:A/N: Everything that needs to be said is said in the warning. This is a fanfic where Erik won't be the nicest, and I've planned it for a long time. Do not get me wrong on it. I bet that if you read it, you'll know what I mean.

:Disclaimer: POTO belongs to Leroux.

:Claimer: Madame de Jour is mine.

:Summary: I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.

:Rated M:Warning: This story is about several adult themes. It contains several topics which can be humiliating for the reader. There is unwanted sexual intercourse, oppression, threat and extortion. It is about obsessement which develops animal facettes and it can be very triggering for people who have experienced any of those things. I do not mean to trigger any of those people, neither do I find pleasure in unwanted sexual intercourse or humiliation. This is merely fiction and I distance myself from any accusation for this fanfic to consiously hurting any reader. Please do not read this fic if you have problems with rape. Again, this fanfiction is about how a person, Mademoiselle Giry, deals with rape and such situations. Not about how nice rapes are. Because they aren't.

I apologise for hurting anybodywith this fanfiction. Please send me a message if something is wrong with my fic or if you have the feeling that I wrote the opposite of my position (in my fanfic)which I stated in this warning.

:Beta-reader: Incapability

:Thanks to: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel for helping with minor plots and Incapability for listening to my rembling, plus making the chapter's and story's title.

: The Empty Cage :

: Chapter 1 : Spring Storms :

I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.

Things have begun so easily, as if it were a story in a good book. It was summer when I saved him out of his cage, when I helped him to flee from the humiliation. We became close friends as the weeks passed, and after hiding him in the closet and on the roof, I found a place where he'd be safe. Of course everybody knew about the catacombs, they were no secret. But since they were dark and the air wasn't as fresh as prima ballerinas liked it to be, nobody ever went there to search for anything unknown. A perfect place to protect what I had always thought of as a friend until a particular day.

Months had passed and I visited Erik between classes and rehearsals, always bringing a meal with me. On my days off from classes I taught him how to read and write and realised he was much faster than me. Soon, I realised there was nothing left I could teach him and decided to steal books from the Opera's library for him.

First, I borrowed books I had loved to read in my childhood, mainly fairy tales and classics. But Erik was so fast with his nine year-old brain that he soon wanted more. I sat in the library for hours, looking through books about architecture, paintings, science books, all of which I didn't understand in the least and, to be honest, did not have interest in. My interests were rather in acting and dancing, and I could do that best. Finally, I found books with poems in them and brought them to Erik.

"Antoinette, these poems are beautiful," he had said, "please, can you bring me into the library?"

First, I thought it was a joke. It was an insane idea, and I couldn't risk both of us being thrown out. But Erik's serious face made me realise it was none. Finally, after hours of disagreement, I brought Erik up into the library at night when nobody would see us. I still remember how we hushed through the halls, waiting at every corner for spying eyes. We spent the whole night at the library, pulling books out of the shelves, turning pages and pages of literature and poems. None of us thought about actually going to the science section or anything else that was adult themed. We remained at modest themes as love stories. Early in the morning, even before dawn, I brought him back down. When we reached his lair, he turned towards me, telling me with his young, high-pitched and warm voice: "Antoinette, you don't need to bring me books anymore. I'll get them myself."

And so, I stopped doing it. Erik began to steal food himself and soon I didn't have to look after him too much. Since I missed him a lot, I went back down, anyway. Every evening, he would read poems out loud to me, and so the years passed. When he was fourteen, his interest in more adult poems began to grow, and I found him talking to me about topics I wouldn't even talk about in the deepest darkness. Philosophy was his new passion, and passion, too. "Antoinette, what do you think is meant by 'share a bed' in this line?"

I didn't even know. Was a sixteen-year-old educated in sexual themes? Not at all. The other ballet girls only talked about the changes their body underwent, but boys or men were never mentioned. I myself noticed a lot of changes, and suddenly, Erik's eyes seemed looking at me differently. I leaned over to him and said: "Erik, don't ask me these things! I don't want to talk to you about them!" Clearly, I tried to hide that I didn't know about it and the chills that topic caused me weren't comfortable.

So, Erik and I stopped talking about adult themes. He brought back all the books that had to do with love because I refused to talk about it, and so he came to learn about architecture, religions, even music. He somehow stole a piano, and even today I do not know how. Although the "new" topics were not interesting to me at all, I still visited him at night and sometimes even stayed to sleep in his bed. He would talk to me so much about Catholics, witches, and componists that I simply had to listen to him. We needed something in common, and he taught me everything he read in the books. I found myself thinking about Catholics, witches and componists as well and today, I daresay Erik helped me using my brain instead of thinking like all the other girls. At night, I would grab one of his books and read them myself. This made Erik laugh in triump, oh, I remember…

Things went so well and I couldn't even imagine they would not do so. But one night, things changed. They changed so drastically that I can still feel the shock. It was when my ballet master introduced an older man to me, telling me I should marry him soon. "You are not getting younger, Mademoiselle, you are already 18 years old," she said, "and let us face it. You're a better teacher than a ballerina." I had no problems with that, I didn't even care. So much have I read about love that I knew it wouldn't be found in marriage, but marriage was the only way to guarantee me daily meals. Exactly two days after I got to know my soon-to-be husband, my whole world turned upside down. Oh, how little did I know about what was happening…

That night, I went down to Erik. He was different somehow. When I reached his lair, I saw him standing up from his bed, pushing books aside to make room. "Good evening, Mademoiselle Giry," he said, "how nice to see you tonight." Yes, I have to say I did not fear a thing. I sat down on his bed, watching him kneel at my feet. He touched my knees and I smiled, not fearing anything. Slowly, he pulled my skirt up to my knees, now kissing my skin. My mouth fell open, I wanted to object, say that he was about to do something that was not very chaste. "Erik! What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He sat down on the bed next to me, looking at me. "Nothing. It's nothing." His hand touched my cheek and I smiled, feeling he wouldn't do me any harm. I had known him for years and trusted him. Alas, I was proven differently. His hand went down my neck very fast, stopping at my cleavage, resting there for a while. His eyes observed me. "Erik, please, what is this about?"

"I like you, Antoinette. Why don't you trust me?"

And I didn't. I felt my body want more of his fingers on my cleavage, but my mind clearly said no. I hadn't done anything like that before and wasn't too fond of Erik's speed at it. "I can't do that," I said, "Erik, it's wrong."

"Shut your mouth," he said, leaning over to kiss me. I pushed him away. "Erik, I said no!"

"Don't you ever say no again," he said and something dark in his eyes told me I shouldn't. It was something that I hadn't seen in his eyes before and feared to ever see again, and so I kept my mouth shut and let him do whatever he pleased.

Seconds later, his hands touched places that would not be shown to anybody but me, and I gasped. "Erik, please don't do this," I said, tears running down my cheeks. But he did. Not listening to my begs, he did it, he did it the whole night, until finally, he let go of my hands, rolled aside and fell asleep, exhausted. I wiped the tears away from my cheek, still feeling his sweat on my body.

What humiliation it had been. My only friend betraying me like this, doing things to me I hadn't even read about, doing things I clearly stated I didn't want. He scared me, this darkness in his eyes scared me to the bones, and I felt I wouldn't stay alive if I objected. I pulled the blanket to my chin, freezing a little, ashamed of my body. I didn't know what had happened, I only felt the wet between my thighs and the pain and cried again, cried and cried on, until there was nothing left to cry out of myself. He had been my only friend, and I knew something was severely wrong. I grabbed my clothes and as soon as I had stood up from the bed, I saw the blood. Breathing heavily, I put on my dress and didn't give him another look. My feet carried me back into the girls' hall where I silently washed myself at a bucket. As soon as my head touched my white pillow, my eyes closed and I fell asleep, not dreaming anything.

I can still recall the next day. As usual, the girls were woken up by Madame de Jour, our ballet master. Her loud voice told us to move out of bed, and I felt very stiff trying to move my legs. Immediately, the memories of the night before stroke my mind and I had difficulties to keep my tears. Thank God the pain was gone. During classes, I thought about the night all the time, trying to find out what had actually happened. How foolish I was, not knowing about what men do to women. Madame de Jour silently whispered to me some moments after the class had ended that my soon-to-be husband would marry me within a month. She touched my arm. "We will have to talk about marriage, soon. Especially about what you'd need to let your husband do. But that we'll arrange later. Go and have lunch!"

That, indeed, was easier said than done. I couldn't swallow anything, and what actually reached my stomach wouldn't remain too long. That evening, I looked at myself in the mirror, all pale. A letter was waiting for me on my pillow, and opening it, I saw that there were only a few words written on it.

If you don't come down, I'll come up.

And I knew he would.