Thank you again for the awesome feedback! I've said it before, but I really do appreciate your feedback/favorites/follows. I can't tell you how happy I am to see the positive response my story has received so far. Thank you!

I'm actually pretty happy with how this chapter turned out…. although I'm going to ask you to ignore my horrible lyrics. (You'll know it when you see it.) I feel really embarrassed about writing them, but it made sense when I was writing them! To be honest, I probably never of taken this chapter in that direction if I knew I had to write lyrics *Shutter.* So please be kind, I dislike poetry and it obviously shows :(

But the lyrics are meant to be to the tune/similar to: "You'll Never Walk Alone, from the movie Carousal and/or Too La Roo La Roo La, my favorite version is sung by the wonderful Bing Crosby.

Sorry for the long ramble!

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Chapter Four

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Christine sat behind her father's display case in the music shop, her fingers tapping in rhythm against the glass. It was another slow day. She watched the grey sky, listening to the rain's quiet down pour. Thunder rumbled menacingly, a flash of lightening lit up the darkening sky. Suddenly the door burst open, a strong gust of wind making her shiver.

Then she saw him, his figure blocking out the door entirely- her only exit, she was trapped. He stalked towards her as she quickly backed into the wall behind her.

"Please!" She begged, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. "Please leave me alone!" He ignored her, reaching out a gloved hand to grasp her wrist tightly, and then yanked her up roughly.

"No!" Christine screamed, bolting up right in bed. It took her several minutes to calm her overly beating heart, her breath came out in small gasps as she put her head in her hands. Oh, if only it were a dream! She wanted to cry, but she knew it wouldn't do her any good. She would only be even more tired and miserable than she already felt.

She rubbed her wrist where the imaginary hand had grasped it and looked out at the darkened sky. Rain tapped lightly against her window, racing down the glass and onto the now slick surface of her balcony.

For the second night in a row, Christine lit the candle on her nightstand and slid out of the silken sheets. She tip toed lightly to the wardrobe and slipped the robe on over the nightgown Meg had let her borrow.

Once she was sure the robe was secured tightly around her waist, she walked out into the dark hall once again. She wasn't quite sure what she was hoping to accomplish by wandering the halls at this time of the night. There was a small part of her that wished she'd see Meg again; she hadn't seen her at all yesterday. She knew with certainty that if she had to stay here, then at least she could have a friend. It wouldn't do to just lock herself away in her room, wasting away to nothing; she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Although she couldn't see what type of satisfaction he could possibly get out of holding her prisoner.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she paused, when she heard music floating through the darkened hallway. She followed the music down the long corridor, intrigued by the lovely tune, and stopped in the large doorway of what appeared to be a library of sorts. All around the room were cases full of books; top to bottom, cramped into corners and overflowing on the only desk and chair in the library, but that wasn't what caught her attention—it was the large piano that stood directly in the center of the room as Erik's hands moved furiously over the keys, slowing down every so often before speeding back up to his infuriating speed.

It was beautiful music, there was no doubt about that, but what struck Christine was how angry and sad the music seemed. She'd heard music before that was meant to sound sad or make someone happy, but never before had she heard a piece that made her want to cry, to weep openly to the music that invoked so much emotion into her beating heart.

"It's rude to stand in doorways." Erik's voice floated over the music, breaking her from her trance as he continued to play.

Christine jumped, clenching her jaw. "It's rude to wake people when they're trying to sleep." She countered, walking up to the side of the large piano.

His lips twitched, as if he were about to smile, as he continued to play his haunting song. "My apologies."

She bit her lip, scrutinizing the visible side of his face for any sign of sarcasm in his expression, but was unable to find any expression at all. It's as if he's a statue, she thought, cold and unmoving.

"I could also point out that it is rude to stare." He glanced up for a second, his face turning coy.

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "I was only enjoying in your song, but I don't recognize the composer. Who composed it?" She said, curving the truth only slightly.

Erik's smile was vainglorious, if not a little conceited. "Why you're looking at him."

"You wrote this?"

"You sound surprised." He teased. "What? You think someone like me is unable compose beautiful music?"

Christine held back the anger she felt bubbling it's way to the surface. "No, I never said that. I think it's very beautiful indeed—there's no denying that, but It's so sad and yet angry at the same time. I feel as if I want to fall on the floor crying and yet at the same time I feel as if I could just starting throwing these books on the shelves clear across the room." *What must someone have been through to be able compose music like this…

The music suddenly shifted to something much lighter and airy. Although it was sill filled with a similar sadness, she didn't find it held any anger with the notes.

"How about this?" He lifted his only visible brow. "How does this song make you feel?"

She tilted her head, listening. "It's much lighter. Almost as if you've just accepted the way life has thrown itself at you." As the music progressed she was reminded of a song her father had sung to her when she'd been little. "It sounds similar to a lullaby my father wrote."

"I doubt that." Erik frowned.

She bit her tongue, her anger still bubbling near the surface. "It does," She said, and hesitantly reached out her thin hand across the piano to play a similar tune one octave higher then normal.

He stopped rather abruptly and watched her hand with curiosity. "Play it." He said, sliding over to one end of the piano bench for Christine to sit on the other end.

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bench, as far from him as she could sit. Although it did nothing to help the shiver she felt go through her body at being this close to her captor.

Setting her hands lightly on the keys, she began playing the song. She worked her fingers over each note as smoothly as she could, holding her breath as she made her way through the song that was ingrained in her mind.

Her fingers only stumbled once over the keys when she felt Erik lean towards her. "Does the song have any meaning to it?"

"Some." She said, focusing on the notes. "It was a lullaby my father wrote for me when I was little. I used to be afraid when it would storm, so every time it was thundering and lightening outside my father would play the song on his violin, or sing to me when his hands were too tired from playing."

Far up in heaven, there's an angel who's crying.

His tears are falling far down below…

But there's someone who loves him, who holds him tight,

and keeps him safe.

Just remember there's someone to watch over you,

to hide you from the storm and tears above.

She sang part of the song; blinking back the tears she felt swelling in her eyes. "The lyrics aren't very good. I wrote them when I was eight, but my father, I think he was happy that I had found a love for music like he had. He spent that next week praising me for writing something as silly as that, but even with the horrible lyrics, they stuck." She smiled sadly. "Come to think of it, I'd say he sung that song to me whenever I was sad or hurt. It just made me feel better. I sung that song the first night I was locked…" Her fingers fumbled over the keys, she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Glancing up at him from the corner of her eyes, she found his expression to be uncharacteristically kind. "You have a beautiful voice Christine. Your father trained you very well."

"Thank you." She said surprised, dropping her guard. "I was hoping to audition for the Royal Opera when my father returned from his audition. I wanted to be an Opera singer." She felt a tear fall onto her cheek. All that training she had been through, all those hours of practicing until it was perfect, what had been the point? All of it had been in vain, for now she would never be able to sing for them. Erik was the last person who would ever hear her sing. No longer would she be able to sing during gatherings or in front of her friends, and selfishly she thought, I would never be able to receive praise from my father again.

With the tears that were about to brim over, she quickly said goodnight and fled swiftly from the room, unaware of the sadness that flashed in Erik's eyes, and for the first time— regret.

xXx

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Christine sat on one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen listening to Meg's dressmaking disaster story, with mild interest as she slowly ate the tomato soup in front of her.

It was late afternoon, the sun filtered through the narrow-slit windows, basking the girls in the sun's warmth. When Christine had finally awoken from her sleep, she had made quick work of changing back into the coral dress, and was wandering the halls when Meg had found her. They were touring the servant's quarters when Christine's stomach had grumbled angrily.

"…And then after all the trouble of making the dress, when I stepped into the gown and went to tighten it, both of the sleeves fell off!" Meg said dramatically, waving her hands around.

"You have much more patience then I do!" Christine laughed, pushing aside her now empty bowl. "I would have given up after the first attempt. I've never had the temper for dressmaking.

"Oh I don't either!" Meg smiled. "You should hear the things I mutter under my breath anytime I try to make a dress. I've gone to bed plenty of times without supper because of the things my mother has heard."

Christine smiled, her thoughts wandering back to the garden from the night before. "How long has it been since the garden has been taken care of?" She asked, remembering the garden from yesterday.

"I'm not sure. It was like that ever since I can remember. Why do you ask?"

"I was hoping once the weather warmed up I could fix it up. Do you think that would be okay? I'm not going to get thrown in the dungeon for fixing it, am I? " She only half-joked.

Meg shook her head. "I don't think that would be a problem. I'll double check with my mother during supper tonight." The girls cleaned up the small mess they'd made on the table and shuffled out of the room. "I'll bring up your food tonight and let you know what she said."

Saying their goodbyes for the time being, Christine wandered back outside into the overgrown garden. Pursing her lips, she eyed the overgrown shrubs disdainfully. She wandered over to one of the smaller plants and bent down on one knee to pull at the weeds that peeked out of the earth. It took her a few tries, but upon being successful, she pulled out more and more weeds until her hands started to cramp.

Standing, Christine noticed a long grey stick stuck in the middle of the shrubs. Grabbing the stick tightly with both hands, she pulled sharply on it, and gasped in sudden pain. Not only did the stick not move from its spot between the hedges, her right hand had been cut from a piece of the broken wood.

She nursed her hand gingerly. It was a small cut, nothing serious, but it had still hurt quite a bit when she had tried to pull out the stick. Walking back towards the palace, she resolved herself into finding some gloves to better protect her hands the next time she decided to work on the garden.

She was just shutting the glass door to the deck when she saw Erik rounding the corner. There was a single moment of utter silence, before his eyes widened in fury.

He stormed towards her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was just in the garden." She admitted, stunned by his sudden anger.

He grabbed her wrists tightly in hands, shaking them. "What did I say about leaving? I said you were never to leave the palace." He seethed, enunciating each word. "Did you think you could take advantage of Erik's kindness? Did you think I'd actually let you go?"

Shaking off the fear she felt, Christine stood her ground. "I only went to the garden! I wasn't going to leave."

"Right," He growled. "Like you wouldn't leave Erik the first chance you got."

"Like you wouldn't drag me back here if I tried." She challenged him. "You said never to leave the palace, and as far as I'm concerned, I haven't. The gardens are still within the gates of the palace."

He released her wrists, but his eyes were still full of fury. "I may be a lot of things," Christine continued, "but a liar isn't one of them. I have yet to break a promise and I'm not about to break this one—no matter how horrible and unfair this promise may be." She walked towards the hall doors, stopping suddenly at Erik's cold words.

"It may be the truth now, but I know for a fact that people's views often change, and never for the better. I would advise you to be more careful in the future when it comes to obeying the rules I've set forth. Leniency is not something I give to people who break my rules. I have no problem throwing you back into the cellars." His voice was quiet and eerily calm. "Just remember the only reason you are here and not in the cellars is because my servants have requested it, and even then their request has come at a price. So I suggest that you think a little more cautiously in the future, if not for you sake, then hopefully for theirs."

She felt a shiver run up her spine as she swallowed hard. It took her a good minute before she worked up the courage to leave the room with her head held high, faking the bravery she didn't have.

His words had scared her, not so much that she feared for her life, but in the way he'd inadvertently threatened the servants- the people who had devoted their life to taking care of him. Only now did Christine start to wonder how they came to be in his service. Did they come willingly, knowing how he came to be this way? Or had they been hired under the pretense that they were going to work for a wealthy bachelor, only to found out the truth after it was too late?

This was a mystery that intrigued her. One she hoped Meg would be willing to share and despite everything that happened, she would find out about him. She would discover the mystery of Erik.

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:) Thanks for reading!

Forgives and forgets? Until finals are over the chapters might be a little sporadic, but I will post as often as I can, I promise! Can we all just agree to blame my professors for giving me loooonnnnggg essays to do? (I'm talking ten-fifteen pages essays here! It hurts to even write about, Ouchsee, it hurt to even mention it.) Can I have Erik try to dissuade him?