Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

*****DISCLAIMER**** I do not own **_**any**_** of these characters. Christine, Raoul, Erik, and Gustav (and any others I've forgotten) are property of Andrew Lloyd Weber. Any situations relating to the Beauty and the Beast movie, or characters that are similar to any in the movie are property of Disney. However, some of the situations are my idea, so I will totally take credit for them. **

****A/N Bonjour good people! So, if any of you have read the story Beauty and the Beast; a Phantom Story, then just know that that is MY story (my author name then was Buy Me A Rose), and I am rewriting it because I read it this morning and was almost crying because it sucked so badly. Just note; the characters Raoul, Christine, and Erik are described just like the actors in the movie. However, I find the enormous age gap between Christine and Erik disturbing, so I've decided that she'll be 20 (almost spinster age), and he'll be 24. That seems reasonable, eh? **

**Yours, **

**The Hermit Crab**

**END NOTE*****

_Once, years ago, there was a small family living on acres of lush green land inside of a pearl-white castle, miles away from a small town too insignificant to be on a map. The family of this manor were the rulers over this small community, miles away from the city of Niort on the west coast of France. _

_No one in the small community had every seen this family, called the Destlers. All they knew were names. Gaston, the father, was said to be handsome, despite the fact that he was aging. His wife Madeline was more beautiful than the earth itself, with a gentle face and a kind nature. And their son, Erik, who was old enough to marry a young woman, was exceedingly handsome in looks and manner; every eligible young lady in the village longed to meet him, and marry into the mysterious family. _

_Often, people from the village would try to visit the family to share their problems, but no one ever had any problems. They were well fed, relatively well paid, employed, and well taken care of. This mysterious family seemed to know everyone's problems without anyone saying them out loud, which just made them ever more mysterious. _

_One terrible day, Erik awoke and stumbled downstairs to find his parents lying dead in a puddle of their own blood. This experience changed his life in such a way, that his entire disposition morphed into something ugly, something dark and sad. He stopped caring about the little village, and actually completely locked them out of his life. He stopped listening to the pleads of the servants, imploring him to end this and help his people. He scowled at them, and would say the same thing._

"_If they didn't care enough to kill my parents, why should I care about them?" After a time, respect turned into fear as the servants watched their master destroy his soul. Only months ago, his eyes had been soft, care-free, but after the deaths, he had aged in those eyes, and instead of looking happy they were pained, almost angry. Instead of playing the pianoforte for hours like he did before, he would sit in a soft, velvet throne in front of a raging fire, draining pint after pint of wine into a stomach that would refuse to eat anything, unless forced. _

_One winter night, almost an entire year after his parent's deaths, Erik was slouched in front of the fire, his eyes distant and bagged over. There was a soft knock on the colossal front doors. The butler opened the door, to find a hump-backed, shriveled old woman shivering on the threshold of the door. She was huddled in thread-bare blankets, and with every breath she took a puff of smoke would curl out of her mouth. In her right hand she held onto a cane, and in her other hand she clutched a bright crimson rose, which was bending in the fierce wind. _

"_Pl-lease sir. M-may I s-speak to y-your mas-ster?" She shuddered with every syllable. The butler looked nervously over his shoulder, to see Erik rise from his throne, and turn toward the door. His eyes were fire, his face was contorted into a vicious scowl. _

"_Go away, you old hag. I have no room for filth like you here." He spat, and turned on h his heel, emptying another glass of wine. _

_Suddenly, the room was filled with a blinding light. Erik turned, and cowered at the sight of the old woman's very flesh melting off of her bones, revealing skin that sparkled like water in direct sunlight. She extended her arms to the side, rising into the air. Her cane fell to the ground with a clatter, but the rose remained in her hand. _

_Erik marveled at the beauty before him. Long blond hair floated around her face, shining like the sun. Her pale face was bright and luminous, much like the flattering white dress that blew in the wind which nearly broke the heavy wooden doors off of their hinges. Her face was angry, a frown overtaking beautiful lips. Where color should have been in her eyes, there was just white. _

"_Erik Destler, for too long you have neglected your people, and as we speak they are suffering because of your selfishness and greed. And for this, you shall pay dearly. Your soul is black than the gates of Hell, yet you remain unscathed physically." She rose a hand, and pointed it at Erik, who turned away, but not fast enough. "You shall wear the scar of your people upon your face." He screamed in agony, as thousands of deep cups erupted all over the right side of his face, sending a waterfall of blood to the floor. "Unless a woman from the very village can fall in love you with, you shall forever remain marked." The rose floated from her hand, and gently laid itself on floor before him. "You have until the last pedal shall fall to break this wretched curse on your and your house-hold." Just as she said 'household', servants all around fell down in agony, and transformed into inanimate objects (the butler turned into a candelabra, the manservant into a little clock, the maid into a tea-kettle, etc.) Erik screamed in agony, trying to apologize and make false promises. _

_But it was too late. With a wave of her hand, the woman disappeared in a blaze of light, leaving the room dark, the doors open, and the hearts of the Destler household wrought with grief. _

_As the wind blew flakes of snow through the doors, everyone knew the hopelessness of their situation. _


	2. Chapter 2

****A/N O-O-Okay. Time to announce the main protagonist, and antagonist. WARNING TO ALL RAOUL FANS!!! Here be Raoul bashing! Erik is more twisted and disturbed than Raoul could ever be, so it seems fitting. (I actually kinda like Raoul in a strange way…he's very nice.) But I get to make him evil, and I shall eminently enjoy it. So-o-o-o-o let's get kicking, people. **

**P.S. If you don't understand the French in this chapter, then copy and paste it into /translate (make sure it is under "From French to English")**

**END NOTE****

_Little town, it's a quiet village. Every day, like the one before…_

The Sun's first rays were just peaking over the distant hill, sending light into the sky and warming the shallow valley below. In this little valley was the little village over which the Destler family had jurisdiction. The population of this village was small; only about two-hundred inhabitants. The houses were all lined neatly along the streets, each looking just like its neighbor. The Sun's warming rays had not quite reached these humble homes, save for one that was oddly out of place.

At the foot of this hill (yet, still higher than the rest of the homes) was a chalet, very small; only four-rooms. The inhabitants of this chalet were but four individuals; two servants from the town, a man of forty, and his daughter of twenty.

In one particular room in this minute chalet lived the daughter.

The Sun's rays were cascading through the closed window, creating beams of celestial golden light, resting on the face of this young woman. In the gold, she look angelic; her pale skin glowing brightly, and deep caramel ringlet curls spread about the pillow, surrounding her face like a chocolate halo. Her eyes were closed, and her face relaxed; deep, silent breaths escaped her mouth between two full lips. Her body was snuggled beneath a simple black quilt, which was tucked beneath her arms.

There was a muffled knock at the door. The maid from the village peeked her head in.

"_Bon Matin Mademoiselle Christine. __Se lever et éclat._" She whispered in flawless French.

Christine's eye lids opened slowly, revealing wide, round chocolate eyes. She inhaled, and stretched her arms forward.

After the ritual of getting out of bed had been concluded, Christine was on her feet and behind a folding screen with roses and spring-green leaves painted on cream canvas.

"Did you sleep well, _mademoiselle_?" The maid asked, gingerly undoing the buttons on the back of Christine's bodice.

"_Oui_." Christine muttered in a soft, sing-song voice. The silken bodice fluttered down, landing in a puddle at her feet. She stepped out, and allowed the maid the scoop up the cloth and sling it over the screen.

The maid helped Christine slip into her under clothes, taking care to not tear or wrinkle the delicate fabrics.

Christine inhaled sharply as the strings of the corset were pulled tightly, cutting off an deep breaths. She snapped her eyes closed, trying to stay conscience as the maid slipped a petticoat, and finally a gown over her head. The buttons were done up, and she was allowed to admire herself in the mirror.

The gown was a simple royal blue, trimmed with lace around the neck and the elbow-length sleeves. It fell about an inch below her collar-bone; at the empire waist was a thick ribbon, tied in a bow at the back. The dress was simple, but elegant on her perfect figure.

Christine smiled, muttered her thanks, and left the maid to tidy the room and fix the beds.

* * *

"_Bon Matin ma rose._" Gustav Daae, Christine's stout father, sat as the five-foot chestnut table, sipping tea and reading a novel.

"_Bonjour père._" Christine kissed her father's head affectionately.

"We are out of bread, my rose. I have a little fixing to do, and I really must finish this contraption before the fair this evening." Gustav sipped from the china tea-cup, sniffing in a pleased manner. Christine strode across the room, and opened a tiny cash box. Inside was just enough money to buy the things that they needed, but nothing more.

"Are you entering you contraption in a contest? Will there be prize money?" Christine solemnly took out the coins, and dropped them in a velvet coin purse. She drew the string, and placed her arm under the strap.

"I do hope so. We do not have many coins left in that box," he motioned toward the coin box, "and I think you need a new song book my dear." Christine blushed, smiling genuinely.

"Thank you father. I shall depart hence." She nodded, and kissed her father's head again as the manservant took his dishes away, and placed a marker in his novel. "_Au revoir._ I'll be back within the next few hours." Christine grabbed a basket, slung it over her arm, and wrapped her traveling cloak around her shoulders. With a final kiss over her shoulder, Christine opened the door and stepped onto the gravel streets.

* * *

Above the head, birds were chirping happily; The Sun's rays were now warming the valley, bathing the houses below in golden sunlight. Christine inhaled, taking in the beautiful morning, and began her stroll toward the town.

Already, when she arrived there were at least a hundred people bustling about the streets, weaving through each other, turning into stores, arguing with the butcher, scolding children, and even chasing wild chickens. Christine bowed her head shyly, and ignored the stares from the villages around her; some hostile, some adoring, and some jealous. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind an ear, and turned into the baker's.

Several yards away, a pair of lustful eyes watched the angel enter the baker's.

* * *

Raoul De'Chagney admired himself in the dim shop window. _I am beautiful_. He thought, smoothing back his flawless pony-tail. He wore an expensive white shirt, with pale brown suspenders and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up immodestly past his biceps, revealing rippling muscles, which he flexed in the mirror. _Everyone in the village loves me. And I am going to marry Christine_. He bared his teeth, and cleaned them with his tongue. After another long stare into the window, he turned on his heel and walked briskly across the road.

* * *

Christine thanked the baker graciously, and placed the wrapped morsel of bread into her basket, while tucking her money back into the money pouch. Just as she exited the baker's, Raoul stepped in front of her, leaning against the dirty glass with a hand. The other was placed on his hip, with the fist clenched tightly. He flashed a winning smile, and opened his mouth.

"Hello Christine, my dear." He growled, winking with his stormy grey eyes flirtatiously. Christine cleared her throat, and pasted on a smile.

"_Bonjour Monsieur De'Chagney_." She nodded politely, and side-stepped around him, but Raoul moved in sync with her. He took a step, and was at her side, with his arm in hers.

"Sa-a-ay Christine. This time of year, the wild-flowers are in bloom, and I'm sure they'll look beautiful with my skin. What do you say? You and I pack a little lunch, and sit on a quilt while you compliment me on how charming I am, and I willingly agree." He looked sideways into a window, and smiled at his reflection. "Plus, it's only natural that the prettiest girl in town and the most handsome man on earth stay together at all times." In one swift movement, Christine freed her arm, and side-stepped out of his reach.

"With all meant…err….respect for you _monsieur_, I must decline. I have no intention of picnicking on a day such as this, for my father is to leave for the fair tonight I wish to see him off." She nodded politely, and turned away. Raoul gave a hearty laugh, placing a hand on his abdomen.

"Haw haw! Honestly? _YOU_? I cannot believe _you_ are related to that…that…._madman!_" Raoul laughed harder, drawing curious stares from the nearby townsfolk. Christine frowned, genuinely offended.

"If you'll excuse me, I must be off." Christine practically ran away, lifting her skirts so they wouldn't drag.

"Hey whoa whoa darling! Where are you going? You realize I wasn't serious! I'm sure your father is-" Raoul stopped mid-sentence, for he was laughing at her again, looking encouragingly at the townsfolk, who laughed at her too. Christine turned several shades of red, politely pushing her way through the crowd who was gathering around Raoul, listening to his jabs at Gustav Daae.

Impulsively, Christine turned, tears coming to her eyes.

"I'll have you know _monsieur_, that I love my father very much! And he is not crazy! He is a genius!" At the worst moment, there was an explosion at the base of the east hill, where Christine's home was. Her face paled as she turned an ran, shaking off the laughter from the townsfolk still gathered around Raoul.

* * *

By the time Christine reached home, most of the smoke from the explosion had cleared off, and she was able to open the door without suffocating.

"Papa?" she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. Gustav Daae emerged from his work room, covered in black soot; parts of his mustache and beard were singed off.

"Hello my rose." He sputtered, coughing into a handkerchief. Christine rushed forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Oh papa, are you well?" She dug her handkerchief out of her pocket, and wiped the soot and ashes off of his face.

"Yes yes." He waved a hand dismissively, and turned back into the workshop where a strange looking contraption sat upon a table. He approached it without fear, picked up a tool, and began tapping, and grinding together the broken pieces. Christine followed him in, untying her bonnet and cloak. She handed them to the maid, who coughed once she entered the room, and exited quickly.

"So, what exactly is this? And will it be ready for tomorrow?" Christine ran fingers through her updo, which had been loosened during the morning.

"Well, it can cut wood for you! Just," he made a vertical chopping motion with a flat hand, "chop chop chop!" Christine chuckled, and kissed his forehead, picking up soot on her lips. "When are you leaving?" She shouted over her shoulder, exiting to room to empty the few coins into the coin box, and store the bread into the bread-box.

"Tonight." Gustav answered casually. Christine's shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"So soon?"

"Yes my rose." There was a minute long pause, until Gustav's almost too casual voice pried from the other room.

"So…have you thought about courtship? Marriage? There are plenty of handsome young men in the village! How about that Raoul?" Christine scoffed audibly.

"Raoul De'Changey! The very idea! Besides the fact that the only things that matter are vanity and his muscles, I guess he could be eligible. Not to mention the fact that he doesn't like you very well, and only fancies me because I am…beautiful." Christine hesitated at the last word. Unlike Raoul, Christine was humble, and did not think much of herself. Her whole word was her father.

Christine helped the maid fix dinner for Gustav, and after a few more hours, the inventor was packed and ready to depart. Christine handed him a sack filled with iced meats, fresh bread, cheeses, and strawberry cakes. Gustav mounted his horse, Phillipe, and gripped the reigns.

"Pray for a safe journey, rose." Gustav looked heavenward, then at his daughter, whose eyes were filling with tears. She bit her lip, trying to keep it still. Gustav leaned down, and placed a hand on his daughter's head. His thumb brushed a tear off of her cheek. She smiled, pressing her lips together. "Do not fear for me Christine. I will be home tomorrow with the prize money." He grinned smugly, then leaned in and planted a tender kiss on his daughter's forehead.

"Take care of the house, my rose." He sat up straight, and flicked the reins, passing a look of kindness to the manservant and the maid. (As they had worked under Gustav for years, they had grown fond of the village madman.) And with that, Gustav Daae rode away, with his invention in tow, into the eastern forest, leaving behind his daughter, who was clutching her hands under her chin while letting loose the tears she worked hard to restrain for her father's sake.


	3. Chapter 3

*****A/N** **I was just reading a gothic novel, so I'm in a bit of a dark mood. Time to write something depressing! Hoorah! This is where the story starts to get more complicated. (please, if you are reading this, review!!)**

**Yours,**

**The Hermit Crab*****

The blood red sunset that had given the forest a dark glow had melted away, leaving a quilt of pitch black. There were no sounds, save for the ominous hoots from an owl, or the terrified squealing from its prey.

Chills ran down Gustav Daae's spine. He clutched the reins of his beloved horse, shaking from the cold, and from pale fear. His jaw was chattering, making a most annoying sound. The path had been lost hours ago, but assuming that he knew his way (nothing less was expected from a male) but he was very wrong. The trail that would have safely delivered him to the adjacent meadow had taken a left miles back, while he unknowingly chose the left path. Now, he and his horse were stranded during the late hours of night.

Gustav looked heavenward, trying to find the moon through the thick forest canopy. He knew full well that it was there, but the silver beams did not penetrate the substantial canopy. Even with his eyes adapted to the dark, he could barely see where he was going. Phillipe, quaking and perspiring with fear, let out a nervous 'neigh', sending a subtle hint to his foolish master.

"I know, I know stupid horse. We can't be lost…." Gustave fumbled for his map, opened it, and held in before his face. He could barely tell if it was upside down, rotated left or right. He cried with exasperation, and chucked the map off the flank of his small buggy. It fluttered gracefully through the air, and gently landed upon the soil. Gustav cried, yanking on the reins, and leaped off of the platform. He approached the map warily, and bent over to pick it up. As he straightened himself out, his eyes found a welcome sight.

In the distance, cloaked in fog, was a gravel trail leading to what appeared to be a very large building in the distance. His heart hammered in anticipation. Alas! A house! He thought. Turning on his heels, he raced back to his buggy and practically threw himself onto the platform. He flicked the reigns, and steered Phillipe toward the path. The horse's hooves made a clopping sound on the gravel, which drowned out a lot of the spooky sounds emanating from the animals around them.

* * *

After a short trek up the long path, two great wooden doors towered above Gustav. He gaped up at the doors, and the castle stacked on top of it. He never broke eye contact with the doors as he climbed off of the platform, and approached the door. With shaking hands, he clutched a knocker, easily the size of his head, and banged it against the door. He released it, and took in his surroundings. There wasn't much to see, as a thick fog had rolled in, cloaking the castle in a fluffy blanket.

Gustav started as the doors creaked open.

"H-hello?" He peaked his head into the doors, finding no one on the other side. He bravely stepped forward, passing the threshold of the castle. His feet tapped on the dusty ground, sending tiny flakes dancing around his feet. "Is anyone h-here?" Gustav looked back at his horse, who looked around wide-eyed but didn't seem to notice his absence. With more courage, Gustav stepped forward again.

_EEEEERRRRRRRRRR CUCK!!_

The monstrous doors screeched closed. Gustav heard the alarmed cry of his horse, but he ignored it.

The room was cloaked in layer, upon layer of dust. Gustav restrained a sneeze, and continued to look around. In the corner was a fireplace, whose logs had tiny flames dancing in the air, though they were disappearing quickly. The rugs, which once could have been very colorful, were colorless, and crusted in the dust. Cobwebs stretched from every surface, one even the expanse of the doorway. The rest of the room was too dark to see, so Gustav took a step forward.

"_BONJOUR!_" Gustav yelped, and clutched his heart. In front of him, a candelabra _looked up at him with a bright smile on his face_.

"Oh MY! Well, you frightened me to death!" Gustav wheezed, still clutching his heart. The candelabra bowed low, the flames from his candles kissing the floor.

"My apologies _monsieur!_"

"So…..you can talk?" Gustav stared down at the 'inanimate' object incredulously.

"Obviously, or I would not to saying anything now." The candelabra looked slightly annoyed, but that disappeared and his warm smile returned.

"Did you open the door for me?" Gustav cocked his head to the side, studying the candelabra with interest.

"No, of course not! I am the butler! I believed the _doorman_ opened the doors for you." He pointed a candle at the door behind Gustav. He turned, to see a coat rack wave at him tentatively.

"Oh my….." Gustav breathed.

"Now come sir! Let us serve you some tea! You must be frozen!" The candelabra turned, hopping toward the fireplace, and a chair before it. Gustav followed timidly, his hands clasped in front of him.

They reached the fire, which seemed to be growing by the second. By the time Gustav had seated himself on the curiously unsoiled chair, it was blazing away gaily, warming his cold body.

A bronze tea cart scuttled out of a door on the adjacent wall, and on top of his was a very happy looking tea pot, with a tea cup next to it. The fact that the cart could move itself was disturbing enough, but when the teapot lifted itself up and poured hot tea into the cup, Gustav's jaw dropped. The tea cup turned, and smiled gap toothedly at him. He leaned over, and tentatively grabbed the tiny cup. He held it up to his nose, inhaling the scent of peppermint and raspberries. He smiled, pleased, and sipped it. Immediately, the little tea cup giggled.

"Ha! His mustache tickles momma!" Gustav jumped, spilling hot tea on his thigh.

"Chip! You frightened him!" The teapot scolded. Gustav's jaw dropped again.

"Does…..every object in this house live and breathe as I do?" He muttered, embarrassed. The objects that had gathered around (a footrest, acting curiously like a dog, wedged itself beneath his aching feet) looked at him with smiles. They were a curious bunch; silverware, napkins, vases, and even a feather duster sat…err…stood around his feet.

"_Oui._" The candelabra replied, like it was nothing. At that moment, there was the clattering from little feet as a foot-tall wind up clock waddled across the floor, sending dust dancing through the air.

"What you are _doing_ Lumiere?!" The little clocked snapped, screeching to a halt next to the candelabra. "You _know_ the master will be furious if he finds a stranger in _his chair_!" The clock waved his arms in the air, looking quite ridiculous. The candelabra rolled his eyes.

"Ah Cogsworth! You are most uncivil! Can you not see this poor man is cold, and starving?!"

"I do not care!" The clock and the candelabra continued on in this manner, yelling and waving their arms. Gustav sipped his tea, smirking every time the little tea cup would giggle. But the entire collection of objects stiffened when a door upstairs slammed. They all scrambled, returning to their locations. The clock's face was solemn, and horrified as two pairs of footsteps, from an adult, thundered down a staircase. Anxiously, the tea cart rolled away, and back into the room it first came from. The fire, which had been burning away happily quickly extinguished, not even leaving embers on the jet black logs. Gustav looked around anxiously, chills racing down his spine. The footsteps were now in the room growing closer….closer……closer…..Gustav could hear the labored breathing from this person.

Gustav started to rise, but he found a pair of strong hands grab his lapels. The man was around the chair, holding him in midair. Gustav gasped, kicking his legs. The man pulled him in, holding his face only a few breaths away from Gustav's. He was paralyzed with fear, not even daring to breathe.

"Would you care to explain why you are in my home?! In my chair?!" The man pronounced every word between his teeth, practically spitting on Gustav.

All of the color drained out of Gustav's face.

"I-I-I was just looking for a place to stay for t-t-t-t-the night." Gustav stuttered. "And your…err…s-s-servants h-h-helped me…." He trailed off, realizing this was probably a mistake. The man's eyes wandered down to the candelabra and the clock, who backed away, horrified. The candelabra's lights were extinguished. Gustav took this moment to look at his attacker (as he had been too horrified to look at his face) and first noticed the pale white plaster mask, covering the right side of his face. But when two beautifully colored azure eyes flicked back at him, he was paralyzed again. They eyes were ablaze, but that only ran skin-deep. Behind the rage, was an indescribable sorrow, almost agony. Those were the eyes you found in one who had lost something very dear to him. Gustav almost felt sorry for him, until the man stormed away, dragging Gustav with him.

"WHAT!! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!" Gustav cried, squirming under the strong hands of this….this…phantom of a man. His feet stumbled to find the stairs, as the phantom man continued his rampage upward.

* * *

After being drug through various hallways, and through different rooms, Gustav was thrown into an ice cold cell, with only straw in the corner. Before he could rise to his feet, the door was slammed shut, and locked. Gustav looked up, so see only the white mask, for the rest of the phantom's face was hidden in shadows.

"I hope you don't have any plans, for you will not be coming out of this cell again." His voice was ice cold, and it sent shivers down Gustav's spine.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Okay, I totally listened to depressing, mysterious music during that part, so I hope I captured the mood. Now I'm listening to something a little more light-hearted….maybe Paramore or something. I don't know. But please enjoy, and PLEASE Review!!**

**Thanks,**

**The Hermit Crab**

* * *

Christine tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and turned the page of her novel. It was the very novel that her father had been reading last night, and she decided to read it to kill time. It was not very interesting, but there wasn't anything much better to do. (Heaven knows she couldn't go into town, especially after yesterday.)

Oh, how irritating that Raoul was! Making Christine's father the laughingstock of the town was unforgivable in her eyes.

Her father was not crazy. He was….creative. Full of ideas, and potential. Christine sighed, and closed the book, not finding pleasure in it any more. She rose to her feet, walking across the small kitchen, and into her father's work room.

It was small, nothing much compared to what they could have. There was only room for a work bench in the corner, covered with tools. In the center was a small stool, and the space where his invention had been, before he moved it outside. She strode over to the work bench, and found a small portrait of her mother, painted back when Christine was a baby. She had Christine's chocolate brown eyes, ivory skin, and brown ringlets. Actually, Christine was a spitting image of her mother. She found herself twirling a strand of hair between her fingers as she examined the photograph. Next to it was a recent painting of Christine, taken only about a year ago. She smiled, remembering the day, but halted when she found a letter, addressed to her, next to the photo. The picked it up slowly, and turned it around. It wasn't sealed. She knew her father would disapprove if she pried, but curiosity was eating her inside.

"_For my rose, on her birthday,"_

"_My love, you have grown much over the years, looking exactly like your mother. She loved you very much, even until that horrible sickness took her from us. Ever since then, you have been my only reminder of her. I cherish you more than life itself."_

"_I wish there was something worthy enough for you. I cannot find anything to give you, and this makes me guilty. But I have corresponded with a dress maker in Paris, who has agreed to make you a gown fit for a queen. Do not worry about price. It has been paid in full."_

"_You are my everything, and my world. Thank you for shining your light in my life. I love you forever, rose."_

"_Love,_

_Daddy."_

Christine's eyes tingled. She sniffed, trying to keep her composure. Her birthday was not for another month, and yet her father had all ready prepared her gift. With a twinge of guilt, she realized that this gown must have cost a fortune if it came from France. No wonder they ran out of money so quickly…

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She cocked her head to the side, stuffing the letter back in its envelope and placing it back where she had found it. She clasped her hands in front over her, and approached the door. Grasping the handle, she pulled it open.

Raoul De'Chagney leaned against the doorframe, flashing his priceless smile. Christine's heart fell.

"Why hello Christine." Raoul let himself in (completely disregarding any civilities or politeness) Christine bowed to him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. De'Chagney. How may I help you?" She tried to sound composed, though she was disgusted at him. He turned on her, after pacing the room, and stared her up and down hungrily. He admired her perfect hourglass frame, accentuated by the simple white gown that fell to her wrists with a lace trim. She turned away from him, disgusted with his behavior.

"You know, Christine….such a perfect person, like me, deserves only the best kind of wife." He looked at her again, practically drooling over his fine navy blue suit. "Today is your lucky day! I've decided, that of all the girls in town, you shall be my bride." He smiled, charmingly, and in a swift movement, placed a hand around her waist.

Anger, unlike anything Christine had ever experienced, welled up deep inside of her gut. How dare he? HOW DARE HE!?

Just as quickly as he had placed his hand on her waist, she removed it.

"You will do well to keep your hands to yourself, _sir._" She spat the last word. His smile faltered, but didn't go away.

"Why Christine, my darling, are you unwell?" He looked genuinely concerned. He tried to touch her again, but she backed away, and let hell loose (as 'loose' as it could be for the 1800's)

"How dare you? Why, yesterday I was the laughingstock of the village! I bet if I was half as pretty as I am now, you wouldn't give me a second look! Of all of the men of my acquaintance, you are the most shallow, most conceited, most _self absorbed_. You disgust me! Because of my supposed beauty, you have decided that I will be yours! The idea! How dare you march in here, placing your hands in places where only two engaged people should, and trying to charm me into matrimony! Well sir, I am no twit! I can see past your…_façade_…I can see what you truly are. A sick, vile, vain man who only cares about his looks. Well, I have something to say on this matter! Where my father here, I'm sure he would throw you out! But since he is not, allow _me!_" Christine charged toward the door, and threw it open. Raoul looked genuinely offended, but his smile grew again.

"I know how it is with you women! You first reject the man whom you secretly mean to marry! Well I understand now that you are building suspense, trying to make me fall for you more, and I assure you, it is working!" He ran forward, grabbed her hand, and planted a juicy, nauseating kiss on it. Christine snatched her hand away, and pulled him forward.

"If you will, sir, never show your face in my home again! I have no intention of marrying you! To me, you are as low as the pigs in the garden! Be gone, before my manservant comes!" She snapped. And with an unlady-like kick, sent him tumbling out of the door, and face first into the muddy garden. Without a look back, Christine turned, threw on her black velvet traveling cloak, and stormed out of the back door.

* * *

"I have _never!_ In _all_ of my years! I have never been treated with such disrespect, such malice! And from him, I would have seen it coming, but not in such a low form!" she said these words, and many others as she stormed away from the house, ignoring the worried calls from the servants. After walking a few hundred yards, she threw herself on the ground, and tore grass out by the handfuls. "Does he know that I want more than this provincial life?" She threw the grass, watching it catch in the breeze, and flutter through the air.

In the distance, there was a panicked whinny. Christine's face shot up, looking around. Then there was the sound of hooves, running at full speed. She stood up, and looked around her. In the distance, Phillipe was tripping over his hooves to run toward her. He reached her, panting. She grabbed his reigns, and ran a reassuring hand over his mane.

"Phillipe!" She cried. She noticed his eyes, bloodshot and petrified. "What happened? Where's papa?" She horse neighed mournfully. "Where is he? You have to take me to him!" She stepped onto a nearby boulder, and mounted the bare back horse. She kicked his side, and he took off, at top speed, her hair falling out of its tight chignon and her skirts kicking up modestly in the wind.

* * *

A few hours later, with Phillipe exhausted, and Christine pale with grief, they arrived at the door of a castle, the grey, tarnished stones reflecting the pink sunset. The fog from last night had rolled away, so Christine was able to observe more than her father. The castle walls were enormous, towering thousands of feet above her head. The many towers were missing shingles everywhere. The grounds around the castle were overgrown with weeds, and other unpleasant plants that gave her the impression that the owner was rather untidy.

Christine shakily dismounted Phillipe, and clutched at the rose-shaped broach holding her cloak together. Her fingers ran over the smooth surface, memorizing each ridge and bump. Only years ago, for her eighteenth birthday, she had received this from her father. She now tried to wear it with everything (and every time she did, he looked proud).

She reluctantly approached the massive wooden doors, studying the intricate carvings of rose vines covering the door. She grasped the knocker, which was a golden rose vine, complete with thorns and buds, and banged it against the door. Immediately, the door creaked open. She looked back at Phillipe, who looked genuinely horror-struck, then entered the door. Immediately, the door slammed shut, and she jumped. Now it was all up to her.

"Hello? Is anybody here? Papa?" She called out timidly. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was able to take in her surroundings. The room was spacious, but coated in dull grey dust. There were no pictures, no sculptures, not even a plant. Only a chair on the right side of the room, placed in front of a fire place. About a hundred feet away from the door was a grand staircase, fanning out at the bottom, but splitting in two at the top. Christine plucked up her courage again, and called out:

"PAPA?" She was louder this time, and her high, voice bell rang out as clear as a bell, echoing throughout the spacious room and up the stairs.

"Christine?" she heard from somewhere upstairs. She started and looked around.

"Erm…_mademoiselle_…" A quiet, yet confident voice came from behind her. She spun around, to find a candelabra smiling up at her. Christine was speechless.

_A speaking candelabra? How curious…_

"I believe I can help you." The candelabra looked around nervously, then motioned for her to lean down. Christine did so. He extended his hand.

"I am Lumiere." He bowed, then offered his hand to shake. Christine stared at the flickering candles at the tip of his arm and hesitated. He seemed to notice, because he withdrew, embarrassed. "Right then…follow me." He waved a stubby arm, and hopped across the floor, kicking up dust. Christine immodestly lifted up the hem of her egg-shell white dress so it wouldn't get the hem dirty, and she tiptoed after this strange….item?

After they made their way up the staircase, and into a hallway, Christine again noted that there were no decorations of any sort.

_What a strange place…_

"So…err…Lumiere….is everything else alive? Can they talk like you?" She spoke, her voice sounding oddly foreign, for she did not intend to be so nosy. But he did not seem to mind. With a nod, he led her up yet another set of stairs, and into a dark, wet room. In the corner was a cell, with a lump in the corner.

"….papa?" Christine whispered, holding back tears. She was heartbroken to see her father in such a place. The lump moved, showing the pale face of Gustav Daae.

"Christine?" He gasped. "What are you doing here?!" he crawled across the ground, dragging some straw with him. Christine rushed forward, and fell to the ground. He reached his hands through the bars, and held her face.

"Papa…" she trailed off, tears running down her cheeks. "I'm getting you out of here." She decided with a nod. But he shook his head during her sentence.

"No you're not, my rose. A madman-no-a _beast_ lives here, and he'll imprison you too if he finds you! I cannot bear to see my only love trapped away in this place." He looked devastated. "I cannot believe you came for me…" He pressed a thumb to one of the tears falling down her porcelain cheeks. She closed her eyes, and leaned into his touch.

"Papa…I'm not leaving you here."

"Christine, you have to leave now! He's coming; I can almost promise you this! I want you to save yourself now. You're old enough to be in the world…and I…." He stopped, his eyes widening as his focus turned to something behind Christine.

"Papa…what is it?" She took his hand. "Your hands are cold…" She remarked, until her father managed to speak.

"Christine! GET OUT OF HERE!" She turned behind her, to see something in the shadows. It shifted, and swooshed toward her. She jumped to her feet, and backed against her father's cell.

"What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Castle?!" The figure snapped, his voice full of anguish and fury.

"I……I….." Christine stammered, unable to take her eyes off of the figure. The figure stopped, and seemed to examine her.

_I look like a mess_. Christine thought self-consciously, knowing full well that her face was tear stained and red, her hair had fallen loose around her shoulders during her ride with Phillipe, and her dress was probably stained beyond fixing. She looked down at herself, confirming her worst fears. Her hand automatically felt the rose broach, which had become a nervous tick for her. He took a step closer, still cloaked in the shadows.

"Why are you here, _mademoiselle_?" he asked casually, as if inquiring about the weather.

"I'm…..I'm here for my father…" She whispered, keeping eye contact with the ground. He continued forward, taking small steps toward her.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"B-because I….I love him." She looked up now, new tears running down her cheeks. The man stopped, and cocked his head to the side.

"Because you…….._love_ him." He clicked his tongue. "Well, unfortunately _mademoiselle_, he is a prisoner here and will always be." The tone of his voice…the indifference in his voice made Christine's blood boil.

"How dare y-"

"Oh I dare." He snapped. "He was found trespassing on my property, and I have the authority to do whatever I like with him. Seeing as you are young and a woman…I will let you off with a warning. Your father is as good as dead. Go live your life. _Forget him_" He said coldly. But Christine wouldn't yield.

"There must be a way…" She whispered, staring him down.

"Well….you could exchange someone else for him, though I don't imagine who…" He continued to look her up and down, memorizing every detail about her.

It registered. The man turned on his heels, and marched toward the door.

"Wait…" Christine's voice was weak. "….take me…instead…" she used every power of restraint to continue looking away from her father.

There was a pause as the man stopped, then turned toward her again. Instead of his body language showing anger, it looked surprised.

"Wha- Christine! NO! NO!!! DON'T LET HER DO THIS!!" Gustav grasped the bars, shaking them. "Christine, my rose….don't do this…" he whispered pleadingly.

"You would allow yourself to stay here….forever….so your father could be free?" Now the man was truly astonished. Christine nodded. "Then it is done." He snapped, and the bars of the cell flew open. Gustav stumbled out, and grabbed his daughter.

"NO! CHRISTINE!!!! Listen to me; you're young, and you can marry anyone in town! Everyone thinks I'm crazy anyway! I know about what happens in town and I know what you go through! Without me, your life will be easier!" He shook her shoulders, but she looked directly at him with a look he'd never seen before; seriousness…like she dared him to defy her.

"No papa." Was all she said, in as firm a voice as she could muster. But on the inside she was dying, feeling her will to live disappear. Before Gustav could say another word, four coat hangers grabbed him by his arms and shoulders, and began dragging him out of the cell. Christine held up a hand.

"Wait." Everyone froze. "Step into the light." She gestured to the circle of moonlight, wrapping around her and leaving a silver orb on the ground. The man hesistated, but stepped forward.

Christine gasped.

The man really could be handsome. He stood a few inches taller than Christine, with jet black hair and stunning azure eyes. He was muscular, yet lean and attractive. His suit was well tailored, and he wore a cotton cloak around his shoulders that whooshed with every movement. But the look in his eyes…the anguish…the contempt…like he would never smile again…it broke Christine's heart to see. But her attention was immediately drawn to the right side of his face, where a white plaster mask covered him. She gaped at him, and felt chills race down her spine. Her heart was literally throwing itself against her rib cage. He was the most intimidating, horrifying thing she had ever seen as he towered over her, glaring at her.

"Take him away." The man snapped, not taking his eyes off of Christine…something about his eyes shocked her. For a minute, the anguish disappeared. They almost looked…relaxed. But this lasted for only a second, until another cry came from her father.

"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! !!!!" His voice was filled with agony and pain as he cried for her all the way down the stairs. She ran to the doorway, and watched as her world was taken away from her forever. She crumpled to the ground, and began sobbing hysterically.

"Papa….I'll never see him again…..I d-didn't even get to say good b-bye…" Her body wracked with sobs. "What have I done?" She cried.

* * *

It really hurt Erik to see the girl sobbing on the ground…perhaps he had been a little too cruel….he had just taken away her father, never to let her see him again. He opened his mouth, and extended his hand toward her. But he snatched it back, and allowed a scowl to take over his face again. Why should he care? At least her father was alive! His parents had been taken away from him too, and both at the same time. She would have to get over it, he thought bitterly. He cleared his throat, ignoring the acidic glare she shot at him.

"Well…do you want to stay in the tower, or would you like a room?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Okay, I know that last chapter was long, but hey! I'm a little write-happy today, so let's just keep reading! Again; if you are reading this, then PLEASE review it! Thanks guys! This chapter might be long, so just stick it out like good little people and let's get rolling! This is where it starts to vary from Beauty and the Beast a little (just a little) because I can't make EVERYTHING the same; then you might as well just watch the movie, right? Oh, and I won't be including the part where she gets dinner anyway (because that song is freaking amazing, and I don't know how to describe it without singing.) Enjoy guys!**

**So…yeah**

**The Hermit Crab**

The man and Christine stood outside of a door, on the opposite side of the castle. It had been a long, and awkward walk through the various hallways and chambers, all of which Christine knew she had to get to know at some point. And this made her more sad. She tried to keep in the tears, for she had already acted sappy in front of this man today. She did not intend for it to happen today. Who knew? Perhaps they would become good friends.

And perhaps hell would freeze over.

She knew in her heart that she loathed this man. He had taken away her father, and her freedom forever. But he could never take away her spirit.

The man motioned toward the door. "Your room." He stated simply. Christine grasped the handle, and turned it with ease. Before it creaked open, the man muttered quickly, "err…dinner is in exactly an hour." And he turned to leave. After a few steps, he turned into a room, taking Lumiere in his hand with him. Fear gripped Christine, so she pushed to door open to find a surprise.

Compared to the sad state of the rest of the castle, this room was…well…it's complete opposite. The room was enormous; there was plenty of room to walk around. In the center, but against the wall on the right was a king-sized canopy bed covered with another rose vine pattern; the roses were a flawless red and the vines, a deep emerald green. There was a crimson red loveseat, parked next to the window which overlooked acres of gardens. Near the door stood a deep wood amoire, with the doors all ready opened. Christine approached the armoire, and looked on the inside.

WHAM!

The doors slammed shut, revealing a face on the front. Christine screamed, and fell back on the couch, clutching her broach. Her eyes were wide, and her lips parted as she studied the armoire.

"Why he-e-e-e-e-e-e-ello thereeee!" Sang the armoire. Christine cried out, climbing off the bed and running around. _I don't know why you're afraid…you've all ready met something that talks…_She scolded herself. Plucking up courage, she approached the armoire.

"Well…hello then." She nodded, still studying the moving cabinet. "I'm Christine. I guess…I guess we're to be roommates then." Christine looked sadly toward the window.

"Oh…dear….don't feel bad. The master….has a tortured past. He's…been through a lot." The wardrobe cleared her throat. "I'm Lucille. I would shake your hand, but I seem to be short handed!" She chortled at her own joke, but when she noticed Christine wasn't that sad she stopped. There was a knock at the door, then the voice of Lumiere.

"_Mademoiselle?_ May I come in?"

"Yes." Christine croaked. The door opened, and in hopped Lumiere, accompanied by a stout clock. By this point, Christine had gotten used to objects talking, so she bowed to the clock and Lumiere.

"_Bonjour._" She pasted on a smile, that wasn't believable, as Lumiere cocked his head to the side in worry.

"_Mademoiselle_, I am Cogsworth, the master's manservant." He bowed, the clock face touching the ground. "And the master wanted me to tell you that dinner will be on soon. And he expects you to be there." Christine shook her head.

"Inform you master that I will _not_ be coming to dinner tonight. I have no desire to dine with him." She snapped, perhaps a little too harshly, then stomped toward the window.

"Oh dear…" Cogsworth muttered. With a few clops, the two had left Lucille and Christine along again in silence.

* * *

The master stood in front of a mirror, examining his mask self-consciously. He licked a hand, and slicked back his unruly hair. Cogsworth entered the room holding his 'hands' in front of him timidly.

"Ah Cogsworth. Is she coming down soon?" His eyes never left the mirror.

"Err….about that sir…well…she…………..she's not coming." Cosworth blurted, before rushing for covered behind a bench. There was a short pause.

"WWHATT??!" The master cried. He slammed his fist into the mirror, sending shards cascading down in a shower. He ignored his bleeding hand, and stormed out of the room.

* * *

"You know…we really must change that dress…it has stains everywhere!" Lucille and Christine were in mid-conversation, when they heart footsteps thundering down the hall. Lucille froze, then averted her eyes down. Christine's heart picked up, knowing what was coming. She grabbed onto one of the poles from her bed, and placed a hand on her broach.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Two powerful fists slammed on the door.

"What?!" Christine yelled in an un-ladylike way.

"DON'T SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY! NOW YOU'RE COMING TO DINNER, OR ELSE….I'LL………I'LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!!!!" The master's voice was vicious and aggressive, daring her to defy.

But she did, of course.

"I WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOU TRY!!" She growled in response, feeling her blood boil. But instead of more bangs on the door, there was silence, then someone's voice pleading. Finally, there was a grunt, then his voice came again, full of venom.

"Fine. If you won't eat with me, then you won't eat at all." The master slammed his fist on the door one more time, and then stormed off. Christine fell into her bed, and opened her tear ducts. Salt water fell down her cheeks, creating a puddle on the fancy silk pillow. She sobbed loudly, letting looses every restrained emotion that she had throughout the day. It baffled her, that only about twelve hours ago, Raoul asked her to marry him. Now she figured she would rather live with him than spend an eternity as a madman's prisoner.

* * *

Christine didn't know how long she had been asleep, but her room was pitch black; the candelabras had been extinguished. She rolled onto her back, feeling exhaustion take over.

"Wow darlin'….you were asleep three hours!" Lucille cried gaily, and then she chortled. Christine sat up, stretching her arms upward. After she yawned without grace, she threw her feet off the bed, and they hit the floor without a sound. Once on her feet, she realized just how dirty she felt.

"Lucille…." Christine felt strange talking to an amoire, "do you have anything else for me to wear. I think I'm going to do a little exploring." Christine walked to the other side of the bed, where a vanity sat with a water pitcher and bowl filled with ice-cold water. She splashed her face, washing away the dry salt residue. By the time she cleaned herself up, and pulled her hair back into a loose knot at her heck, Lucille had produced a floor-length black silk gown, with layers of lace gathered in various spots, making the gown more poufy than it should have been. But Christine marveled at it, and slipped into the gown. It was a perfect fit and was actually rather becoming. She slipped her black traveling cloak over her shoulders. She finally secured the broach at the tie of the cloak. She spun around for Lucille, who giggled in approval. Christine couldn't help but smile miserably.

"Well then…I shall be back soon." She curtsied, then exited her room.

* * *

Cosworth and Lumiered were both surprised to find Christine in the hallways all alone. They panicked, assuming that she was trying to run but she assured them that she was only exploring a bit. They grinned, and agreed to give her a tour.

"And this, _mon cheri_, is the armory!" Lumiered beamed at the statues, caked in dust. Christine forced a smile, but she could care less. She wanted to find a room besides her own that she could run away to every day and openly avoid speaking with the master. Hey eyes wandered through the corridor, finally resting on a door that looked oddly out of place amongst the suits of armor.

"Lumiere? What is that over there?" Immediately, Cogsworth and Lumiere's faces fell. They looked at each other awkwardly, before Cogsworth admitted:

"It's…the West Wing…and it's the Master's room. No one, under any circumstances, is allowed to enter." He nodded solemnly.

"Ah…" muttered Christine, staring at the door longingly. No doubt he was up there, right now…

"Um…how about we show you the….the….ballroom!" Lumiere piped, sounding over-excited. Christine nodded, admitting that she loved balls. They both cheered up, and practically ran out of the armory. But instead of following like she should have, Christine crept toward the door, and gave it a push.

It opened with a creak.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N La! Now things get rolling!**

Behind the door, was a stone stairway heavily caked in dust and cobwebs (some still had spiders living on them.) Christine was immediately disturbed by this, and she almost turned back. But then she heart it…a soft, angelic voice coming from above. Was the master singing? She held her breath, trying to creep soundlessly up the stairs. The sound of intense piano playing filled her ears, mingling nicely with the angelic singing. She was hypnotized by the sound. With every step she took, her heart beat faster, and she wanted more and more to be near the voice, to see it's owner…

Once she reached the top of the stairs, she was stunned out of her trance. Throughout the room were paintings, each of and elegant looking family, or a portrait of the master. Two people stood in front of a fire, the man's hand on the woman's shoulder. Christine noted the woman's resemblance to the master, and assumed they were his parents. Her hand flew up to her broach as she spotted statues, dead plants, vases, and more paintings stacked, and strewn about the room. But the ornament in the center of the room caught her eye; a rose, flawless in every way was suspended in midair beneath a glass dome. It was the only piece in the room that was clean. Christine approached the rose, and watched as a petal fluttered down from the bloom, joining a few others that had fallen off too. Next to the rose, was the plaster mask. She froze, willing the master to continue playing. She then realized how stupid she had been for doing this. But she couldn't resist. She gently scooped up the mask, and studied it in her hands. It was a curious piece of clothing, yet perfectly shaped. The high cheekbones on the un-masked side of the master's face we mimicked by plaster mask.

Christine was so absorbed in studying the mask, that she didn't notice that the singing and playing had ceased.

There was a cry of outrage as the master turned, facing her. Christine dropped the mask, and screamed while falling backwards onto her backside.

On the right side of the master's face, there were hundreds of tiny gouges, each purple and grotesque. It was completely deformed, and hideous. Christine covered her eyes, while trying unsuccessfully to crawl backward away from him. But he was too fast. He swooped down, and grabbed her wrists. With excessive strength, he yanked her up, and had her suspended by her wrists. She tried to get a foot on the ground, but she couldn't find balance, so she was forced to press herself against the master. He looked fiercely at her, his beautiful eyes full of hate. She cried in pain as, his hands were crushing her delicate wrists.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" He spat, causing Christine to whimper. Their faces were only a few breaths apart, and she felt so helpless, suspended by her wrists, pressed against the master, begging with her eyes for mercy. But she would receive none. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED TO SEE?!" With his hands still crushing her wrists, he pushed/threw her backward, until she toppled over a pile of rolled up tapestries. She tried to roll over and stick her foot out to balance, but instead she landed face first onto a mirror, which shattered, sending shards raining down. Cuts appeared all over her exposed skin some not deep enough to blood, but some were. She whimpered again, helpless against the mirror. By the time the master realized what has happening, he knew it was too late. He watched, regretfully, as one of the only beauties he had ever seen, and his only chance of breaking this bloody curse shattered, just like the mirror. He gasped when he saw blood running down her cheek, and rushed forward.

"Oh….let me-" He stuttered, too shocked to say a full sentence. His hatred, his anger had been taken too far.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Christine screamed, tears, mixed with blood, falling down her beautiful cheeks. She managed to get to her feet, and stumble away from the master. His face was filled with lament, and horror at what he had done. She looked at him, her blood boiling, hatred showing through her eyes. She turned on her good heel, and limped/ran away from the master, who was left to cry over his unforgivable mistake. He fell to his knees, sobbing harder than he had in years.

* * *

By this point, Lumiere and Cogsworth had noticed her absence. And they knew where she was. They were waiting outside of the door when she threw it open, nearly crushing Cogsworth to death. When they saw the tears and blood on her face, they cried out.

"What?! What happened?!"

"_Mademoiselle!_" But Christine ignored them, sprinting for the front doors. She nearly tripped down the main staircase, and the second she reached the great doors, she threw them open and continued running into the pitch black forest.

* * *

Even when she couldn't see the castle anymore, Christine continued running, until a trip on a log sent her flying forward. She landed, spread-eagled onto the frozen ground. She sobbed, to the point where they came out as coughs. The pain all over her body was unbearable. No doubt that…that…._beast_ would find her, and drag her back

But he had tried to help her…

That thought was banished quickly from her mind. No. He was a beast. A vicious monster who could never love, or be loved. Christine felt more and more lost with every thought that came into her head. She couldn't wait in this forest all night. She would surely fall prey to some hungry animal, or become hopelessly lost and die from hunger. But it didn't matter. She wanted to be away from _him_.

She then remembered something her mother had taught her as a toddler.

_Even if you have to find it, there is always a divine beauty in the heart of every beast, no matter how vicious._ Christine thought about the beast, who had trapped her, and sent her father away without letting her say a proper good-bye. But then that same man, who had wounded her beyond reason, tried to help her before she ran for it. Was it possible, that even in this sick, crude man there was a little beauty, begging to get out?

No. He was a beast through and through. He would never care for anyone.

There was a low, guttural growl from behind her. Christine yelped, and sat up abruptly. There, emerging from the undergrowth, were two pairs of gleaming eyes. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle. Before she knew it, there were growls surrounding her. At least six snouts, and finally bodies stepped out from the bushes. Christine was surrounded by wolves. One leaped into the air, its razor-sharp teeth aimed straight for her neck. Christine screamed, and grabbed the nearest tree branch. With a sickening whack, the creature fell to the ground. But the others were beginning to crouch down, preparing for the laugh. One on her flank leaped through the air, fast than the first, and it was nearly to her before Christine could turn around. Just as their eyes met, a powerful fist pounded the animal, and it fell to the ground with a yelp. The master was crouched, his fists raised.

"Run." He breathed, and Christine didn't need to be told again. She turned, and sprinted in a random direction. But, with her luck, she tripped, and fell into a frozen pond. Her body immediately broke the ice, and she felt the force of a thousand needles stabbing her skin. She tried to move her legs, or her arms, to get to the surface somehow, but she was frozen. Her lungs screamed for air, begged for air, but she could not give them any. Her limbs soon locked, leaving her alone to free-float under the surface. Though she was paralyzed, her mind was screaming for help, pleading for something to save her.

And her prayers were answered.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and yanked her upward. He head broke the surface, and she inhaled precious air, while coughing and sputtering water everywhere. The master placed her on the ground, and stared into her eyes. His were sad, and yet relieved.

"Christine…I…" With a mighty growl, a wolf jumped him from behind, sinking his fangs into the master's arm. He threw back his head, and cried in pain. Christine gasped weakly, but could only watching as he socked the wolf in the nuzzle, sending sprinting away, followed by the rest of the pack. The master looked down at her one last time, before his azure eyes rolled, and he collapsed onto the ground.

It took a painful amount of effort, but Christine managed to stand up, only to find (much to her convenience) that Phillipe had run after her as well. She called him over, and, which much diffuculty, secured the master onto the back of the horse. She then pulled herself up, and ordered the hose back to the castle.

* * *

It was hours before the master woke up. He was in his chair, surrounded by the panicked faces of the house-hold items. But the face he wanted to see most wasn't there. His eyes cracked open, and at first his vision was blurry, but he was able to make out each individual item.

"Chris….tine…." He moaned, looking around for her. But she was nowhere in sight.

"Now, now dear." Mrs. Potts scolded, "I want you to drink this tea. Don't worry about her. She'll be back in a moment." But the master shook his head.

"Not….until…"

"Is he being difficult?" a delicate, weary sing-song voice broke the master's sentence. His eyes widened at Christine entered his view, her face pale and covered with cuts from the glass. She looked sickly, and starved. Guilt immediately grabbed at his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but Christine pressed a finger against his lips.

"Sssh…no talking allowed. You need to drink your tea." She shoved the cup into his hands, and he welcomed the warm liquid into his system. There was a long pause as he finished his cup, and placed it gratefully on the tray. In the meantime, Christine had prepared a hot water bucket, and was preparing to dress his wounds. She ripped off the rest of his shredded sleeves, revealing the gushing wound from the wolf. But all over his arms, across his chest and on his shoulders he had gashes from the wolves' teeth, and claws. He had lost a lot of blood.

Christine gingerly removed his shredded shirt, forgetting immodesty, and pressed the cloth to his tender wound. He winced, sucking air through his teeth. She pulled the cloth away, looking at him cautiously.

"Are you okay?" He nodded, and she pressed the cloth to his arm once more. She didn't realized he was staring at her, until she check to see if he was in pain. His eyes were studying her features again, and they seemed to be intently memorizing every feature. That's when she noticed his mask was gone. The scars that had been so horrifying to her really weren't that bad. It must have been the way he grabbed her, and threw her…

That thought was banished from her mind.

"So…do you have a name besides, "the master?" she asked casually, wrapping his well-toned arm. He nodded.

"Erik." She paused, and looked at him again.

"Erik…" she tried the name on her tongue, and it seemed perfectly…well…human. Again, her eyes fell on his face. She felt terrible, staring at it. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out:

"Erik….may I…?" She brought her hand up, near his face. He didn't reply, he just stared at her hand. She gently touched it to the right side of his face, feeling the scars that hid beneath his mask. She ran her thumb over a few of the larger ones, and felt places where there were other deformities that she didn't want to know about. She pulled her hand away, perhaps a little too quickly, and continued to dress his wounds.

"Christine I…." Erik cleared his throat, "I am so eternally repentant of what happened back…in the west wing." Christine's face tensed up a little. Every time he looked at her face, and the cuts he had put on there, he died inside a little. "And….thank you for bringing me back. For what I did, you should have left me in the forest." He looked away miserably. Christine shook her head.

"No. I shouldn't have. Thank you for….well….saving my life. I am so sorry for entering your one place. It was terrible of me." She looked anywhere, but his face. But she could feel his eyes on her.

There wasn't much conversation after this, except for the basic civilities of wishing the other pleasant dreams, and a good night's sleep.

Christine snuggled into her sheets, feeling more confident than she had earlier. He, the 'beast' had come to save her, after she trespassed on his most private sanctuary. He had chased her through the forest, and arrived just at the perfect time. He even apologized for his….violence. She contemplated what her mother had said…about finding the beauty in the beast. She then realized, that even the foulest and most cruel of people have a beauty in them. Again, a mother's words were true counsel. And now she, Christine Daae, daughter of Gustav Daae, would try to find the good in this sad, twisted person. She would find out his history, and try to cure any open wounds in his life like she had tonight. She last thing she remembered before falling asleep, was praying to her mother for guidance.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Hurt-Comfort, Romance