A/N: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera

This fic is based largely off of Leroux. No Kay, no Webber. Leroux. Any qualms, go talk to my manager.

Note: This chapter has been revised because it was awful and desperately needed it.


Chapter 1

For Christine, intense and passionate love was much too frightening for her. She feared it and shied away from it, as a frightened doe would at a blazing fire that threatened to consume her. When Erik first showed himself to her and proclaimed his undying love to her, she felt the intensity of it flowing off of him in droves, and such a strange and new thing was unnerving for her. The more passionate and controlling he became, the more she sought out for Raoul's patient, safe, and solid love. She felt sheltered by him, whereas with Erik, she felt utterly exposed—a victim to his wrath.

And now they were here.

She was petrified.

Before her, Erik paced and stormed like a thundering god. He was impatient for her to answer.

Turn the scorpion, they would all live, and she would be Erik's living wife, forever imprisoned to his madness.

Turn the grasshopper, and it would hop, hop, hop! Explode and destroy everyone within a kilometer. Not just suicide, but she would have on her hands the death of hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people. God would see the blood on her, and she would have no place in his kingdom.

But to spend the rest of her life with Erik? That was pure madness. She only hoped that God would judge him accordingly, even though she was afraid to tell it to his face.

"Five minutes!" Erik barked. "Five minutes, and I will turn the grasshopper for you!"

Christine knew what she had to do, and yet she stalled. She wanted these last few moments of freedom before she was forever bound to the embodiment of madness. If she could hate him as Raoul could, now would be that time.

Raoul, in the confusion, begged her to turn the scorpion. "Don't allow the monster to kill all of those innocent people!" he pleaded. "Don't let him kill us!" He seemed inconsolable, and in the face of such imminent disaster, Christine wondered if he had forgotten that the scorpion would marry her off to Erik.

On the other hand, the Persian was asking her to stay her hand. It was a trap, he said. The scorpion was the grasshopper, and the grasshopper was the scorpion. One could never be sure with Erik.

She shivered at this thought, and sought to verify it with Erik.

"Turn the scorpion," he said, "and we will hop to our wedding!"

"Aha!" she cried, noting his choice of words. "You said 'hop!'"

"Christine," he sighed. "I would not deceive you. I said we would hop to our wedding, not to our deaths. The grasshopper destroys. Remember the plagues of Egypt."

"But scorpions kill, Erik!" she reasoned. "Grasshoppers are harmless!"

He chuckled wryly. "Ingenious child. In Persia, grasshoppers are an omen of evil. They come in swarms and destroy their crops. When they come, there is no protecting the fields. The scorpion, however, counters the evil of the grasshopper. At our wedding, the scorpion will smile on us and protect us."

It did not make sense to her, but it was a risk she was willing to make, even if the Persian was still wary of his words. If the scorpion was the grasshopper, she would not be guilty of Erik's deceit. If the scorpion was the scorpion, however, then it was safe. The Parisian people would be safe, her friends would be safe, the Persian would be safe, and most importantly, Raoul would be safe.

It was worth the sacrifice.

So she told herself.

It was a different matter entirely, telling her hand to turn the figurine.

"Your time is up."

The words dropped like stones.

Now would be a good time to turn it, Christine!

Her hand couldn't move.

"You won't have Erik? You won't have the scorpion?"

Her eyes were riveted to his face of death and saw the disappointment and shame in the cavities of his eyes. Up until that moment, she supposed, he had held on to those last vestiges of hope that he was perhaps more desirable than death, that she would fulfill his passions and his dreams for a normal life. Her not having chosen anything dashed those hopes to the ground.

She was cruel.

"I will turn the grasshopper, then," he said sorrowfully.

"Erik," she whispered.

"Enough!" he roared, turning on her. "You will not have me! You choose death!"

But even as he spoke, she gripped the scorpion and turned. For a moment, everything was deathly still. She waited for something – his tears, Raoul and the Persian crying out in pain, an explosion – anything that would tell her that it was all over, but there was nothing.

Her eyes scrunched tight. Waiting.

When she opened them again, she saw Erik's hand resting on the grasshopper, his eyes wide and staring at her as if he could not believe all that had transpired. The air hissed between them.

The grasshopper frightened her, and she wished he would let go.

"Erik," she said. "I have turned the scorpion. I choose you."

His hand tightened on the grasshopper.

With a cry of alarm, she leapt upon him in an effort to tear him away from the grasshopper. In a flurry of skirts and limbs, she took hold of his arms, and like a wild animal, he twisted out of her grip and threw her to the ground. He stood above her, panting.

She was relentless, afraid that he would still kill them all. "Erik, I choose the scorpion and all that it entails," she said in a low voice.

He opened his mouth in surprise and gaped like a fish. "You would marry your poor Erik?" he managed.

She nodded, and like a snake, he shot forward and pulled her from the ground and half dragged her into her room.

"You will dress, and then we will marry," he said impartially.

The door closed behind him, but Christine hardly noticed. A white dress, one she had never seen before, lay innocently on her bed. Slowly, mechanically, she prepared for her wedding as if she were dressing for someone's funeral, and in a way, she was. She could think of nothing that was more tragic than marrying Erik. She wondered if, once Erik was safely away at the church, if she could refuse him at the altar. After all, once they were at the church, Erik could not blow up the entire Opera House, and Raoul would be safely out of his wrath.

Her ears roared, like a great rushing river, and if she could not maintain her control, she highly doubted that she could make it out of the door. She hoped that everything would go according to plan. Perhaps the preacher would help her, call the gendarmes and retain the beast. Perhaps she could be free!

She heard a sound in the torture chamber, and she was shook out of her thoughts, and a new horror overcame her.

"Erik!"

The Persian, she thought distantly. They were still here. Erik could kill them!

"Erik! There is enough water for the gunpowder! Turn off the tap! Turn off the tap!"

Water? What water?

Then she realized that the roaring in her ears was real. She could hear the rushing of water behind the walls and the dark stain on the carpet below the window. Water was leaking out of the torture chamber – how much was in there?

She stood there dumbly until she heard Raoul take up the chorus in calling for help.

"Christine! Help us! The water is up to our knees!"

His plea moved her into action, and she flew out of her room to cry for Erik.

"Erik, they are drowning in there! Turn off the water!"

He looked up at her, surprised.

"Who is drowning, dear?"

"The Persian!" she cried exasperated. "Raoul! You need to help them!"

He shook his head slowly. "It is not my fault that they fell into the chamber. They didn't have to come here. Their deaths are of no importance to me."

"Erik, I will not have their deaths upon my conscience. Help them!"

"Really, Christine. They killed themselves by climbing into the torture chamber. Their deaths would be no more your fault than it would be mine."

"Erik, I will not marry you if you don't help them."

"Then all of Paris will burn," he said, his eyes flashing, his voice desperate. "You will be my wife! You turned the scorpion!"

She flinched back. "Alright, I will be your wife," she said, standing down. "But I will not consummate the marriage if you do not help them."

They both froze at her ultimatum. She wondered if Erik would have expected that from her, or if this was enough to bribe him to do what she wanted from him. He looked as though his world had been overturned.

"You would…" He sounded dazed. "With Erik. Living wife in every way."

In one smooth movement, he took the scorpion and turned it again.


He pulled the two unfortunates, unconscious, out of the torture chamber, which was filled with water and was drowning them. She had tried to rush to Raoul, but Erik held her back and hissed dangerously in her ear.

"If you touch him, if you refuse to marry me, the boy will die."

Eventually, she let him drag her away from the room, out of the house on the lake, out of the Opera House. By the time they reached the church, she felt as if she were already dead. She could feel nothing except for the horrible coldness and emptiness within her. Once they stood at the altar together, she could not refuse Erik when the dreaded question came. Her reply came slowly and softly, so softly the priest did not hear her. He asked her again, and she could feel Erik's eyes burning into her.

She avoided his intense gaze for fear that he would see the tears threatening to spill over. In a quivering and fearful voice, she repeated her answer once more, forever binding herself to the monster beside her.

"I do."

The ceremony was finished quickly, and Erik took her back down to his underworld. She did not fight—she did not resist him. He took her into the music room and stood her next to his organ and he sat at the instrument and played his mass to her. The music made her cry, but she cried quietly, bearing her grief in silence.

His music was beautiful. It spoke of his love for her, which was more than she could ever fathom. She could not understand it, as she was not capable of loving as he did. With a cry, she fled his room, fled from the music, from him. She could not stand thinking about what he would do to her that night. She ran to her room, expecting to find solace there. She had forgotten that Raoul was still there until, blinded by her tears, she tripped over his limp body. Ungracefully, she sprawled to the floor, on top of him.

With another cry of fear, she sprang back up to her feet, remembering Erik's words that Raoul would die if she touched him. Her face pale and drawn, she backed up to the wall, fearful that if she were within ten feet of him, Erik would kill him. She closed her eyes, hoping and praying that she could be delivered from this nightmare.

Something cold and hard touched her arm, and she looked up to see Erik towering above her. She did not like it when he stood so close to her; she felt tiny and powerless to his intimidating figure. A bubble of fear rose up from deep within her chest to escape through her mouth, but she bit her lip until she drew blood to keep it harbored within her.

"Are you tired of waiting? Do you wish to retire to bed with your husband?"

She could not quell the terror she felt when he said that. Of course, it was wholly expected of her; she was his wife, now, and she promised. She promised him that she would consummate the marriage if he saved Raoul and the Persian.

She shook her head, desperate to postpone it for as long as possible. "Please, Erik. Not while they are still here." She gestured to the two unconscious men lying on the floor of the Louis-Philippe room. He glanced at them annoyed, as if it were their fault that he could not enjoy his first night of marriage. He nodded stiffly, wishing that they had not returned to see them there.

"Of course, my dear," he said impassively. "They shall be taken care of shortly."

Christine stood and watched as Erik dragged the men out of her room. She remained standing, afraid of getting into the bed. She did not want to share that bed with her new husband, indeed, the husband she did not want to be married to. When Erik returned to her, he guided her to the bed and pulled at the laces on the back of her dress. Christine trembled like a leaf under his hand, and she could barely stand. She had to clutch the bedpost to keep her balance.

But, to her surprise, once the laces were untied, Erik went no further and handed her a nightgown.

"Until our visitors recover and leave us, Erik will not touch you."

Christine froze, hardly daring to believe the words he spoke. It wasn't until the door shut behind him that she allowed herself to relax, confused and heavy with relief. She could not believe her good fortune! She was mindful to thank God in her prayers before she climbed into bed that night, blessedly alone.

The next morning, she rose from her restless slumber and left the horrible bed in which she knew the worst thing in the world would soon occur. She dressed quickly and entered into the parlor where she expected Erik to be waiting for her as he usually did in the mornings.

He was there, but not alone. The two men were still there, and their bodies were reclined on the couches. Erik was hovered over the Persian, his hand at his neck as though he were checking for a pulse, when he noticed his wife standing outside of her room. He straitened and stood before her.

"They are both alive, if you want to know," he said nonchalantly, though they both knew that Christine cared very much about what happened to one man in particular. "It was easy enough to revive the boy, but it took me a while to bring daroga back."

The phrase by which he called the Persian was unfamiliar to her, and she questioned him about it.

"Erik, what is 'daroga'? What does it mean?"

Erik did not answer. Instead, he swooped out of the room, leaving her alone with the two men. She could hear him hiss angrily as he left,

"Do not touch the boy."

Christine shivered in response. She did not glance over at the boy for fear that even touching her gaze upon his beautiful face would give Erik enough cause to kill him. Instead, she took a book down from Erik's long bookshelf, one that was called The Imitation of Christ, and settled down beside a lamp to begin reading. If she could not allow herself Raoul's soft and comforting touch, then she was content enough to read about the man who suffered all things. She read until noon and stopped when Erik approached her with her lunch. He noticed the book she was reading and scoffed at her choice, but did not take it away. He sat down next to her and watched her read. Though she knew he was staring at her, she refused to look up at him. She did not want to go through the ordeal of speaking with him.

A quarter past two, they heard a moan from across the room. Christine tensed and closed her eyes, hoping against hope that it was not her love that was rousing. She did not know how she would respond if he were. Would she lose herself entirely and rush to his side if he called out to her? Would he end up dying if she could not control herself? She braced herself.

"Christine…" she heard his desperate voice call out to her.

She looked up immediately, but she did not direct her gaze over to him. Instead, she looked over at Erik, wondering what he would do, only to find him staring at her intently, waiting.

She did not respond to the boy. As much as she wanted to, she could not let herself be weak and risk his death because she was mindless and stupid. After he called out to her several times, Erik was obviously satisfied with her reaction and went over to the boy.

What torture! How cruel that man could be!

Christine watched him check his pulse and feel his forehead. He turned around and locked eyes with her.

"Christine," he said. "Please go get the drink that is sitting in the kitchen. It is only tea, something to help his headache."

She nodded and obeyed him. She fetched the drink without question. When she handed it to him, she didn't even ask him what the reddish-brown liquid was that he was pouring into the boy's drink. However, he could feel her inquisitive eyes on him, and he turned to her, holding the vial of liquid out to her. "Laudanum," he replied to her silent question. She sniffed at the contents and turned her head away from the sickly bitterness that filled her nose.

She retired back to the couch and returned to her book, never once glancing at Raoul. Erik would not be happy with her if she spared the boy so much as a glance. As of yet, it looked as though he would live and make it out of the monster's lair to freedom. Raoul would be free and she would be trapped in the eternal darkness with a monster.

But it would not be bad, she told herself firmly. Surely it could not be that bad. After all, Erik did promise her that he would be kind and gentle. They would leave this house on the lake to live on a flat above ground. Erik had promised. He would be gentle as a lamb, not a lion. For Christine's sake, he had to be the lamb. Otherwise, Christine did not know how she was going to survive as Erik's wife.

Several hours later, the other one woke. She had not noticed until she heard Erik speaking softly in his ear.

"Are you better, daroga?"

Christine rose from her chair to get a cup of cordial for the Persian. She did not need Erik to ask her; he wanted her to be an obedient wife, and obedient she would be. She listened to Erik speak to the poor, disoriented man.

"You are looking at my furniture? It is all I have left of my poor, unhappy mother."

He had never mentioned his mother before, and for some reason, Christine had thought that he had no mother. How could such a creature be born of a woman? What would she have done if she had a son that looked like Erik? She shivered thinking about such a prospect. She very well might have a son like Erik; monsters would surround her as long as she should live.

Erik chattered on, talking about his wife and how good she was. She has been nothing but obedient since she had asked him to pull the two men away from their deaths. Yes, the Vicomte was still alive. He was still alive and healthy. Daroga did not have anything at all to worry about—only to get well.

The Persian looked around, still slightly disoriented, and let his eyes fall on Raoul's sleeping form. Christine could see his anxious face and watched him as his features relaxed as he saw that the boy was indeed sleeping. Erik gave him his cup of cordial with some laudanum added to it, and left the room swiftly. Christine went back to her chair and picked up her book again.

"Christine, why do you not leave?" she heard the Persian asked her with a slight Middle Eastern accent.

She looked up at him, noticing that he was propped up on his elbow. He looked imploringly at her. "Christine, for your sake, you were not supposed to turn the scorpion. If you did not love him…"

He did not finish his sentence. Instead, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell back onto his pillow. Christine's heart was moved for him, but she did not dare reply to him. She rose up and walked to him, her eyes to the floor. The Persian watched her as she doctored him. She placed a pleasantly cool hand on his forehead to make sure that he was not feverish, then left him again. Her eyes were glued to the floor, and she did not look at the boy. She could not look at him.

The day after, Erik came in with a draft for the Persian, spoke a few words to him, and forced him to drink it. After the Persian fell asleep, Erik took him and threw him over his shoulder like a sack and left, saying that he was only returning the Persian to his home and that he would be back to deliver the boy to his brother. As he was leaving, Christine suddenly leapt to her feet, realizing what door he was going through.

"Erik, no!" she exclaimed suddenly, throwing herself against the entrance to the torture chamber. "Not through this door!"

Erik's eyes flashed dangerously and he shoved her to the side impatiently. He took the key out of the pouch and shoved it into the lock that Christine, for the life of her, could have never found by herself.

"Christine has been such a good wife until now," he said calmly, but the way he said it sent chills up and down her spine. His voice dared Christine to reply, but she bowed her head submissively. She let him leave through that awful door, into the room that she had once thought beautiful until she heard the cries of anguish from the Persian and the Vicomte. The door slammed behind him, and Christine flinched as though she had been slapped in the face. She assured herself that he was only going through that door to get into the Opera House, that he was not stupid enough to get trapped within that awful room. She had no desire to be trapped within his house without him to let her out when the time came. Neither she nor Raoul knew how to get out of the terrible prison. They were at the monster's mercy.

Her eyes wide, she sat down on one of the couches in her room and stared at the door, waiting for him to return. It felt as though she waited for eternity, waiting for the hidden door to fly open or for the lamp to come on and the terrible heat to torture the monster. She could not bring herself to enter into the next room to sit by Raoul's side. She knew that in doing so, her resolve to be a good wife to Erik would falter, and she was afraid that Erik would be angry at her if he found her sitting next to the boy.

Just as she thought she was going to go mad, the door opened and Erik entered slowly. He looked at her desperate eyes sadly, and she stared at him, stony-faced. She could not decide which she felt more—relief or fear. Erik turned away with a sigh and left the room, only to return a moment later with the Vicomte draped over his shoulder, looking even more like a piece of baggage than the Persian did. This time it was Christine who looked away with a sigh.

Erik was back shortly after that, but Christine was still looking away from the door. She did not notice him until the door clicked shut. Her head snapped up to see a completely changed man.

He did not look like the avenging angel he had been for the past few days. No, not with his hands clasped in front of him the way they were. For the first time, Erik looked small and vulnerable, like a little child. At first, Christine could not believe that the man who stood before her was the same man who came before her face so often with such terrible fury, like a god of thunder, if it had not been for his mask. No, he was a god no longer. He was only a little child, meek and afraid. What a change! Something stirred within her heart, and Christine gave no thought to it; rather, she acted on her instincts.

Christine rose from her chair and came to him halfway. She stood tall and erect, and then waited. Erik was hesitant. He took a slow step towards her, then another, and another, until he stood before her. His head was bowed towards the floor, but his eyes glanced up at her as a shy little schoolboy would to his first love. Christine's heart softened, realizing how inexperienced he was. Ever since she knew him, it seemed to her that he could do anything and everything. It had never occurred to her that his face had deprived him of a chance to learn in this area of expertise. She tilted her head up to him—just a little bit, but enough for him to notice—and leaned towards him.

And then he kissed her forehead.

It was tender and sweet. She let his lips linger for a long time upon her forehead, knowing that this was perhaps the first time he had ever kissed a woman, and likewise knowing that no woman could ever be brave enough to let him do so.

So it did not surprise her when he cried.

The moment his lips left her forehead, he collapsed to her feet and wept like a little boy. There were many times when she had seen Erik weep, but never like this. He was crying for joy. It was always for sorrow before—sorrow that Christine did not love him; sorrow that he was so incredibly hideous; sorrow for the wretch he was to even suggest that he loved such a perfect angel. He kissed her feet as though she were a goddess—wept until her slippers were soaked through. Just as she was about to order him to rise, she heard him whisper softly,

"You did not die! I…Erik kissed you, and you did not die! I…I…! Christine is so…so good to me!"

Christine fell to her knees beside him and pressed her forehead to his, tears flowing free. For once, she could no longer feel her own pain and selfishness. For once, she felt that she could truly understand the monster…the man who was knelt by her side. Surely he deserved more happiness than the world could offer!

His tears came so hard when her tears slipped under his mask that he tore off the wretched thing and exposed his horrid face to her. It was the first time he had ever taken off his mask in front of her; every other time, she had been the one to strip him of his only protection. She did not flinch away this time. She could not find it in her to have the need to do so. Instead, she pressed her forehead to his naked one and stared deep into his eyes, trying to communicate all of her pity and sorrow for the poor man through the windows of her soul.

"Poor, unhappy Erik!" she whispered softly, only now, she did not think that he was poor nor unhappy for all the things she let him do with her in the past few minutes. His hands were tied into her skirts, and Christine looked down at them. Thinking that she was horrified that his hands were so close to her, Erik ripped his hands out of the tangled mess, but Christine only shook her head sadly and slipped her small hands into his long, pale ones. He was stunned for a moment, but then realizing that she had initiated it, he clutched at her hands and kissed them desperately.

She was letting him hold her hands!

His happiness was so tangible, even Christine could feel it course through her veins. For a moment, she forgot the world, forgot her playful engagement to Raoul; forgot everything but the man whose hands she held and allowed him to do what he would with her.

But he did nothing.

They sat there for an untold period of time. Christine waited. Erik savored the bliss. And then he did something neither of them expected of him.

"I can no longer keep you here," he whispered so softly, she might not have heard him. Silently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold band, which had fallen off of her finger on the roof.

"Take it," he said, jamming it onto her left ring finger. "Take it as a wedding gift from your Erik, and remember that he loves you very much. I know you love the boy, so don't cry anymore. I will ask no more of you."

She gaped for a moment, and a whisper of a breath escaped her lips. "What do you mean?"

"You know me, Christine. I am a dog, forever at your beck and call. I would do anything for your sake, even if it were to let you go and marry your young man. I would die for you, you know. I love you too much to confine you to my darkness; it would kill you. You gave me more than I could ever hope for, with your tears. No one had ever cried with me! No one but you. I know you understand, and so I will let you go.

While she was pondering over the strangeness of his words, he pulled himself to his feet and left the room. She stared in wonderment at the place which she saw him last, when he suddenly returned with a half delirious Raoul on his shoulder. She leapt to her feet, his name on her lips.

Raoul staggered forward, and she caught him in her arms, planting kisses all over his face. He returned her kisses with exhausted energy, and she sobbed with relief and happiness.

Eventually, she looked around for Erik and saw him hiding in a shadowed corner of the room, watching them with the saddest expression on his face. She laid Raoul carefully back onto the couch and walked over to Erik to say farewell.

"I wish you all the happiness the world could offer, Mademoiselle," he said, his voice heavy and plaintive. "Promise me you would come back, though? I will die, soon, and all I ask is that you come and give me a proper farewell, will you?"

She nodded solemnly, and it looked as though a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Look for my body on the Communard Road. I will have the grave ready. All you need to do it bury me with the dirt." He grabbed her hand and kissed the ring still on her finger. "Keep the ring on you until that moment. Then, you will bury me with the ring. After that, I absolve you of all responsibility you may have over my death. I love you, Christine. Be free."

She cupped his poor ravaged face in her hands and placed a delicate kiss on his bare forehead, and he sobbed with renewed fervor. After a moments pause, she kissed him on the mouth and she tasted tears.

She left him broken on the floor, his dreams shattered in the darkness.