"Christine."

She looked up from her lap, a sudden rush of blood leaving her dizzy. Christine could not count the hours she had spent on the bathroom floor, the door locked. But it did not seem as if she would have long left.

"Christine, you must come out now. It is time for your lesson."

"I don't want to," Christine sobbed, wiping her eyes from tears. "I'm sick of your lessons! You don't do anything but shout at me all the time!"

"Come out of there, Christine, I won't ask you again."

A sudden urge to throw whatever she could grab at the door struck Christine, though she refrained and instead continued to weep bitter, angry tears. A month of those dreaded lessons had gone by and though Erik had been patient with her at first, only chiding her every so often for her mistakes, he had grown far more involved in the lessons than she could ever have guessed. Not only did he chide her, but he forced her to repeat a bar of notes over and over, he would shout when she would repetitively make mistakes, and more than once he had threatened her- not violently, perhaps, though he would hold her wrist too tightly while telling her of all the little privileges that could be lost. Finally the embarrassment and anger welled to a point where Christine had decided she would not be subjected to those lessons again.

"If you don't step out of that room, Christine, I shall open this door myself."

"You wouldn't dare! You don't know what sort of state I'm in!"

"I should hardly think anything offensive."

"What if I said I was in the bath?"

"I know very well you're not, Christine, so stop being so silly."

Quickly Christine scrambled from the floor and towards the bath tub, turning the tap on full flow.

"Now I am!"

Erik audibly sighed from the other side of the door, making Christine smile slightly. It was not an angry sound, merely put out. It was the best she could ask for.

"I expect you downstairs in an hour," he said, almost sounding resigned. "I won't spare another minute after that."

With that he left, and the bedroom door was closed behind him. Christine stared at the bathroom door for a moment before she returned her attention to the water. She had meant it entirely as an act of rebellion, but perhaps a bath would be perfect to relax her after a short lived cry. After looking at the door one more time, as if to check that he had not somehow found his way into the room, Christine checked the water, balancing the levels of cold and hot. Mama Valerius had never been what one would call poor, but had always remained certain that the reason behind this was because she was never a waster. If Christine ever had felt like a bath at home, the water had always been scarce, barely reaching her navel. At least here, money didn't seem to be an issue.

The water was left to cool for five minutes while Christine undressed before the mirror. She was tempted to look away but had a certain sense of morbid curiosity as she found herself revealed. Faint bruises lined her wrists and shoulders, the two spots where Erik would return to again and again when he grew impatient or angry. She shivered slightly and turned, looking at the sharper angle of her hips and ribs. It was not particularly prominent, and Christine had not been neglecting the meals given to her, but the nervous energy that constantly ran through her made it impossible to avoid the weight loss. For a brief moment, it scared her, but what use was there in panicking further? Christine moved towards that ever so inviting bath and stepped in, watching her ankles flush a deeper pink as the heat of the water hit her.

Christine admired the sudden sense of security that washed over her as she sank into that large bathtub, its high walls seeming like a wonderful place to hide. Her breath echoed as if she were alone in the local swimming baths rather than in a bathroom, and the feeling of isolation put a small smile on her lips. Of course, she had been left alone many a time since she first arrived, but somehow with the protection of a locked door, it felt better.

It was far too easy to think in this silence. The best way that she could think of spending her thoughts was how to avoid the lesson that she knew Erik intended her to take when he returned. The initial idea when it had been brought forward a month ago had been strange but admittedly, Christine had grown somewhat fond of the idea. Anything to distract her from her impending birthday. Though the idea of the proposal had not been spoken of since Erik had first mentioned it, Christine thought of it almost daily. Her fear had grown, and yet so had her resignation. In the time that she had been in the house, there had been little to no chance of escape, and so there was nothing else to do but accept what was to be.

Perhaps it won't be so bad?

She shook her head at this thought and plunged her head under the water, as if she might be able to block out the sound of her own thoughts. It worked for a short while before she sat up again for a much needed breath. Of course it would be bad! she told herself. Married to a man who has kidnapped you? Who you don't love?

But he loves you.

That was certainly a fact that Christine could not deny. It was a sad sort of love, she thought, but one that she could not help but see. At first, Christine had thought him simply mad, or perhaps thought that he only said such things to calm her or make sense of their situation. There were times at which she could quite easily believe he hated her, loathed her even, when he shouted at her for her mistakes and her tantrums, as he called them, but those times always passed eventually. They almost always ended with him on his knees before her, staring with the most sombre expression he could create.

Christine shivered slightly at the memory and plunged under the water once more. Those displays of affection were almost as bad as the displays of anger. When she emerged again, Christine tried to clear her mind of those images that now consumed her; Erik kissing her hands, his body trembling and his eyes on the verge of tears. To see a full grown man reduced to such a level was something Christine had barely heard of, let alone seen. It was, to say the least, petrifying.

Minutes passed and finally peace washed over her. The warm water embraced her in a way that felt needed, warming away the goose bumps that had seemed like a second skin over the past weeks. As if all her troubles could be washed away in one simple hour.

How long do I even have left…

She had little to no idea how long she had spent in the bath, and had no way of knowing how long it would be before she was forced from the room. A mild shiver of fear ran down her spine as she imagined it; he would not allow her a moment longer than the hour he had allowed. Christine knew for a fact he would willingly break down that door and drag her out kicking and screaming if it so suited him. Slowly, she started shifting her limbs, preparing for the cool air to hit her.

When she stood up, Christine sighed irritably as she realised the air was not nearly as cold as she had expected it to be, telling her that most of her time had already gone. Great. She drained the bath and stood with the large, thick towel provided wrapped around herself awkwardly. Her movements were slow, methodical, as if it each movement were the first she had ever made. Finally she reached for the bathrobe hung on the back of the door. It was strange how much had been provided to her, Christine had thought, but in that moment could not care. The robe really was impossibly comfy and for a while Christine considered simply resting there, once more on the floor, if only to sleep. She lazily began drying her hair as she heard the oncoming footsteps.

"Christine." He was calling out before he had even knocked on the door. "Christine, I have given you your hour." Erik began knocking impatiently on the bathroom door, as if that would somehow put across his point in a clearer manner.

"I'm not ready," Christine said a little shakily.

"I gave you an hour. It's time to come out."

"I said I'm not ready!"

"Come out of there, Christine, I've given you long enough. Do not make me open this door."

"You wouldn't dare!"

As if to prove his point, the handle began rattling almost violently. The sound caused Christine to flinch and she launched forward, holding onto the handle to try and keep it still, but feeling it move beneath her palm. She unlocked the door and at the sound of the click, the rattling stopped. A small padding of footsteps told Christine that Erik had stepped back, waiting for her to exit, and she did so carefully as if she were entering a tiger enclosure. As she stepped out, Christine surveyed Erik warily, waiting for his anger to strike her.

Instead, he seemed frightened.

A small smile reached Christine's lips when she realised that she frightened him, if only for a minute. The bath robe was thick, padding her out to twice her usual size, and was long enough to reach her calves. He had certainly seen her far less covered before in those posh dresses he had her wear, but it seemed that the vulnerability of this outfit struck him. Christine knew that she should have felt somewhat more awkward considering the way his eyes scanned her briefly, but suddenly felt safe. Powerful.

"I'm not taking a lesson," Christine said quietly, testing this newfound strength. His eyes sharply turned back to hers when she spoke, though the anger had not returned yet.

"You'll take the lesson once you're dressed appropriately," Erik replied calmly. "And you will get dressed."

"Well I can't very well do that while you're here, can I?"

"I'm not leaving."

"You're not watching me!"

"I'm not leaving yet," Erik corrected, smirking slightly. Christine realised the sudden lack of control she had over her emotions and her fear was plain to see. She composed herself again but folded her arms, requiring that barrier.

"Then what do you want?" she asked, barely above a whisper for fear her voice would crack if she spoke louder.

"It isn't a matter of what I want, you've been all too clear that there is something that you want."

"You mean there's something that I don't want."

"If that is how you want to phrase it," he said, moving towards the bed and sitting on the edge of it, staring at Christine with his elbows rested on his knees. "Seeing as you are so determined to argue with me, Christine, I simply wish to know what it is that upsets you so."

Christine paused, her brow furrowed in confusion. He seemed to be so… reasonable. At least, as reasonable as she had come to find Erik to be. He watched her, awaiting for an answer of some sort. Seeing the slight tightening of his knuckles- still always covered, she noted- Christine quickly allowed herself to say whatever her mind forced from her.

"You're always shouting at me," she blurted out, blushing. "I can't do anything right. I'll sing for- for a moment and then I have to repeat it, over and over again until I either I get it marginally right or you get bored and shout some more at me. And you're too technical, I can't understand a word you tell me- I didn't take music lessons before I came here, how am I meant to know what octave I'm in? You expect too much of me! You think that because you heard me sing once, I can do anything you want me to do but I can't!"

Erik was silent as Christine caught her breath, her cheeks now a bright red as embarrassment found her. She sunk into herself slowly, her shoulders hunched and her hands tightly gripping her elbows. Those eyes continued to burn into her and eventually Christine could barely stand the silence.

"I'll get dressed," she whimpered, bowing her head. "I promise, if you go now I'll get dressed. I'll be downstairs in minutes. I promise. I won't complain."

"Ah, but it's far too late for that, Christine, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," she replied, a little firmer now. "I'll come down for the lesson. You can shout at me as much as you like. I won't complain anymore, I promise."

Erik stood and within a flash he was in front of her, causing Christine to look up with a sharp intake of breath. He never ceased to surprise her with his catlike movements, silent and swift. She felt her lip tremble as she tried to speak but could not muster the words, though she knew she would only be able to repeat herself. The trembling stopped once she felt the soft pressure of gloved fingertips against her throat, against her jaw line, moving lightly towards the hollow behind her ears. Christine shivered, closing her eyes and holding her breath. It only seemed to spur him further though as the pressure applied became deeper, the leather feeling softer than she expected.

"I don't want these arguments again, Christine."

She nodded in reply, swallowing thickly. Even in this moment of confusion, she could hear that his voice was somehow deeper, huskier than before.

"You promise me, Christine? You will continue to attend your lessons without fuss?"

"I promise," she croaked, her brows knit in concentration as she forced herself to speak.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the touch was gone. Christine opened her eyes and once more the room was empty. She waited, looking about the room and catching her breath as if the emptiness around her was only an illusion. Upon finding herself secure in the fact that she was indeed alone, Christine moved towards the dresser and pulled out a dress- any dress, she thought to herself- putting it on swiftly before checking her reflection briefly in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, though surrounded by now a deep tiredness. Though she was now eager to leave her bedroom, the reason to which she was unsure, Christine also noted the still damp hair that she immediately set to drying.

Feeling somewhat more primped and prepared, Christine left the room into that still foreign hallway. She had certainly had time to be used to it, but never quite had become familiar with the grand structure. It was still, she admitted to herself, quite beautiful, but hardly welcoming. As always the house remained silent and Christine was at peace as she descended the staircase. She had half expected Erik to be there waiting for her, considering his determination, but as per usual, she was to enter that music room of his alone and without guidance. Not that she particularly cared about this. The music room was the only room occupied as frequently as her bedroom.

Erik already waited quite patiently, his back turned to the doorway. He did not turn when Christine entered, instead remaining by the book cases where he surveyed the many librettos, though he seemed to notice her sudden presence as he did straighten a little in his posture.

"Come here," he called, hardly needing to do so as Christine had already begun to move towards him. "I want you to pick one of them."

"I don't know most of them," Christine said, a little daunted as she looked up towards the stacks upon stacks of books.

"Then look. Choose whatever seems the sweetest to you."

"I can't read music very well, Erik, you know I can't."

"Then just pick one at random," he said, beginning to look irritable and so Christine chose to not argue on it any longer. She only briefly scanned the books before selecting one at random, hoping that it would appease him. It was not particularly thick and so perhaps, she thought, the lesson would be over much quicker than when he brought out such horribly long arias. It looked simply enough- the title was even in English! Erik had once said that the English were not renowned for their intricate melodies. He took the book from her and scanned the pages, nodding lightly in approval. "Sit."

Now, that certainly surprised her.

"Sit?"

"Yes, Christine, sit. Over in the arm chairs."

Christine looked over at the seats he had indicated, though remained standing.

"How am I to sing over there?"

"You won't." His back was turned to her again as he moved towards the piano and so he did not see Christine's look of surprise.

"Then why am I here?"

"To listen, Christine. If you will not sing, then you shall at least learn to appreciate the art I am training you for."

He said no more on the subject, sitting at the piano and flicking through the pages until he found what it seemed he was looking for. By this point, Christine had already sat down, frightened to disobey him at all now that his mood had calmed so considerably. She straightened her skirt nervously, as if preparing for a real performance, despite the fact that she knew very well it was only a minor detour from their usual lessons. Tomorrow, everything would return to normal. Normal?

The moment the music began, Christine sank deeper into her seat, taken over. A slight tinge of guilt hit her as she realised the complexity of the music she had chosen, but this was washed away quickly as she realised the skill with which Erik played. Of course, he had played such melodies before; she could hardly call the things that he forced her to sing simple in any way. Yet she had always been singing, and unable to listen quite so intently to what it was that he was playing. Now, as she listened, it seemed as if he were playing with four hands rather than two!

It continued on and on, and Christine began to realise that he was no longer playing the music that was on the sheet. He had tried long enough with it, but finally the pages ran out, and he did not seem to wish to stop. She did not speak to him as the melody began to run off and become something different, something of his own mind, as she did not dare to stop such a tune. The original libretto had been one of great anger, such as she had heard only once or twice before. It was powerful, loud, and oh so complex. Now the music remained angry and powerful, yet… different.

Minutes passed and still Erik continued. Christine became somewhat concerned, unable to place the reason why. She felt tears sting in her eyes as if the music itself were screaming at her for some wrongdoing she could not explain.

"Erik," she whispered, too frightened to speak loudly but far past the point of keeping herself reserved and silent. Still, he did not hear, and continued playing note after note. "Erik?" she asked, a little louder now. However sure she was though that she was audible, Erik did not stop, nor did he even turn.

The music continued, angrier with each note. Christine could not help but wonder to herself who would write such music. She barely even knew such music existed! Music was just the sort of thing you listened to on the radio, or danced to. This was pure emotion compiled into notes. And it burned.

"Erik!" She did not realise she had screeched the word so loudly until Erik did stop, too abruptly, leaving the silence ringing in their ears. He did not turn to her, but the stiffened nature of his posture told Christine that something was wrong. She let out a small sob, not realising that she was close to tears. "I don't want to listen to anymore music, Erik," Christine continued, her voice cracking. "I'll sing anything you like, I swear, and I won't complain at all, just don't play me that music anymore, okay?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Erik rose from the piano bench and turned to her. His jaw was set firmly, as if to hold himself back, though his eyes were wide with a familiar fear. The same fear Christine saw every time that he felt he had gone a step too far.

"I really, really promise this time," Christine said, standing as well. She wiped a hand across her eyes to wipe away any tears that might have fallen, "I learnt my lesson, Erik, I really have. Please, just don't play that again."

"You must leave me now, Christine." The words were slow and calculated, and coupled with the serious intent in Erik's features, Christine found herself more frightened than ever.

"There's nothing more to listen to?"

"Christine, go."

"What happened? Why was that-"

"You must go now!" Erik said loudly and firmly, not particularly shouting but his tone was authoritive enough to make Christine step back smartly, clutching her elbows tightly as if to hold herself together. She nodded quickly and left the room, refusing to look back. The door was closed behind her, though she did not remember closing it, and despite the fact that it was still light outside, Christine ran to her room and dove under the covers.

It was something childish she had not done in years, since even before her parents had died. When something had frightened her, her father had taught her to simply hide away and keep her hands over her ears, to block out whatever thoughts were there to frighten her. It had only been a way to keep the monsters at bay when the lights went out.

She would have done anything in that moment to have her father there, if only to tell her how to keep these monsters at bay.