face that I had somehow recognized. He had looked very familiar, though I didn't know how. I growled, and slammed my clenched fist against the brick wall that was unfortunate enough to be nearby me. 

It cracked, and dust flew, with the force of the blow, and my hand began to ache. I stared at it for a moment, pausing.

How could it be that I had glimpsed something familiar in his face? He was obviously wealthy and privileged, but that alone was not reason enough for me to have recognized him. I had been surrounded by thousands of blue-bloods in my life before the curse, and none of them had ever stood out in my memory so.

I narrowed my eyes.

_No,_ I thought, my fury rising again. _No. He wasn't at court at all; he is too young to have been there then…nor was any of his family there, either…he's a noble, without a doubt—but he's not that kind of noble. Those eyes…only one family in this world could possibly have those eyes…_

* * *

I returned to the inn where my beautiful stolen princess and her rescuers were staying, and climbed up onto the roof that was only a little beneath the three balconies of their rooms—Christine's, the boy's, and Nadir Khan's. 

They were all inside Christine's room, talking animatedly and furiously, and at length, Christine gestured for them both to be gone. They did as they were told, and made their exeunt, and I backed away from the window, knowing that I would discover nothing more here.

Within a little while, light glowed from within the boy's room, and I scaled over to that balcony, hoisting myself up over the rails, and stood out of sight, listening.

"It was him, wasn't it?" the boy was asking.

Nadir, whose back was initially facing towards the window, turned and looked at him. There was a great weariness in his eyes, and a dark fear.

I bared my teeth slightly in a snarl.

"It was…Erik, the phantom of the forbidden wood…the prince who was cursed all those years ago. It was him."

Nadir nodded.

"Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte, I am afraid that that is true. Erik has left Shadowrose Castle and come after us, seeking the maiden whom he believes is his, by right, and whom we have stolen from him. He will not stop at these simple tricks—appearing and disappearing with a bit of a light show here and there…he is the man who can show you the meaning of true fear, the essence of terror. A ghost cannot wield powers such as he does, and a shade cannot slay you."

"But _Erik_ can."

"And I fear that he _will_ eventually murder someone, if we do not move quickly. Now it is not only Mlle. Daae's life that is in danger—everyone who becomes involved in keeping her from him will become part of his game. He is the wielder of shadows, and a master at the game of cat and mouse. It is only a matter of time before he strikes."

"Then we've got to get Christina away," the young Vicomte said, impulsively—unknowing of the fact that the one being whom he most feared in regard to Christina Daae's safety was lurking outside his window. "We've got to take her somewhere that he won't think to look in—somewhere where his power holds no dominion. If she is far enough away, he can't chase after her."

"We can hope, Monsieur le Vicomte," Nadir replied, with toneless despair. "But I do not think that such a thing is possible. I will make the arrangements for our departure, but you must be prepared to leave by morning. We cannot afford to waste time."

"No," the boy affirmed. "No."

Then Nadir turned and left the room.

I jumped down off of the balcony, and stood on the snowy roof for a moment, plunged deep in thought.

So, they expected that they would be able to take my Angel away from me—whisking her so far away that I could not possibly hope to follow? Morning, Nadir had said: they would leave by morning. I would have to strike first, then.

_

* * *

_

_Sing once again _

_with_ _me _

_our_ _strange duet…_

_my_ _power over you _

_grows_ _stronger yet…_

_and_ _though you turn _

_from_ _me, _

_to_ _glance behind _

_your_ _cursed phantom _

_still_ _is there, _

_inside_ _your mind…_

A magical, lilting melody—thin and delicate—began to play over the gentle falling of the snow and the wind in the frost-laced trees. Christine paused in her walk towards the inn's dining hall, and looked up to the trees in the forest. I smiled, knowing that my plot was succeeding, and beckoned her on with my music.

_In all your fantasies, _

_you_ _now can see _

_that_ _man and mystery _

_are_ _one in me…_

_and_ _in this labyrinth, _

_where_ _night is blind, _

_your_ _cursed shadow-lover _

_still_ _is there, _

_inside_ _your mind…_

_Come to me, Christine. Heed my call, and obey me! Come to me!_

Still leading her on, guiding her through the trees as she followed the spellbinding call of my music—utterly entranced and unthinking—I looked back once towards the inn. Soon enough, they would know that she was gone, and the rest of my plan would fall into place: they would despair, and have no hope.

This day would see my final triumph.

* * *

In moments, she had followed my magic into the place that I had ordained for our meeting: a snow-covered graveyard. The many white statues and rosebushes and trees there provided me with the perfect cover; there were so many shadows and objects to hide behind that no one could see me unless I wished them to. 

I crept to the edge of the tall mausoleum-like structure that had been constructed over one grave, and looked down.

Christine stood on the snowy ground some nine feet below: she was dressed in a dark, plain gown and cloak, yet she still managed to be the epitome of loveliness. My heart constricted painfully within my chest as I stared at her.

I could scarcely wait to hold her in my arms again, and not let go until I wished to. She was so beautiful…and she was mine! Mine, and they couldn't take her away.

I changed the tone of the music, and began to sing, softly.

_Wandering child,_

_So lost,_

_So helpless_—

_Yearning for my guidance…_

_Too long_

_you've wandered _

_in_ _winter_—

_far_ _from my_

_following_ _gaze…_

"Wildly my mind beats against you…" she whispered, looking up to where I stood —though she could not see me—and my heart began to pound eagerly as I devoured her with my eyes, ravenously. There was a dreamy, ecstatic light in her eyes, and it was meant for me…she looked up for me…

"You resist!" I murmured back, my voice growing louder with each word, as I cried out and she whispered, "But the _soul_ obeys…"

"_Angel_."

I did not know which one of us said the word first, or if we simply said it at the same time. I jumped off of the mausoleum's ledge, landing on my feet before her, and rose to my full height: my eyes fixed upon her, intensely. I began to walk towards her, slowly, as dawning realization tainted her expression. She took a step back, moving away from me as I advanced on her.

"Christine…I am your Angel…come to me…come to me, my Angel…"

_No. _

Her lips formed the words, but no sound issued forth. I continued to move towards her. I was so close—if I could just get near enough to reach her, I could have her in my arms in an instant, and she wouldn't be able to escape.

_Please, Christine,_ I begged her with my eyes. _Don't run; please don't make me chase after you…I don't want to frighten you, but if you run, I don't know what I would do… _

"Christine…come to me."

She began to obey: her feet moved slowly, taking each step as if she was being dragged to me against her will. Her eyes, when she looked up at me again, were wide, dark, and fearful; her face had gone entirely ashen pale, and she was trembling. I stretched out a hand to her, wanting to brush the lock of hair that had fallen onto her face out of her eyes, and murmured—

"Don't be afraid…come to me, Christine; please come to me…"

"Erik…why are you here…?" she asked me, breathlessly.

I met her eyes directly with my own.

"I'm here for _you_, Christine." I replied.

Then the moment was shattered—the Vicomte had made his arrival.

* * *

Shrieking out his denial and breaking the spell between Christine and me, he cut his way in front of her: facing me daringly with his sword drawn. His green eyes were alight with anger and determination, and I snarled at him. 

"Angel or friend, monster or Phantom," he said, taking up a defensive stance. "You'll have to dispose of my cold, dead body before you touch her!"

"Your proposition is acceptable." I replied, and drew my own sword.

Nadir appeared out of the woods and came up behind Christine, taking her by the shoulders and leading her away, out of danger. Coming to life suddenly, she struggled against him, trying to fight herself free—but in the end she gave up and let him move her, seeming too traumatized by the thought of what was unfolding before her to resist any longer. Grimly, I turned to face my opponent.

The boy still held his ground: he was brave.

It was a pity that I had to show him the meaning of loss.

Our swords clashed together violently in the first move of the duel, and after that, things very quickly escalated to a deadly level. He was almost as skilled as I in the martial arts, but where I had more experience and finesse of movement and technique, he had youth and ingenuity. We chased one another all over the graveyard, stabbing and slashing at each other with the blade: fighting with determination for Christine.

I finally saw my opportunity, and lunged forward with my sword, driving its blade towards his unguarded side—

He moved back, in the nick of time, and avoided my attack: my sword went into the iron fencing that surrounded the grave that stood between him and me, and a shower of white-blue sparks came off of it. Growling, I wrenched it out and stalked around the grave, glaring at him with fury in my eyes.

Within seconds, we had battled our way up onto the mausoleum. I finally gained the advantage again, and forced him towards its edge.

If he was to lose his concentration, I could easily defeat him, and the duel would be over. With black determination, I pressed on. We gradually moved closer and closer to the nine-foot drop.

Then, suddenly, he pulled a trick that I had not anticipated.

He charged forward, defending his neck and chest with the flat of his sword, and barreled into me. The wind rushed out of my lungs as he hit me, full-on, in the chest—and forced me backwards! I had only the presence of mind to do two things, then: I held onto my sword, and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

And when I fell, I dragged him down with me.

We hit the ground, and snow went flying everywhere, nearly blinding me.

I struggled to my feet, and whirled in the direction of my opponent. I had had enough of this. I could very easily win now, against him, and I was tired of playing fair. I shot out my hand and sent a wave of power towards him. It seemed to have bounced off of him for an instant, strangely—then I blasted at him again, and he finally fell to the ground. I stood still then, waiting for him to get up.

"Well?" he rasped, when he had fought himself to his knees. "Let's end this, Phantom. I know you are determined to."

"It's already over," I snarled, and sheathed my sword. "Now get up, and leave. Go back to wherever you came from, and stay there—and never again meddle in the affairs of the Phantom. What happens to Christine Daae from henceforth is none of your concern, boy, and if we ever meet again, you and I…I _will_ end your life."

He got up and lunged towards me; most willing to oblige him in his heedless death wish, I stalked forward to meet him. But then Christine ran in between us and grabbed his arms in both her hands, restraining him.

"End it now!" he shouted furiously at me, fighting against her.

I growled, and would have instantly done as he demanded, but Christine's presence before him prevented me from moving even an inch. Turning to the Vicomte, she said—

"No! Raoul, please! Please, for my sake, don't!"

He stared at her, perhaps as startled by her vehemence as I was, and then she whirled to face me. I stood still and watched her approach me. She had wrung her hands together, and looked very pale, and very frightened—

But very determined.

"Erik…" she said to me, in a quiet and even voice. "Erik, listen to me…please listen. I will come back with you. I will return with you to Shadowrose Castle, now, and I swear that I will never again leave its gates! My word may not possess much worth to you, at this moment, but it is all that I have to give to you. I will go back with you; I will…I will be yours. All yours. But please…please, don't do this. If you love me, please."

_If you love me, please…_

She knew that I loved her. She knew. She knew, and she was willing to acknowledge it.

_If you love me, please._

Burying my thoughts, I nodded, entirely ignoring the Vicomte and Nadir's protestations.

"Very well then, Christine." I said. I held out my hand, and waited. "I believe you. Come back with me, and I will not harm the boy."

She nodded, and stepped forward.

She put her hand in mine.

* * *

_A/N: Hello, my freaky darlings! I'm back! Finals are over, thank goodness, and I'm ALIVE! Now, let's see if we can finish up this tragic, winding tale, shall we? Thanks to the Charles Dance Phantom, Men in Black, and the Joel Schumacher version swordfight scene for this chapter--which,it must be said,was written waaaaaay back when I'd first seen the trailers for the 2004 movie. _

_Now, you know the drill: ply your shamelessly begging authoress with reviews, and you will get many new chapters in short notice, now that she is no longer bound and gagged by school! _


	30. No Use Resisting

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight –**_

_**No Use Resisting**_

_**-Christine-**_

* * *

****

He allowed me a few moments to bid Raoul and Monsieur Khan goodbye.

Raoul looked as if his heart was breaking apart within him when I went to hug him for one last time. His eyes were filled with tears, causing them to gleam like emeralds.

"Raoul…" I whispered, unhappy as he. "Please…don't be upset. I have to go…it's right, please believe me; it is. Everything will be fine."

"Christina," he said. "Please, don't go."

"I have to." I repeated, and somehow, saying it out loud again made it all that much more of a truth, of a conviction, to me. I _did_ have to go. I had promised. And now I was going to be made to fulfill that promise. I was glad…in some way.

I reached up and touched his unruly blond hair, brushing it out of his eyes, and attempted a tiny smile.

"Tell my family that I love and miss them all, the next time you see them," I said. "Give my mother an embrace, and kiss little Meg for me…and check on my garden, will you? Since I can't be there, I would like to know that someone is watching over it for me."

"I will, Christina," he choked.

Then a gloved hand clamped onto my shoulder.

Erik stepped up close behind me, and glowered at Raoul, his blue eyes so cold that his glare could have frozen an entire desert. I held back my tears, not wanting to cry in front of him. I was doing what was best, I tried to remind myself.

I was doing what was right.

"Come, Christine," was all that Erik said.

Then his arm went about my shoulders, turning me around; his cloak swept about both of us, enclosing me in its velvety warmth, and I followed his direction, without looking back. My vision grew blurry, my face flushing warm, as he led me into the woods, away from the graveyard.

A little ways in, we came upon the most beautiful, pure white stallion that I had ever seen. The magnificent animal was tethered to a low-hanging tree branch, and lifted its head, ears perking, as the sound of our footsteps approached. Erik held out his arm, motioning for me to walk on ahead of him, and told me, in a toneless voice—

"This is César, Christine. He will be taking us home."

_Home,_ I thought, morosely. _Shadowrose Castle…that beautiful castle, the place I've come to know and love so well…now I feel as if it is no more than a haunted world full of shadows, pain, sadness, and fear…the place where my most awful memories lurk, waiting to haunt me again…_

Erik's large hands were upon my waist then, and he lifted me with seeming effortless grace into the diamond-studded saddle. In another moment, he had settled himself behind me, and was gathering the reins into his gloved fingers. I shivered slightly, remembering the feel of his arms—their warmth, their strength and possessiveness, which both thrilled and frightened me—and closed my eyes. I could only hope that I had enough courage to go on, after this day.

_I had to face my grievances…_

César immediately stepped into a smooth walk, and then a canter, and finally a gallop at Erik's wordless prompting: soon it felt as if we were flying through the forest, and the snow-whitened world became as one blur to me. I heard Erik's measured, deep breathing, and felt the warmth of his frame behind me. I dared once to look up at him, into his face: into those ice blue eyes that I knew so well. Then I turned my gaze elsewhere again, unable to bear the sight of his mask.

I had done so much wrong—I had nearly destroyed us both.

How could I ever atone for my transgressions?

* * *

We reached the castle by nightfall, just as the sun began to set. Erik took us into the grounds by the bridge: the lanterns sputtered to life at our approach, and stayed lit long after we had passed by. When we were in the courtyard of the east wing, he pulled César to a stop, and then dismounted with his usual fluid ease. I stirred out of my daze, and looked down at him. His eyes bored back up into mine, and I realized…

He was waiting.

"_Merci_," I murmured, and reached out to set my hands on his shoulders.

His hands, confident and strong, attached themselves to my waist again, and then he lifted me down out of the saddle. He held me there for a moment, staring at me coldly, and I withstood the urge to evade his searching eyes, and writhe away. I knew why he was looking at me this way, and I knew that I deserved it.

But the coldness of his eyes frightened me.

He had me trapped between himself and the horse: I was pinned there, with no way out. His arms were resting on the silver-and-white saddle, on either side of my shoulders, and I was fairly certain that if I were to try to run, he would easily catch me…and then perhaps punish me further for my debility.

That was what I feared most about him—his anger.

When he was moved to ire, I knew that he cared not what or whom he was facing, and his rage could be deadly. He was huge, towering over me by at least a foot and a half, and his shoulders were corresponding in their breadth. Every inch of his body was pure muscle; I had felt the steel-like strength of his arms before. He could break me like a brittle flower.

He wouldn't even have to _try_.

I looked up at him, and found my breath short.

"Erik," I whispered.

"Don't you mean _le Fantôme_, my dear?"

He spoke for the first time in seeming ages, and turned abruptly away from me, towards the door that led into the castle.

I stood where I was for a moment, unsure of what I was expected to do. César calmly clopped away, headed towards the stables, and I hurried to catch up to my dark betrothed. Erik held open the enormous brass-bound door for me, his eyes as icy as ever.

"Please," he said, with mocking, spiteful venom dripping from his tones. "Do come inside, milady. I give you my word—there is nothing here that you need fear other than me. And I, though you may doubt my word, will not harm you."

I went inside, and he followed me.

"You must be very tired," he said, without a hint of compassion in his tone: merely stating a dry and dull fact. "I shall take you to your room."

* * *

As we passed through the gilded halls of the castle, I saw more and more evidence of the curse that was upon the place: windows were shattered, here and there, and dust had accumulated on almost every surface. The floors were dull and without a trace of shine, and the carpets, tapestries, and curtains seemed to have faded, their former brilliance of colour and texture diminished. The air was cold, and none of the chandeliers or lanterns in the walls were lit.

Erik finally reached up and pulled a hanging lantern from its sconce; he said a few low words, and it flared to life. I kept close to his immense shadow, feeling somehow much safer within it—though he himself, in his present black mood, still unnerved me.

He didn't like it when I was afraid. He seemed to be able to smell fear, and he despised it. I lifted my chin, and squared my shoulders. I was doing what was right. I had nothing to fear. Then he turned his cold blue eyes on me again, and I remembered.

I _did_ have very much to fear.

"May I presume, from your reaction, that you find the alterations to the place unlikable, milady?" he questioned, and, after a moment's hesitation, I nodded.

"I find it changed, Erik."

He made a scoffing noise, and replied, brusquely, "Well—that can't be helped. You may have noticed that there is a special kind of upkeep around here, specifically in regard to you and your belongings…but that magic does not apply to _everything_ in my domain. I can't expend that much power on this place; doing so would utterly drain me. I hope that it does not much repulse you, my lady."

I shook my head, subdued by the frostiness in his voice.

"It does not trouble me, Erik. I am glad to see the castle again."

From the hard, stiff set of his black-cloaked shoulders, I could tell that he would have _very_ much liked to have called me a despicable liar then—

But court manners held, and he said nothing.

We made our way through the immense castle, and finally stood before the doors of my chambers again. Erik opened one of them for me, and gestured for me to go in. I shocked myself with the amount of levity in my frame of mind as I walked past him, stepping into the dusty, rose-scented chamber.

"I will expect you for dinner at eight o'clock," he said, sharply.

Then I heard the faintest noise of swirling fabric, and turned around just in time to see him whirl around and storm off in the opposite direction, his cloak billowing—black and full—out behind him. I could sense the seething maelstrom of anger that fairly radiated off of him in dark, crackling waves, and shuddered.

There was so much that I needed to do to repair our life together…

* * *

My stomach felt as though it held a hundred anxiously fluttering butterflies as I prepared myself to go to dinner later that evening. I knew that I wasn't doing a very good job at hiding my emotions, and that caused my unease only to strengthen. Erik would see that I was afraid, and he would only further despise me for my childish and unkind weakness.

I did not wish for this.

I had not really ever feared him as a _person_…from the very beginning and then throughout our time together, I had only feared his power, and the control that he held over me, and his anger. I knew now, after I had had many hours to sort out my muddled thoughts, that it was not his face that frightened me. I pitied him for having to live with such an atrocity visited upon his physical person, but I did not fear or loathe his face.

It was mere skin and bone, just like mine.

_It was not his face that had caused me to run from him. _

I hadn't meant to remove his mask, I had told myself over and over again; I had been curious about it, but I had known better than to break my word to him, and seek to look upon his face after he had told me not to even think of it. The mask had come undone by pure accident, its ties loosened by my hands as I embraced him. I had been so caught up in our kiss that I'd simply lost all sensible thought.

And then, when I had seen the anger in his eyes as I had looked into his face: when I had first turned my eyes upon the features of what had seemed to be a most horrible monster, my fear had overwhelmed me, and I had screamed. The sight of his ugliness had startled me horribly at first…but it was his rage that drove all courage from my heart.

Now, what was I to do?

I sat down at my dressing table, looking into the face of my reflection solemnly. I picked up a power brush, and slowly dusted it over my skin: sparkling flakes fell down onto my collar bones and bosom, and I smelled the power's delicate fragrance. I had returned to being a princess again: once more, I was the carefully dressed and painted little doll, who stood upon her gilded shelf and smiled at the world as though she hadn't a single care in her heart.

But I did.

And I had my guilt to keep me company.

He was very angry with me. I could not blame him for treating me the way he had since we had returned to Shadowrose Castle, though the thought of the coldness in his eyes still caused a chill to run through me.

How could I behave before him now? He knew me entirely…more infinitely well now than almost anyone else in the world! It had been _him_ to whom I had poured out my hopes and dreams; _him_ whom I had discussed my views and beliefs with; _him_ with whom I had discussed everything from politics to the arts, from history to science.

And he had listened to me, and treated me as though I was the most special thing in the world to him. Some of my happiest memories had been made with him. He knew how to read each of my moods, and often he saw through the façades that I put on to the real truth within me. I couldn't hide anything at all from him—_I couldn't hide from him_.

Everything had changed between us, and I did not know how to react to it. Before, my one greatest worry had been what I would say each night, just before we left one another, when he would ask—

"_Do you think that you could ever love me?"_

Before, that had been the cause of my greatest fear.

I had known that he would protect me, that he was my friend and sympathetic companion in the vast silence of Shadowrose Castle. Somehow, deep down, I had even known that he was as much a prisoner here as I was, though I had tried not to think overly much of it. He was my betrothed, who had given me a whole new life.

I had been much happier here, with him, than I had ever been in Sumer's Flax. Erik had cared for me more than anyone else ever had. I was given everything and more than I could wish for, and yet I was not bored or neglected.

I had been _happy_.

Putting the finishing touches on my smoky black eyeliner, I turned around in my chair and looked across the room to the golden clock that stood in one corner. Its black filigree hands had almost reached eight o'clock: I would soon go to meet Erik in the dining hall. I had until then to make up my mind…

I stood up, and went into my dressing room: glancing down the rows and rows of gorgeous gowns and accessories with a renewed appreciation. They were all so beautiful…I was truly privileged here indeed. I had everything. Yet what had he ever asked of me, except that I would never leave him, that I refrain from looking upon his face, and that, sin of sins, I love him?

He loved me, and I had scorned him.

I hadn't given him this abominable, cruel treatment consciously, perhaps…but the fact remained that I had been immeasurably horrid and ungrateful to him. Not only had I proved myself to be faithless and timorous, I had scoffed in his face—in a way—when he had only asked for me to show him the same affection that I had so freely given to others. He was no different from them. He was a man. He was human.

And he needed my love.

Fear could have no place here, now: I needed to learn, to teach myself, how to return all that he had rendered unto me. I would have to teach myself to accept—not just see past—all about him that frightened me.

_I would…I would learn to love him._

"Please…be patient with me, Erik," I whispered to my reflection in the mirror, standing before it, now suitably gowned and dripping with jewels, as my status as the princess of Shadowrose entailed. "Wait for me: I _will_ learn. I _will_ love you."

_I can love you…because I already **do**…_

* * *

The doors to the dining hall eased inwards as I approached them, and I saw that the chamber beyond them was already lit: the rows of golden candelabras gleamed in the light of their many candles, and the table was set. There were two places laid out at the far end, very close to one another.

Erik sat at the end of the table, and he was looking straight at me.

He was not wearing his mask.

Without reacting, I lowered my eyes with demure, and began my walk towards him, though I took a shaky breath before doing so. I felt that his glaring, ice-blue gaze had not removed itself from me the entire time, until I was standing directly beside him. My silken skirts rustling crisply, I dropped into a curtsey, and was surprised that I did not collapse with trembling.

Then I said to him—

"Good evening, my Prince."

"Good evening, my lady," said he.

Then he swept a grand, effortlessly elegant gesture off to one side, indicating that I should take a seat to his right, and said coolly—

"Please."

He stood, looming over me at his imposing full height, and moved in a graceful swirl of black velvet to stand behind my chair, his long hands resting lightly upon its back. I murmured my thanks to him, and sat down, taking care to keep my skirts out of the way as he helped me ease the chair in closer to the table.

Then he returned to his own seat.

"Milady needn't stand upon ceremony," he informed me, after a silent moment in which I spent staring intensely at the dish-laden tabletop. "Please, eat."

I carefully filled my plate with a small helping of this and that, and then accepted from his hand a goblet of rich, dark Merlot wine.

He, I noticed, had also chosen some items to eat, for once. I had never seen him consume any kind of food in my presence before. I turned my attentions back to my own dinner, and began to pick at the food.

The entire time we spent eating was strained and very, very quiet. I could sense that he was displeased with me, and there was a definite thin-ice nuance to his entire demeanor. I did not want to do anything that would push him over the edge. Finally, he seemed to have noticed my disinterest in my food, and said—

"If _Mademoiselle la Princesse_ is feeling unwell, she needn't force herself to eat, either. Please do not make yourself ill, Christine."

Still, his saying my name made me shiver.

"I am…I am just not very hungry, tonight, my lord," I said, glancing at him reticently and feeling very timid. "The dinner is wonderful, as usual."

"Don't blather on because you feel the need to assuage the tension that you sense in this room!" he snapped, venomously. "Playing the duplicitous, illusory politician is not for you, child. I can tell that you don't truly wish to be here with me at this very moment, and I can see the dark fear in your eyes. If I am that much of a horror to you, then please do not waste time evading the subject, and _leave_ me."

Before I knew what I was saying, I fired back at him—

"I am not afraid of you, and you are _not_ a horror to me, Erik! I do not wish to play the politician or deceive you in any way, and I _am **not** leaving_!"

All at once, I realized just how loudly and forcefully I had said that to him, and noticed that I had stood up, placing both hands flat on the table. Erik looked up at me from where he was. Sitting, he was nearly my standing height.

I gulped slightly.

That hadn't been very ladylike at all.

However, his blue eyes held nothing akin to anger or astonishment at my ill-manners—indeed, his expression seemed quite different.

Blushing a fiery red, I abruptly sat back down, and began to stab viciously at the unfortunate, innocent pieces of tender, garlic-spiked beef tenderloin that were on my plate: soaking up the juices of the fruit compote and mingling with the bright green, perfectly steamed asparagus spears.

He hadn't looked away from me yet, but I didn't care. My hunger was renewed, and I was very eager to get past the shock of the previous moment.

_Why had my temper flared up so horribly…!_

A little while later, when I had had my fill of the banquet, I sat back in my chair and looked, with an even and calm gaze, out the window that was across the room from us. Outside, I could see the many constellations, and the moon: clouds were whisking in from the horizon, and I could tell that it would snow again by midnight.

Then Erik spoke again, startling me.

"You may leave now, if you wish."

I glanced at the clock: it was past eleven thirty, and I was very tired. It had been such a very long day…

So I stood up, smoothing my skirts into place, and curtsied again to him, with a polite expression plastered onto my face—hiding my true emotions.

"_Merci_, my Prince," I said to him. "Good night."

I turned to leave, but—as always—his voice stopped me before I had even managed to take two steps away from him.

"Christine."

I halted, and stood absolutely still.

Again, only now with an edge of impatience—

"_Christine_."

I turned, my heart beginning to pound, and looked at him. He fixed his blue eyes on me, and beckoned with one hand.

"Come here to me, _now_."

Unable to disobey, and not really wanting to face whatever was next, I did as he told me, and walked slowly to him. He looked up at me, craning his head back against the chair, and I saw that his eyes glittered in the warm, ambient light that surrounded us. Those beautiful blue eyes—set in a corpse's haggard face.

I was shaking again, and could not stop.

Then he raised his hand, and brushed it along my arm: slowly, and deftly, until his fingers reached my own. He gathered them into his light grasp, and pulled on my arm slightly. I tasted blood; I had been biting my lip so harshly.

"Sit," he said.

I perched myself carefully on his lap, and he took both of my hands into one of his, whilst his other hand found its way to my face. He made me turn to look fully at him, and I stared into his vibrant blue orbs. _His haunted face holds no horror for me now,_ I thought. _It is only in **our souls** where the **true** conflict lies…_

His lips parted, and he spoke to me.

"Do you think that you might ever love me, Christine?"

I still did not look away.

"Ask me again, tomorrow night—and the night after that, and the night after that, and every night after that," I said.

And then I inhaled, unsteadily.

"…For I cannot give you my answer yet."

His fingers grew more firm in their grasp on my chin, and he gently but insistently pulled my face down to be on level with his own. He stared into my eyes for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking back and forth across my face, and then he inclined his head, bringing his mangled face towards mine…

Our lips met, hesitant and shy, at first.

_He_ had initiated the embrace, and _he_ had kissed _me_—he strove for mastery for a moment as I pulled back somewhat, uncertain. To help himself, he placed his other hand on my shoulder, compelling me to remain close, and kissed me more boldly.

I was so confused.

His twisted, misaligned lips were rough and uneven, feeling like sandpaper against my own skin—yet his teeth were perfect and white, their enamel smooth and undamaged, and the inside of his mouth and his tongue was as warm and velvety as any human's would be. He had all the appearances of a living cadaver: the gaunt features and the gaping hollow where his nose ought to have been, the cavernous eye sockets and deathly cold, pale skin.

But he was alive, just as I was.

His heart beat—strong and human—within his breast, just as mine did.

How could this man's embrace inspire such an amicable reaction in me, though I could not put into words or concrete decision what I felt for him?

I wanted to respond to him the way that he wished for me to respond to him. I wanted to say yes to him: yes, he was my betrothed, and I was glad, and yes, I _did_ love him. But…somehow…the words, and the will to say them, simply never rose within me. It was difficult, however, despite my trepidations, to end the moment.

For I liked him kissing me.

In a few moments, he brought his lips away from mine, and opened his eyes: gorgeous black lashes sliding back from the brilliant blue orbs beneath, and I saw stars fairly bursting within them. I carefully placed my hand around back of his head, winding my fingers through his thick and tangled dark mane.

I found myself suddenly wondering what he had looked like, before he had let his hair grow so wild and long—even with it, he had always been very, very alluring, but I couldn't help but form a mental picture of him in formal court garb, in pale gold and white velvet rather than black, with his hair cut, combed, and washed out. It would lie perfectly on his head, its black streaks gleaming, and would have soft curls that tapered down to the nape of his neck. His mask would be white, with a pair of molten gold harlequin teardrops painted onto its eye-spaces.

Ah, yes: he would undoubtedly look very handsome…but I knew, then, that I definitely preferred my dark and mysterious, black-cloaked _Fantôme_.

He kissed me again, and I didn't think for another few moments after that.

Finally, then, we both pulled back, and he looked down at our intertwined hands as they lay in my lap. He sighed, shakily, and met my eyes with his.

"Is it so much that I ask, Christine?" he murmured, in the tiniest, most hesitant voice that I had ever heard him use. "Is it such an awful thing that I ask of you—am I so horrible that you cannot bear to give me even a little of your love? I don't want your entire heart…I don't even want you to fall _in love_ with me…I just want some small bit of your love, even the tiniest fragment…Why won't you open your soul to me, as you once did? Am I such a monster now? Do you fear me that greatly?"

He abruptly turned his poor face aside, and his great shoulders shook, as he covered his features with one hand. I saw now, for the first time ever, that even the skin just below the cuffs of his velvet gloves was discolored and rough, looking as if it had been horribly burned and twisted.

I bit back my own tears.

Sliding to the ground, I knelt before him and grabbed his wrists with both of my hands, bringing them away from his face and startling him so that he looked back at me again.

"My poor Erik!" I said, tearfully. "No! _No_, you are not a monster to me, and I do not fear you now! You have been so good to me, and I have been cruel and heartless and unkind to you, and you do not deserve that in the least. I beg your forgiveness for all that I did…I am stupid, and childish, and I despise myself for hurting you…you, who have done so much for me. Please, forgive me."

Then I buried my face against his hands, closing my eyes. I heard him gasp as my touch, and he hastily extricated his hands from my grasp, flinching away.

"And what of this, Christine?" he demanded, gesturing to his horrible face. "Did you ever expect that your future intended would be such a monstrosity? You never thought that he wouldn't even have a nose, did you…? You never dreamed that he would be so hideous—so old, and so ugly! I've trapped you here with me, in my curse, and I nearly destroyed your mind. You ran from me, and I do not blame you. I am a condemned and hopeless creature…I should never have even hoped…"

"Erik, you are a good man!" I insisted. "You have given me everything! You gave me your music, and made my song take wing, as no one else in the world could have done!—and I can never thank you enough for that. Give me time, be patient with me…I _will_ learn! I _will_ learn, and I _will_ try to give you what you ask of me. Be patient with me, Erik; _I will learn_."

He looked at me for a split second longer, in seeming disbelief.

"You poor, precious child…" he breathed. "How could you…how can I…? What did I ever…sweetest Christine, what have I done to you…"

"Please, Erik," I began. "Don't—"

With a cry, he wrenched away from me totally, and rocketed to his feet. He stumbled backwards, looking at me with dismay and self-loathing in his eyes. I flung out a hand towards him, trying to make him stop—

But I was too late.

"Go…go to your room," he gasped, clutching his chest as if his heart was putting him into incredible agony. "Go to your room, Christine, and remain there, please…run, _now_! Please…go…go now and leave me! Leave me, child—_go_!"

I scrambled to my feet and tore out of the banquet hall, hiding my face with my hands, and ran sobbing all the way to my room. That night, Shadowrose Castle was filled with a morose and dismal silence.


	31. Abandon Thought & Let the Dream Descend

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine –**_

_**Abandon Thought and Let the Dream Descend**_

_**-Erik-**_

_

* * *

_

Remember the first dance we shared?

_Recall the night you melted my ugliness away?_

_The night you left with a kiss so kind…_

_Only a scent of beauty left behind…_

It was cold—so very, very cold outside this night, but I did not feel, and I did not care.

The pure light of the waning crescent moon fell harsh and ruthless upon the icy shores of the lake that I stood before: the ice was expressionless and frozen. It would not reflect me. It would not move.

_It could not feel…_

My heart was ripping itself to shreds within me, and I was filled with the most acute pain. My lips still tingled with energy and life from when I had kissed Christine; even now, when I put my fingertips to my mouth, I could still remember perfectly the feeling of her soft, rosy lips upon my own. She had warmth, and exuberance, and life, and it had seemed, for that wonderful, long moment in which I had held her in my arms, that she had breathed some of that into me.

For that beautiful moment, I had lived again…but now I stood, shivering and shaken, on the edge of the lake.

I was alone.

"Give me time, be patient with me…" she had begged me as she knelt before my knees, hands clasped: her silver and amber eyes imploring me to grant her wish. "I _will_ learn! I _will_ learn, and I _will_ try to give you what you ask of me. Be patient with me, Erik; _I will learn_."

After all that had happened—after all that I had done to her—she was yet willing to grant me a chance. She was still willing to look with the eyes of her heart, and not of her mind, and see the man within the monster. She was willing to forgive.

_And…_

She was willing to love.

_Ah dear friend I remember the night—_

_The moon and the dreams we shared..._

_Your trembling paw in my hand,_

_Dreaming of that northern land…_

_Touching me with a kiss of the beast…_

I raked my ungloved hands down my face, causing my skin to sting. I flinched involuntarily as I felt the rough and uneven surface of the right side of my face, the abnormal cavity where a nose ought to have been. Such had always been my reaction, even after so many decades of living with my monstrous curse.

I had been accustomed to living with myself as a cold and nearly unfeeling creature for so many years now. I had made a vow in my youth, promising myself that I would never feel any emotion ever again…but I was a human being, no matter what I told myself. It was ingrained within my nature to feel, to know the emotions of sadness, of loneliness and defeat and despair, of joy and amusement and anger…and love. Even I, whose name meant 'all-powerful ruler', could not control this.

I was human.

And monster.

I had changed so much since Christine had come into my life: her presence had forever altered me, and I well knew it. I had been cold and arrogant in my early adult years, and then angry, bitter, and demanding, after I had been placed under the sorceress's horrible spell. Being trapped in my castle for so long, resenting the world for reasons unknown and despising myself, I had grown embittered and sinister. I had played the role of the menacing _Fantôme_ with a vengeance.

Then…then there was Christine.

I had changed over my time with her. I had begun to think less and less of myself, ever and always myself, and more of her—though I thought that I was mostly concerned with breaking the spell and returning to my former life, I knew now that I had been consumed with thoughts of her. Her beauty, her talent and grace, her vivacious, venturesome, and sweet spirit: all these had captivated me. I had broken my own vow, and fallen in love, deeply in love, with this girl.

Love had once been forbidden to me. I had been doomed to live out my remaining years in solitude, remembrance of my loss, and despair for my ruined kingdom and face.

She had changed all of that.

_I know my dreams are made of you—_

_Of you and only for you—_

_Your ocean pulls me under,_

_Your voice tears me asunder,_

_Love me before the last petal falls!_

_As the world without a glance,_

_Of the ocean's fair expanse…_

_Such the world would be,_

_If no love did flow in thee…_

_But as my heart is occupied,_

_Your love to me now has to die…_

_Forgive me…_

_I need more than you can offer me…_

I desperately needed her love—I couldn't live without it!—but I was afraid to ask her for it. I knew that having her say the words, having her tell me that she loved me and truly meaning it, was the only way that the spell over my castle and myself would be broken. I knew that. I knew it. And I had asked her, evening after evening, if she could possibly learn to love me one day…

But I feared, deep within, asking for her love.

I had done nothing to merit such a gift.

_Didn't you read the tale_

_Where happily ever after was to kiss a frog?_

_Don't you know this tale,_

_In which all I ever wanted,_

_I'll never have_

_For…_

"Who could ever learn to love a beast…?" I whispered, hollowly.

_However cold the wind and rain,_

_I'll be there to ease all your pain…_

_However cruel the mirrors of sin,_

_Remember beauty is found within…_

Lies. All lies.

I could have no hope. After all I had done…I could not ask her to be my saving grace.

I wanted to be saved.

But I didn't deserve it. Not now.

Not ever.

"Christine…" I sobbed her name as I fell to my knees in the know, and dragged my pathetic claws down the wretched skin of my bare face: pain searing as my flesh was scored.

"_...Forever shall the wolf in me desire the sheep in you..._"

* * *

_A/N:The lyrics used in this chapterbelong to Nightwish and their song "Beauty and the Beast", as you all probably can guess. I'm just borrowing them for Depressed!Erik..._


	32. For Now I See

_**Chapter Thirty –**_

_**For Now I See**_

_**-Christine-**_

* * *

The morning after I returned to Shadowrose Castle, I opened my eyes and looked around the room: slowly taking in the sight of everything that was around me, seeing it as I never had before.

I no longer stared at my surroundings with wide and frightened eyes, as I had the first few months that I had lived there; nor did I coolly glance over all of it with the bemused and disdainful eyes of a pampered princess. I saw this place as I ought to have seen it all along now, after so much time…

It was my home.

For a few minutes longer, I lingered under the warm white covers; then, knowing that I would have to get up eventually, I folded the blankets back, and got up. The marbled floor was cold beneath my feet, and I hastily stepped over to the carpeted area of the room, welcoming its soft raised texture. I turned, and found my soft scarlet dressing gown hung over the back of a chair; I hadn't seen it there before.

As Erik had told me, there was much magic hanging in the air about Shadowrose Castle…especially as far as me and my belongings were concerned. I was slowly growing used to that idea. I reached up to brush a straying lock of my hair back behind my ear, and noted with distaste the grimy texture of it.

A thorough washing was in order.

One of my other chambers was a spacious lavatory that was just about the general size of a very small cottage; the overall area of my sleeping chamber itself was comparative to a cathedral, with a ceiling nearly as high. There I found everything was just as it had been when I had left, untouched by the rest of the decay in the palace: in the tall white ash armoire, I discovered towels and a long robe, which I placed on the ledge of the enormous tub of ivory marble. When I turned around from pinning my hair up, so that it would be off my neck until I washed it, I saw that the tub had been filled nearly to the brim with steaming, rose-scented water. I smiled.

_Magical indeed._ _I hope it remembers not to get cold…_

And of course it didn't, as always.

I washed my hair and gave my tired and abused pores a good scrubbing, and emerged from the room feeling cleansed and renewed, and very awake. I glanced at my nails, on a whim, and was pleasantly surprised to see that somehow—after I had closed my eyes during a nice soak—they had been filed, cleaned, and glossed over with a delicate, blushing shade of rosy-pink enamel. On the chair where my scarlet dressing gown had been hung, a lovely coral and cream gown had draped itself, its long train flowing out onto the floor.

I shook my head, ever at a loss for words in regard to the amazingly beautiful gowns that the magic of Shadowrose Castle was able to fashion, and went about carefully dressing myself. I was a princess here again, and I was going to make a world better of a job at it this time around—this, I had promised myself.

* * *

"…_And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next." _

With a shudder of thrilled suspense, I closed the covers of the book that I had been reading that morning in the library.

It was the gripping, tragic, and stirring tale of an intrepid, fearless general who was so beloved by his soldiers, countrymen, and emperor that he had been begged to consider ruling after the current sovereign had passed on. It had been this man who had spoken those last, ringing and defiant words that I had just read. Even in the face of such honour and possible glory, however, he had refused to be named ruler, wanting instead to be in his home with his wife and young son.

Unknowing and uncaring of this, the conniving son of the emperor had devised another fate for him: the cruel villain savagely murdered the general's wife and son, destroyed his home and lands, and sent the brave but devastated man to his death. The general escaped, however, and was soon captured again, and made to fight with other prisoners for the amusement of the masses.

I had not yet reached the end of the tale, but it had already entirely captured me within its pages. And somehow, even though I knew that the story could not possibly end up happily and I most loved happy endings, I simply couldn't bring myself to stop reading and give up there.

It was getting late in the morning, however, and as I had not yet seen…Erik…I had decided that now was a good time to pause my reading. Feeling the faintest beginnings of hunger pangs in my stomach, I placed the book on the table that stood beside my chair, and got up: my opalescent peach-taffeta skirts rustling crisply about me, seeming to have a voice of their own.

Dragging myself out of my musings towards what would now befall the wonderful and captivating Maximus, I began my walk down the castle's long, quiet corridors. It was snowing hard and fast outside, and the wind had grown in force and noise. I shuddered, glad to be inside during such weather. I went immediately down to the banquet hall, and stepped inside—

But Erik was not there.

With a puzzled frown, I moved back, and the doors closed silently.

He had almost always met me there, so that we could share our luncheon hour…had things changed so much between us now that he no longer wished to share my company during the day? I had all but forgotten the painful audience we had had the evening before, after dinner; now a cold, twisted feeling of dread stabbed in my heart like a dagger.

Had I offended him that greatly?

Or…worse…was something wrong with him?

Horrified at the prospect of this, and even more frightened at the thought that my inattentiveness might have allowed something terrible to happen, I gathered my voluminous and cumbrous skirts in both hands, and broke into a mad run. I tore down corridor after corridor, glancing into every room and calling out for my dark Angel as I went, hoping that he would hear me, and answer.

_If I could only hear his voice…_

* * *

The castle seemed to blur before my eyes, and before I knew it, I was standing before the doors of his very room. I hesitated for only a moment, uncertain of whether I was forbidden to step into the lair of the Phantom or not, and then I plunged forward, into his room, pushing the heavy doors out of my way with a vengeance. 

"Erik? Erik! Please, answer me!" I called.

But I heard nothing.

_Nothing but the blowing of the wind through an opened window, that is…_

I gasped, and ran over to it, hastily pulling it shut, and then whirled and ran over to the enormous, black-canopied bed.

There my betrothed lay.

His eyes were closed, and his skin was deathly pale: paler than ever before, as white as the new-fallen snow outside the window. My heart pounding with fear, I flew to his side and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his icy cold hand in my own and holding it to me.

"Erik!" I cried. "_Mon ange_, please—don't be asleep, please don't be asleep! Wake up! You can't sleep! Wake up, please wake up! _Erik_!"

My voice ended on an upward note, turning into a shrill shriek, and yet he did not move…for a moment at least. His eyes moved beneath their closed lids, and he exhaled, shallowly, as if it pained him to breathe.

He stirred, and slowly his eyes slid open.

"Christine…" he murmured, so softly that I could barely hear him. "Child…what…what upsets you so?...You are…_crying_."

And his fingers moved slightly against my face.

I tried to stop the tears from flowing, but I couldn't. I was panicking, and utterly fearful. Had we been restored to one another, and given a second chance, after all that had happened, only for me to see him fall ill and leave me?

_No! _my mind shouted, in fierce determination…and, I realized, possessiveness. _I will not lose him! No one and nothing will take him from me! _

Shaking my head, unable to reply to his question, I bent low over him and placed the back of my trembling hand on his forehead. It was frighteningly hot, in contrast to his icy, stiff hands, and I gasped, trying to hold in a sob.

"Erik, you're sick," I burst out. "What have you…what have you done to yourself? Why—"

"It's all right, Christine," he whispered, hoarsely. "I…deserved…this…"

"No," I sobbed, and hastily stood up, my fists clenched angrily at my sides.

_He cannot die!_

I then began to look around the room for a cabinet, a cupboard, anything that might contain extra blankets, or medicine. The first item that I spotted was his black-velvet cloak, which had been dropped on the floor some ten feet from the bed; I swooped down upon it, and snatched it up into my hand. I flung it across him, tucking it in around his neck and shoulders, arms and chest with severe snugness.

Then I reached into the chest that stood at the end of the bed and dragged out one, two, three blankets—all thick and enormous, made of the softest wool I had ever felt—and threw them over him. My vision was blinded with tears as I spoke to him—

"I-I knew—if only I'd thought—you-you can't—! Please don't…oh, this is my fault! How could I have let you go—?"

"Christine," he tried to say again. "_Please_ don't cry…"

"And why shouldn't I?" I retorted, weeping. "If I hadn't been so foolish, I wouldn't have left this place, and you wouldn't have been in such pain."

"I was in pain already," he said, with morbid bleakness.

For a moment, I stared at him blankly, and then re-commenced my flurry of movement. Trying to remember all that Antoinette had ever taught me in regard to tending victims of frostbite and the cold, I gathered one of his skeletal hands in mine, ignoring the fact that it dwarfed my own, and began to vigorously rub it, trying to get some of circulation back into his skin.

"It…doesn't…matter…now," I grated out, clenching my teeth against another fit of weeping. I couldn't waste time crying now—not when he was sick.

_Not when he needed me…_

"Don't you have any sort of medicine anywhere? Anything that you…that you ever used when you were sick before?" I asked.

But he shook his head, staring with vacant eyes up at the pattern of the winding basilisk on the canopy over the mattress.

"No. I never cared."

"Erik!" I sobbed. "_I_ care! I won't let you spend a single moment being deathly ill, when I need you here with me!"

I placed my hands firmly, passionately, on either side of his pallid face, and forced him to look into my eyes. Fiercely, I declared, for once and for all—

"There—have you heard me? I need you! I need you, _Fantôme_, and I am not going to let you go, now or ever! Do you hear me? _NEVER_!"

"Christine," he whispered.

I looked into his eyes, which seemed so utterly, indescribably sad: their blueness all the more vivid, and then I knew that this was the very weakest that I would ever see him. He needed me now, just as I needed him. I couldn't let him go.

_There was too much at stake…_

As he reached up to brush his fingertips lightly across my cheekbone, letting them bury themselves in my hair, I leaned even further down, until our foreheads were resting against one another, and I managed to summon up a small smile. For him.

_For once, not for myself—but for him._

"I'm going to make you heal, Erik," I told him. "I promise. Rest now, and never fear…I'll be here with you always. I won't leave you from this moment on."

Then I lightly pressed my lips to his, and kissed him. He smiled faintly, and then said no more: slipping quietly into his dreams.

I hoped that, for once, they were peaceful.

* * *

_A/N: So, a slightly happier moment for our dear Erik and Christine, reunited and...well, kinda getting along with each other again. Let's hope it lasts..._

_Kudos to anyone who reviews, and extra brownie points to whomever can name the movie that Christine's book in the beginning of this chapter was based on!_


	33. A Study in Newfound Contentment

_**A Study in Newfound Contentment:**_

_**---**_

_**Counterpoint**_

_**by**_

_**Erik and Christine**_

* * *

****

_He can smile and laugh now; I hadn't seen him look so happy before. He does not look as sad as he did anymore, and I feel warmth_—_genuine, living warmth_—_in him. The darkness is gone from his eyes._

There's been a change in me,

A kind of moving on,

Though what I used to be

I still depend upon…

_We talk with one another as never before, teasing each other and making new memories. Sometimes he asks me to sing for him, and I do so, gladly_—_hoping for the day when my Angel will be able to sing back to me. _

_His health is returning to him, but slowly: he was very ill indeed when I found him that sorrowful, grey-skied morning, and I shudder even now at the thought that he could have been wrested away from me by the illness. His cough still returns to him from time to time, and I worry for him as he clutches his chest in pain, his features contorting as the spasms overwhelm him. I hold him then, keeping him huddled close to my breast, and my heart, which beats for him alone now. _

_But he is not coughing up blood anymore, and his skin no longer burns with the fever, and he does not shake with uncontrollable chills. _

_I stay with him for as many hours as I can, and even then, I never go very far from him. My room has been unoccupied for weeks now, and I have become well-established in the drawing room opposite his chambers. It is our unspoken agreement that the door stays open, so that we may remain close through every hour._

_But I will never again **want** to go far from him._

_We speak of everything, and I have told him all about my family, and my dreams. He laughs at my stories of little Meg and her dolls, and makes sarcastic, sly little comments on the spoilt natures of my sisters. I cannot help but laugh. His company is so enjoyable, and it is almost as if nothing had ever been amiss between us._

_We are so happy: Erik and I._

For now I realize

That good can come from bad…

That may not make me wise

But oh, it makes me glad.

And I…

I never thought I'd leave behind

My childhood dreams,

But I don't mind!

For now I love the world I see…

No change of heart—

A change in me.

* * *

For in my dark despair

I slowly understood:

My perfect world out there

Had disappeared for good…

**_Once, there was a time in which I could not remember ever having felt love: I had built monumental, stony walls about my heart and soul and mind, and nothing had been able to penetrate the darkness that surrounded my spirit. Now…now there is anything but darkness in my mind! I feel myself alive as never before._**

**_Now I know what love is._**

**_She has been so dear to me, my pretty little nursemaid. She has cared for me and brought me through so many struggles. _**

_**When I cried out in the night during an awful nightmare, she was there when I awakened, shaking and sick with dread and memory, and it was in her embrace that I found comfort and peace. She has become my Angel.**_

**_I love her so…_**

**_There is nothing further in my heart than the desire for life to return to being as it was. I no longer wish to change her, to mold her into becoming like me, thinking that this was the only way that she could ever accept me…and learn to love me. I no longer hide myself from her; there are no shadows, no doubts or fears, between us now. She knows who I am, and I know her heart. We are fitted for one another, she and I. We belong together. Nothing could cause me greater happiness._**

**_Almost nothing, that is…_**

But in its place I feel

A truer life begin

And it's so good and real,

It must come from within…

* * *

_I do not fear._

**_I do not doubt._**

_I know I have changed._

**_I feel so new._**

_He loves me…and in my heart…_

**_I love her…I begin to have hope…_**

And I…

I never thought I'd leave behind

My childhood dreams

But I don't mind!

I'm where and who I want to be.

No change of heart—

A change in me.

_Erik…we have found happiness together._

**_Christine…she has brought hope into my life._**

_No change of heart…_

_**A change in me.**_

* * *

_Disclaimer: The lyrics to the song inthis chapter are from the musical version of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Lovely, aren't they..._


	34. Hope in Love

_**Chapter Thirty-One –**_

_**Hope in Love**_

_**-Erik-**_

* * *

"_She's a beautiful girl, Erik," a soft, but immeasurably proud woman's voice said to me, through the dim haze of my dreams. "You've chosen well."_

_I know, my mind responded. She's brought hope back into this place, and now, because of her, there is love in my heart, where there were once only shadows…_

* * *

Suddenly, through my closed eyelids, I sensed light: warm, amber-hued light, and my senses re-awakened themselves as I simultaneously heard the noise of rustling satin skirts. A cheerful, kind voice said to me— 

"Good morning."

I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the top of the mahogany desk in the castle's music room. I jerked my head up, making my neck muscles ache in protest, and looked in the general direction of the speaker's voice.

Christine stood at the corner of the desk, around front of me, and she looked positively angelic. The golden, early-morning sun was shining through the opened window, striking her silhouette from the back, which caused her hair to glow and shimmer, like a crown of brilliant stars and sunbeams. She seemed to be glowing.

She gestured at the paper-strewn desktop in front of me, and asked, gently…

"How long were you up last night writing?"

I put my hand to the back of my neck, massaging the cramped ligaments in it, and considered for a moment. "_Late_," I replied, then, decisively. "But…it was worth it. Come and look, my dear. Please."

And I gestured for her to stand beside me and see.

She did so immediately, and as she perused the newly written sheets of music, I took inordinate, though secretive delight in feeling the warmth of her arm near mine, the light rose fragrance that seemed to pervade her entire being, the soft-as-silk brush of her loosened curls against my cheek as they fell over her shoulder. I breathed in, silently but deeply, and spread out the manuscript, drawing her attention to the first page.

"Well," I began, tentatively: eyeing her vigilantly to catch every nuance of her reaction. "What do you think of it, _ma petite rosé_?"

She was quiet another moment longer, her silver-flecked eyes still scanning over the scrawling black notes, bars, and words that I had so laboriously arranged together the night before. Then she softly hummed a few of the opening bars; my heart had always managed to soar to thrilling heights every time that I had heard her sing my music, and this moment was no different from the others. She read the name of the piece.

"_Le Musique de le Nuit_."

Carefully, softly, almost reverently, she brushed her delicate little fingertips over the notes, moving her hand until it rested against mine. I looked up, over my shoulder to her, and my eyes met hers. She reached out her other hand, and caressed her palm alongside my mask until it reached the exposed skin of my jaw, and then she smiled even more widely. Leaning further towards me, she said—

"It's beautiful, my prince."

She leaned her head against mine, and I smiled softly. For a moment, I let my eyes remained closed, wishing that everything in the world would just stop, and let us remain as we were—here, now—for all of time.

But then I opened my eyes, and smiled at her.

"So trusting…" I murmured, as a playful glint came into my eyes. "But how do you know, Mademoiselle Daae—your Royal Highness Princess Christine—that this music of the night is as worth your praise as you think it is? Perhaps it is nothing more than the shoddiest, most inferior tune I have ever put to paper!"

I stood up, my black cloak falling into place about me—unwrinkled and smooth as ever, in spite of the fact that I had spent the last several hours sleeping at the desk in the music room. I moved towards her, stretching out a hand, and she put on her most coy, evasive little façade, hastily skirting away from me, but only for a moment. Before I could have blinked, she had swept back over to me and was grabbing both of my hands into hers, though my hands were significantly larger than hers.

"You are entirely incapable of writing anything shoddy, Erik Shadowrose!" she told me, with a laugh in her tone. "I know that only too well. Now, much as I like sitting here in the music room with you, let's please repair to the banquet hall. Believe it or not, I think that I am finally ready for breakfast."

A grin split my face, and I replied—

"You know, I find that I myself am quite famished as well, my lady. Please, let us go to the banquet hall. Your wish is my command."

"I shall remember that."

* * *

_Say you'll share with _

_Me one_

_Love, one lifetime…_

_Say the word _

_And I will follow you…_

_Share each day with _

_Me, each_

_Night, each morning…_

_Say you love me…_

_You know I do…_

_Love me_—

_that's_ _all I ask of you…_

* * *

I returned to reality from the world of my thoughts, and looked up from the pale green grass that my eyes had fixed upon during my reveries. I heard the sounds of springtime everywhere: the musical babbling of the brook nearby, the sweet and carefree bursts of songs from the many birds within the forest around me, the blowing of the gentle wind. I breathed in, inhaling the perfume of many flowers, and was content. 

Looking further away, I saw Christine.

She was standing at the edge of the small lake that the brook flowed into, and there were several pure white swans swimming close to the shore, eagerly catching up in their beaks the crumbs that she was scattering on the water for them. One of the swans turned out to be a mother with seven—eight—nine ungainly, fuzzy grey cygnets trailing behind her, paddling as fast as they could with their tiny little webbed feet. They formed a half-circle before Christine, making plaintive and impatient whistling noises at her. Then their father, a large male swan with an impressive coal-black line upon the bridge of his beak and ringing his eyes, swam up and chased them off to their mother with a flurry of his powerful white wings.

Christine's laughter floated through the air to me, and I smiled. Her whole face lit up when she laughed; I wished that it was within my power to make sure that all she ever did again was laugh, and smile. It didn't matter to me what moods or emotions I went through—as long as she was happy.

That was what meant the most, in our life together.

I wished that she would always smile.

"Erik, those little ones are adorable," she told me, as she stepped away from the water—the crumbs gone, and the swans swimming away—and walked towards me. I smiled again and held out my hand, and then we walked back along the crystal blue canal that ran through the gardens.

"They seem to quite dote on you, my dear," I remarked, with playful sarcasm, and she sent me a look. "I can understand why."

César was waiting back on the path for us. The magnificent stallion—who had been the only living being within the castle walls to escape the effects of my enchantment—perked up his dainty ears upon hearing our approach, and nickered breathily to us as we walked towards him. He stretched out his head upon his long, arching neck, begging Christine for a treat in almost the same manner as the little cygnets had, and she smiled, reaching into her silken skirt's deep pocket and bringing forth an apple, which she gave to him.

I shook my head, admiring her charm and thoughtfulness, and then, after a moment had passed, I lifted her carefully into the saddle and swung up behind her, gathering the reins in both my hands. César, having thoroughly enjoyed his treat, stepped into an easy, ambling gait, and we rode further into the castle grounds, marveling at the springtime beauty of the gardens.

It seemed as if simply every green and growing thing had simultaneously burst into bloom. What had once appeared to have been merely unkempt and riotous disorder—thick rose vines growing everywhere, with their cruelly sharp, long thorns and morbid black blossoms, dark ivy, weeds, and more—had simply vanished. Everything was covered in a myriad of beautiful colours, as if new life and purity had overwhelmed the old and wild.

I felt as though I was really seeing my surroundings for the first time in many, many long and dismal years.

Before, when I had given up hope and despised the world with a venom unmerited, I had kept myself as a recluse and shadow within my castle's walls, never once venturing outside or even looking out of the window, if I could have helped it. I had stood and watched the stars many a time from my tower high atop Shadowrose Castle—but I had never simply ridden through the grounds and spared myself a moment to view and appreciate all of the marvelous beauty within them. Such blessings had been in my life all along; how had I never seen them?

And now…I was so happy now.

* * *

At length, I noticed that the fluffy white clouds that had been rolling briskly over the sky had now begun to darken into a rather ominous shade of gray. I mentioned this to Christine, and we agreed that it was, perhaps, high-time for us to return indoors. In a little while, we had left César in the stable: happily pulling hay out of the net in his stall, and together we went back to the castle. As a vehement spring thunderstorm broke in its full fury over the land outside, we enjoyed our midday repast together in the library, with both of us alternately reading from our selected tomes. 

Then I offered to take her on a tour of the castle.

We walked through rooms, corridors, and entire wings that I had not stepped into for years. Memories of the past and all that I had stubbornly, arrogantly refused to see and enjoy stirred up with the dust that our feet lifted from the carpets and floor. I recognized some of the chambers, vaguely.

There was the Chamber of State that my father and his counselors, and then my mother and her counselors, had held their most important meetings within. There were the lavish and expansive quarters of the nobles who had lived at court, the gigantic and well-equipped kitchen, three more ballrooms, a conservatory full of exotic plants, a hall devoted purely to statuary art, and many more.

We stumbled across my mother's chambers, and this caused bitter regret and grief to rise within me until I was stifled by it. Choking back emotions, I stepped hastily outside, and Christine followed me a moment later. She put her little hand on my arm, and looked up at me, concern darkening her eyes.

"_Mon ange_…" she said, softly. "Are you well?"

I turned my face from her, endeavoring to force the tears that had gathered in my eyes to disappear. I shook my head and replied, my voice thick and husky—"No…I…forgive me, Christine."

I sighed, shakily.

"There's…that is…I haven't told you…"

_Enough delays!_ I railed at myself. _You have kept so many secrets from her already; you cannot deceive her again. You should not. She deserves to know…look at all that she has done for you. You must tell her._

So, finally, I heaved a shuddering breath, and looked back to her.

"Christine…come with me. There's…a story…that I would like to tell you."

* * *

A very short time later, we stood within the portrait hall that she had glimpsed once before at the very beginning of her stay in the castle. 

I held her hands carefully within mine, and considered all that I had to tell her. There was much that I wasn't certain I knew how to say.

_Perhaps it would be best just to begin…_

"Christine, I will not treat you like a child, and presume that you do not know or suspect much about the secrets that this castle holds…for there are, indeed, many secrets here. Shadowrose Castle has been the home of the rulers of this realm for ages past, and as one such ruler…"

I hesitated here. I was a prince, but if it had not been for my pride, my coldness and my arrogance, and selfishness…I might have been king now, and she would have been my queen. I would have had my people with me, and my mother…

"And as I am the prince of Kryslora," I continued, "It is also _my_ home."

Then I paused.

I motioned to the portrait that hung just a little ways off from us, framed in regal gold: it was a painting of my father, my mother, and me. I remembered having to sit very still and keep my expression frozen in place for hours while the artist—one of the finest in the world, commissioned to abide at court and paint for my parents—labored over the enormous canvas. I had been only nine then.

At my gesture to the painting, Christine stood before it and looked up at the canvas with her wide, sparkling eyes. I could not read her expression, which troubled me. I wondered what she was thinking.

My mother looked so lovely, so gracious and warm and kind, in that painting: the pale blue gown that she had worn had always been one of my favorites for her to wear. She had been powdered and primped to perfection on the day of the portrait's painting, dripping with the most gorgeous jewels that the kingdom could avail. Her soft, gentle smile stung my heart, even now.

I went on, nonetheless.

"Many years ago, Kryslora was governed by my father, King Desmond. He was a good man, and adored by his subjects. He made this kingdom great…my mother loved him with all of her heart, and I idolized him. On my eleventh birthday, however, he died. The kingdom was in shock, but all managed to hold together in spite of everything. My mother was a good ruler, and she did everything she could to care for our people in his place…but meanwhile, I…I vowed to myself, after witnessing my father's burial…I vowed that I would never feel anything again. Especially love."

One look into her eyes caused a sharp pain to stab into my heart: she was staring up at me with pity and compassion in her wide eyes. I forced myself to continue, leading her down the hall of paintings.

"I grew into a horrible creature as the years went on: arrogant, cold, and selfish. As a young man, I traveled all over the world, and saw every wonder that there was to see; I had everything that I could have ever asked for. Yet this wasn't enough for me—I felt a void in my heart, and so I let that heart grow even stonier. I returned to my kingdom after a long time away, and was greeted with a welcoming celebration that I did not deserve in the slightest. My mother was overjoyed to see me…and I treated her abominably. I had not changed in the slightest, but for growing colder."

Now I had reached the part of my tale that I knew would be the worst to tell.

But I _would_ say the words…I _would_ tell her…

"One night, there was a gala ball, here, in the castle. Everyone with even the smallest drop of royal blood in their veins was in attendance, and the festivities were the grandest that anyone could imagine—back then, at least. I danced with hundreds of maidens, though none of them captured my eye as they, their parents, and my mother and the rest of the court had hoped. Then, in through the door walked a woman that I had never seen before. She was not, by far, the most spellbinding beauty that I had ever seen, nor was she exceptionally hasty to make herself known to everyone. But she _did_ want me to see her there, watching me every time I turned around…and eventually, Christine, I _did_ notice her. I knew that she had appeared here to challenge me, and I was ever ready to meet and dispel a challenge—such was my arrogance."

_Ellexssya…_

_Sorceress…enchantments…_

_Ellexssya Scarlet-Heart…_

_Cursed…_

"She believed that I had fallen in love with her, for I spent much time with her, though in reality, I was merely toying with her misguided affections—playing with her mind until I grew tired of the game. Then, when I had bored of it, I told her that our time together was at an end, and that she should be gone from my castle."

I closed my eyes.

"The despicable creature was a sorceress. She became enraged with me for jilting her and playing with her affections for me, and declared that I would now reap the merits of my cruelty and hubris."

"_You could have had anything, were you to have chosen to stay at my side, Erik of the Shadowrose," she said, "but, foolishly, you have thrown that chance away, and lost it; so also will **you** now be lost to the world. From this day forth, you will no longer have a kingdom, or any of those who formerly knew and loved you. Your palace will be your prison, and your roses will be your only companions_—_and when they die, you also will find your life at an end. And for reward of your cold heart and ugly soul, which refused to tame to my hand, you will now wear your hideousness on your outward person. Be as you truly are!"_

"And from that day on," I said, placing the fingertips of my right hand to the mask that covered the right half of my face, "I wore the face that she had cursed me with—my face was no longer that of the prince of Kryslora, within whose blood ran strains of the beauty of the fey, but of a monster. She robbed me of my hands as well, leaving me with mere clumsy, repulsive claws that were so unwieldy that I could never hope to write well,or play my music ever again."

_Nothing more than a world of silent, echoing shadows… _

"I dared not show my face to the outside world after that day, and so I hid myself behind the mask. She stole away my people, and my mother. I do not know where they are now, but I see them in my dreams, sometimes. Through my doing, they were all punished, and their former lives are no more. Only Nadir, of my friends, managed to escape, for he was not at the castle when Ellexssya put her curse on me, and she did not know about him. I have treated him cruelly as well, returning spite and coldness for his faithful friendship and guardianship."

We were now standing before the portrait that had been painted of me when I had returned from my years of traveling abroad in the world. I was dressed all in black, with a velvet cloak draped carelessly over my shoulders, and there was a cold, haughty look in my face, in my blue eyes.

This was the man I had been.

This was Erik Shadowrose.

He seemed to be so distant now.

I looked at Christine again, and saw that she was now crying openly. I let go of her hands, and she was in my arms in a second, clinging to me so tightly that I wondered if she meant to ever let go. She sobbed deeply, her tears seeping into my tunic, and I tried to soothe her, stroking her hair carefully.

"_Cher_ _ange_, _ma belle amour_…" I murmured. "Please…don't cry. It's all right…it's all right. You needn't weep…please, don't cry…"

"My poor Erik!" she said, weeping quietly. "I am so sorry for you; no one deserves such a cruel life! How could she have done this to you…?"

"She is as heartless as I was, all those years ago, Christine," I told her, softly. "But I count myself blessed now, my sweet Beauty…for I have found my life again. I have hope now, and I know love, and grief, and every emotion ever created. I cannot mourn for myself now…I _cannot_. Christine, don't you see? You…"

I tipped her face up, and brushed the tears from her skin.

"You alone could have made my song take flight," I whispered. "You've helped me to make the music again—you've changed me."

"Erik…" she began, but I quieted her, placing a finger on her lips.

"Shh," I said, gently. "I must finish telling the story, child. I once thought that you would never feel anything but hatred and revulsion and fear for me, for I was the hideous monster who had torn you from your family over the theft of a mere rose. I grew obsessed with you, Christine, and soon I managed to convince myself that the only way that you would ever be able to feel anything for me was if I enchanted you…and made you more like me. Under my spell, you became my Christine. Your original nature remained within you, for not even the most powerful enchanter could alter that…but still my magic slowly began to change you."

Pained by sorrow, I shook my head: closing my eyes for a moment.

"I was wrong to do such a horrible thing to you, Christine, so very wrong, and I beg you to forgive me. You are so wonderful, in every aspect—I should have known it then, and I know it now."

"I _do_ forgive you, Erik," she said. "But…will you forgive me, as well? We have both wronged each other…I blinded myself to your pain with my fear, and turned from you when you needed me the most. We need each other, Erik. _I _need you."

Tears filling my eyes, I smiled down at her.

"My sweet, beautiful Christine," I whispered. "I forgive you…and I need you more than any other soul now living in this entire world…if this is all that there is to repair between us, I can be happy. Thank _you._"

"Angel," she said.

And then I kissed her—and from that moment on, there was no more words of the past between us. We had made our peace with one another, and the shadows were, for once, content to remain at rest…

* * *

That night, after we had parted ways for the evening, I made the most momentous decision of my life, since the beginning of the curse. 

I was going to ask Christine to marry me.

And, this time, I would not simply be asking her as the mysterious, faceless suitor who had had a brief glimpse of her lovely face, and fallen in love. I would not be asking her to give me her heart and hand in order to break the spell upon me and my castle. I would not demand or impose. I would ask her as a man who was very much in love, who adored her in every way. I would ask her because I did, in fact, love her.

Of course, the moment would have to be perfect.

I would not simply get down on one knee before her in the banquet hall, or spout forth my declaration of affection without warning in some hallway: no, this event called for a truly special kind of treatment. Finally, I had my chance to really romance her, and give her tangible evidence of just what lengths I would go to in order to prove my love. It would have to be very special: the most magical moment ever…

* * *

During that entire week, I went about my covert preparations for The Evening, carefully keeping any of my doings out of Christine's sight and knowledge. She, I think, grew suspicious when she became unable to find me anywhere in the castle, when normally I was always within vocal range. I cagily avoided her inquisitions, as much as possible, at least, and forbade her sternly to even go anywhere near my chambers. I wanted this to be a beautiful, unforgettable surprise for her, and allowing her to unravel even the tiniest bit of my secret plans would ruin everything. 

The days slipped by, seeming to race in my eyes, and finally, it was only a few hours before the occasion of my intended proposal. I made my way through the castle's dusty, silent halls to the wing where my mother's room had once been, and carefully pushed open the door into her chambers.

All within was just as I remembered from so many years ago: it still smelled faintly of lavender and lilacs, which she had always worn as a perfume, and though a coat of dust lay over everything, the jewelry and combs on her dressing table sparkled as brightly as ever.

Not all had changed for the worst here, I then realized.

There was yet hope.

I crossed the room, walking slowly and silently: my eyes roving over the place that had once been the epicenter of feminine life at the palace. I could still hear the chatter and laughter of the ladies-in-waiting, the duchesses and countesses and more, in the back of my mind. I sighed, and walked on.

Within moments, I stood within my mother's old dressing room. She had had hundreds of gowns, all beautiful and fine, made in every colour and style. But I was not here to admire their loveliness. I was here to find something.

On I went down the rows of gowns, passing by silk, brocade, linen, velvet—satin, tulle, voile, taffeta, and countless others—without a second glance. There was one gown here: one particular, exceedingly special, one stunning and legendary gown…

And then, finally, I found it.

The Diamond Gown.

It stood at the very end of the rows of gowns, hung on a life-size manikin that had been placed on a small dais in the center of the space, with ten-foot mirrors framing it on three sides, each of them perfectly angled. I stepped onto the dais and moved to stand beside the gown, carefully reaching out with my gloved hand to take a bit of the gown's sleeve in my fingers, examining its texture.

The Diamond Gown was, as far as I could remember, the most famous and expensive gown that had ever been made. My father had given orders, secretly, that it should be made for my mother, and was able to keep it from her knowledge until the occasion of her thirty-fifth birthday. That year, the celebration of her birth had also coincided with the seven-hundredth anniversary of Kryslora as a nation, and thus, the gift couldn't have been finer.

My father had presented the gown to her just before the gala ball that was being held in her honour, and —in spite of her protests that it was much too fine, and he shouldn't have done such an insane thing! She could never wear so many jewels on a gown! —she made her grandest appearance ever in it that evening.

Everyone was bedazzled by the side of their queen, who seemed to be covered every inch in stars, that the Diamond Gown was instantly a world-wide fashion phenomenon. Every single lady who was wealthy enough to have a talented dressmaker tried to have their gowns copied after it…but no one would ever be able to surmount the beauty of the Diamond Gown. No one had ever even come remotely close.

I stood back and surveyed the gown.

Yes…my mother had been a bit taller than Christine, but—then again—high-heeled shoes were now in fashion, rather than the slippers that had been haute monde when my mother had worn the gown. Christine would be able to wear it with ease; the similarities between her build and my mother's own were almost striking, though it was a given fact that Christine was a good bit more curvaceous and filled out than most older women could possibly be.

It would look marvelous on her.

I had to wonder, however, as I began to search for the laces on the back of the gown—so that I could get it off of the manikin and therefore avoid lugging both through the castle's corridors—how much it would weigh.

The Diamond Gown had not been given its name for nothing.

It really was covered, every last inch, by diamonds that varied in size from a duck's egg to a pinhead. And apart from the diamonds, there were the yards and yards of voluminous material that made up the skirt, bodice, sleeves, and train, all of which were made out of silky crocheted white-silver lace and satin. Underneath the gown, to make the skirt retain its bell-shaped outline, was an eight-layer petticoat of stiffened tulle and more lace—

And this was what gave me the most difficulty as I hefted the gown with immense caution into my arms and began my walk back through the castle.

* * *

Christine was not in her room when I arrived, fortunately. 

I laid the gown out on her bed, taking care to properly spread its skirts. Then I went to look through her jewelry boxes, trying to see if she had anything that would go with the gown. Cursing when I saw that nothing I had provided for her would do, I resolved to improvise. With a small gesture and a few whispered words, I called forth my magic and began to weave together the most exquisite necklace, earrings, hair-pins, and tiara that I could imagine.

They appeared in a moment, sparkling like shards of sunlight and shooting stars on the glossy, dark wood of her dressing table. I lifted the necklace in one hand, looking it over, and finally smiled in satisfaction.

Oh yes—these would do _very_ well!

I left her room and went about the next step of my plan, which was to set up the place where I intended to propose to her.

The clear blue sky had been full of nothing but sunshine and a few scattered, fluffy white clouds that day, and the air was deliciously cool, with a slight breeze. It hadn't rained, much to my relief…for we would be dining outside that night. I had chosen the most romantic spot that I could find on the castle grounds as our picnic's location: a small clearing beneath a ring of tall weeping willow trees. Here roses bloomed all about, and glowing fireflies floated in the air, spellbound to the place with my magic. The air fairly glimmered with magic.

Carefully, I spread out a white blanket, making certain that there were no twigs or jutting tree roots beneath it, and then I went about adding several special touches to the scenery: a new fountain that I had conjured, made of silver, floral arrangements to rest on the blanket between the food, and tall white taper candles, with tiny tea candles as accents. When I stood back, I could scarcely contain my pride and anticipation. This evening would be utterly magical!

I was going to sweep her off of her feet, or expire in the attempt.

* * *

_A/N: More to follow quite soon! Leave me some love, darlings! S'il vous plait._


	35. Starry, Starry Night

Chapter Thirty-Two –

Starry, Starry Night

-Erik-

* * *

I stood at the foot of the grand staircase that led into the ballroom, waiting.

I had done my very utmost best to create the Perfect Moment for us: the moment in which I would go on one knee before my Christine and beg her to be my wife, to accept my hand and my soul along with it. So much of me already belonged to her…my heart had belonged to her since I had first set eyes on her…my every breath was taken for her and her alone…

I was so in love.

In _love_! _I_!

All those years before, when I had brooded and dwelt in my dismal shadows alone, I had never imagined that such a thing could be possible! But now my heart was filled with hope–and apprehension!–as I awaited my princess's arrival. She would be here any moment: through that enormous double-doorway she would walk, and I would behold her standing there in all her sublime feminine glory—

And I wouldn't be able to breathe.

Nervously, feeling a riffling of a sensation that was not unlike a shiver pass over me, I put up a hand and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease my faint misgivings about the whole situation. I knew that my angel cared for me deeply–she even loved me, in a way–but I was uncertain of how she would react to my renewed proposal.

At first, I had requested for her hand in marriage because I had been entranced by her beautiful appearance: the aura of youth and exuberance and intelligence that she still so vividly exuded. Then I had demanded that she be my bride, as payment for her father's transgressions, and for a while, I had honestly believed that because of my subtle enchantment on her spirit, she had _truly_ loved me. I didn't know now if that was true…but things had changed between us, forever. I was willing to chance it again.

Yet I felt more uneasy than ever.

To take my mind off of my worries, I looked around the room.

The ballroom had regained its former glory, with some considerable effort on my part. Rome hadn't been built in a day, I'd once read in a book somewhere, and decades of neglect couldn't be undone without some work. Without _a lot_ of work, actually. As I gazed at the hundreds of gold-framed mirrors that hung upon the walls, reflecting the light that shone through the ebony-paned windows, I wondered how and why I had ever allowed my domain to fall into such a state.

I had been blessed to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world…and yet it had taken the horrors of my curse for me to realize that!

It was Christine who had brought light in my life again. She had helped me to remember who and what I _truly_ was. Through her, I'd been reminded of what I could do.

Now I turned my eyes back from the newly polished, bright-as-diamonds floor, the exquisite gold-leaf on the pillars and the molding around the ceiling, the crystal-hung chandeliers, and the sweeping marble staircase, and looked at my own two hands.

Nothing but the breaking of my curse could change my ugly face and ruined hands, but I had done my best to improve my appearance as best I could. I had found, that afternoon, as I had readied myself for the evening, that I really _couldn't_ remember the last time that I had combed my hair!

A hesitant glance in the mirror had made me realize just how very…beast-like…I had grown to look. The silky, thick, dark hair on my head–the hair that I had inherited from my mother, complete with its contrasting, stark black streaks–no longer looked like it belonged to a human. It was still thick and still dark, though it had begun to grey a bit at my temples, but beyond that it was tangled, matted, and snarled to an impossible degree. I'd winced at the thought that I might not be able to physically or even magically tame it into submission again.

But I didn't want to play the role of the Beast-Prince anymore, or ever again—and so to the comb and scissors I had gone, resolved in my purpose.

An excruciating hour later, I had emerged victorious from the grim task. My previously rebellious and wild locks had been cowed into obedience, and now lay flat and smooth upon my scalp again: trimmed to the halfway point of my neck where they ended in unreasonable curls that simply _refused_ to be straightened. I was happy just to be able to look from side to side again without having to peer through the haze of dreadlocked hair, though—so I didn't quibble much over that. It felt unbelievably wonderful to be able to pull my fingers through my hair again without snagging them. My head felt so much lighter.

In short? I felt like myself again.

And I looked…well, relatively normal, surprising to say.

The issue of the hair having been attended to, at long last, I had chosen my wardrobe with even more care than usual. In the past, I had worn only black–not really caring what style my garb was in because I would be wearing my black cloak over it all anyway–but tonight I wanted something special.

I turned now and looked back into the mirror that hung on the wall across the floor from me, regarding my figure with sharply analytical eyes. I was too unused to going without my cloak to abandon it–but it looked all right with my garb tonight. Under the cloak was a black coat, the hem of which reached down almost to my knees, and with it I wore a vest of silver-and-black brocade, fastened up by a number of gleaming silver buttons that were detailed with tiny but intricately engraved dragons. My shirt was white silk, full-cut and blatantly romantic with lace at the cuffs and running down its front. I wasn't used to frills and frippery, and the high-cut, starched collar of the shirt was only adding to the discomfort I was already experiencing. The lace was rather itchy.

_You'll accustom yourself to it, Erik,_ I menaced myself, silently. _You are doing this for her–for __**her**__. Don't be a bloody big baby._

I brushed my hands down the front of my waistcoat, smoothing the wrinkles that I knew _couldn't_ be there–my nervous fingers wanted occupation. I'd arrived early in the ballroom, so that I could prepare myself for my meeting with Christine, and I had already been there for almost a half an hour. She wasn't supposed to join me until six o'clock.

That was a mere five minutes away.

Five minutes can sometimes seem like forever…

I scrubbed my hands over my face, almost managing to suppress my wince when my fingers touched the white porcelain mask that covered my face. I'd been so ashamed and so angry–so utterly petrified–when she had first seen my face. I was a disfigured maniac, the benefactor and teacher who had spoken to her only of dreams and their fulfillment, of beauty and happiness and bliss, of the sweet union of our spirits through music—

_Your spirit and my voice_

_In one combined…_

Hastily, I shook off the memory.

I had only given her magical flights of the imagination, brought to words by the power of my own capability to invent and create–I had kept the truth from her, demanded her loyalty and love, but without allowing myself to trust or hope. And then I had turned on her and metamorphosed into the creature of her nightmares: the insane captor who promised her the world and then demanded that she marry him and belong to him forever, as his undying bride, whether she wished for this or not.

_I had been her monster. _

I could only thank heaven that she had not abandoned me. She had not run from her Angel forever–she had returned to me, when I once again demanded her loyalty. I was insanely jealous over her, and could not even now tolerate even the _thought _of her belonging to someone else. I would murder for her.

But such thoughts had no place, here, now, in this moment.

I wanted to be happy now.

* * *

I felt a faint tugging in one corner of my mind and then the most refreshing, exhilarating fragrance filled my senses: a perfume of roses, sunshine, raindrops, and fresh-bloomed lavender. It made me dizzy with bliss. I closed my eyes and breathed it in. Then, bowing my head, I stood straight and set my shoulders firmly.

And I turned around.

When I saw her, I gasped raggedly: the breath catching in my throat. My knees nearly lost their strength beneath me, and it was by some miraculous twist of good-fortune alone that I did not lose my footing and fall to my knees before her then and there, struck down by the power of her beauty.

Transfixed by what I saw, I felt my lips come open slightly and I stepped forward, my hand lifting from my side: fingertips stretching out towards her, as if to touch the glowing brilliance that surrounded her in an almost tangible aura. I found breathing to be very difficult.

"Christine…" I murmured, spellbound. "You are _beautiful_."

The gorgeous creature–she, my Christine! My one and only, my precious love!–blushed then, and looked down, her fingers plucking slightly at the diamond-riddled folds of her skirt. Then she looked up, and our eyes met fully: silver-and-amber melting into enthralled blue, uniting as never before. Her lips were curved, but only slightly–it was her eyes that smiled at me. She looked so happy, as if it was the joy of her life to have my approval, to know that I looked on her with such adoration.

I beckoned to her.

"Come."

We met upon the middle tier of the grand staircase, stepping close to one another the instant that our hands met and our fingers intertwined. The gems in her hair sparkling with a splendid radiance, she looked up into my face, and I saw the awe and the delight in her eyes.

"It's beautiful! Oh, Erik–you restored it!" she said, marvel in her tone.

I smiled and informed her, tapping a finger on the tip of her nose—

"Ah, yes, but that is not _all_ that I did, my dear…"

She put her head to one side, regarding me with the perplexed look that I had so grown to love on her, but before she could inquire further into the matter, I took her hand and turned her to face me. My heart was thundering within my ribcage, but I never once allowed this to show through.

I wanted this to go on. I wanted this moment. Oh, I wanted it so much, it made my soul ache…

"Let's go," I murmured, and the slight intrigued and eager sparkle in her eyes was enough to set the fluttering butterflies of anticipation in my stomach into full motion again.

Snaking my arm around her waist–so that I could hold her close to me and be certain that she was there, with me–I led us down the steps and onto the ballroom floor. My boot heels clicked sharply against the gleaming marble as her bell-shaped skirts rustled softly around her, the long train of her gown trailing behind us along with the hem of my cloak: silvery-white and black side by side.

The ballroom seemed as if it had been drenched in a wash of golden light: everything gleamed and shimmered with new life and vitality. I wondered if this was what heaven looked like? A glance at Christine's lovely profile told me again that this _was_ my own heaven on earth.

Two angels, standing in the sunlight.

When we reached the wall of mirrors and windows, I released her just long enough to open the artfully concealed door that was there. Once again hand in hand, we stepped through it and into the deliciously warm, twilight-hued air outside. I felt Christine give a little shudder, which I realized was a reaction of delight when I looked hastily to her. I smiled at her.

"Come with me."

* * *

Our walk to the picnic spot that I had designated for our use that evening was a leisurely one; there was no formality, pretense, or deceit between us now, merely warmth and happiness. Arms draped comfortably about one another, as if we had been moving about this way together for all our lives, we strolled through the blooming gardens, admiring their beauty in the sunset.

I was content to simply stand at her side, and watch her smile and laugh. Her presence was a soothing and yet vitalizing treasure to me–but as the sun dipped closer and closer to the tree-fringed horizon, I compelled myself to go on with my plan. I turned our footsteps towards the woods, where the alcove of weeping willow trees awaited us, and when Christine questioned me in regard to our destination–_were we not to return to the castle, where our dinner was waiting for us?_–I merely shook my head and smiled.

"No, _ma belle_; I am afraid not–not _tonight_."

She tried to ask me more, but I forbore saying anything further on the matter. Instead, I led her towards the trees: inexorably drawing her after me. The willows' draping branches closed in around us as we stepped beneath their silver-leafed canopy, and I moved quickly to part them before her. Christine's eyes were alight and she gazed at her surroundings with rapt interest, taking in everything that she was seeing.

I smiled, and made a smoothly fluttering gesture with my free hand.

Instantly, in the air all around us, there appeared a thousand shimmering lights that floated gently and silently within the leaves._Fairy-lights,_ I thought to myself, pleased with the outcome of the moment. _They're perfect._

Bringing us to a halt, I quickly stepped around in front of her: keeping her from going any further. Not bothering to hide my eagerness and anticipation–something that I had not felt in a lifetime!–I grinned at her, in truly high spirits.

"Now, my dear," I said, placing my hands on her shoulders and trying very strenuously not to show how the warmth of her threatened to overthrow my senses. "You must trust me entirely. I would very much like to give you a surprise–but I cannot let you see it immediately."

I whisked out a silky black handkerchief from the breast-pocket of my coat, and held it lightly before her at eye-level.

"Do you trust me, Christine?" I asked her, softly.

There was a silent moment in which her eyes roved across my face, searching and knowing, and I felt a brief tremor of apprehension go through me, again. But before the pang of uncertainty and rejection could reach my heart, she smiled at me.

"Of course, I do, Erik. Always."

She closed her eyes, eyebrows raising slightly, and I took that as my cue. Stepping behind her, I carefully placed the silky black scarf around her head, taking special care not to disturb her gorgeously-styled hair. Then, I returned to stand before her again, and gathered her hands into mine.

"Then follow me, Christine," I breathed. "Let me lead you."

_Follow me…trust me…know my touch and trust me…_

I stepped backwards, drawing her carefully along with me, and together we passed through the willow branches, going further into the canopy. I felt the last of the leaves slip over my shoulders and knew that I had reached the clearing; two steps more, and we were standing, facing one another, in the midst of the alcove.

I released Christine's hand, and moved back from her.

"Erik?" she questioned, puzzled, but with a slight tremulous note in her tone. I raised a finger to my lips.

"Shh. Don't say a word, _ma belle_…or you may break the spell."

Over the blindfold, I saw her eyebrows form a tiny frown.

"The spell?" she said. "What…"

"Shh." I repeated, with even more gentle but firm emphasis. "Don't speak, Christine–you will frighten it away."

I threw out my arm, and a burst of magic shot forth from my fingertips, filling the entire glade. A shower of brilliant, effervescent emerald shards of light fell from the very zenith of the canopy, drifting down like a silent rainfall to the ground. The sparkling bits covered everything for a moment, blanketing each and every surface–living and inanimate–and then, bit by bit, they winked out.

I took a deep breath, and stepped behind her again. My fingers found their way, carefully, to the knot in the blindfold; it came gracefully undone at my touch, and I drew it back from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she took a moment to adjust her vision to the new lighting around her…

The once-untouched glade had been transformed into the most romantic and luxurious picnic spot that anyone could imagine. I was shocked myself. In some unexplained way, one which even _I_ could not understand, the magic of Shadowrose Castle had somehow managed to concentrate itself in this one place, and magnify the beauty of that which I had arranged at least a hundredfold.

I looked to Christine, and saw that her eyes were as wide as saucers, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but couldn't find the words to say. I smiled.

_Indeed. **Quite** perfect._

Stepping in front of her, I looked down into her face as I reached for her hand. Then I raised my other hand to her face, cupping her cheekbone. Her eyes closed and she leaned into my touch, as she always did when I caressed her this way, and I felt the happiness and contentment in her air.

_Oh, **Christine**…!_

Then, without hesitation or preamble, I began to sing to her.

_Night-time sharpens,_

_Heightens each sensation…_

_Darkness stirs and_

_Wakes imagination…_

_Silently the senses_

_Abandon their defenses…_

As I drew out the last note of this phrase, I stepped backwards, and she followed me: stars shining in her eyes. The fragrance of the numberless roses around us seemed to grow stronger, stronger, until it almost overwhelmed me. Still I continued to sing.

_Slowly, gently,_

_Night unfurls its splendour…_

_Grasp it, sense it –_

_Tremulous and tender…_

_Turn your face away_

_From the garish light of day,_

_Turn your thoughts away_

_From cold, unfeeling light –_

_And listen to_

_The music of the night…_

_Close your eyes_

_And surrender to your_

_darkest_ _dreams!_

_Purge your thoughts_

_Of the life_

_You knew before!_

_Close your eyes,_

_Let your spirit start to soar!_

_And you'll live_

_As you've never_

_Lived before…_

I released her then and stood, simply looking at her. I felt so much, in this moment! I pulled back my hand, which I had stretched out to her the moment before, and sang once again.

_Softly, deftly,_

_Music shall caress you…_

_Feel it, hear it,_

_Closing in around you…_

_Open up your mind,_

_Let your fantasies unwind,_

_In this darkness which_

_You know you cannot fight – _

_The darkness of _

_The music of the night._

I beckoned to her, and she came to me immediately: her arms went around my neck and I placed my hands on her waist, lifting her off of her feet and twirling us both around for several dizzy moments. When I closed my eyes, I could see the two of us dancing through the clouds together, in a perfect night-time sky: the diamonds on her gown sparkled with every move she made, and the clouds never once gave even slightly beneath her light and graceful step. We whirled about, twisting and turning, waltzing through the sky; there was no other world, only this one.

Then I heard her singing–returning the words and melody of my song back to me. Her eyes shone as she looked at me.

_Let your mind_

_Start a journey through a _

_Strange, new world!_

_Leave all thoughts _

_Of the world _

_You knew before!_

_Let your soul_

_Take you where you_

_Long to be!_

Suddenly, she had returned close to me again, and her hands were placed on either side of my face, cupping around both skin and mask. I gazed down at her, unable to take my eyes away, as she fairly whispered the last words of her song…

_Only then _

_can_ _you belong_

_to_ _me…_

As if realizing what she had just said, she pulled away from me: her eyes wide and dark, staring out in front of her as though there was nothing there but black, empty space. She was as startled and unnerved as I had been, when I first realized that I was in love with her. I reached out to her again. She turned back to me, and I smiled at her–and then we continued the song together.

"_Floating, falling sweet intoxication!_" I sang.

"_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation!_" she replied.

Our voices blended, in glorious harmony—

_Let the dream begin,_

_Let your darkest side give in_

_To the melody that_

_Dreams alone can write – _

_The power of _

_the_ _music of the night!_

I closed my eyes and threw my head back, so that my face was turned towards the sky, and felt her reaching for me. Returning to reality, I gently took her in my arms; with a soft sigh that was like the coo of a pretty white dove, she went willingly into my embrace, laying her face against my chest as she closed her eyes and put her arms about my waist. I ran my fingers through the masses of her spiraling, glossy dark tresses, and then breathed the final words of the song of the night.

_You alone _

_Can make my song take flight – _

_Help me make the music of the night…_

Opening my eyes, I looked down upon her, and felt again that stirring of emotion in my soul–in the heart that I had long believed to be dead and untouchable, frozen and burnt and scarred beyond repair or recall. But now I knew. Now I _knew_.

"Oh Christine…" I sighed. "_I love you._"

* * *

And I had said it to her. I had told her, without hesitation or subterfuge, that I loved her, deeply and without a single doubt in my heart. She was my most treasured possession: my princess, my betrothed, my gem and my reason for living. 

I didn't want her to say anything to my declaration just yet, though; I knew that she had been aware of my love for her for some time now, though I hadn't yet said it—'_Every day it was implied but never once declared'_, someone had once described it. I didn't want her to say anything yet; I had more planned. She looked up at me, her lips parting–but I put a finger upon them, and shook my head.

"No, _ma belle_," I told her. "Not yet."

Then I led her over to the picnic blanket. I'd chosen all of our favorite foods for dinner that night, and there were roses and candles everywhere, though I had taken care to charm them so that the flowers would not wilt, and the candles would not go out or set fire to anything other than themselves. With my help, Christine sank to the ground, thanking me. I nodded in acknowledgement, and seated myself across from her.

"This is to you, Christine," I said, looking at her squarely, as I finished pouring two flutes of champagne and handed one to her.

"Erik," she replied, with an entrancing smile. "It's so very beautiful… everything is. Thank you so much! I've never been treated to such kindness."

"Consider it a celebration of sorts, my dear," I said, with a kind of indulgence and nonchalance that I had not felt in a very, very long time: lounging back against the mound of pillows that was behind me. "An anniversary of our first meeting."

Suddenly, we were both silent then–enormously stunned by my words.

A year: it had been an entire year since Christina Daae, the beauty of Sumer's Flax village, had made the journey through the Forbidden Forest to Shadowrose Castle, where _le Fantôme_ dwelt. And what a year it had been! Every single one of those three hundred and sixty-five days had been a surprise: beginning and sometimes ending as a complete mystery. We had passed through so much with one another…

It was almost unbelievable how much two people could change, and_all because of each other_.

A year.

Clearing off my daze, I looked at her again, and saw that her expression was as distant and memory-filled as mine.

I remembered my first glimpse of her, in real life, when she had come to meet me in the banquet hall of my castle. She was, if it was at all possible, even lovelier now…and she had grown up quite a bit. There was maturity and wisdom–real, hard-earned wisdom–in her eyes, along with compassion and interest and appreciation of the world around her.

_Christine Daae._

I already knew how much I had changed: not so much physically as mentally, though it still was a shock for me to actually look in a mirror and accept what was there, rather than despise and loathe what I saw.

I had merited my punishment at the hands of the sorceress. Ellexssya was evil and cruel, it was true, but somehow I didn't doubt that countless other arrogant, selfish, and cold-hearted young men–such as I had once been–had met the same end at the hands of righteously vengeful wizards and enchantresses. My misfortune was only that I had been stupid enough to tangle with a sorceress whose powers had exceeded mine, at that time. But I had deserved the curse that she had put on me. I saw that now, and in some very strange way, I was almost grateful for it.

_How very strange indeed, that something so awful and humiliating and even **painful** can alter your entire outlook on life. Blessings truly do come in many and vastly varying forms…it is a pity that it took me nearly fifty years to have discovered this._

She sat up, squaring her shoulders and lifting the hand in which she held her own glass of champagne. Her shimmering eyes looked at me over the goblet's rim as she said—

"Indeed–to the anniversary of our meeting, my lord. May my presence here in your castle be nothing but a joy to you."

I smiled at her–but with a touch of sadness, for I had not and would never entirely forget all the horrors I had forced her to endure at my hand. But then I tapped my glass against hers and nodded slowly.

"To the changes _for good_ in our world, my lady," I replied. "And to those which may have yet to be."

The champagne had a strangely salty taste in my mouth as I took a sip of it, and my nasal passages–for though the sorceress's spell had rendered me without a nose, I still had the ability to smell, and my sinuses were still intact–burned with the sweet, bubbly alcohol. I set my glass down and went about serving dinner to her and then myself, trying to take my mind off of the somehow immensely unnerving thought of my imminent proposal to her. My hands, fortunately, did not shake.

Then she reached out and put a hand on mine.

"Erik, are you alright? You seem troubled."

I flinched slightly, startled by even the sound of her voice, and my swift movement caused the knife I was holding to slip on the plate before me, making a hideous scraping noise. I winced at the sound, and watched blandly as syrup from the fruit salad on my plate began to run into the picnic blanket, having been spilled when I had jumped. Then I looked up, to Christine, and saw the concern that was fairly glowing in her eyes–for me!–and I shook my head, smiling wryly.

"Thank you, _ma belle_, but I am perfectly well. I…I simply…"

I trailed off, and shook my head again.

"Well, it is no matter. Come, let's eat before our dinner gets cold."

A wave of my hand dispensed with the spot on the blanket, and all was as it was before. Christine, I noticed, suddenly, had begun to gradually move closer and closer to me as the meal went on: inching nearer to me by the moment, though I couldn't exactly tell whether she knew what she was doing or not.

I didn't say anything about this, however. I liked the warmth of her up against me. She was all petite daintiness and curves where I was tall and linear. We lined up perfectly.

At length, we had both eaten our fill, and then some. I sat back, leaning against the pillows again as I stared up at the snatches of sky that showed through the canopy of tree branches above us. I was so happy. If only we could remain here, like this, forever…

Then I felt movement from her again, and before I was fully aware of it, she had scooted over to me, and was reclining at my side, slightly in front of me. I let my eyes shoot open fully, and looked at her in question, frowning somewhat.

"May I…"

She gestured towards me.

"Will you let me sit with you?"

_Oh Christine!_

"Of course, _ma petite_," I said, and lifted my arm from my side, so that she could sit beside me, as she had asked.

She blushed a faint pink at the apple of her cheekbones and lowered her lashes over her eyes–but she did come to my side, carefully leaning against me. I put my arm around her shoulders and intertwined my fingers with hers as she placed on hand on my chest, just over my heart. Her head rested perfectly in the curve between my arm and my side, and we remained there, just like that, for a little while.

Finally, though, she sat up again and looked at me, directly: the diamonds in her hair winking in the candlelight. Then she said—

"Maestro?"

"Yes, love," I replied, tangling my fingers in one of her curls as it hung down past her shoulder, and onto her back. She had most of her hair pinned up tonight, into gem-studded curls, but then there were three curls that she had left down, allowing them to fall against her neck, resting upon her shoulder. It was a very pretty style: one that elegantly showcased the elegant, clean lines of her swan-like neck, and the lovely colour of her skin. The jewelry that I'd left for her in her room suited her spectacularly.

But into the midst of my musings came her question.

"You never really were a _Fantôme_–_were_ you?"

Well! This had _not_ been what I was expecting!

I grinned and laughed at the playful accusation in her tone, and pulled her close to me again, imprisoning her in my embrace in such a way that made it impossible for her to pull away again and glare at me as she had, just then.

"No," I told her, still laughing. "No, I never was._Le Fantôme_ was…ah…how shall I put it?...he was merely a character. It was a stage name, if you will."

"And this from the noble and dignified Prince of all Kryslora?"

She shook her head, with mock-disapproval.

"For shame, my lord!"

"Not at all," I retorted. "For it won me _you_, didn't it?"

She blushed, and tried to pull away, but I wouldn't let her go–I sensed that she really didn't want to evade me now, anyway, and so my smile widened. I laid one hand flat on her shoulder blades, splaying out my fingers to allow me greater expanse of control over her movements, and curled the other hand under her chin: lifting her face to mine.

I gazed into her eyes for a moment, my grin fading into a bit of a wistful smile.

How could I ever have hoped to earn the right to love her? I had been given the most beautiful, indescribably wondrous gift in her: she was my love! She was here with me, and I could reach out, and know that she was there at any moment. I didn't have to doubt, or wallow in my despair anymore, for she had reached out and plucked me from the depths of darkness that had threatened to devour me.

I was thankful–so very, very thankful.

"Christine, _mon_ _amour_…" I murmured. "I do love you…did you know that? I love you; I always have loved you, from the moment that I saw you, and I do not ever want to let you go. If only you could stay with me here forever…"

She brushed a nonexistent stray strand of hair from her lovely face, and said, looking at me with wide and dark eyes, seeming to disbelieve my words somehow—

"But-but…" she stammered, "I _am _to stay here with you forever. You told my father…you said…and-and I thought….well, _didn't_ you?"

I looked at her lovingly for a moment for a moment, still continuing to absentmindedly run my fingers through her dark tresses, and then I breathed in, briskly, and stood up. She stared at me, frowning a bit, remaining seated amidst the masses of her enormous, diamond-sewn skirt, and I held out a hand to her.

"Come with me," I said, for the second time that evening. "Let's walk."

* * *

It was still early spring, and so the air had grown cool after the sun had fallen. I had my cloak to keep me warm, but she had only her gown, and this was not enough to keep her from growing chilled. I conjured a cloak for her and swept it around her shoulders. She murmured her thanks to me, and we passed through the willow trees' drooping branches again, and stepped together into the silvery moonlight. 

Once there, I stood in the open for a moment: breathing in the delicious night air and feeling my every sense spring to life. Christine stood by me, silently, for a moment; I sensed her eyes on my profile, and turned my face to look down at her.

"_Ma belle_?" I questioned.

She seemed dazed by whatever thoughts were filling her mind at that time, and then she shook her head quickly, and smiled briefly.

"Forgive me, _mon_ _Fantôme_," she said, seeming like she was an errant child, with me as the adult guardian who had caught her daydreaming during her lessons. Such a little dreamer–_my_ little Dreamer. She inclined her head to one side. "Shall we?"

"Yes; let's," I replied.

And, arms entwined again, we moved off into the gardens.

The fairy-lights that I had magically summoned followed us everywhere: popping up into the dark whenever we weren't looking, and then floating about in the air, all around us. One of them flitted quite near Christine's face once, and I watched her eyes grow wide with delight and wonder when she saw what the little glowing orbs looked like up close.

The tiny creature–which was really a very tiny kind of fairy–laughed in its silent, bell-like way, very much amused by her reaction, and blew a handful of magic-dust into her face. A cloud of sparkling golden powder went up in the air, and then drifted slowly down, like snowflakes, to rest upon her hair and shoulders. Then the fairy laughed again, and winked its burning sapphire eyes at the both of us, and zipped off to rejoin her friends.

Christine burst into laughter, and I joined her.

It took us a long while to walk through the gardens, at the pace that we had set, but we finally came to the shores of the largest and most beautiful lake that was to be found within the walls of Shadowrose Castle. This lake was known as Lake Serene, and it was very aptly named–on a clear, calm night like this, its waters were as still and as silver-tinged as a mirror. As we stood together before it, we could see a perfect mirror-image of ourselves and the trees and sky behind us. There were so many stars out tonight: more than usual, it seemed.

I looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of a shooting star.

_If I could be granted a single wish in all my life, let it be tonight…_

"_Mon ange_, you have made me so happy," I heard her say, suddenly, and then her arms were wrapped warmly about my waist again.

She sighed in contentment, and repeated—

"So very, very happy. I know I've found my place now! I didn't know where it was, all of those years, and I was so confused…but I _know_ where I belong now…I know, Erik…and it is because of _you_."

"And…"

I hesitated, and pulled back so that I could look into her face. I scanned across her features, searching and a bit apprehensive. Was the truth something that I wanted to hear?

"And…and where do you…where do you belong, Christine?"

She smiled and gathered my hand into hers, raising it to her rosebud lips; she told me, then—"With you, _mon_ _ange_," she told me. "With you…forever."

_Forever._

I felt as if I could have fainted with relief and happiness right then and there–but I didn't. Instead, I opened my mouth to speak: vainly tried to find the right words, the words that I knew would endear her to me entirely and win her heart, but discovered that I couldn't find words in me to make the lavish, elaborate speech that I so wanted to give to her at that moment. Instead, all I could manage to do was stare at her.

Finally, then, at the very last possible moment, it all clicked into me.

Something fell into place in my mind: the last lever was pulled, the keys were turned, and the gears started turning. I knew what to say now.

I could say it.

"Christine."

I dropped to one knee before her, sweeping my cloak out of my way so that I would not kneel upon it and therein ruin the moment. I took her hand in mine, and stared at it for a moment. I breathed in, unsteadily, and returned my gaze to her face. She was pale and flushed, as nervous as I.

"Christine…you already know that I love you, but now I must tell you just how deep my love truly reaches for you, my dear…I love you more than life itself: more than music, more than happiness, more than my own paltry existence. I had no reason to live before you–you brought life and love back into my realm, and for that, I am forever grateful to you. I can never thank you enough for all that you have done for me."

I paused, and reached into the pocket in my cloak, and withdrew a small object that caught the moonlight and sparkled faintly. I heard her breathe in sharply, and felt her violent tremor through our conjoined hands. I opened my mouth to go on; my heart was thundering so loudly that I almost couldn't hear myself think over its noise. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, yet I felt as though I was moving in slow motion.

I had to say the words; I had to ask her–I had to say it…

"My own dearest love…my Christine…will you—"

"Hello, Erik."

Instantly, I was on my feet–putting Christine safely and hastily behind me.

Then I turned to face our unwelcome visitor.

* * *

_A/N: I'm back! This chapter dedicated to Lilliane in particular (for being SUCH a nice friend for so long!) and also to everyone who has left me reviews and other requests and encouragements to continue, with apologies for my tardiness. I had to take a break from fan fiction for a while, but in the week that I have left before school starts again, I promise to finish this story at least. Hugs to all. _


	36. The End of the Dream

Chapter Thirty-Three –

The End of the Dream

-Erik-

* * *

"Ellexssya."

I growled the word so harshly that I sounded almost more like a wolf or some other predatory beast than a man; I scarcely cared what I sounded like at that moment. All I knew was that my worst enemy now stood before me and that she was here uninvited, unwanted, and inopportunely. I felt Christine's eyes on the sorceress and moved over so that I was even more in front of her. I didn't want Ellexssya looking at my princess.

"What do you want, sorceress?"

Her black-red mouth quirked in the infuriating, taunting, cool little smirk that I hated so very much, and I growled low in my throat. My fingers clenched into fists, which I hid within my cloak, keeping my arms forcefully pinioned at my sides. I would not snap–not right here, with Christine standing by to see. I would not lose control. I would face the sorceress without going mad with fury.

I would not—I would _not_—!

"I learned, through sources of my own…" Ellexssya informed me.

I blocked her off from Christine by extending my arm slightly, causing my black cloak to form a shield in front of the girl. Ellexssya's eyes reflected her displeasure at that for a split second, but then it vanished and her normal mocking expression took its place on her face again.

"Through my own little means," she repeated, going on, "That you intended to…hm…how to put it? That you meant to beg a vow from your princess tonight. Now…could this possibly be true, my lord? When I last looked, you were not on the best of terms with the said fair maiden–though I see that you have somehow managed to bring her back to you again. Tsk, tsk, Erik! For shame! Did you dispense with her handsome young knight–the famous Vicomte de Chagny? I was delighted to hear that he gave you a run for your money during that battle in the graveyard! He is rather good with the sword, is he not?"

I glared at her icily, and did not take the bait.

This was not the reason she had appeared here–she hadn't come all this way, expended so much magic, to merely taunt me on the subject of the Vicomte de Chagny. That was a topic that would have best waited for another time. She wasn't here.

Unfortunately, I knew her too well.

"I won't ask you again, Ellexssya." I stated. "Why are you here? Did I or did I _not_ order you to stay out of my realm upon the occasion of our last meeting? You must have some dire cause for meeting us here, after I had given you such a command! For you also _must have_ known what jeopardy, what peril, your life would be in then, were you to come here. What do you want?"

She sneered at me: the outer façade of the refined and elegant sorceress slipping to reveal the true hag who lay beneath, carefully shrouded by lies and her art. Raising an arm, she stabbed a finger in Christine's direction: her scarlet-painted fingernails flashing like blood-stained talons in the moonlight.

"Much as I would like to say otherwise, it is not to meddle with you alone, Erik Shadowrose!" the sorceress hissed, with venomous anger. "I have come here to address you both, and especially to inform you, Princess,"—she spat the word as if it put a vile taste in her already vile mouth—"Of events in the world beyond your blissful solitude."

"_Let her be, Ellexssya_!" I snarled. "Speak your mind, and be gone!"

But Ellexssya's eyes went past me, and she looked at Christine again. I saw Christine's eyes widen, dark with fear and resentment. Then I saw her skin grew slightly paler, and I immediately whirled her into my arms, locking her protectively within my embrace. I looked back to the sorceress over the dark tresses of my beloved, and repeated—

"Say what you have come here to say, and go!"

"Very well!" Ellexssya declared.

She moved her hand, and suddenly a large, silver mirror appeared in her palm. She passed her fingers over it, and then a beam of blood-red light shot forth from the mirror, illuminating her features and making them seem a hundred times more horrible. Christine recoiled in my arms, pressed fearfully against me. I held her closer and rested the unmasked side of my face against her hair, trying to impart a feeling of reassurance and safety to her–though I myself was unknowing and afraid of what the mirror in the sorceress's hand might divulge to us.

With a bit of a low, triumphant laugh, Ellexssya then turned the mirror around to face us, and straightened her arm, holding it out towards us. Drawn by some power that we could not resist–curiosity, or something more–both Christine and I stared into the depths of the mirror, watching as a picture formed before our eyes.

_In the mirror, we saw the Daae cottage: the day was full of rain clouds, grey and dreary and dismal, and mist was everywhere. Then we somehow passed through its walls, and were inside of the little house itself, looking into the parlor as if we were actually standing there, and not merely looking into a picture on a mirror. I heard Christine gasp, suddenly, as she saw her two sisters, both of whom were red-eyed and weeping; then two young men came into the picture. Her older brothers. They also were haggard and grief-stricken, their eyes rimmed with red and ringed with dark circles of pain and tiredness. _

_There was sadness in this house: awful sadness._

_Again the picture shifted, and then we were standing, it seemed, within one of the cramped little bedrooms within the cottage. Within it was a single bed, upon which lay…Monsieur Charles Daae. He was very ill. At the end of the bed had been placed a little cot, and upon it lay a small child: a young girl whom I knew had to be Christine's young stepsister, Marguerite, or Meg. She was also very ill. Moving back and forth between the two of them was a dark-haired, pale woman–Christine's stepmother, Antoinette Giry-Daae–and she was tending to both her invalid husband and daughter. Both of the stricken had a strange, dark aura about them, and I knew, as an enchanter, that this was no good thing to see. _

_Something was very, very wrong here._

_I heard a strangled, ragged gasp from Christine, and looked instantly to her; I saw both of her hands go to her mouth, and her eyes were wide and suddenly very bright. I reached out to her, for she had pulled away from me in the midst of her dismay, but somehow I could not reach he –I could not reach her…_

Then, all at once, the vision in the mirror ended, disappearing as quickly as it had begun. Christine began to fall, but I caught her swiftly and held her securely against me as I turned my furious eyes on the sorceress.

Ellexssya looked pleased with herself.

And I knew that she had accomplished the task she had come here for.

"They've fallen ill with the hellion delirium," she said. "They will waste away within their dreams, unable to return to reality–unable to decide what is real and what is not in the midst of their subconscious. They will burn with fever and shake with chills; they will neither be able to eat nor drink, and they will not recognize the faces of any of their loved ones. They will slowly lose their minds, and so perish. One of my better spells."

"_No_!" Christine sobbed.

Suddenly, she made a frenzied movement and would have lunged for the sorceress had I not restrained her.

"_How dare you_! You evil woman–how dare you!" she cried, struggling against me with wild thoughtlessness, tears streaming down her face. "How can you be so cruel? How can you do this? How dare you!"

And then she stopped fighting and fell limply against me, pressing her face against my chest and sobbing into my shirtfront.

I could do nothing more than hold her close.

"Because I can, Mademoiselle Daae, and because I _enjoy_ it," Ellexssya replied, with scathing mockery and disdain. "You have a choice now. Remain here with your monstrous prince and you will, perhaps, attain happiness with him in the short time he has left before he dies. Yes, child, you have heard me aright: he _will_ die. His time will soon be at an end. Remain with him, Mademoiselle, or return to your family, who needs you in this dark hour. You may be able to heal them, with what you have learned during your time in Shadowrose Castle! There may be hope for them yet! Leave him, and go back to them. Or do you wish their blood to be on your precious lily-white hands?"

Something inside of my mind snapped.

"_THAT'S ENOUGH, WITCH_!" I roared: my eyes flaming a deep, bloody red as I whirled to face her. Ellexssya took an involuntary step away from me, but I saw that her eyes glowed with the same anger for an instant. But I was beyond caring about this–I had been pushed past my very last limit, and I would stand for no more of her evil.

"No more!" I snarled at her. "Get out, and leave us! You will not torment _this_ innocent, Ellexssya Scarlet-Heart! I will die before you harm her further!"

And, for once, she obeyed.

She stepped backwards, and began to slowly disintegrate, disappearing in a shower of molten red sparks. Before she left entirely, however, I caught her last words to me—

"…Is that _a promise_, Erik?"

* * *

The night was still and shocked through with grief, anger, and helplessness after that. My question went unasked, and Christine wept for hours against my shoulder. My perfect evening…all of my plans, my heartfelt and romantic proposal…everything had been shattered, and ruined, at the arrival of the sorceress. 

We would never have those moments back again.

I gave a shuddering sigh that hurt as it whistled through my lungs, and let my face drop so that my unmasked cheek could rest against the crown of Christine's skull. Her warmth was comforting to me…even in this moment.

She had quieted now, her tears having abated themselves after a long span of weeping. I didn't blame her. If I had known how to weep when I had first been enchanted, I would have wept until my tears were no longer water but blood. Her family, her world outside of my realm, was in danger.

I knew of the sickness that the sorceress had named, and I knew of its awful lethal capacity. Here, we had the means—medicines and books on treatments—that could help them, and restore their health, but such items would never be found near their village. And Christine wouldn't even be able to say goodbye to her father, or her little sister.

Tears burned my own eyes now.

I looked up, and let my gaze rove across the gardens. Everything was still moonlit and beautiful, but when I looked closely, my night-seeing eyes told me that now that beauty was beginning to tarnish. The roses were wilting. I smiled, sadly, and shifted my grasp on Christine.

Finally, I knew what I had to do.

"_Ma belle_?" I said, softly, craning my head down upon my neck so that I could see into her face. Her eyes were closed, but her fingers were still wrapped securely around the front of my coat, which told me that she was yet awake. She did not respond to me, however. I tried again. "Christine."

A pause.

"Christine. Please look at me."

She didn't move.

I took a deep breath, and felt my stomach twist and turn, tying itself into knots. I knew that what I was about to say was for the very best. It would be the only unselfish thing that I had ever done in my life, and it would also spell my very own doom. If I said the words, it would mean my death. I stood upon the brink. Once I opened my mouth, there would be no going back, no changing what I had brought into being.

Once and for all, I would be past the point of no return.

So, for one last time, I glanced at the roses. An invisible, soft night breeze riffled through their bushes, causing the blooms to nod upon their stems, as if for them to say to me—_Yes. Yes. This is right. This is good. You have chosen. Yes._

I smiled, noting their withered petals.

_Yes. This is right. This is good._

"If you ride hard, Christine, and reach them by dawn, you will have enough time, I think, to save them. They are not yet past human aid–but they do need medicine, and it is a medicine of a kind that they will not find with Sumer's Flax village."

I stood up with her. Christine moved in my arms, finally returning to life, and I set her down, gently. We stood facing one another for a long moment, eyes scanning across each other's faces, and then she blinked.

"You'll be able to take the medicine with you in one of your saddlebags," I told her, softly. "But you must give it to them right away, when you reach home. If you move quickly, there will be no need to worry over them for long. I promise you that, _cherie_."

"Erik."

She snatched a hold of my coat's lapels, dragging me close to her. Her silver-flecked amber eyes stared up, wide and dark and searching and alarmed, into my own.

"Erik," she breathed. "What are you saying?"

Carefully, but firmly, I disengaged her fingers from my coat, and stepped away from her. Three long strides took me a good distance across the grass, safely away from her, and then I stopped. I stared at the ground for a long, long moment: memorizing each and every blade of dark emerald grass. So much of me wanted to refuse to let her go, to ignore the danger of her family, to keep her here with myself forever–and break the spell, so that I and my kingdom might be free—!

But more of me wanted to see her happy.

No matter what the cost.

"Christine," I rasped, unevenly and gracelessly. "I'm telling you, child, that you are free to go. Pack up some of your things, and come down to the stables. I will meet you there with César; he will be your swiftest means of reaching your family, and speed is what you require most now. There is yet hope for them."

"You—" she stammered, and I could feel her staring at me. I did not turn around, though. I couldn't bear to look at her. _I couldn't bear to look at her._ "You—I'm to go back to them? You—"

"_Yes_." I replied, almost brusquely. "Now hurry, child! There isn't much time! I've already wreaked enough havoc on your family–I won't be held responsible for more pain and suffering within the Daae clan. I think I already have enough atonement to do in that respect, and I don't want my soul to be wandering in torment as fitting punishment for my evil deeds after I die. Go."

I heard an odd sound from her then: it was something like a choking noise, something like a gasp, a cough…and a sob, all in one. I didn't dare turn around, though, for fear of rescinding every word that I had just said and ordering her to remain her with me for the rest of time, without ever going further than my arms' reach.

But I stayed where I was. I had made my decision, and now I would abide by it.

_Even as my heart died._

Then I heard the sound of softly rustling satin skirts again, and the sound of footsteps on the grass, gradually fading. In moments, I knew that she was gone.

At length, when I was certain that I was entirely alone, I turned, and stepped silently to the place where she had stood just seconds before. I stared at the ground, as tears blurred my eyes, and suddenly a shaft of red-hot anger and grief lanced through me. With a sob, I fell to my knees and buried my hideous face within my hands: howling my sorrow to the night air, where no one could hear me.

After all, it _was_ my destiny to be always alone.

* * *

Some time later, I made my way to the wing of the castle that held Christine's rooms. I was now much more composed and detached, feeling confident that I had regained control over my emotions. When Christine came to open the door at my knock, I knew, I would find out whether this was true or not. 

Three times, I rapped gently on the door.

No reply.

"Christine?"

Finally—

"Yes, Erik?"

Her voice sounded muffled and unsteady, even through the door. She had been weeping again. My lips set into a firm, thin line, I called through the wood to her—

"You were supposed to have met me down at the stable some time ago, _Mademoiselle la Princesse_. If I find you crying in there—"

I heard a short, uncharacteristically bitter little laugh from her.

"Then you might as well walk in and get your rebuke over with, Erik–I _am_ crying. And I don't care what you say. I will keep crying if I want to, and nothing you can say or do will make me stop. I hope we understand each other now."

My hand was on the doorknob before even an instant had passed; one lightning-quick movement of my wrist, and a rough shove of my arm, and the door was swung open, revealing the candlelit interior of my ingénue's sitting room. She was crumpled up on the fainting couch that had been placed by a wide window, beyond which was a pretty little terrace. The doors to that were open, and the night breeze was causing the filmy white curtains that hung there to drift lazily about.

I kept my fists firmly at my sides as I looked across the space to her. She had not yet changed out of the diamond gown, but her mussed hair and tear-streaked face were testimonies to her bereaved state of mind. I half wanted to order her to her feet, so that she could pack her things and leave before I went out of my mind with grief and the overwhelming, maddening prospect of being alone again…but I didn't.

"Christine," I said, keeping my voice soft. "Please,_ma belle_. Please–they need your help now, and you can give it to them. Go back, and help them."

She shook her head, vehemently, and stood up.

"No," she told me. "I made a promise. I vowed that I wouldn't leave. I won't break my word to you."

"Christine, I am telling you to go. As both your prince _and_ your fiancé, I am telling you–I am _ordering_ you–to go. Leave this castle, and go back to your family. Make them well again; I know you can do it. But you must go."

"Erik—"

And suddenly she had flown across the room and was in my arms again, burying her face in my chest as she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me to her.

"What about you—what about the—she said…"

"Anything that that witch said is none of your concern, Christine," I informed her, sternly, and pulled away so that I could look fully down into her tear-brightened eyes. I felt my insides writhing with shame and self-hatred. I was going to lie to her. "She was lying to you, so that you wouldn't go back to help them–so that you would feel compelled to stay. I am not going to die, Christine. She was lying, _ma belle_…my darling, sweetest Christine, my only…"

I caught myself up on a near-sob, and yanked her back into my arms.

"She was _lying_, Christine; there is _nothing_ about her that isn't false! None of it was true, what she said about me–none of it. I will not die…but you must go back to them. You can make them heal, just as you made _me_ heal. Go to them, Christine–please go."

I buried my fingers in her beautiful dark tresses, and wondered,_**Can**_ _I ever let her go? Can I face the thought–and then the reality–of waking up every morning and knowing that she will not be the first person I will see? Can I bear the truth of her being gone? Can I live with the knowledge that she is gone…even if only for a little while?_

"Go, Christine."

I watched, then, as Christine rode to the gates of Shadowrose Castle, which opened slowly as she and César approached. From my vantage point in the tower, I looked on as she passed through shadow and moonlight, moving further and further away from me—

Drifting towards freedom.

* * *

How many moments drifted past, after that, without my knowledge, I could not say–but the memory of the moment when I heard distant running footsteps in the marble corridors of my labyrinthine home, growing gradually closer, is forever etched within my memory. I had scarcely enough time to turn around and think, _No!,_ before a pale blue form had launched itself at me, and was grabbing me around the waist. 

"Christine!" I gasped.

Why had she come back?

"_Ma petite_, what are you doing here?"

Suddenly, she clapped one hand around the back of my neck, placing the other on the masked side of my face, and then she was pulling my face itself down towards her, so that I was more on her level. She made me look her in the eyes.

"Erik, you must tell me when to return to you," she said. "Tell me when to come back, so that I won't worry for you while I'm gone. Tell me."

I nearly fainted with relief from a pent-up fear that I hadn't known I had.

"Oh, Christine!" I sighed, and we embraced: holding onto one another for a long, long time after that. When we finally parted, she looked at me again.

"Tell me to return."

"Come back to me, Christine," I whispered, as she caressed a stray strand of my hair back off of my forehead, out of my eyes. "Come back."

"I will, Erik. I _always_ will!" she promised.

With a flick of my wrist, I conjured a white rose out of the air, and held it out to her. As she carefully received it from me, I told her, "A month, Christine. Return to your family, and stay with them for a month. During that time, this rose will serve as a reminder of me to you. For a month, it will bloom and remain as beautiful as it is now, but when the month is out, its beauty will fade and it will slowly wither and die. Then you will know that you must return home to me."

_For I will fade and die…without you,_ my mind whispered.

Angrily, I pushed such thoughts into the back of my mind.

_No._

"A month," she said. "I will not forget."

Then I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off of the ground, and kissed her without preamble or discussion.

The melding of our lips was sweet and simple, but full of determination and bittersweet passion. I could taste both her tears and my own on my lips; we were both weeping openly, and neither of us thought for even an instant of apologizing or stemming the flow of our tears. Being separated from her would be unbearable…more unbearable than anything else that had ever befallen me. I did not want to let her go. I didn't want her out of my arms for even an instant. I wanted to look into her eyes every waking moment, and know that she was, without a doubt or fear, my own, just as I was hers.

Our kiss deepened, and I held onto her more desperately, crushing her to me with all of the passion that I had felt slowly growing within me during the past months.

I didn't want to let go. I didn't want to say good-bye. I didn't want her gone for even a moment. I wanted to hold onto her.

She gave a little sob, breath moving swiftly from her mouth into mine, and I shuddered at the force of both her sadness and my own. If only I hadn't been cursed, this farewell would not be so difficult. We both knew what we were facing now.

I felt her slender fingers moving up from my collar to my face; she gently untied the laces of my mask and brought it away from my face, without ever breaking our kiss, and I wept even more brokenheartedly. She was so willing to be with a monster! Her fingers caressed the sensitive disfigured skin on the right side of my face, brushing against the rough surface that was so unused to being touched; shivers ran down my back. I loved her so.

We had come so close to realizing our bond to one another…but that moment was gone now, _forever_…

"Remember me, Christine." I whispered, hoarsely, as we broke away from one another.

She reached up and caressed my cheek for one last time. The silver shards in her gorgeous eyes sparkled with her tears, and I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes as a miserable groan emanated from the pit of my chest.

_No…Christine…no…_

"I could never forget you, Erik! And I will return. I will…you must believe me."

And she turned and left, in a flurry of pale blue silk.

_I do believe you, Christine,_ I whispered in my mind as I watched her disappear into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. I put my face in my hands, and felt the heart-wrenching sobs overwhelm me once more.

_I always have._

The dream had ended.

_You alone can make_

_My song take flight…_

_It's over now:_

_The music of the night…_


	37. A Lost Illusion

Chapter Thirty-Four –

A Lost Illusion

-Christine-

* * *

I was deadly tired, by the time that I caught my first glimpse of warm yellow light flickering between the dark trees in the forest. César and I had traveled fast and far almost all the night before, and now all day through, and finally…_finally_…we were less than a hundred feet away from our destination.

The cottage of the Daae family.

My former home.

César was as tired as I, if not more so. He had been galloping without protest for hours upon end, and yet he held his head high upon his graceful white neck, ears pricking forward as he too saw the lights. I reached forward, ignoring the protests of my aching muscles, and patted him, burying my fingers beneath his silky mane.

"Bravo, César…oh, you have done _well_! We are there."

The magnificent white stallion seemed to have understood my words, as he so often did, and he tossed his head a bit, picking his pace up a bit so that we rode the last stretch of our journey in a gentle canter.

All at once, the trees of the Forbidden Forest melted away from us, and we shot into the clearing before my family's cottage in a blur of white and blue. I urged him all the way up to the front door, and dismounted on the stoop. César received a brief pat on the shoulder for his faithful assistance–I would not have been able to reach home in time without him—and then I left him in the yard, knowing that he would have the sense to stay put.

Turning my mind to the care of my stricken father and sister, I put one hand to the doorknob and quickly entered the house. All was dark and silent within; not a lantern or even a single coal in the fireplace afforded me the faintest light to find my way by, but I did not need it. Even after my time away, I still knew where everything was.

Nothing had changed here–except for that dismal darkness. It was an unusual, unnerving darkness: the kind that one was met with when one stepped into the room of a dying person.

But no one was going to die here, I had vowed to myself hours before; no one in this house would die tonight! I had left my Angel, my beloved Phantom, against all of my trepidations and guilt-wracked sensibilities, and for one reason—

I was going to heal my family.

Clutching the little pack that Erik had placed inside of César's saddlebags, inside of which resided the medicine that would drive every last vestige of the hellion delirium's germs from my father and sister, I made my way through the darkness and mounted the stairway. I looked to the left, then to the right, noting the doorway that led to the room that I had once shared with my two older sisters, and that which led to my brothers' room. From inside of my parents' chamber, I could see a dimly glowing light: the beacon in the darkness that had brought me home.

I inhaled briefly, and the sound of it was as loud as an explosion in the silence. I was acutely aware of everything that was around me: the faintest squeak of the floorboards beneath my feet, the soughing of the wind outside the window, the inky outline of the cupboard that stood to one side of the stairway, and the smell of eucalyptus and other healing herbs on the air. I didn't know how long my father and sister had been ill; I didn't know how my family would react the next morning when they awakened and found me there, without warning…but I didn't care, not right now. Right now, all I wanted to was to reach my father and sister.

Carefully, I pushed the door of my parents' room open, and looked in, silent and cautious.

All was as it had been in the vision that the vile sorceress from Erik's palace had shown us in her mirror: Antoinette sat upon the edge of the bed, laving my father's feverish brow, while Meg began to stir fitfully within her little cot, clutching one of her dolls to her and talking in her sleep. The light from the lantern that sat on the table beside the bed danced upon the floor, and touched briefly on my own silken skirts.

I eased the door open the rest of the way, and stepped inside. Then I closed the door and moved towards the center of the room. The noise of the door latching shut reached across the chamber to my stepmother's ears, and she started, and then whirled around. Her dark eyes widened when she saw me.

"Christina…" she breathed.

She looked so pale that I was concerned that she might faint, and so I hastily dashed to the side of the bed, and sat down beside her, grabbing her hands in my own. My words fairly tumbling over themselves, I explained—

"I heard that Father and Meg were sick; I came as fast as I could, but it was a long way through the forest, and we had to watch out for those awful lycans–but I'm here now, Antoinette–I'm here, and everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be well again! I've brought medicine–do you see?"

I dug into the bag I had with me, and brought out the vials of medicine that Erik had given to me, promising that they would entirely cure the sickness of my father and sister.

"I brought it with me, and once they have it in them, they'll be out of danger–they will heal! Oh, Antoinette! I was so worried, but now I know that everything is going to be all right–they are going to be all right, do you hear me? Everything is going to be all right!"

And, blissfully, she did believe that.

* * *

With my stepmother to help me, I bent over first my father and then my poor little sister, and carefully eased two spoonfuls each of the medicine that Erik had given me into their mouths. For a moment after, their faces twisted with an unconscious reaction to the acute bitterness of the remedy…but then they relaxed, each in turn, and fell into a deep, peaceful slumber. 

And, not an hour later, when I put the back of my hand to little Meg's forehead, I felt that her skin was once again cool, and little beads of perspiration were beading upon her brow. The same occurred with my father, and by the time that the first grey tinges of light began to grow in the horizon, above the trees, I knew that they were safe, and that their illness had left them.

Antoinette and I embraced in pure joyousness, and within my mind, I thanked Erik for all that he had done for me and my family. Because of his selflessness, my family was safe.

_Thank you, Erik,_ I whispered, as I sat down beside my little sister, watching her dream away: waiting for the time when both she and my father would awaken. _Thank you so very much, my Angel._

And through the pre-dawn ether, I heard his voice whisper back in my mind: _I will do anything for you, my Princess._

The silence returned; and then…

_I love you._

* * *

Within only a very short while, I saw that the two dreamers had begun to awaken. Mindful of the fact that my presence there might cause even more of an uproar with my father and sister than it had with Antoinette, I sat down near my father. As his eyes began to move back and forth beneath their closed lids, I exchanged glances with Antoinette, and was still. 

After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, his eyes flickered slowly open, and for a moment he stared blankly at the simple cottage room with its plain furniture and single window, through which poured the steadily growing stream of early morning light: grey, and pale. Then, as he became more aware of reality, the comprehension and recognition in his face grew brighter, until his eyes suddenly shot wide open, and he gasped loudly, staring at me as if I were a ghost.

"Christine!" he burst out, his voice hoarse and low from disuse. "I must be dreaming! Tell me I am dreaming–cruel mirage!"

I reached out and took his hand firmly with a smile. Yes: my father was indeed healthy and fully himself now, if he was able to question everything about him again.

"Shh," I said softly, placing one hand upon his mouth for a moment, signaling him to remain quiet and still. "No, Father–you're _not_ dreaming. It is I, Christina, talking to you. I'm here–I'm really here, Papa. Can you feel my hands? Are these the hands of a ghost–a mirage? Is this the apparel of a shade?"

All at once, the disbelieving and almost fearful look on his face disappeared entirely, and he reached out, and pulled me into a fierce hug. I closed my eyes and savored the love of my family, restored to me after so long, and felt tears gather behind my eyelids.

Oh, I _did_ love them all so: every single one of them! My time away had only proved this to me, though I had already known it–but in a manner that was far less acute.

"Christina! My sweetest, dearest little one! Oh–I thought you were dead, and it was killing me, even as I lay ill! But—"

And he pulled back, suddenly, and scrutinized me, a fearful light in his eyes: he was clearly thinking of the past now, and the terrifying reality of the Phantom.

"But…you managed to escape? How…"

I shook my head.

"No, Papa, Erik set me free to visit you. He…we found out that you and little Meg were ill, and he let me come to help you. With the medicine that he gave me, we've made you better. He knew it would end the illness."

"So the monster has a heart," my father said, but it was painfully clear that he didn't believe a single word he had just said.

I regarded him, quietly and seriously, for a moment, before speaking.

_How could I tell them…?_

All I could do was tell them the truth.

"He suffers greatly, Father," I said, and an image of my Phantom appeared in my mind's eye, unbidden. I longed to step out of cold, harsh reality and go into his safe, reassuring, velvet embrace again…but now I could not.

I had to wait a month–and I could not, would not, spend the time I had with my beloved family ruing the fact that I could not have simply everything that I desired. I could not be so spoilt, and so selfish.

"It was as if…always as if…one half of him was in constant struggle with the other. I think that he is crueler to himself than he is to others now…he has changed, truly, Papa."

"But, Christina!" my father protested, feebly making an effort to sit up against his pillows: staring at me with now fully disbelieving, worried eyes. "I've seen him–he is an awful black monstrosity–he has _no face_! How can you…?"

I felt a pang of guilt towards my own past actions and thoughts arise in me then, for I remembered how I had looked upon Erik and his hideousness in the ball room that fateful evening, and how I had screamed at the sight of him. His face was like that of a creature from the worst of nightmares…but it wasn't his fault; he couldn't have stopped that horrible sorceress, that _witch_, from cursing him to look as he now did. It wasn't his fault…and his heart was, I knew, a good heart.

He was a good man.

_And I cherished him so…_

"Yes," I conceded, averting my gaze from my father's searching eyes and going about straightening the pillows and coverlets around him, as Antoinette sat by and listened, as she had during all of this: gently running her fingers through the still-slumbering Margot's golden locks.

As I worked, I continued, "I must be truthful–at first, he_was_ very frightening, Papa. He told me not to look at him, when we first met, and out of fear and respect and even a little awe, I obeyed him…and then one night, I saw him without the mask he wears, and I was terrified for my life, because he was so angry with me. But then…then I saw that it wasn't me that he was truly angry with…but himself. Now, he finds ways to make me burst out laughing!" I paused, and felt sadness seep into my soul, as I remembered more. "But then…sometimes…I look into his eyes, and they are so very, very sorrowful and lonely that I turn away so as not to weep in front of him."

"Christina."

My father bent forwards, and took my hands in his.

"Dearest child, my little beauty…don't tell me that you are_willing _to live with this monster now!"

Sharply, I jerked my head up and looked straight into his face.

"I must, Papa." I said, firmly, almost fiercely. I would not break my promise to Erik, no matter what he–no matter what anyone–said. "Certain powers obey him, but others control him. If I left him, I would be committing an unpardonable crime against him, and against you. Do not even think to ask me of it."

My father looked aghast.

"Does he threaten you, child?"

I shook my head, slowly. "Before, he only came to visit me when his cruelty need not be feared–and he is always, _always_ kind and giving and good to me now. Sometimes his bearing is regal…but sometimes he almost limps, as though he were the victim of some terrible affliction."

"How can you feel sorry for him?"

"I do not feel sorry for him, Papa…I understand him, because he has been hurt, and he is lonely…and I would be happy if I could make him forget his ugliness, if even for a moment." I knew the words were as true as my own life.

I would be happy if I could make Erik forget his face.

Forever.

My father shook his head at me, still seeming as if he didn't know whether to think my words true, or mere tall tales. "Christina, Christina," he sighed. "You are paying a high price for being so good, my child."

"But, Papa," I whispered. "_He_ is _good_."

Tears had filled my eyes before I even knew what was happening, and then all at once, the fragile dam broke, and a single crystalline drop fell through my eyelashes, and landed on the back of my hand as it rested on the coverlet before us.

It sparkled.

My father gasped; he reached out, and took the shimmering bit of nothing into his own hand, and held it up, staring at it in the dawn sunshine.

"Heavens above!" he breathed. "A _diamond_!"

Antoinette suddenly stood, and I could feel that both of my parents were staring at me now, so intently that I might have almost wondered if I had suddenly grown wings. Then my father carefully put his hand to my cheek, where another tear glistened upon my skin. He gasped again, and exclaimed—

"Another one!"

I smiled, even through my hazy, burning vision, and murmured—

"It is proof that he is protected, for I wept thinking of him."

"Perhaps they are cursed–a hex!" he said, the old fearfulness of the Phantom returning into his look and tone; but before he could say more, I stretched out my hand and took both of the teardrop-shaped diamonds, and placed them in his palm, closing his fingers over them securely.

"Rest assured, Papa, keep them." I said. "They are a gift from Erik. Now, with these diamonds, you will be able to support our family with ease and none of the difficulty that you've known until now. But don't tell Carlotta and Portia. If they knew, they will do all they can to wheedle them out of you for their dowries, so that they may marry rich and arrogant men, and leave you, and then you will have nothing. Keep them safe, and use them for everyone. Use them to send little Meg to school, and to help Richard and Giles make homes for themselves."

Both of my parents smiled at me then, tears shining in their own eyes–not enchanted tears, but tears of happiness and relief. They enveloped me in a joint hug, and I cherished the feeling of having both of them near to me again. I had had to leave my happy new life, and the prospects of my future with Erik, behind me for a time…but in turn, for that sacrifice, I had been given a month with my family.

And I intended to use it for the best.

Then, when a few moments had passed, I heard a sleepy little voice calling out from the cot at the end of the bed—

"Mama? I tawt I heard Chrissy talkin'…was I dreaming?"

Grinning in pure elation through my tears, I extricated myself from my parents' loving embrace, and turned towards my little sister, who had finally awakened from her days of illness and slumber.

"No, Meg," I replied. "It wasn't a dream: I'm here! I've come _home_!"

* * *

After that, I was not at all tired: I could not sleep now, in this time of happiness and celebration. So, instead, I crept back outside, when Meg finally conceded to let me out of her sight for five minutes, and tended to César. 

The noble, almost humanly-intelligent white stallion was not at all pleased to be placed in the small barn that my family had now added onto our property; the gabbling, scratching chickens and noisy geese, the two cows and one calf, and even the two sturdy farm-horses that were already there seemed to perplex and annoy him.

I had no intention of leaving him to fare as well as he could out of doors, however, and so into the barn he had gone, in spite of his protestations. I promised myself, and him, that I would be back soon for a gallop through the woods. Now that I knew I was recognized as the princess of Shadowrose Castle by the Forbidden Forest, I no longer feared it.

I returned inside, and Antoinette helped me to unload the saddlebags that Erik had packed for me. I was glad to see that he had even magically included a change of raiment for me, though I had some not-so-minor reservations towards wearing the finest velvet available, sewn with all manner of gems, about the cottage and farm. I set aside the richer objects in the bags, and accepted one of my old gowns from Antoinette, who left me so that I could wash up and change my attire.

By the time that the sun had brightened into its usual early morning pale yellow, I was ready to face the day, and made my way down the cottage steps. Father and Meg had been restricted to resting, still, by both me and by my stepmother, and thus it was that it was only Antoinette whom I found in the kitchen. My sisters and brothers had already risen for the day, and were outside, going about their chores.

"Go say good-morning to them, Christina." Antoinette said.

Her back was turned to me as she rolled out more of the dough for the biscuits that she was making for lunch on the countertop, but I could be only too certain of the slight mischief in her tone. And I could also only imagine the reaction Carlotta and Portia would give when they caught sight of me there, standing right before them—the last place that they would expect to see me now!

I grinned as well, and flounced out the door.

A great surprise indeed! Unless my brothers had altered incredibly much during my time away, I knew that they would be happy to see me, at least…Carlotta and Portia, however, were another story entirely. If I knew them, they might just drop dead at the sight of me. At any rate, they would be stunned.

To say the very least.

* * *

As I rounded the corner of the house, walking slowly but deliberately towards the barn, I saw that my sisters were occupied with hanging up the washing: dressed in simple country-maiden clothing, with kerchiefs bound about their hair. Giles was feeding the chickens, and Richard was working on repairing a chair. 

I called out to them, "_Bonjour_, Carlotta, Portia–_bonjour_, Giles, Richard."

Portia climbed up on a stool, behind the line of washing that she was standing behind, and peeked over its top, while Carlotta abruptly set down her basket of laundry and sidestepped the dripping sheet that hung in front of her, staring with a frown in my direction. They could not see me clearly, from where I stood. Giles, though, dropped the bowl of chicken feed, and a look of utter amazement and joy came over his face.

"Christina!" he shouted to them. "It's _Christina_!"

"Christina?" questioned Richard, pushed aside the sheet so that he could see in front of it. His dark hair fell over his forehead, half shadowing his eyes, and he had a smear of dirt on his cheekbone. "It can't be!"

"It _is_!" Carlotta gasped.

They all dashed up to me at once and I found myself surrounded in an instant, bombarded by questions from every side.

"Christina! Where have you come from?" Giles asked me, breathlessly.

I threw my arms around his neck, and hugged him so fiercely that he almost fell off-balance, staggering backwards at the onslaught of my weight.

"From Shadowrose castle! Erik let me come back to help Father and Meg heal from their illness, and now we have given them the medicine he sent with me, and they are well again! And I am to stay here, with you all, for a month!"

"A month!"

It was Richard's turn to speak, and his eyes were wide.

"He's trusted you to be away from him for that long? Isn't he—"

And he paused, looking distrustful and somewhat uneasy. I realized, suddenly, belatedly, that he must have heard the story of my encounters with Erik from Raoul.

"Isn't he an awful monster, who harbors insane jealousy for you and will slay any man who comes between him and you? How could he have let you go?"

"Oh, Richard!" I gasped. "He's not that way at all! Not now, at least," I amended. "He has been very, very good to me–he's sent me back to stay with our family for a month, so that I might be happy, and so that Father and Meg would be spared from their illness. Because of his mercy, they are well now, and I am home."

"So, he isn't savage?" Giles asked, and I smiled at him, gently.

"Oh no, Giles; he's a good man, and very kind."

"But you're not going back to him, are you?" Carlotta inquired, breaking into the discussion suddenly. Neither she nor Portia had spoken before that. I turned, and looked at her evenly, with a bit of sorrow in my eyes.

"I must, Cara–I promised him. He has set me free for one month, and if I don't return…"

Suddenly, I realized just what it was that I had been about to say, and I hastily closed my mouth. The four people who stood around me _were_ part of my family, and I loved them all as a younger sister should…but I would not give away Erik's secrets.

They were not mine to betray.

"Christina!" my sister said, angrily. "Do you _love_ him–this monster, who has so nearly destroyed our family, and our own father's health and sanity? Can you even say that you care for him, after all that he has done?"

I shook my head, watching her carefully, and chose my words with the same caution. I knew what was held within my own heart, but I would not speak of it to Carlotta, nor to anyone else. They would not be able to understand, yet.

"No, Carlotta…" I replied, softly. "I'm fond of him…very fond of him…but I do not love him. It's not the same thing."

_Please forgive me, Erik!_ I begged within my mind.

_Christine…don't leave me…I…I need you… _his voice echoed within my mind. I restrained myself from closing my eyes and weeping outright.

_I am here, Erik; please, please believe me. I will not leave you._

And thus I was reunited with my older siblings.

* * *

Later… 

"Now, Christina–since we're alone and those harpies have left us at last," Richard said, with a disdainful toss of his head towards the closed barn doors. "Tell us everything, and don't leave out a single detail. Tell us of this Phantom of yours."

I took a moment to gather my words, disguising my hesitation by carefully perching myself upon the bouncy hay that filled the loft in which we sat, and brushing out my skirts. Then I looked up at them again.

"His name is Erik, and he treats me very well. He taught me how to sing, and it is _his_ power alone that protects me from the darkness that surrounds his castle. He trusts me implicitly. I would be a monster if I don't return to him."

Richard brushed this off, impatiently. Neither he nor anyone else in my family could precisely comprehend my compassion and my care for Erik, and–I saw–they didn't really want to, either. But this was not a matter for me to vex myself over. One day, they would learn.

"What about your servants?" he asked. "Are there many?"

I gazed off into the distance, envisioning the castle again.

"Invisible hands serve me, dress me, arrange my hair, and open and close the doors for me. I never see anyone but Erik."

"And this…this _Fantôme_…he speaks like a human being? He walks, speaks, and dare-I-presume sings like a normal man?" Giles asked.

Smiling in fond exasperation at the preposterousness of their imaginings about the Phantom, I replied—

"Yes, Giles: he speaks just like you and I do. And he sits at the table with a normal chair, and eats his dinner with the same kind of silverware as I do. His rooms smell of fine cologne, and he always wears a handsome black cloak, no matter what the weather. He enjoys reading, and he is left-handed."

_He is a man, a **human**, just like everyone else._

* * *

_A/N: Most of the script within here (the speaking bits) have been borrowed by the authoress from the Jean Cocteau's 1946 (?) version of La Belle et le Bete-a truly beautiful film that is very much worth watching. Voila. More to follow tomorrow. Promise._


	38. It's Useless Trying to Appease Me

Chapter Thirty-Five –

It's Useless Trying to Appease Me

-Carlotta Daae-

* * *

I stared out the window, trembling with anger, and then stomped my foot.

"Well, I never!"

"It's incredible," my sister Portia agreed from her seat a little ways off. I whirled around from the window and the idyllic little countryside scene beyond it, and returned into the center of the room. Portia continued to work on her embroidery as I paced and seethed to myself. To say the least, I was burning with indignation.

"The fool–that horrid little brat!–she is happier than we are! And—"

Here I stomped my foot again, wishing that I could either put a hole in the floorboards of our room or severely injure my despised younger sister.

"And she's rich, Portia–_rich_! Wealthy beyond imagination–filthily so! Being betrothed to a monster is better than having no husband at all, it would seem!"

Portia stood up and went to the window, passing by me in silence. She put a hand to the white eyelet curtain and drew it aside slightly, so that she could look out as I had done mere moments before. Her grey eyes narrowed somewhat, and I saw that her dark red lips had thinned to a severe line.

"She must be bursting with pride," my sister commented. "To return here and behold us all in our rags–caught unawares, in the middle of the housework!"

I nodded, appreciatively, but remained silent.

My mind was shrieking, though.

* * *

That obnoxious little brat! That inane, empty-minded, selfish dreamer! She'd never done anything but walk about all day long with her head in the clouds: smiling wickedly because she knew that simply everyone and anyone alive could not help but love her…and why? 

They loved her because she was beautiful. They loved her because, as they said, she was sweet and kindhearted, gentle and compassionate and caring, utterly unselfish and giving—

But they would never know her as we did!

"She's only a wicked, conniving little simpleton who hasn't done anything but bring trouble upon our family, and then she turns up here again, clothed in all of her royal glory–her stupid jewels and her stupid silks–and deigns to pay us, her poor, destitute, countrified relatives, a call! I hope that she is satisfied with her charity!"

_The little idiot!_

Always, always, had I resented my younger sister, Christina–or, rather, _Christine_, as I supposed she preferred to be called now! _Le Fantôme_ had called her Christine, the Vicomte de Chagny had told us: haunted shadows of grief and despair in his eyes, on the day that he had returned from a mysterious time away from the village.

_Le Fantôme_ had called her _his_ Christine.

It wasn't fair!

What had that little brat ever done for our family but bring us misfortune? If not for her, the Comte de Chagny would never have cast his watchful and distrustful eye upon us. If not for her, we would have never been made known to the horrible _Fantôme_!

And now after all of the misery that she had brought down upon poor Father and Antoinette's heads, she had yet had the gall to show up on our doorstep one night, dressed as fine as a queen, while he and Meg burned with the fever in their beds—only to claim that she could heal them, when not even the village's knowledgeable doctor had been able to do so!

She didn't deserve to be given such finery. She didn't deserve to be happy in that gorgeous palace of hers, with her precious, filthy-rich, _ugly_ Phantom.

_Ah well, though,_ I thought with boundless gleefulness to myself as I continued to scrub away at the laundry. _At least her darling Phantom is a proper monster! I can't wait to see how her face falls when she sees what hideous little brats she'll give him–she won't be able to escape so easily then! How amusing–the bride of the monster, the disfigured beast! It's too funny!_

"Come, Portia," I said, suddenly.

I had had enough of slaving away like a common wench while Her Royal Highness, the Princess Christine, gadded about as free and happy as a lark in the cottage. It was time that we had some freedom ourselves.

_And I had a very good idea of how to attain that freedom…_

"I think it is high time we took a trip into town–and don't worry about our little sister! I've got a good head on my shoulders! We must be very friendly to her, and make her think that we're happy she is here…and let the boys worm out her secrets."

* * *

That night, our family had dinner together as was usual–only now there was once again an eight place set at the table, right next to Father's left hand. Christina would sit there this evening, as she always had in years past. Portia and I returned from town, bearing the parcels that we had gone to fetch from the market, and found everyone gathering around the table. There was laughter and talking in the air, filling the silence of twilight as never before, and Portia and I glanced shortly at one another. 

All this because of Christina?

Hiding my irritation and resentment, I rearranged my grip on the packages and baskets in my arms and led the way into the house. There, Antoinette, Giles, and Christina moved swiftly to help us, unloading the items we had bought from our aching arms. Christina smiled at me, hesitantly, when our eyes chanced to meet.

"_Bonsoir_, Cara," she said to me. "Welcome home."

"Hello, Christina," I sneered back at her, with a cloying sweetness of tone that sickened me inside. "So nice to see you, dear little sister! We're all so glad that you've been able to come home, and visit us–it's been truly awful without you here!"

"Oh yes, quite!" chimed in Portia, cooing the words.

We smiled at her, like two wolves confronting a lone sheep–but then Father's voice interrupted us, calling us to the table, and we had to obey. As we all sat down to eat, Portia and I once again exchanged glances.

The only way that we could succeed at making Christina miserable and, in turn, attaining our own peace, was if we fooled her into thinking that she was safe around us–that we had finally seen the error of our ways, and wanted to be friendly and kind.

Sisterly.

In our minds, however, we held an entirely different purpose: one that she would not know of until it was far too late for her to escape our snare. If we could trick her into staying longer than the Phantom had given her to be away, he would be furious with her–and if he didn't slay her outright in his rage upon her return, he would surely be so angry with her that her silly heart would break! Then she would be miserable.

Oh!

If I could just see her unhappy, my own happiness would be complete. If I could see her cry, my joy would be almost without bounds. For years, I had lived in the shadow of the admiration and love that everyone seemed to have for her–and now I wanted my vengeance so very, very badly that I was willing to go to great lengths to secure her misfortune.

Little did either I or Portia know, however, that one day very soon would afford us the opportunity to do just that…

* * *

The fateful day began as any other had begun since Christina's unexpected return home. We all awakened and dragged ourselves downstairs to eat breakfast, and then begin the day's chores. To my and Portia's annoyance, Christina—the self-righteous, attention-loving little simpleton!–had worked right alongside us since the day that Father and Meg had finally been well enough to leave their beds and move about the house again. 

Antoinette, of course, had thanked her heartily at the end of every day, and noted how blessed she felt to have the girl's help. Meanwhile, Portia and I had gritted our teeth and thought resentfully of how she had never _once_ made so much of a fuss over us. No, only sweet little Christina could be so wonderful!

However, this morning turned out to be unlike the other mornings. Instead of directing all of us to our chores, Antoinette instead informed us that she would tend to the breakfast dishes herself, and that we needn't worry about the chores today.

It was the final week of Christina's visit, she said, and she wanted for us to be able to enjoy one another's company while we still could.

"Go to Barisk," she told us, naming the city that was a mere seven miles from Sumer's Flax. "Take the carriage with you and drive over; spend however long you wish in the town and buy whatever you like! You deserve to have some time to yourselves."

So, in high anticipation of having the afternoon free, we ran upstairs to our rooms: Christina, Portia, me, Richard, and Giles, who were still at the house because of the relative earliness of the hour. Within only a little time, we had all changed out of our working clothes and into more suitable attire, and the boys hitched our horses to the carriage, where they waited restively shifting hooves within the traces.

Richard handed us girls up into the seats, while Giles held the reins: waiting for us. Then, when he had clambered into the coachman's seat himself and clucked to the horses, we turned around in our seats and waved merrily to Antoinette, Father, and Meg.

"Good-bye, Antoinette, Papa! Have a lovely day! Good-bye!"

And then we were off.

* * *

_A/N: More, as promised. Some of the dialogue between the sisters has, again, been borrowed from Jean Cocteau's version of Beauty and the Beast. On we go then…_


	39. She's the One Behind This

Chapter Thirty-Six –

She's the One Behind This

-Carlotta-

* * *

"Where is she now?"

"In Antoinette and Father's room, reading to the little brat."

"And everyone else?"

From within the darkness, a low scoff.

"The boys are in town. Antoinette and Father are in the kitchen."

"Good."

_No one will hear…_

* * *

My sister and I opened the door that led into the bedroom that we shared with one another and now Christine, for the duration of her visit. It had been ours alone in her absence, for more than a year…and if my plans went aright… 

It would once again be that way.

For always.

"She's supposed to leave within days, Carlotta."

My irritation boiling over—

"I know! I know!"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Can't you see that I'm thinking on it? Heavens above, I can't even think anymore, much less plan anything! This house is stifling me—her being here is driving me to madness! I cannot stand the little snip."

"So find a way to get rid of her."

A pause.

"What did she tell you about his terms for her return?"

I halted in my pacing across the room, and ruminated on that for a moment. I _had_ managed to pry some small details of my younger sister's visit—particularly those concerning her impassioned jailer—out of her.

These could be set to our use…

"She is to return to him within the month. He gave her something…a rose! How thoughtful! Her monster is quite romantic,_n'est-il_ _pas_? Yes—he gave her a rose, and told her that when it began to wither and die, that would be her cue to return."

"Perchance we could steal the rose, then, and give her another in its place?"

I scoffed.

"Nay—I've already tried that, believe me. It is a rose that will not die…fire would not destroy it, and I could not tear it apart or crush its bloom. It has as much accursed magic upon it as the Forbidden Wood."

"Then we must seek another way."

_A month she has to spend here, and then she must return to him…_

* * *

Epiphany. 

"We'll keep her here. We'll lock her up…or tell her he's sent word that she may stay longer…somehow, we'll delay her long enough to make certain that she doesn't go back in time, and then…"

I laughed at the sheer wonder, the brilliance, of it all.

_Oh, it was just **too** perfect!_

"He'll be so angry with her…who knows what will become of her? Or he'll waste away from pining at her absence, and die…"

"And then we shall get his treasure? How novel!"

"How utterly perfect, you mean."

Portia smirked, eyes glittering, and responded—

"Quite."

So we would betray our sister.

I couldn't help myself.

I laughed, in triumph.


	40. The Curtain Falls

Chapter Thirty-Seven –

The Curtain Falls

-Raoul-

* * *

It was late at night, and very dark.

But in one chamber of my home, a single candle was lit, and as I stood behind the closed doors of that one room, I could hear voices within.

They were voices that I knew well.

* * *

"So, your cursed prince lives yet. I'm shocked that you haven't destroyed him, milady—he must be a much more resilient creature than you thought. Of course, monsters _do_ tend to have a kind of…a kind of _aptitude_ for clinging to life, when they ought to have been dead, by all reason and reality." 

"Be silent, you fool, or I'll blast you into cinders where you stand," snarled a low but velvety woman's voice, in response to the cultured, drawling tones of the first speaker: a man. "Don't think that you are impervious to punishment because you share my blood! You have been a shred of help thus far in my endeavors here, but the game has worn on too long—for _five decades_ I have watched Erik Shadowrose hold on to life, and to hope! He should have given up long ago. He is not immortal—he _can_ die. He _will_ die."

"How?" With smugness. "Your magic cannot touch him again—you cannot use it to harm him now. After you cursed him…"

_Once a curse is laid, the magic of the one who brought it into being cannot again touch the one who has been placed under that enchantment. _

_Such is the law of magic. _

_It is unbreakable._

"I know!" replied the woman. "I've long sought out another way—and _you_ did not do your part in our last attempt on his life! You sent too few of your men. They were fools to cross him, even alone, without the proper guards. He is yet an enchanter, and because of you, he eluded us. I tire of waiting! This time, _I_ will lay the rules. _I_ will see to his end."

A pause.

"Then what will you do? I cannot enter the Forbidden Wood, as both _your_ magic _and_ his prevents me from doing so, and_you_ cannot slay him."

The woman laughed: softly and throatily.

"With a little suggestion from me planted in their minds, her sisters have already begun to plot against her. They intend to keep her from returning to him, in hopes to end either her life or his. Perhaps even both. They believe that he will be incited to such fury upon her late return that he will murder her, in the pure blindness of his rage…or that he will end his own life, pining for her."

Now a low, cruel laugh from the man.

My own brother.

_Did I ever truly know him, as a **human**?_

"Sadistic little minxes, aren't they?"

"_Quite_…but their foolish, self-centered, and_easily-manipulated_ hearts will serve our means," said the woman—who was both my infamous grandmother, and the renowned dark-hearted, cold, malicious, and conniving sorceress who had placed a powerful curse upon the prince of Kryslora: Erik Shadowrose himself. "With the princess out of the way, we will be able to deal with him at our own ease. She _did_ seem likely to pose a threat…"

I shivered at the sinister tone in my grandmother's voice—no, the _sorceress's_ voice. How could I have been born of the same blood as her? More…how could I be of such a family? Our family's secrets ran deep, and dark.

_Evil as this treacherous night._

"If she does not reach him in time, his last chance of breaking the spell will be lost. He will succumb to its doom."

"She will not reach him in time…"

"And he will die slowly. He has already begun to lose his will to live. He is dying, and by his own hand…and she does not know."

"She won't know until it's too late…"

"I will not allow him the pleasure of ending his own life…no. He should feel the greatest pain in the world."

"The pain of a new loss…then defeat, at the hands of his enemy…"

"His arch-nemesis."

* * *

Suddenly, the terrible, blood-freezing truth dawned on me. 

I had to run. I had to get away.

_Now._

But it was too late. The doors swung open: hands latched onto me from behind, and they were powerful, invisible hands that I could not escape. They dragged me back, into that awful, blood-lit darkness, and I heard her voice hissing at me—

"And _you_ will be that enemy, my grandson."

_**You**_ _will end the life of Erik Shadowrose, Raoul._


	41. Think of Me, When We've Said Goodbye

Chapter Thirty-Eight –

Think of Me

When We've Said Goodbye

-Christine-

* * *

Once our two invalids were well enough to be up and about again, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Since I no longer had to worry about my father and sister's health, I turned my mind towards other matters—namely, enjoying the time that I _did_ have with my family. 

I stayed mostly in the cottage that week, or on the grounds around it, and never once ventured into the village. There was too great a risk that people would ask questions if they were to see me now. Sumer's Flax was a small village, and both news _and_ rumors traveled fast. Everyone knew about my family's encounter with the sinister Phantom who made his haunted dwelling within the Forbidden Forest. Everyone knew that I had left my family and disappeared into those woods, turning my back on the world that I had known so that I could step into the Phantom's world and become his bride.

I feared their condemnation.

If my family could barely accept the fact that I was willing to remain faithful to the Phantom, what would everyone else do? I didn't want to think of it. Because of the legend of the Forbidden Wood, they feared him…

And all too often, fear turns into hatred, and hatred becomes murderousness.

To prevent myself from running mad with worry over Erik, I kept myself occupied with helping around the house, returning for that month to my old ways and responsibilities. But no matter what I did, I knew that nothing would ever be the same for me there again.

I had changed too much.

The cottage, the village, and my family were all still exactly the same, but _I_ was not the same, and I couldn't be. My life in Shadowrose Castle had altered me in more ways than I cared to speak of, and while this still frightened me, I had learnt to accept and even cherish it. I was glad to have moved on.

"_Mon ange, you have made me so happy—so very, very happy. I know I've found my place now! I didn't know where it was, all of those years, and I was so confused…but I know where I belong now…I know, Erik…and it is because of you."_

"_And…and…and where do you…where do you belong, Christine?"_

"_With you, mon ange…with you…forever."_

I missed sitting in the music room and watching him compose as the shadows of the evening fell darker and darker around us. When Erik wrote music, it seemed that he slipped into another world entirely and became entirely unaware of anything that was around him. I had curled myself up in the armchair in that music room so often and watched him, observing the way his brilliant blue eyes flickered with lightning-rapidity back and forth underneath his thick black eyelashes, taking note of the graceful movements of his long, gloved hands, admiring the warm ambiance of the candlelight upon his broad, velvet-clad shoulders.

I dreamed of him often, and then wept when I woke.

How could I ever tell them that I had fallen in love with the man they all believed to be a monster? How could I ever find the words to say that I now desperately wanted to be his wife–that I wanted to be with him so greatly that I would _beg_ him to love me forever? How could I ever hope that they would learn to understand?

_They will understand in time._

Hiding my thoughts, I spent my time with my family happily and contentedly, avoiding the subject of the Phantom whenever it came up. My father and Antoinette never ceased to make much of me during the entirety of those weeks. They were overjoyed beyond words that I had come home, if even if it was for only a little while.

One of their lost chicks had returned to the coop. If it had been any of my other siblings, I knew that they would have received the same treatment–my parents deeply loved each one of their children, and I was glad to be with them once more.

Meg had grown up considerably during the year that I had been gone. She knew how to read by herself now, and was learning how to sew and cook, with her mama's help, of course. I spent most of time with her at home as we helped one another with our chores and then spent time in the kitchen with Antoinette or played dolls.

Of course, she also had a child's keen interest–and rather bold inquisitiveness–towards the Forbidden Wood, and there were several times when I caught her outside, just about to put one foot over the border between the forest and our land. Each time this happened, I pulled her back and sternly reprimanded her for being so naughty, and each time she never failed to ask me why she could not go into the forest, if I was allowed to go in and then out of it whenever I wished.

Even an intelligent child such as my stepsister would not have understood the reason behind that, however—so I always just told her "Because I said you mustn't!", and then dragged her safely away.

Erik _did_ rule the domain of the Forbidden Forest, and I was allowed to journey through it without impediment, but I feared the fearsome creatures that guarded the wood and I feared what they might make of even the most innocent intruder. The thought of Meg being caught by one of the terrible wolf-like beasts...

No.

The Forbidden Forest was for Erik, and for me, and for no one else.

My older siblings had no more questions for me after that first day. Richard and Giles had seemed to have accepted the resolve that I maintained in regard to keeping my promise to Erik. They knew that I _would_ return to him at the end of the month, whether anyone liked it or not. We spoke of it no more.

And then…then there was Carlotta and Portia.

I was stunned and then suspicious, at first, of their radically altered behavior towards me. Before, they had never made any secret of the fact that they despised me.

"_You're not honestly going to let her go, after all the trouble she's caused?!"_

"_Carlotta, you will remember that you are a daughter, and not a queen, in this house – and you will also remember that you are never to speak to any of your elders, especially your parents, in such a manner. Do I make myself clear?"_

"_It was a simple mistake."_

_A mistake._

"_Everyone is saying that we've been hexed."_

_My older sisters had often been unkind to me…that was simply the way sisters were…their cruel and cold words cut at my heart, but I still did not cry…_

"_Ah! Here's our little flower!"_

And now they were treating me as if I was one of them–a comrade and lady of equal rank and importance in life. Every single day, they had been full of smiles and laughter, cheerful talk and familiarity, and none of the malicious insults and accusatory talk that I was accustomed to hearing from them. Oh yes, I had been very suspicious indeed, not knowing what they were up to, and worried that they had something up their sleeves. I had never been able to trust them in the past.

The days went on, though, and slowly turned into weeks, and my sisters were still as kind and friendly as ever. I did not trust them, for I had spent simply too many years in that house with them, learning to hold my tongue and conceal the hurt that their harshness and spite had inflicted on my heart.

Yet nothing happened, and I began to wonder.

_What are they up to?_

* * *

Then, one morning, Antoinette released all of us from our chores and responsibilities around the house, and told us to go into the city nearby and enjoy ourselves there for the day. When my sisters and I went upstairs to dress, they immediately asked me for my opinion on what they ought to wear—and then they even offered to help me with my hair, asking if I wished to borrow any of their clothing so that I might look my finest. 

I'd foregone wearing any of my fine garb from my wardrobes in the castle since the day I had arrived, and so the crisp, light-toned walking gown that Portia had loaned me was an unusual treat, a return almost to normal.

_Normal_ _indeed! Who would have ever thought that __**you**__ would ever see the day when muslin and linen were merely 'normal' to you, Christine Daae?_

I stifled a laugh at that thought.

Then I followed my laughing and chattering sisters out the door, downstairs, outside, and into the carriage.

As Giles sent the pair of horses who drew our carriage into a light canter, I turned around in the seat and waved to my parents and little Meg, who chased us all the way to the cottage gate: shouting and waving back at us.

"Good-bye, Antoinette, Papa! Have a lovely day! Good-bye!"

* * *

The city of Barisk was a scant seven miles away from Sumer's Flax, yet if we had been traveling on foot, it would have seemed as if it were a world away. It was not by any means a large city, as far as the cities in Kryslora went–but it _was_ a city, and not a mere village, like Sumer's Flax. 

As we drove through its towering stone gates, I looked around myself and marveled at the multitudes of people that I saw milling about us. After having spent an entire year almost exclusively in the company of one man, I was very nearly overwhelmed at the sight.

_What a sight!_

_What a crowd!_

_Makes you glad!_

_Makes you proud! __All the crème de la crème!_

_Watching us watching them!_

I was thankful indeed for my brothers' presence as we left the carriage and hurried across the cobblestone street. Once we were safely on the other side, we stood for a moment and looked about ourselves. Then Richard spoke up.

"Well," said he: the responsible eldest, as always. "What now? We have all day to spend in the city and there's a lot to see! What say you, Giles–girls?"

Carlotta flung her arms wide and smiled dazzlingly.

"Why, everything, of course, Richard!" she proclaimed. "Whatever there is to see in this city, let us find it! We are finally out of our dull and boring little village and surrounded by wonders and amusements of every kind; I want to taste them _all_!"

And for perhaps the first time in my life, I _did_ agree with my older sister. I wanted to experience all of this city's beauty, all of its vim and verve and life.

We trekked around the entire city for the rest of the afternoon, visiting whatever places we wished. We strolled through an open-air art gallery, spoke with several painters and even a few sculptors, and stopped into a patisserie where we sampled the freshly-made dainties that were offered there. We stopped in a bookstore, where Richard and Giles teased the girls as they looked through the _Époque_ and the _Vogue_.

I smiled to myself in amusement, and went my own way to the section of the store that was my favorite–the adventure, myth, and legend category.

As I walked slowly down the rows of book-filled shelves, trailing one hand along the multi-coloured leather spines of the tomes, I found myself remembering the numberless rainy afternoons that I had spent in the library at the castle, sometimes reading, sometimes just strolling and marveling at what I saw around me. I missed the familiar smell of dust and ink and fragile rose petals, fallen seeming lifetimes before. I missed the cobwebs that clung stubbornly to the glittering golden candelabras, and I missed the sound of Erik's pen scratching out the most beautiful melodies that the world would ever know upon his peculiar dog-eared sheets of parchment.

I missed reading with him, and hearing his rich laugh that reminded me so much of oozing caramel and vibrant royal blue velvet.

I missed his voice.

I missed _him_.

On the last night that I had been at Shadowrose Castle, he had hastily turned the flow of our conversation entirely away from the brief romantic interlude that we had enjoyed before the sorceress had interrupted us. After we had learnt of my family's danger, he had again slipped on his cold, brisk, and overall genteel mask of behavior. I'd seen no more of the warm, yet tentative and very much in love man that I had grown to cherish so deeply and so passionately. We had spoken no more of love…or of the future…and he _had_ been about to ask me a question. I knew it.

There could be no doubt for either of us. Had the sorceress not shattered our moment together, both our world would have been entirely different now.

It _would_ have been _our_ world by now.

One fate.

_One love, one lifetime…_

But he had given up that chance so that I could be with my family in their moment of need. He had let me leave him, in spite of the fact that he and no one else could now claim ownership of me. He was my Angel, and my master. He had been so selfless…

And now I wasn't with him.

Stung by the thought of that–that my leaving had so clearly hurt him–I swallowed down the lump in my throat and closed my eyes, forcing back the scalding tears that blurred my vision. I inhaled sharply and placed my palm flat over my stomach, which was turning flip-flops, and forced myself to calm.

Soon–very soon–I would return to my Phantom. Soon I would tell him everything. Soon, I would never let anything take me from his side again. Soon I would be his in every facet of my existence.

I walked back to the front of the store and found that my older siblings were already congregated by the door: Carlotta and Portia were stepping outside even as I approached, and my brothers were looking back for me. Richard must have noticed the change in my face, because his eyes clouded.

"Christina? Are you well?" he asked, gently.

I put on a smile for him.

_Am I well? Perhaps._

"Yes, Richard. I am quite well; thank you."

And we left the store.

_Little did I know then that something terrible–something so awful that it would threaten not only my sanity but the entirety of my life itself, and, more importantly, my Phantom's life–would soon befall us…_

* * *

_ A/N: Yes, just in case you were wondering, we've backtracked a bit in the storyline to get Christine's perspective on the situation, again. Now, back to our regular scheduled programming.  
_


	42. No Pain Could Be Deeper

Chapter Thirty-Nine—

No Pain Could Be Deeper

-Erik-

* * *

_When the dark wood fell before me_

_And all the paths were overgrown_

_When the priests of pride say there is no other way_

_I tilled the sorrows of stone._

_I did not believe because I could not see_

_Though you came to me in the night_

_When the dawn seemed forever lost_

_You showed me your love in the light of the stars._

_Cast your eyes on the ocean_

_Cast your soul to the sea_

_When the dark night seems endless_

_Please remember me._

* * *

Twilight had faded and full night was almost upon the land. Only a small fragment of deep, blood-red sky remained at the edge of the black, tree-edged horizon to remind the world of the sunset that had taken place mere moments before. All else in the sky was a thick, unrequited blue—so dark that it was nearly indistinguishable from sable. 

There were only a few stars in the sky tonight—so few, in fact, that it seemed that the stars that _were_ brave enough to shine had begun to lose hope: glittering faintly and feebly. They seemed weary.

And the darkness _was_ strong.

I stood in my room, hovering over an enchanted mirror. Brought to life by my magic it glowed from within, casting a ghostly light over everything. With one hand I gripped the edge of the table, its engraved edges of stone biting into my skin. With the other hand I held the silver-framed mirror, watching as the pictures within unfolded before me.

_She was still with her family—it was still days until her return. _

_The mirror showed her to me now. She was sitting in the kitchen of her family's cottage and the rest of the Daae clan was with her. I could see her father at the head of the table; his wife—Christine's stepmother and only friend, it seemed—was sitting at his right, with the littlest girl beside her. Christine sat next to the child. _

_I strained to see through the magical mist that swirled across the mirror's surface, longing to see her face clearly—to look at her eyes and see what was held within them. I wanted to reach out and touch her face, to feel the rose-petal softness of her skin and savor the spun-silk texture of her honey-scented hair sliding through my fingers again. _

_Never had I felt such pain, such sweet torment…_

_Her father was watching her, his eyes scanning across her face with a kind of careful searching. She talked from time to time with her stepmother or with her little sister, her brothers, and answered her father's questions…but she did not volunteer any conversation, did not say a word unless she was spoken to first. She looked as though she was in another world, thinking of something…or, perhaps, someone…**me**…? If only I could find the bravery in myself to be so bold as to hope for that much._

_I leaned closer as her father spoke._

"_Christina…you seem so sad. Are you well, child?"_

_She looked up and smiled at him._

_I saw that there were tears in her eyes._

"_No…I'm not sad, Father."_

_Suddenly, one of her sisters—the older one with the vivid red hair and snapping hazel eyes—tossed her head, and gave her sister a contemptuous look. _

"_Oh, Father!" she said. "She just misses the luxuries that her beloved beast lavished upon her in her magnificent new home. Our poor, wretched way of life upsets her."_

"_Carlotta!" her father rebuked, angry. "Hold your tongue!"_

_But then the other sister added, in a malicious undertone, "Le Fantôme must have certain attractions that we don't know of…"_

_I nearly fell to my knees at the stab of pain that went through me at those words._

_Christine was in pain too, and I couldn't rescue her._

"_Doubtless, Mademoiselle la Princesse feels it is beneath her station to wait on us," sneered the oldest sister, as Christine passed by. _

_Christine stood entirely still then. The pitcher that she held in her hand slipped suddenly from her hand, and fell to the ground, where it shattered. Her eyes were expressionless and unseeing. _

_Then she abruptly returned to life and inhaled sharply, covering her face with her hands. Before anyone could stop her, she whirled around and ran from the room._

"_Christina! Christina!" her father called after her, and got up to follow—but both her stepmother and the two sisters made him sit again. The stepmother, Antoinette, had a look of sympathy and compassion for her stepdaughter in her dark eyes._

"_Let her go," she said._

"_Aye—let her go," replied Carlotta. "Let her weep her eyes out."_

* * *

_Then the mountain rose before me_

_By the deep well of desire_

_From the fountain of forgiveness_

_Beyond the ice and the fire._

_Cast your eyes on the ocean_

_Cast your soul to the sea_

_When the dark night seems endless_

_Please remember me._

* * *

I couldn't watch anymore after that, for a time. I had seen too much of my beloved's pain and the knowledge that there was _nothing_ that I could do for her tortured me. I couldn't leave my cursed realm again. The curse had allowed me only one chance to leave, and I'd spent that chance to bring her back, the first time. And so I couldn't go to her now.

"Christine…I love you!" I whispered. "I _love_ you! Please remember; please, _please_ know that…I love you. _I love you_!"

Sobs wracked my aching body again and I leaned against the balcony ledge, trying to remain conscious. I had dreamt of her so many nights while she had been away. She would appear to me in the darkness of my nightmares and turn them into happy scenes of a bright future that no sadness or pain could touch. And I always her crimson lips upon mine when I awakened from these dreams. I could taste her sweet mouth on mine. That alone had kept me alive, for so long.

I went back to the mirror.

_They had cornered her in her room: it was later in the evening and dinner was over. She was sitting in the window seat, huddled up against the glass that was the only barrier between her and the Forbidden Forest. Her eyes were full of tears. _

_Her sisters were not finished with her._

"_You don't answer," her oldest sister was saying. "I was sure of it, from the moment that the Vicomte came back and told us of all that had happened—that beast has bewitched you and now you can't bring yourself to wish him harm, in spite of the fact that he __**is**__ a monster. He's ruined you and our family! Do you not believe me? Listen to me now, Christina, if you __**ever**__ have—that monster can't be suffering for your sake. He can't care about you at all, or he would surely come to you now and make you follow him! Rest assured, little Beauty, he's forgotten you."_

_Then they turned and left her._

_The mirror went blank._

"No!" I cried out, choking on my own tears.

I placed the mirror back on the tabletop, restraining my urge to hurl it into the wall and smash it into a thousand shards. Then I turned around and looked into the room in which I now stood. This wasn't my room. It was Christine's room.

All was just as she had left it, here. I had closed the windows so that her chambers would be untouched by the elements and kept safe until her return. I'd made certain that the roses in the vases here had been replaced daily, and there wasn't a single speck of dust on her dressing table or her armoires. I'd found her some new books and placed them on the table beside her bed.

Now as I stood in the center of the room and looked around myself, I felt the tears gathering in my eyes again. This room had been so wonderful, so alive, when she had been here. Now all I could think about was that she was gone, and I missed her so much.

Walking slowly—every movement causing pain—I went to the dressing table and stood beside it for a moment, my eyes roving over its quaintly cluttered surface. I stretched out my hand and let my fingertips graze over the jewelry that was lying out on it: the hair ribbons, the jeweled combs and pearl bracelets.

I turned away then and made a slow circle around the room, committing it to memory and to heart for the thousandth time since she'd gone away. I stared at the empty bed, remembering every time I'd stood beside it while she slept, watching over her to make certain that she was safe and that her dreams were peaceful…

_And happy…_

In the alcove that led to her dressing room, there was stood a large silver-framed mirror—in front of which posed a life-size wax mannequin, fashioned to look exactly like Christine. This pretty doll had an uncanny, almost unearthly life-like resemblance to my princess, but she was _not_ my Christine nor would she ever be. I could not find it within my soul to be content with merely looking at her. No, I wanted the real Christine. I wanted her. I had to have her.

And I had begun to believe at long last…I'd begun to feel it in my own heart, to sense more and more that it was true…that she_might_ love me back…

The mannequin was wearing her wedding gown.

I stepped over to the doll and removed the veil from its head, careful not to muss its hair—a paltry imitation of Christine's hair—and held it for a moment. Then I raised a hand and caressed its fine material with one rough fingertip. I closed my eyes and imagined her. I had caressed her face in much the same way, once…

All at once, it was too much.

I gathered the veil to my chest and held it close, wishing that it was her. Then I brought it up and buried my face within its silky depths: inhaling the fragrance of roses and springtime that was so uniquely her…

_Oh, **Christine**…_

* * *

_Though we share this humble path, alone_

_How fragile is the heart_

_Oh give these clay feet wings to fly_

_To touch the face of the stars_

_Breathe life into this feeble heart_

_Lift this mortal veil of fear_

_Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears_

_We'll rise above these earthly cares._

_Cast your eyes on the ocean_

_Cast your soul to the sea_

_When the dark night seems endless_

_Please remember me_

_Please remember me._

_Please remember me…_

* * *

_A/N: Credit to the lyrics of this song goes to Loreena McKennitt. Her song, kids, not mine. More to follow soon._


	43. No Life Could Be Cheaper

**_Chapter Forty –_**

**_No Life Could Be Cheaper_**

**_–Ellexssya–_**

* * *

Even after all of my years of being their grandmother—_ha! Such a description did not fit me, and I knew it as well as they did_—I could scarcely bring myself to accept the differences between my two grandsons: Philippe, and Raoul.

Philippe had always been the shiftier, more conniving and contemplative of the two. One could never tell precisely what he was thinking. I knew that he had often been able to manipulate the tide of events to his own advantage. He was calculating and shrewd, with tendencies towards callousness and ruthlessness. The welfare of the world and those around him was none of his concern—had never _been_ his concern. He saw everything in the world as a tool to get what he wanted for himself.

I had found this convenient.

He was very helpful.

Raoul had _not_, unfortunately, inherited the character of his brother. My daughter—his and Philippe's mother—had been a weakling from the start. I had never been able to find any use for her, and she had proved herself to be a contemptible waste of my time. I could have foreseen this, however. Her father had been a weakling as well: a passive and dull man whose only pleasure was in maintaining his current state in life, and never seeking out more.

As a sorceress, I would not live forever. My life would be considerably longer than the lifespan of most humans, but eventually I would die. I had always been aware of the necessity of passing on my skills. So I had searched the land, seeking for either a mate with whom to begin my line, or an apprentice to train in my stead.

And then I had made the mistake of tangling my affairs in with a certain enchanter, Erik, prince of Kryslora.

He was powerful—oh, _so_ powerful! He hadn't known just what he was capable of when I had met him, all those years ago, and I believed that he still did not know. He was easily stronger than me…or he _could_ have been stronger, if he had only known how to unleash the power that he held inside his mind and soul.

It had been that raw, untapped power that had drawn me to him. I had seen it as his most attractive aspect, though he certainly hadn't been an ugly creature _then_. I hadn't anticipated the searing amount of coldness that was in him, however. I hadn't seen that until it was too late. By the time that I had begun to suspect his true character, he had already cast me off. I had found myself threatened with the possibility of losing my potential seat of power in the land, as an ousted courtier—and this I could not have.

I would not be humiliated and rejected.

Not by _this_ man.

And so I had cursed him.

His punishment had been very fitting. He had lost his kingdom, his family, friends, even his face and hands and music, to me. He had become exiled from the world, until the improbable time when a young woman might find her way to him and love him in spite of his ugliness. I had long doubted the possibility of that.

_How could a man who was a monster both inside and outside find love? _

The Forbidden Forest was burdened with heavy chains of enchantment: both mine and Erik's doing. My magic was there to keep him from leaving his prison with any ease, and to keep anyone from finding him. His magic was also there to keep anyone from finding his castle, and to keep _me_ out. No one had been able to get into the forest for years, and whenever anyone had had the misfortune to wander in and lose themselves within the towering dark trees…no one ever saw them again.

Erik was trapped, never to escape. He would either imminently turn to me, or die. Again, I had underestimated him. I had never expected that he would actually take to prowling the forest and lurking near its edges over the years, watching the world beyond his dark sanctum. I had never anticipated that he would catch a glimpse of a beautiful young woman, with whom he would fall instantly and madly in love.

Or that he would go to insane lengths to have her.

Christine Daae.

The thought of her caused a sneer to curl my lips, and I drummed my painted fingernails on the desktop in front of me. I was waiting for the arrival of my accomplice, Philippe. He was certainly taking his time. I hadn't thought that Raoul would be capable of putting up any sort of resistance.

_Christine Daae, though…_

She had been a trouble from the start: at first a nuisance, then gradually and frighteningly something much more threatening. Had her family never come to Sumer's Flax, Erik might have been lost, and I would have won. But no, Fate had decreed that I should be given a challenge. And what a challenge, what an irritating, awful little challenge this mortal snip of a girl had been to me! Erik loved her, truly, and that love had been powerful enough to flow from him into her…and now I worried that she did, in fact, love him back. I could _not_ have this either.

But all of that was attended to now. Erik's precious little princess was about to be locked away by her scheming sisters, and she would not return to him in time. I would see to that. And if she did manage to make an escape before I had dealt with her cherished _Fantôme_, I had no scruples about ending her life.

It would be a pleasure to watch her die.

Erik would die too, and in his death. Though the rules of magic barred me from both cursing and killing a man, I could make certain that the event occurred. When he died, he would know that I had been the one to give his death sentence.

Upon catching Raoul listening to my conversation with Philippe, I had told Philippe to make certain that he couldn't get in our way, or make any other sort of trouble for us. Then I had gone to my chambers in the de Chagny mansion, where I had left my potions carefully sequestered in a cabinet.

Now, finally, I heard footsteps approaching from outside the door. I placed the glowing green vial that I had been scrutinizing for the past few moments on the desktop, and crossed the room. When I opened the door, I found Philippe standing in the hallway beyond, his silver-haired butler hovering in the shadows.

They had Raoul with them, and the boy was very obviously, very heavily drugged. He was still conscious, able to see and hear what was going on around him, but unable to move and unable to resist, or comprehend what was happening.

I smiled.

Raoul had considerably more talent, more brains and potential than his brother, but he lacked Philippe's cunning and capacity for cruelty. Raoul's soul was one tainted by entirely too much light for him to be swayed by the lure of the darkness, and though I regretted it, I didn't have the time or the desire to mourn that for long.

There was more to do.

I gestured to Philippe and the butler.

"Bring him in. We must hurry—if the spell is not cast before dawn, he will be useless to us. The board is set, and now the players will move. Make haste!"

_The end of our drama had begun…_

* * *

_Thank you to everyone for the reviews! Sorry the new chapters have been so long in coming. We're drawing near to the end, however..._

_BTW--for those who have asked questions, regarding Erik...he's been cursed for over fifty years, but he's aged very slowly, so while TECHNICALLY his age is somewhere in his 70's, I think, he LOOKS like he's in his late thirties. And, he wears different masks. Sometimes it's the mask that covers everything but his lips and chin, sometimes it's a half mask, but it always covers up where his nose should be, since he doesn't have one. As for how to pronounce Ellexssya's name, I think someone asked? It's just what it looks like: eh-lex-see-ah. Moving on then. _


	44. No Point Anymore

**_Chapter Forty-One –_**

**_No Point Anymore_**

**_–Erik–_**

* * *

The last day of the month had passed. A week had gone by, and then two weeks.

Still, she did not return.

Where was my Angel? Why had she not returned to me?

She had promised me, and I knew that she had meant to keep that promise. She cared for me, she had meant her promise, she had kissed me and shown me her devotion in her embrace, in her kisses, without fear.

_She didn't fear me._

Why had she not returned? I could not leave my prison again, to go and find her. The curse had allowed me to leave the forest once. It would not let me go again.

I was alone.

She was alone, somewhere.

She hadn't returned.

_Time was running out._

* * *

Aimlessly meandering around the castle, I traced the same path that I had taken many times before that month. Everything I saw was all the same. Nothing had changed. It had all dulled before my eyes.

It was dead, and the roses were wilting.

I smiled sadly to myself as I stretched out a hand to touch the drooping petals of what had once been a lovely red rose. It had the look of a defeated soul about it now, as if it _knew_ what would soon befall Shadowrose Castle.

But…Christine _did_ love me…I had grown certain enough to hope that…that she _did_, that she really did _love me_…didn't she…?

_Didn't she?_

I sighed, and the feeling of the air leaving my lungs was painful. Soon after she'd gone, I had found myself bored and listless. At first, I'd spent my time willing the hours to pass by so that I might find myself closer to the time of her return. I'd tried to write music while she had been gone. I'd kept her room fresh and beautiful for her, and even attempted to liven up the gloomy castle.

As the time had worn on, though, I'd lost hope.

She had been gone for so long…

I turned aside from my pacing through the castle and stepped into the music room. She had always stood by the window on the rainy afternoons, watching the trees blow in the wind as the clouds passed swiftly across the sky, borne swiftly on their way as the land was drenched in their torrents. I looked away from that place, then.

I couldn't bear the memory of it.

The piano called to me, in its silent siren song.

I knew how much pain would result from my using my hands. Because of the curse, they were no longer capable of producing music without causing me some considerable agony. But I didn't care. I needed something to disrupt this horrendous silence, something to soothe my soul and take my concentration to another time and place. Two weeks; she was late by two weeks…and I couldn't go to her…I was trapped…_trapped!..._again…

So I sat down at the bench, and placed my hands on the ivory keys. I began to play, as my mind whispered softly…

_A song for you, Christine._

I sang for her, as she had sung for me…_with_ me…

_Wash__ away the thoughts inside  
That keep my mind away from you…  
No more love and no more pride  
And thoughts are all I have to do… _

_Oh…Remember when it rained.  
I felt the ground, and looked up high  
And called your name.  
Oh…Remember when it rained.  
In the darkness I remain…_

_Tears of hope run down my skin.  
Tears for you that will not dry…  
They magnify the one within  
And let the outside slowly **die**…_

_Oh…Remember when it rained.  
I felt the ground and looked up high  
And called your name.  
Oh…Remember when it rained.  
In the water I remain  
Running down…_

Ah! Pain overwhelmed me, shooting up my arms from my fingers and wrists and palms. It was some of the worst pain that I had ever felt. I couldn't play anymore.

Suddenly, the world blurred before me.

Somehow, I stood up, turned, and managed to leave the room. I didn't know what I was doing, and I couldn't think clearly. My entire body seemed to be moving with a will of its own. I could vaguely feel that I was swaying dangerously and, from some dark corner in my mind, I began to sense panic. The whirling blackness in the corners of my eyes escalated, and something stole the breath from my lungs…

And then there was only blackness.

* * *

I awakened an interminable amount of time later, and found myself lying on the cold, dew-covered grass in the gardens outside of the castle. I didn't know how I had come to be there. All that I could recall was wandering aimlessly, the pain roaring in my chest, spreading throughout my entire being, and then falling into a deep well of blackness that was not a release from my pain but an _intensification_ of it.

Now it was nighttime, and it was very cold.

I tried to move, and found my limbs utterly unwilling to obey me. My bones creaked against one another and I could feel a dull ache throbbing in my chest, pulsing with more and more pain with every beat of my heart. And…my heart itself…its beat was growing slower, and louder, resounding throughout me. I could feel it in my fingertips. It was cold…so very, very cold…I was shivering all over, trembling with an almost convulsive violence.

_Christine…__my angel, my only love…where are you?_

* * *

"We meet again, creature."

I opened my eyes, and raised my head from the ground, and looked up: my vision blurry. Everything was swirling, rocking madly before me; why wouldn't my head stop aching? Why wouldn't the pounding in my skull recede?

That voice…I knew that voice…

It spoke again: this time, it was laced with venom.

"Get up, you beast. It's time you met your end."

_No,_ my mind cried out. _Not again. Please…let me die in peace…_

But no.

This was not good enough for him: the stranger who stood before me now, mostly shrouded in the darkness. I could see the glint of golden hair, touched by the moonlight, and the gleam of a silver blade, drawn and ready…

With a miserable groan, I hauled myself to my feet, and stood facing him. I felt old now: old, and weary, and hopeless. I looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge him, trying to see if he would end my life—it would be a mercy.

_My love is gone…_

He sneered at me.

"You've lost her, and now you have nothing left to live for. Give it up, monster—you are lost. There was any hope for you. Come and get the torment you deserve."

If I had been the man I was only a few short months before, I would have been able to blast him into ashes for those words.

But I wasn't that man.

Not anymore.

My time had run out. Even if Christine _did_ return now, I would only die of heartbreak—knowing that I would not be able to remain with her in life. My curse had wreaked its work upon me, and now my death was imminent.

And so I nodded, and with one last draw upon my own magic, I conjured a sword into my hand, and weakly saluted him. I would not fall like an animal. I would maintain my pride, my dignity, and die as well as I could. It was all I could manage now.

"Very…very well…" I rasped.

Even my voice had left me.

I was truly alone.

_Good-bye, Christine…my Angel. I loved you._

"_En garde_, monsieur."

* * *

_This chapter is dedicated to Lilliane, a dear friend of mine and an amazing writer, with major congrats on her recent accomplishment of graduation. Rock on, girl! If the rest of ya'll haven't checked out any of her writing yet, I suggest you do so. _

_P.S. The lyrics used here are from Remember When It Rained, which is one of Josh Groban's songs, not mine. Just borrowing it._


	45. Where We Shall Be, Forever

**_Chapter Forty-Two –_**

**_Where We Shall Be, Forever_**

**_–Christine–_**

* * *

_…Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome,  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away…_

_You've gone away, you don't feel me, anymore…_

* * *

My sisters had betrayed me.

On the morning of the last day of the month, I awakened and quietly slipped out of bed, without creaking the floorboards. I neglected to notice, at that moment, that my sisters were not in the room…

Leaving my family again would be painful…but my life was not a part of the village of Sumer's Flax anymore, and my heart no longer rested solely with my family. Now, much of my outlook on life had changed, and I knew well that I had at last stepped into a new level of womanhood.

I was grown-up now—grown-up enough to know what _true_ love was, and grown-up enough to be unafraid of it. I was willing to accept my Phantom's love now, his caresses and his desire to be near me. I wasn't afraid of what I would feel when he approached me from behind and put his arms possessively but warmly around my waist, drawing me to him. I wasn't afraid of looking at him, masked or unmasked, and knowing…this was my lover…this was _my husband_.

I loved him.

Shivering with the thrilling thought of the look that I would see on his face—_the glorious light in his sparkling sapphire blue eyes when he saw me dismount from Cesar, and walk: no, run, towards him! The crushing pressure of his arms around me as I flung myself into his happy embrace!_—I crossed the room, going to the wardrobe, where my gowns hung. I reached forward, and opened the door, not suspecting the slightest difference in anything around me, never once suspecting what would befall me in moments.

I was so foolish!

The wardrobe door swung slowly open…

And there was nothing inside of it.

I stared blankly at the dark, empty space for a moment, very puzzled. I had begged a promise from Antoinette that she would not take the burden of trying to clean my elaborate white gown—the gown that I had worn the night I rode back to the cottage—upon herself. It was much too complicated, and she had enough to do. And so the gown had hung demurely in the wardrobe that entire month, waiting…

It was gone.

I turned—and came face-to-face with my sisters. Carlotta and Portia stood on either side of the narrow doorway, just inside the room.

And they were entirely blocking my way out.

Though I was shaking inside with impatience to leave, I spoke to them calmly: putting on a tolerant though small smile.

"Bonjour, Carlotta; bonjour, Portia. I didn't even realize that you were already up! Why didn't anyone wake me? I thought for certain—"

Suddenly, Portia moved in front of me, further blocking me from the door, and I frowned—suddenly noticing the darkness flickering behind their eyes. A knot of something horrible and sickening began to twist and churn in my stomach.

"Girls…" I began, in a low, even tone. "What are you doing?"

Carlotta put a hand to the door, holding it firmly by the handle.

I realized what they were doing.

"Let me out," I said, in a dangerous, calm tone. "You can't do this."

Portia lifted a cool dark brown eyebrow.

"Oh?" she queried. "And why not? What are you going to do that will stop us, little sister? Poor little Christine—there's only one of her, and two of us…and _we_ have the key. I suppose that means you're stuck here, doesn't it? Stuck here, that is, until we're ready to let you out…"

"And that won't be for another few days yet," Carlotta joined in. "And don't think that Antoinette and Father will be able to help you, either—we told them last night after you were sleep that you were going to stay for another few days, that a messenger from your precious Phantom had come and informed you that he would allow you some more time to visit! See: we even made up a beautiful note—complete with _blood-red_ ink!"

She thrust the note in my face.

On it, I saw scrawling red-black writing that resembled the script of my Phantom so much that it made my vision blur with tears!

How long had they been plotting this betrayal?

I had been so blind!

"And now they've gone away for a day—when they return, though, we'll run out of the house in hysterical tears, and tell them that you've been spirited away by him again, after he'd changed his mind. You won't be here then, Christine…"

She paused, and then added with bone-chilling menace—

"And you won't be there, with him, either."

Her hazel eyes burned with a frightening malice and spite as she stepped towards me, away from the door; on her hand, I saw that she twirled the key to the door of the room, hung on a cord of crimson silk thread. I contemplated snatching it from her—

But the look in her eyes frightened me too much.

These were my sisters!

How dared they—how could they—?

I stamped my foot on the floorboards, as hot, stinging tears sprang to my eyes. I was furious. If they thought they were going to keep me from returning to Erik, they had their heads turned entirely around! I was leaving—_now_!

"Carlotta!" I snarled. "Give me the key. Let me go!"

And then they laughed.

"No!"

I lunged at my oldest sister, swiping a hand at the key that she held, but she put one arm out and blocked my rush, holding me off as she kept the key safely out of my reach. Portia was at my back in a moment, grabbing both of my arms and twisting one of them behind me until I cried out with pain. Carlotta then pulled her hand back, and dealt me a vicious backhanded blow across the face.

_The world spun for a moment…_

And then I fell to the floor, Portia releasing me, and huddled there on the wooden boards, weeping. My mind was reeling with the pain in my smarting cheekbone, and I could not see through the blur of my tears.

It was hopeless. My sisters were both taller than me, and their combined strength was far greater than mine. They meant to keep me from getting out of this room, from getting out of the house, and I could not hope to fight them both out of my path.

It was _hopeless_.

"_Why_?" I sobbed. "Why are you doing this?"

I'd always known that they despised me, and I had suspected that they were plotting something when they were so very kind to me when I returned…but I hadn't suspected _this_. They knew that I had made a promise to the Phantom, and they knew that I meant to stand by that promise.

What did they stand to gain by keeping me here? Did they think they would somehow forever sunder me from Erik, or benefit from both my pain, and his? What was their game…?

Something cool and smooth—a scrap of linen? A handkerchief?—pressed against the lower half of my face then, covering my mouth and nose. A strong, sweet smell shot up into my nostrils as I gasped in, startled.

Laudanum!

They were giving me a sleeping drug!

Everything went black.

* * *

I don't know how long I slept, or how long I was kept hovering between unconsciousness and unawareness. All I know was that time was passing by, and I had not returned to my Phantom…

_Because I'm broken when I'm open,  
And I don't feel like I am strong enough…  
Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome,  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away… _

_Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome,  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away…_

_You've gone away…  
You don't feel me here anymore…_

During one of the spare moments of half-clarity that I was allowed—whenever my conniving sisters forgot to give me another dose of the sleeping drug—I managed to have a definite thought. I tried desperately to summon Erik's image up in my eye, and finally…finally…I saw him.

The thought of him was actually a memory—the memory of one day when we had walked in the gardens together, shortly after he had first recovered from his nearly deadly self-inflicted illness earlier that year. The gardens had just begun to bloom, as the snow faded away, and he had been standing just in front of a lilac-covered arbor.

The perfume of the flowers had been heavy on the air then, and I remembered how the petals of a nearby cherry tree had showered down through the air and landed on his shoulders, and in his dark, dark hair. I remembered saying something to him, and it must have been amusing to him, for he had laughed. I remembered every line on his face, then, the sparkle of his sapphire eyes, the charming whiteness of his grin. I had walked up to him, approaching him slowly, and with infinite and hesitant care brushed the peach-coloured petals from his shoulders, my fingers touching on the raven silkiness of his thick hair for a moment.

_"Erik…" I heard myself say._

_His eyes bored back into mine. He knew._

_"So innocent, my Christine…" he replied, softly. "And yet you know…"_

And just as the Erik from the past in my memory reached out to run his long fingers along my cheekbone, caressing the few stray curls of hair that had escaped the net I had worn them in that day…the darkness claimed me again.

I sank into the well of unconsciousness, and screamed within my mind.

_It's not fair! _

_They can't do this to us!_

_Isn't there anyone in this world who can help us? Where are you, and why don't you help us? I know that you are out there—now come here—_

_And **HELP US**!_

Then there was a burst of white light in my mind's eye and I shrank back as it wrapped itself about me. Just as suddenly as this had happened, I felt strangely awake again—even though I knew that I wasn't.

I opened my eyes, and looked around myself.

I stood in the hallway of the house that I had lived in when I was a child, the house where I had been born, and lived, until our family's terrible chain of misfortunes. I heard the sounds of children playing from another room: shouts and laughter, talking and running about. Then I heard a crashing noise, and the weeping of a small child.

All at once, a dark-haired little girl with eyes that were far too wide and large for her tiny face burst out of the nearby doorway, and ran towards me, sobbing piteously. But as she approached me, she didn't seem to see me—I didn't realize this until it was too late, and by the time that I saw that she was about to run into me, I didn't have time to move out of the way—

But then she stepped right through me.

I whirled around and watched as the little girl continued her run down the hall, still weeping. I found myself following after her, drifting on feet that seemed to move of their own accord. In the next moment, I stood within the warm and comforting interior of a sunlit drawing room. There, I saw the little girl. She was standing just inside the doorway, sniffling but otherwise silent.

A slender, elegantly gowned woman's figure sat in a chair near the window through which the bright streams of sunlight poured, and I heard her voice speak to the child.

"Christine, dear…what's wrong, _ma petite_?"

The little girl—_me!_—sniffled again, and whimpered, "I was playing with Cara and Portia, and I slipped, Mama…"

And she burst into tears again.

"Mama, my knee hurts! It hurts…"

Then the woman got to her feet and crossed the room in a gentle rustling of many fine taffeta skirts, and gathered the distraught child into her arms, returning to her seat by the window. There, she ran her gentle fingers through her daughter's hair, and I caught her softly murmured words of comfort, just able to hear them.

"It's all right, Chrissie…it's all right. Mama's here; don't cry. It's all right…"

_Don't cry…_

I began to cry then, remembering the painful past: the loss of my mother, my sisters' unkindness and my loneliness and hopelessness at my father's grief, our family's misfortune… I cried for myself, for my family…and for Erik, whom no one else in the world would cry for. _He had had no one else to cry for him…_

When I opened my tear-filled eyes, I found myself standing upon a grassy bank of spring green grass, beside a clear blue stream. There was a forest around me, and all of its trees were in full bloom, as if they belonged in a world of perpetual spring. The air was filled with the perfume of lilies of the valley and roses.

But even though this place was beautiful, I was sad. The veritable garden around me was what _had_ to be one of the most beautiful gardens that I had ever seen—so much like the gardens of Shadowrose Castle that even my dream self felt tears spring to her eyes.

"Oh, Erik…" I wept.

Then I heard the same gentle voice speak to me, repeating the same gentle words.

"It's all right, Christine. It's all right. You don't have to cry anymore."

Scarcely daring to believe my own ears, I turned around, and saw someone who had never before haunted my dreams.

"Mother." I whispered.

It was her—beautiful and full of grace as I remembered, my mother stood before me now, and she was smiling radiantly at me. She held out her arms.

"Don't cry, Christine," she said. "You've journeyed so far, and learned so much…but you haven't reached the end of the road yet, sweetheart, and the journey is not over. But don't despair—it will be all right. Everything will be all right."

"Mother!" I gasped, and then I flung myself into her arms, and cried on her shoulder. And my mother held onto me. Once I had cried until I was out of breath and shaking, I looked up at her. I wasn't startled at all, somehow, by her next words to me.

"Now, Christine…you have precious little time to return to your beloved," she said. "You have done much to change both your life, and his, and his moment of rescue is near—but without you, child, he will die. Have no doubt of that—without you, he is without hope of life, or love. You are his love, child. Remember that. Love will save you both."

Then the brightness returned, and I closed my eyes against it.

"Fight your way to his side, and remember…appearances will essay to deceive you, but true love will conquer, in any of its forms. Trust to what you know, and follow your heart—it will never lead you wrong. You will find surprises in many forms; listen to the words of your heart, though all that you see may seem false."

A pause, and I felt the real world rushing towards me—

"Now go!"

_Save yourself, and him…_

* * *

I woke up, and found myself lying on a ratty old blanket in a dingy shed. Through the cracked pane of the dirt-smeared window, I could see the forest…

The Forbidden Forest!

I was already on the fringes of Erik's realm.

Hastily, I got to my feet: resolved on one thing. My sisters had done their best to ruin everything for me…but I had hope now, for I knew the truth.

True love conquers all.

And I believed in that with all of my heart.

The door crashed open when I shoved against it with all my strength, and then I stood staring at the sunlit forest. I could _just_ see the back of the cottage from the shed. Carlotta and Portia must have carried me here after they had drugged me. It stood to reason that_ of course_ my father and mother wouldn't have come looking for me, if they'd been told that the Phantom had reclaimed me in their absence. Their despair would be too great.

None of that mattered now.

I had been delayed, and I didn't know how long it had been—but I was determined to get back to Shadowrose Castle, fight my way to Erik's side, and tell him that I loved him. Nothing else could matter.

Nothing else in the world.

* * *

_Fallen angels at my feet,  
Whispered voices at my ear…  
Death before my eyes:  
Lying next to me I fear…  
She beckons me:  
Shall I give in?  
Upon my end shall I begin?  
Forsaking all I've fallen for  
I rise to meet my end…_

_Don't turn away...  
Don't give in to the pain...  
Don't try to hide...  
Though they're screaming your name...  
Don't close your eyes--  
Who knows what lies behind them...?  
Don't turn out the light...  
Never sleep never die..._

_Servatis a pereculum…  
Servatis a maleficum…_

* * *

_P.S. The lyrics in THIS chapter belong, respectively, to Amy Lee of Evanescence, and Seether. As everyone knows, Kates does not write music...or poems, for that matter...or she SHOULDN'T...right, so, moving on then..._


	46. Now You Cannot Ever Be Free

**_Chapter Forty-Two –_**

**_Now You Cannot Ever Be Free_**

**_–Erik and Christine–_**

* * *

I hadn't thought that I would live to see the day when I would again despise the Forbidden Forest, but on this day I hated it more than ever.

Never before had the Forbidden Forest seemed so dark and tangled. I felt as if every single bush, every single vine and tree root, was reaching out and trying to ensnare me.

I didn't know where César was now, and so I was left with only the option of traveling on foot. I didn't care. I just knew I had to get back to Erik _now_.

Then I felt a sudden, searing pain rip into my chest, and halted, clasping my hand over the place where the pain had centered. My heart.

_Christine…! _I heard his voice cry out in my mind.

He was in pain.

"Erik!"

I pressed forward through the trees again, desperately trying to fight my way through the thousands of trees and undergrowth that seemed to have grown up like an unsolvable labyrinth. None of my dreams, my nightmares, had ever been anything close to this newest terror.

This was my worst fear.

"Erik, I'm coming!" I shouted, into the trees.

And then I kept running.

_I'm on my way—hear me, please! Erik, I'm coming back!_

* * *

"Where are you, creature?" came the taunting, cold voice of my adversary again, as he stalked the marble floor of my prison. I could hear his every step, his every breath.

He was close—but he didn't know.

I held my breath, and willed the stars that were bursting at the corners of my eyes to dissipate. My vision was alternately blurring and then clearing, and I couldn't seem to focus my eyes on anything. There was a fiery, roaring ache in my left shoulder, where the Vicomte had managed to successfully run me through with his sword. I could feel the warm blood seeping out of the wound now: slowly creeping down my arm underneath the layers of black velvet that I wore. I grimaced, and moved the fingers of the hand that was connected to that arm.

Thanks to the good-humor of whatever fate was out in the world to guide my destiny, I could still just barely move the limb—but I needed more than just the bare minimum of mobility to save me. If I was to go out and continue my fight with the Vicomte now, I would be dead in less than a minute.

But I was going to die soon anyway…

_No,_ I thought, as my head pounded with an ache that made me sick to my stomach. _No! **Not** until she returns! She **will** come back! She promised you!_

I couldn't die until Christine returned.

Drops of blood from my mangled shoulder began to splash down onto the base of the white marble pillar that I leaned against, in a feeble attempt to hide myself from my enemy. It wouldn't be long before he found me. My magic was fading fast—I could feel it being drained from me with each passing second.

Soon, it would be entirely gone…

And my hope would be dead.

I carefully turned my head and listened for the telltale sounds of my enemy, who was still prowling the room. The magical shield that I had put up to hide my presence from him was only just enough to conceal me for a little while. He wasn't able to hear me very well, and if he was looking directly at me, he would only see a vague, translucent, but man-shaped blur against the pillar's whiteness.

The spell was beginning to disintegrate, however…

A wave of pain washed over me again. This time, it emanated from my heart. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth against the agony that resonated in powerful, gripping waves from the pit of my chest, in the cavity within my ribcage—but that wasn't enough to hold back the groan of pain that emitted from my throat.

This pain was all-too-familiar.

I had had it with me every day, and more so in the more recent years of my life, since the day that the sorceress had cursed me.

Of_ course_ she'd sent her grandson to end my life.

"Where are you, beast?" sneered the boy. "You know you haven't any hope of escape—you'll be dead before nightfall anyway! Why delay the inevitable? Do you think she'll return to you? Give it up! She isn't coming back!"

A pause. He was still looking for me.

He was getting closer.

I closed my eyes and swallowed back yet another moan of intense pain. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, freezing in the air that seemed far too cold. I had to focus—if I could only stay alive a little while longer, I might still have a chance of seeing Christine again. I might yet be able to end my life looking into her eyes, hearing her swear that she loved me…

And so I remained where I was and gathered my strength.

This game had gone on far too long.

I was ready for it to end now.

"You believed that she was your hope, didn't you? She's a cunning little actress, Christina! She's likely celebrating her greatest triumph, even now—her triumph of duping _you_ into thinking that she could actually fall in love with an old corpse! Hah!"

I remained silent, as tears poured down my face.

_No…Christine…no...I don't believe it…it's not true…_

"Christine…" I moaned.

And then I heard it.

_Erik, I'm coming! I'm on my way—hear me, please! _

Strength surged into me.

"Come out, Phantom—I know you're hiding yourself somewhere near. Face your fear of the sunlight, you old spider, and face the truth! She is _never_ coming back, and she will never, _ever_ love you! She told me so herself!"

Still the voice drew nearer, and I ground my teeth together.

My anger would kill me this time…

The boy went on, in his mocking, cruel tone, revealing to my incredulous ears a story of the past. " '_Raoul_' she said, '_you have seen death's heads, when they have been dried and withered by the centuries, and, perhaps, if you were not the victim of a nightmare, you saw **his** death's head at Perros. And then you saw Red Death stalking about at the last masked ball. But all those death's heads were motionless and their dumb horror was not alive. But imagine, if you can, Red Death's mask suddenly coming to life in order to express, with the four black holes of its eyes, its nose, and its mouth, the extreme anger, the mighty fury of a demon; **and not a ray of light from the sockets**…_'(1) "

Perros…the masque ball…!

_No!_

"Oh yes…_all_ of this she told me, after she came shaking in terror of her life to me…frightened out of her mind at the prospect of either being murdered by _you_, creature…or being kept forever as your bride!"

He laughed: the sound of his voice ringing against the marble.

"Think of it—a beauty such as her, wedded to such an ugly old thing as you! You might have wealth, Erik Shadowrose, and you might have been able to offer her magic and a beautiful home…but how long do you think it would have been before your hideousness created a gap between the two of you? Did you think for even a moment that she would allow you to love her?"

My vision was slowly growing red.

"You _are_ her nightmare! She would never have _happily _permitted your clumsy caresses, had she remained here with you! She would never accept a single one of your kisses without shuddering in the core of her soul! Did you really want her for her love…or did you want her simply so she could break your curse, Erik?"

On and on it went: the relentless tirade, the torment of my mind.

_What kind of life could you have offered her, beast? _

_She would have been trapped here…forced to submit to you and your ghastly love for her! She would have been the queen of corpses, the wife of the most ghastly of all cadavers! The children she might have been compelled to bring into the world for you would have all been little demons—exact replicas of their father! _

_Did you want that for her? Did you want for her to be plagued by your grisly face for the rest of her life!_

"She will _never_ love you!"

I stood bolt-upright, and pushed myself away from the pillar. The Vicomte whipped around to face me as I spoke

"You wanted _le Fantôme_?" I growled, unsteadily. "Well, here he is. Let's end what was begun in the graveyard, sorceress's spawn. Let us see if you _really_ have the blood of your grandmother within you. I am ready to end it."

But even as I faced my enemy, sword at ready, I heard Christine again: I could suddenly feel her heartbeat pounding in time with mine, and the pain soared.

_Erik! I'm coming back to you! _

_Don't give in, my love!_

* * *

I hadn't the faintest idea of where I was going as I ran through the woods. All that I could think of was that the rest of the world was behind me, at my back—and Erik's realm with in front of me, deep within the dark forest.

If I kept running towards the center of the forest, I might eventually find my way there. Erik had said, long ago, that the Forbidden Forest would only allow in those people whom he wished to find him. He had told me that the magic surrounding Shadowrose Castle would bring me there, no matter what.

But I could not sense any of that magic now.

Suddenly, my foot caught on a tree root that I hadn't seen, and I jerked to a bone-jarring halt, falling to my hands and knees. The air whooshed out of my lungs and the forest floor ground painfully into my palms and knees. I got up, inhaling hastily as tears sprang to my eyes, and brushed off my torn and bleeding hands.

I looked a sorry state. My hair tangled and unkempt from my days spent languishing, drugged to a heavy unconsciousness, in that shed. My gown was wrinkled and dirty and torn, chafing against my skin.

No matter now, though. Erik wouldn't care.

I didn't care.

All I wanted was to be back with him—now.

I kept running.

Something caught at me _again_, and I had just enough time to glimpse the dark figure that lunged out from behind a tree at me before I was tumbling to the ground. I stifled a very un-lady-like string of words in reaction to that—I was _really_ getting tired of falling down today.

Then the figure who had assailed me stepped into the light.

And I gasped.

"Comte Philippe!"

The man looked positively mad: that was the only way I could describe him. Before, he had reminded me of a slinking black snake cornered in the back of a garden, looking this way and that with his beady dark eyes as his forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth: his fangs hidden, but nevertheless _there_. Now, his face was pale—unearthly pale, and tinged with a sickly grey, and there were deep hollows underneath his maddened, dilated eyes. I backed away from him as he took a step towards me, feeling my stomach begin to twist and turn within me, as it had never done before.

To say that this was very, very bad was an understatement.

I'd been caught by a madman. Alone. In the woods.

How this change in him had come to be, I had no idea. I hadn't seen the Comte since I went to live in the Phantom's palace: an even longer time than I had last seen Raoul. What was this man doing in the Forest? I thought he had been the one to create the ban on stepping even so much as a foot inside of it…then why…

Suddenly, a strange, guttural sound came from him.

My blood ran cold.

"You're not going anywhere, Christina Daae," he growled.

He stepped towards me and I retreated, glancing in panic about myself. I was too far away from the fringes of the forest to run to the village, and there was no one about to help me now. I had no way to defend myself.

There was a foul reek of evil magic on the air now.

I decided to stall for time, and distract him. "I-I'm not going anywhere, Monsieur le Comte," I lied, and edged backwards—I'd caught sight of a large fallen tree limb, and it looked small enough for me to hold in both hands, but also weighty enough to serve as a weapon. Slowly, carefully, I inched my way towards it—feeling as though I were going mad all the while, with the knowledge that my precious Phantom was in danger, and that I was almost helpless to aid him now.

"He's done for, child," the Comte said. "You won't get back to him in time. If Raoul does not end his life first…_she_ will follow soon after, and make certain that he finishes what she started these many years ago."

_Raoul__—his brother—she—_

I clapped both hands over my mouth, then, as the awful truth smacked into me, full force and terrible.

"You're part of her family!" I breathed, in shock. "She's your grandmother—the sorceress who cursed him all of those years ago! That's why you placed the ban on the forest—you wanted to keep the curse from being broken! You've both been plotting to keep him under her spell all this time!"

"And now he is going to die. Yes," replied the Comte. "And if you, _cheri_, had not gotten in the way by stepping into his forest where he was certain to see you in the first place, you would have never been a part of this charade of ours. Now, however…"

Silver glinted in his hand as he drew a long dagger forth.

"Now, you will die. You _both_ will die."

He lunged at me, but I scrambled out of the way and dove to the ground, where I snatched up the tree branch. He whirled around. I was terrified beyond the power of words to tell—but I was resolved now. No spawn of the vile sorceress who had cursed my love, and given him so much unwarranted pain and suffering, loneliness, and grief, and certainly _not_ the Comte Philippe de Chagny, was going to separate me from Erik!

With another growl, he ran at me again.

This time, I clocked him soundly across the skull with the tree branch, and he went sprawling to the forest floor, the dagger flying out of his hand. Before he could go after it, I scurried around him, darting across the pine-needles to snatch up the weapon. I wrapped my fingers around it with a death grip—

He grabbed a hold of my skirt's hem, and yanked.

I yelped, and fell.

The branches of the undergrowth snapped as I hit them, and I only just remembered to keep my hold on the dagger as I went down. I thrashed about, fighting to free myself from the man who now had a crushing grip on my ankle. I kicked at him, furious that he still impeded me, and caught him under the chin with my foot.

That made him slacken his hold on my ankle for a split second, which was just enough encouragement for me to intensify the violence of my struggle to be free. I drew my other leg back and then whipped it around, kicking him in the face. With a shout of surprise and pain, he fell to one side and I took my opportunity to scramble to my feet.

He was standing again in a split second. Breathing hard, I rearranged my hold on the hilt of the dagger. I had never used a weapon—any weapon—before. I had never so much as even held one in my hand. I might have to use one now. I didn't have time to ask myself whether I was ready to take a life. I might not have a choice.

"No one, Comte Philippe," I spat, "_No one_ is going to keep me from him—not for a day, not for an hour, not for a moment. I'm going back to him now, and if you and that vile sorceress grandmother of yours don't like it…you can just _shove it_."

* * *

I don't know quite what happened next, then. All I can remember was that the Comte bellowed in anger and dove at me again, but before he reached me, a blast of searing hot red light exploded out of the forest from somewhere behind me. A burning, comet-like orb sailed past me—the intensity of its heat singed me as it went by, and I stumbled blindly to one side, trying ineffectually to shield myself from it.

Then I opened my eyes—

And saw the red comet collide with the Comte de Chagny!

I heard his cry of pain and fell back, horrified.

What now? I had never seen anything so awful as that red orb of light…except…except…I remembered now…except in a dream of mine…

_"You will not touch her, Ellexssya! I will abide none of your darkness upon her – no matter what hold you think that you now have over my life, this place is still my domain! And if you dare come near her, I will hunt you down through a thousand millennia, and you will wish that you hadn't."_

_"Very well, Erik…"_

_Then there was a hissing noise, and **a burst of** **red light**…_

A woman's voice, low and cold, addressed me now.

"Come along now, child," it coaxed, with a chilling, menacing edge, a cruelty that rasped against my ears. I knew this voice all too well. "Open your eyes, and look around. Your assailant is senseless to you…"

I felt some terrible, unseen force pulling at me, forcing me to turn around and open my eyes. I looked in front of myself: feeling my entire frame turn to ice, as tremendous shivers of fear and hatred shook me.

Ellexssya Scarlet-Heart smirked back at me.

In her hand, I saw more of the glowing red fire.

"Very good, little Christine," she purred. Her eyes, I saw, had turned into a glowing yellow-green, their pupils drawn vertically, like a cat's.

_A very large, very evil, human-shaped cat…_

I backed away, not knowing what else to do.

Ellexssya stepped down from the slight knoll that she'd been standing upon, the pure white hem of her gown sliding gracefully over the tree roots and moss. Her eyebrow quirked upwards as she regarded me, her black-red mouth forming a tiny, self-satisfied smirk. In her hand, she swished her fingers around, stirring the magic she held within her palm—lethal magic that I was certain was meant for _me_.

"I hadn't thought that you would get this far, little Daae," she mused. "You certainly didn't seem strong at all when I first visited him, as he watched over you that night…oh, didn't you know?" she asked, at my look of unguarded surprise. "He would step into your room every night, from the first time you were in his castle, and then he would watch over you as you slept—making certain that your dreams were peaceful, and you were safe. He sat by you and held your hand all through the darkest hours of the night. Of course, I suppose that he wouldn't have ever told you, knowing that you feared him so."

She looked at me, almost conspiratorially.

"We are rivals, you and I, my dear," she revealed. "I thought I had won him, once, a long, long time ago, many years before _you_ were ever born, little Beauty. Naïve child! Of course, however, Erik turned the tables on me—he couldn't ever bear anyone having found him out! And so after I had gone through all those years, thinking that I had ended his triumph over my intelligence for once and for all…I was surprised when _you_ were suddenly on the stage of our strange little theatre…and very much stealing away the heart of our dear, beloved Phantom! Bravo, little Daae!"

And she paused.

"_Bravo_."

I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, looking back at the wicked creature with defiance and anger in my eyes.

"You're nothing but a cruel, heartless old woman!" I said.

Calling a sorceress names to her face, and insulting her with impudent bravado, was probably not the best thing one could have chosen to do—but I figured that I had nothing better to do now. The odds were that she would probably end my life in the next several moments, and then, if I wasn't entirely wrong, she would go on and murder Erik as well. She had magic on her side; I didn't. It wasn't as though I could fight her off, or escape her magic, at this point. At least Erik and I would find one another in death, and be united as never before—for in death, she could not stop us from dashing straight to one another's sides, and remaining there forever. I couldn't escape her now, but I would _soon_.

So I stayed where I was.

"He never deserved the lifetime of trouble you've given him. He isn't perfect, nor was his life blameless before—but he never had a deed to his credit that merited so many years of cruelties! If you want to kill me now, then _kill_ me! I won't stop you! But if you do, do it knowing that when I am dead, and Erik with me, we will be beyond your evil—and we will be together. Prince Erik Shadowrose is mine as he was never yours, and I am his. He is my l—"

"_NO_!" shrieked the sorceress.

She flung her hand back, and the light in it grew. I kept my eyes open, and didn't move: I would not cower before her even as she murdered me.

There was the sound of another explosion—

* * *

But the fiery blast never impacted me. I heard a dull _thwack!_ and then watched in incredulousness as the powerful sorceress fell to the ground: entirely unconscious.

I looked past her fallen body…

And saw something I had never dreamed of seeing.

Carlotta, Portia, Richard, and Giles stepped out of the shadows behind the tree that the sorceress had stood beside, and halted before me.

In Carlotta's hand was a large tree branch.

My mouth fell open in shock, and my sister hastily dropped the branch, as she, Portia, and my two brothers dashed up to me: moving suddenly as soon as the surprise of the moment had passed. I couldn't help but stare at them in disbelief.

"Carlotta—Portia—Richard!—Giles!" I gasped. "What are you—how did you—_why_ are you—"

"We may not like you very much, Christina," replied Carlotta then, as she raised her hazel eyes to mine. Something was different about her gaze. It was missing something...the same something, I realized, that had been blazing within the Comte's eyes. Magic. The sorceress had bewitched my sisters as well! And now...they were free? That could be the only way that they would have helped me, after what they'd done. "But you are our _sister_."

I glanced back and forth between her and Portia, then, not knowing if I should trust them and step past the moment, or laugh…or cry…

Or all three.

"Christina," said Richard, as he put both his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "We haven't much time. She won't be out for long…and I know you have to get back to that castle. I don't claim to understand why you would want to go back to that monster…but we _will_ help you return, if that's what you want. Do you want to go back to him?"

I nodded, tearfully.

"Oh yes, Richard! Please help me—he'll die if I don't go back!"

Richard nodded, and motioned curtly to Giles, who went back around the tree, and in another moment emerged grasping the reins of three horses, one of which was a large white stallion whom I recognized instantly.

"César!" I cried, and ran to the horse, who nickered and gently snuffled at my hair as I flung my arms about his long, sturdy neck. I felt a hand on my arm then, and looked up again to see Carlotta and Portia standing beside me.

I felt my old anger return.

"Christina?" Portia said. "…We're sorry."

"We are very sorry," echoed Carlotta, who then knelt before me and lowered her head, dipping into the profoundly respectful curtsey of a supplicant before royalty.

I stared down at the top of her red curls, startled beyond belief.

Were these _really_ my sisters?

"Please, Christina…forgive us, if you can find it in your heart."

"Get up," I said.

She stood, and looked at me, a dark and worried shadow in her eyes.

"I will recognize here and now, Carlotta, and Portia, that we might never have gotten along at all in our lives," I said, as I swung into the saddle on César's back. The magnificent stallion pawed the earth at his feet, as if he knew what urgency I was in. "But I will also say this—I am thankful for your help. If my forgiveness is what you really wish for, I think you might at last be on the road to gaining it."

I paused.

"However—"

And then I leaned over in the saddle, and punched Carlotta soundly in the nose. Having done so, I sat back again, and nudged César in the sides.

"You _really_ deserved that."

Then we were plunging into the forest, in a race against time to reach Shadowrose Castle before the world that I had learnt to love broke apart before my eyes.

* * *

My madness had leant me a sudden new burst of strength, which aided me in my last offensive strike against the Vicomte as I lunged forth out of the shadows behind the pillars and drove the silver blade of my sword straight towards his heart. He leapt back, however, avoiding my vicious onslaught, and whipped his own sword around. The blades clashed together, and I forced him backwards several feet in my pure fury.

Back and forth we dueled across the white marble floor, pacing around one another like dogs circling before a fight. The sword blades snapped and bit wickedly as we fought, sparks flying. I whirled around, then drove the hilt of my sword down on his shoulder, knocking him down to one knee. He brought up an arm to defend himself, and I caught him just below the shoulder with my sword.

"An eye for an eye, Vicomte!" I hissed.

"So you say, while you can!" he snapped back, and jumped to his feet, swinging his sword in a wide arc at me.

We fought on and on, but slowly he began to force me back, compelling me to retreat into a corner. Then the Vicomte's sword caught me across the wrist: the blade ripping through my glove, and I inhaled sharply, pulling my arm back to myself. Taking advantage of my distraction, my enemy rushed forward and rammed his elbow into my stomach. The wind rushed out of my lungs and I felt my equilibrium slipping as my vision blurred; no! I could not see!

_Clang!_

My sword flew out of my hand.

I stared after it for a moment, and then slowly turned my head. I let my eyes laboriously climb up from the ground, tracing a path on the wall to one side of him, and then finally—finally!—looked him in his green eyes. The eyes that he shared with the sorceress. His smirk of triumph was galling.

"So," he said. "It's over. You're at your end."

I let a breath of scornful, bitter laughter escape me.

Then I nodded.

"Perhaps."

But even as I made this concession, I knew I couldn't bear it to be true.

"Perhaps—I'd expected this."

His eyes were narrowed and cold.

"I know," he said. "You never had any hope."

I shook my head, smiling softly at his foolishness.

_No: I **had** had hope. Once upon a time, in another, happier world, a world of dreams and boundless, untrammeled love…I had tasted hope. And love._

"No," I said. "No."

And so this was it—my last few moments of life. I would be dead in the next few seconds, I surmised. He would make my execution fast.

He was not Ellexssya.

"To the darkness with you, Phantom."

He stepped forward, his sword held level to my throat. With a gesture of the blade, he made it clear to me that I was to kneel. I did as I was bade, lowering myself to my knees. Then, bowing my head, I closed my eyes for a moment, and thought…_Christine…_

"Erik!"

But the voice was too distant.

There was no possible way that it could have been real.

I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the ground.

_No spell has been broken,  
No words have been spoken…  
No point anymore if she can't love me…_

_No hope she would do so,  
No dream to pursue, so  
I looked to myself, despise all the things I see…  
For I know that she  
Cannot set me free…_

_Let the world be done with me._

* * *

"_NO_! Erik!"

_No, it **couldn't** be!_

But, it _was_! Christine! Running towards us, through the doorway!

Her long hair was flying out behind her, ringlets falling wildly about her pale face, and her eyes were wide. She was wearing a pure white dress, and a dark red cloak: near its clasp there was a rose, placed close to her heart.

"Raoul—stop! Don't!" she shouted.

His eyes narrowed, as a strange look came onto his face.

"No," he said.

I found the strength to stand up. Grabbing him by the shoulder, I whirled him around and then put all of my energy into swinging my free arm back, and then up—my whitened knuckles to colliding with his jaw. He fell backwards and collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

The world was silent for a moment then.

I remained where I was, staring.

Christine was here!

She was pale and utterly exhausted-looking, as if she had been run through the proverbial mill itself, and only escaped it by a pure benevolent Fate, but I couldn't have wished for anything that would have made me happier.

"Christine…" I murmured. "Beloved."

She gave a little gasping sob of joy, her eyes radiant.

"Erik!"

And then she ran to me.

I caught her—weakly, though—as she threw herself into my arms. We were nearly both pitched off-balance by her rush, but I somehow managed to keep the both of us on our feet.

For a moment, we did nothing but embrace with a fervor that could not be described in words. I held her close to me, crushing her frame to my own with bruising force, and buried my face in her glorious silky hair: inhaling the fragrance of her perfume, feeling the warmth of her skin near to mine, the pressure of her arms around me, the crisp coolness of her pure white gown, the velvet of her dark red cloak.

"Christine!"

Then I pulled back, staring at her in incredulous joy.

"Christine," I breathed. "You returned! You came back…_mon amour_, I was so worried…I thought that…I thought that…you…"

"Thought that what, Erik?" she asked me, cupping the good side of my face against her hand, as she smiled up into my eyes, brightly. "Did you think that they had killed me, or hurt me so that I could not return to you? Death and pain could not separate me from you! Nothing could! You made me promise you, don't you remember?"

She withdrew from me, somewhat, and I reluctantly let my hands slide down to her waist, inching away from her. I gazed at her—and found myself thinking, wondering, something was different…what was it that I sensed here? She had returned to me…there was nothing else that I could care about in the world at this moment…only her…

"Erik!"

And then I knew what was wrong.

The brightness in my love's eyes hardened, transforming from the ardor of young love into the cold brilliance of black diamonds—black diamonds edged with green. She smiled at me, her black-red lips curving smoothly.

Then red-hot pain lanced through my chest, centered just below my ribcage.

I stared at her in disbelief, and her features slowly begin to change, the glamour on her face gradually slipping away. I looked down to where her hands had rested on my chest…

...And saw the dagger that she had just plunged into me.

* * *

My brothers had caught sight of blurry, large white forms tearing through the trees around us as we rode through the Forbidden Forest, in a desperate race to reach Shadowrose Castle before my time ran out.

"Christina!" Richard shouted, as he and Giles reined their horses back. He unsheathed his sword; Giles did the same. "Ride on! _GO_!"

Terrified for my brothers, yet knowing that they would not rest until I was safely away, I stifled my tears and nudged César hard in the sides. With a fierce neigh, the stallion plunged on through the thick trees, and we soon left the sound of my brothers' battle with the savage lycans far behind us.

I had to get to Erik.

All at once, Shadowrose Castle was looming before us in all of its glory, though the sky above it was covered in thick, black clouds. Lightning ripped forth and seared the air, as thunder roared, making the very ground tremble. Bravely, César went on towards the castle without the slightest amount of urging from me, and soon we stood before its very gates.

They had been left open.

I could see two tiny figures moving rapidly back and forth across the floor of the high tower where Erik and I had gazed at the stars so many nights. My heart nearly stopped within me.

_Raoul__! No! _

_Erik!_

"Hold on, my love!" I whispered, clutching the reins of the bridle in a death-grip. César whinnied, and I commanded him, breathlessly, never once removing my eyes from the dueling figures atop the tower, afraid to look away—"Into the castle, César! Hurry!"

Across the neatly manicured, emerald green lawns of the castle we thundered, César's sharp hooves chopping up chunks of the turf, and soon we were before the grand front staircase of the main entrance itself. I leapt down out of the saddle and ran up the stairs, the number of steps resounding in my mind.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—

Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight—

Forty—

And then I was inside the castle.

The door that led to the tower staircase had been left open, and through it, my agitated ears could detect the sounds of the battle that was being waged far above. Swords clashed, and I heard them fight.

"Erik!" I gasped.

I ran.

Up and up and up I went, climbing the winding stairway without any thought in my mind but reaching my love in time and ceasing this mindless violence. What on earth had possessed Raoul, that he had traveled here and challenged Erik? What was I already too late to stop? I had to get to them—

My heart was pounding within me: I could feel its beat in my fingertips. I rushed up to the doorway that led to the main room of the tower…slowly the light came into view, and then the tower room itself: the thundercloud-strewn sky beyond—

I slammed to a halt.

_Oh no…Fates, earth and sky, no…please…not this…_

"Erik!" I shrieked.

He was in the arms of the sorceress: she was disguised as me.

Upon hearing my cry to him, he went stiff in the other woman's arms, as if he had just been transformed into ice, and his blue eyes showed his shock and disbelief, and betrayal, even at a distance. Then I saw her left arm move, and come away from him.

...In that hand was a dagger, dripping with blood.

I screamed as I saw him turn pale and fall to his knees, slumping to the ground where he then lay motionless. Livid, I lunged at the sorceress, and threw both of us to the ground.

My brash but relentless onslaught must have startled her so greatly that she didn't know what to do at first. She merely stared at me, trying weakly to defend herself from my flying hands and bared nails. Then she returned to life again, and we fought like wildcats, spitting and snarling, swiping, tearing, and batting.

"Witch!" I screamed, and slapped her across the face as hard as I could.

I couldn't think clearly.

All I could see was red.

"You've murdered him! You've murdered him! I'll see you rot—I'll tear you apart! You've murdered my love!"

And then she threw me off her. I fell back, smacking the back of my head against the pillar that she had tossed me against, like a rag doll, and watched through my tears as she approached me.

"I've had all I can take of you, little Daae," she hissed.

A drop of blood glistened on her cheekbone.

Her eyes narrowed, cat-like pupils gleaming.

"Now, you die."

Then I heard a voice rasp from behind us—

"No, Ellexssya—_you_ die today."

White light shot out of Erik's raised palm, blasting past me. The sorceress shrieked as it collided with her, and the sound was like that of all the creatures of the underworld screaming as one. I flung an arm about my face, and fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the magic. The last thing I heard of the sorceress was her infuriated scream, and then the noise of something that could only be described as a maelstrom of pure white light—

And then Erik's voice, saying—

"_Now get into the abyss, where you belong_!"

"_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…!_"

But she couldn't stop it: his power was too great, even as he weakened.

She was dragged into the storm of magic...and vanished.

* * *

...The light disappeared. I ran to his side, cradling the bleeding, pale form of my fallen Angel to me as I wept again.

I'd returned to him…but now it was too late.

All was quiet, as I held him in my arms, and he rested his weary head against mine.

* * *

_(1) A quote from Leroux. Just so we don't confuse Kates' writing with the genius of that of the original writer._


	47. Stay With Me

_**Chapter Forty-Three**_—  
_**Stay With Me  
-Christine-**_

* * *

He breathed in—only once—and his chest barely moved.

I watched, my breath hitching in my throat as I told myself again and again not to cry.

"Erik..."

I leaned over him, pushing his wild dark hair off his forehead. Whenever he had become very agitated before, his raven hair had had the tendency to fall forward over his stormy brow. Now, strands of it lay across his forehead, as limp and nearly lifeless as the man to whom they belonged. I gently threaded my fingers into his hair and caressed my palm along his pale cheek, trying to revive him.

_Stand up, Erik,_ I pleaded with him silently. _Stand up, and be all right. Prove them all wrong! __I__ know __that__ you are **not** dead, that you **cannot** die! Stand up and show me that everything is going to be all right...Please...  
_  
His skin had taken on a deathly pallor now, and his lips were becoming tinged with grey. Thick, scarlet blood showed inside his mouth when he tried to take another breath.

_Oh Fates..._

He couldn't look at me. His eyes wouldn't focus. Tears slipped down my face from my own eyes, swiftly followed by more and more. I didn't bother to wipe them away. Now he was struggling to keep his eyes open, his shallow breath taking on an agitated note. I could scarcely bear the sound of it. He was shaking: shivering as though cold gripped his entire body. I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to smile...

"Oh, Erik."

I sobbed and gathered him swiftly to me, holding him tightly against my own frame, trying to impart some of my warmth—my health—my _life_—to him. If it could have saved him, I would have given my fallen Angel every last drop of my life's blood. I pressed my face into his ragged, sweaty dark hair, and placed kiss after tender kiss on it, weeping all the while.

But I couldn't save him.

The front of his black shirt and vest was wet with blood..._so much blood!..._and I was no healer. I hadn't any magical powers that I could summon to my aid, to save him. It was too late for turning back, too late for all cries for help, too late for any useless prayers for pity.

Nothing could save us now.

I suddenly felt a heavy, gloved hand on the side of my face and opened my stinging eyes. Erik stared back at me, his blue eyes dazed.

"Christine..." he whispered. "It's really _you_..."

A thousand words crowded against my lips, but I couldn't utter a single one of them.

"Yes," I choked. "I...no one could...Erik...you..."

"Shh..." he said, and brushed his fingertips against my lips, silencing me. I trembled, even so. "Don't cry...Christine, _please_ don't cry. I can't bear it."

_But I don't want to let you go!_

He squeezed his eyes closed with a bit of a noise as another spasm of pain gripped him, and then gasped, with pauses between every few words, "You're here. That's all that matters. You promised…"

"I'm sorry, Erik..." I whispered against his mask. My tears ran down from my eyes and slid onto the white porcelain surface. "Forgive me, please forgive me. I would have come back sooner—I _tried_, but they…I-I didn't mean to…"

"Shh..." he soothed, and caressed his hand along my face. "I know…I know. You don't have to apologize, love. You don't have to say goodbye…just let go…"

How could he be trying to reassure me now? He was dying…

"I _can't_..." I whimpered. "I can't let you just go away from me, not now, not after all that's…"

I shook my head, choking on my tears again.

"Erik, don't you know how much I care? Don't you see how you've changed me?"

_Strange how I finally see!...I've found home...you're my home..._

"Please..." I begged, and cupped his face in my hands, pressing my forehead to his. "Stay with me..."

His lips curved in the beginning of a smile…and then his eyes glazed over, as another spasm took hold of him. I snatched him close again, burying my face against his and clinging to him as he shuddered all over. All I could do for a few awful moments was cry soundlessly as he fought for breath.

There was still _so much_ that I wanted to say. I'd thought that I would have had time to say it, to tell him. I'd thought that I would have him forever, but I _wouldn't_.

All that I could hear then was our breathing, the sound of the rain pattering down from the cloud-swathed sky, and the distant rumble of thunder.

The storm had passed. Now, all was still.

Erik breathed in—shuddering and agonized—and placed his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards him. I wouldn't look away, even as I wept. If I closed my eyes, I would miss him, and this time, it would be forever.

"Christine..."

He almost sang my name.

"I love you..."

I gasped out a sob and put my lips to his.

Then I kissed him as never before.

All my passion—my tangled emotions and desire for him—came surging to the surface of my being in that moment, and I felt my mind catch on fire, my senses burning alive. His mouth tasted sweet and bold, the touch of his lips searing into mine. I felt him responding ardently to my embrace, and he even sat up slightly as I kissed him. His arms tightened around me, willfully, powerfully...

And then...they began to weaken.

He was letting go of me...

As I brought my mouth away from his, he sighed, and his breath transferred swiftly from his lungs into mine. I couldn't help but feel that some part of his soul had entered mine with that last kiss, and the sigh that followed it. He smiled softly.

"Thank you...Christine..."

He closed his eyes.

"Erik," I whispered.

I touched one hand to his cheek, trembling.

"...Erik?"

Then I held him to me, rocking back and forth, weeping as my heart shattered.

"Erik..."

He was gone.

_Erik __is__ dead.  
_  
I hadn't been able to save him.

_Erik __is__ dead.  
_  
I hadn't stopped the sorceress from wreaking her final vengeance on my poor love. I had come back too late, and though the sorceress was destroyed...it wasn't enough.

_Erik __is__ dead._

My strength left me and I collapsed on the floor beside his body. I turned my face aside and buried it against the thick black velvet of his shirt, breathing in the smell of him. Sandalwood, incense, fire, strength and warmth—but no longer within him.

And, finally, in that _darkest_ moment...

I said the words.

"Erik...I love you."

The whispered syllables vanished and I placed my head back on his shoulder, drawing his lifeless arm close and pulling it around my shoulders so that his black velvet embrace enveloped me entirely. I huddled against his side and closed my eyes.

Since death had reached him...the world could be done with _me_ as well.

"I love you..."

* * *

Suddenly a burning, brilliant white light split the air, and I found myself entirely engulfed in it. Sound seemed to become null--I _felt_ myself crying out in fear but I heard _nothing_. Some incredible invisible force caught me up and spun me around and around. I saw nothing but that whirling whiteness—

_What__ is happening?!_

Thousands of whispering voices swirled around me, creating a strange melody of their own. I felt a cool, refreshing breeze swirl around me, enlivening my senses and washing away my tears and pain—  
_  
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I LOVE YOU...!  
_

* * *

Then it was over.

I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the marble floor of the tower room at Shadowrose Castle .

I noticed, absently, that I was clean and bereft of all my scratches, bruises, and fatigue. I wore the Diamond Gown and gem-ridden jewelry that sparkled brightly in the light of the brilliant morning sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Around me, all of the roses had burst into bloom.

Beside me lay my fallen love.

...And he was breathing.

* * *

_Evil cliffie, right? More to come soon. And again I owe a huuuuuuge thank-you to Lilliane, for her stellar beta-reading skills. For all of you who haven't read her Tale of Rigoletto yet...get thee hence! Read it, straightaway! Shoo!_

_But leave me some comments on your way, would you? _


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Fantasy, Romance