This chapter isn't the happiest...but I promise it will pick up very soon. This chapter deals with Christine's inner turmoil and all the emotions she is going through. You may be like "No no no, this is not right. " And I agree with you. However, when you have lost someone and been through such trauma, your mind is hardly thinking straight. I did my best to portray that here. It also jumps around in the timeline, but I tried to section off each time piece to make it easier to follow. Even though it is quite melancholy, hope you guys are still enjoying the story!


Chapter 42: A Drowning Desperation.

Christine POV:

Three Days After the Coup:

Christine wondered if fairies were real. As a child, she used to run around the woods of Raoul's estate while her father gave Philippe lessons. She would chase after the fireflies, thinking they were fairy princesses waiting to be captured. Raoul would often accompany her, the two of them laughing and dancing in the woods until the maids would come out to scold them.

Now they danced above her; three little fairies. She tried to reach up to grab one, but a dull ache in her shoulder caused her hand to drop at her side. Her heavy limbs felt too sluggish and numb to attempt again. Instead, she chose to just lie there and watch them dance.

The more she studied them, the more they changed. Soon they became glowing orbs, until finally her vision cleared enough to see that they were lanterns. She never remembered lanterns hanging from the ceiling at the opera house. Slowly, she turned her head to inspect the room. Maybe she had fallen asleep in a new storage area?

Her vision spun dizzyingly for just a moment until she found a human figure at her side. He was an older man with unkempt, grey hair. His cheekbones protruded through his papery thin skin so boldly that he seemed ghostly in the candlelight. Occasionally, the man would mutter something incoherent, but seemed to sleep somewhat peacefully. If he didn't seem so ragged, she would have thought he was an angel. He seemed encapsulated in a glowing, white pool. Weren't all angels like that? An image of an angel came into her mind. Tall, brooding, and dressed in all black except for a porcelain mask. Amber eyes that could pierce her soul. A voice that pulled her into a state of peace. Who was he?

If that was an angel, then who was this man? She looked at herself quizzically to realize that she too was covered in the same white cloth.

A shiver of apprehension slowly trickled down her spine. The white canvas was a bedsheet, one that was tightly tucked into the narrow bed frame she laid upon. She groaned as she forced herself to sit upright. A wave of nausea flashed through her, but she forced herself to remain collected. Something wasn't right and she had to find out why.

Her usual, simple dress was replaced by a thin hospital gown. The man next to her wore a similar one. Her heart rate accelerated as she took in more of her surroundings. There were five of them, all tucked into thin, mobile hospital beds that were arranged in a row. Two men at the other end of the row almost seemed like her managers, but they were too thin and unkempt to be her theatrical bosses. There was an older woman next to the man next to her. Were they a couple? Why were they both covered in bandages?

"Christine?"

Her eyes fluttered about. She knew that voice. Was it her angel? Suddenly she felt transported to another place, back with that angel she had imagined. She was surrounded by his presence. His fingers were in her hair, his breath against her cheek. She could feel all the angles of his torso against her and it sent a warm shiver down her spine. Her heart fluttered as he whispered in her ear.

"Christine..."

She felt her body move involuntarily. The entire room seemed to have rattled. An earthquake? She wondered. Her eyes found a small window across from her. The outdoors was moving by, rather quickly at that. She furrowed her brow. Where on earth was she?

"Christine?" The voice said again.

Her head rolled to the other side. A young man sat in a chair near her bed. His golden locks were matted down by a bandage that wrapped around the circumference of his head, holding his jaw tightly in place. His sleepy blue eyes stared at her nervously.

It was then it hit her, like a wave that spiraled her into the deep. Darius was dead. Phillipe was dead. Erik was gone.

And it was all his fault.

The tears came quickly. Rage consumed her steadily until it reached a boiling point she could not simmer down. "Where is he?" She sobbed. "Where is he!"

Raoul leaned back as he took a deep, ragged breath. "Don't scream." He pleaded. "Please, not again."

But she couldn't stop. The fire that burned in her, that flaming fury, blinded her from all reason. She ripped the sheets off her bed, throwing them towards him in anger. She screamed and cried and thrashed about, despite Raoul's frantic attempt to hold her down. Her nails scratched at his back and she smacked him over and over as hard as she could.

Darius's lifeless eyes haunted her. They were once so merry and full of life, yet now they seemed hollow and empty. She couldn't get the sight of them out of her head no matter how much she rubbed her eyes. Nadir's chilling screams drowned out Raoul's pleas as he tried to console her. She needed to find Erik. She cried out for her angel of music as she continued her fight against Raoul.

Two men in white coats entered. They pinched her arm with some sort of vial, causing her to screech at the top of her lungs.

Raoul hovered over her. She watched his tears dribble down his cheeks as the other two men wrestled her. How dare he cry when he caused all of this! The mere sight of him made her want to destroy the room around her.

Her body grew numb quickly. She wanted to fight him and run back to Tehran. God, she would do anything to get away from him. But instead, she could do nothing as he returned to his seat and rubbed her cheek. She twitched at his touch.

"I am so sorry. Forgive me, please forgive me. I cannot lose you too. You're all I have left."

Her last thoughts revolved around how hard she would have to hit his swollen jaw for it to completely unhinge.


One Week After the Coup:

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day…"

"Erik!"

Christine awoke with a start, her body trembling with each deep pant. That voice...that was Erik's voice. She scanned the room, looking for any sight of her Angel of Music.

To her surprise, the scenery had changed. She was in a small room with flowery wallpaper. A small nightstand separated her and a double bed to her left. There was one large, circular window to her right next to a narrow wooden door. She looked down, pulling back her sheets. She was on a cot now, one thick wool blanket as her only source of comfort. She wore a thin chemise that she did not recognize.

She needed air. She needed to find Erik.

Though her body ached and her mind swirled, she forced herself to her feet. She bit down on her lip as if it could hold in her tumultuous stomach as she stood. At first, she tried to stand still. She inhaled deeply, doing her best to calm her swaying stomach and trembling legs. If Erik wasn't in here, he had to be on the other side of the door. Determined, she took a step forward.

Her legs gave out underneath her instantly. With a near silent squeak, she barely caught herself as she crashed against the wall and window frame. Crashing face first into the metal frame would not help her get out of here any faster.

She gasped at the sight in front of her. It was the sea. Small blue waves rocked and danced before her, a thin dock the only thing separating her from the elegant waters below. Where on earth was she?

Christine groaned in pain. Her entire body ached, though she had no idea why. Her throat hurt the most, each swallow and breath causing her to wince. She shook away her thoughts. Air. She needed air. With shaky fingers, she somehow was able to grip onto the side of the wall and its many hooks and crevasses until she reached the door.

A wool nightgown hung near the door on a slender hook. She quickly grabbed it, wrapping it around her body before she stepped out. The salty sea air hit her quickly, causing her to cough and gasp. Her lungs were so used to the dry, summer air in Tehran. To now be hit with a cool sea breeze caused her lungs to panic and seize. She stumbled forward and caught herself against the railing, doing everything she could to control her breathing. Her open mouth did little to filter in the air.

She recognized this sea. As she leaned over the railing, she took in the majestic sight of the beautiful blue mass below it. It could only belong to the Mediterranean. Her arms shook at the thought. This meant they were on their way back to France.

"Christine?"

Christine jumped. Her mind flashed back to Raoul, sitting at her bedside and crying over her. He was the last person she wanted to see. But instead of golden locks, she was faced with tied-back brown lockets and cheap lipstick.

Carlotta stared at her as though she had seen a ghost. The prima donna gawked at her rival as her arms hung loosely at her side. Christine barely recognized her in typical attire. Her plain dress was a dark green that highlighted her thinner frame pleasantly. Though the woman was still plump, Christine was certain she had lost at least 10 or 15 pounds while in captivity.

"Christine, you're...you're awake."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but instead hurled over the side of the rail. Her entire body convulsed as she spilled out the little stomach contents she had into the sea. Her throat burned so much that her she gripped her throat. Her legs did little to hold her up and she leaned against the rail to remain somewhat upright.

Carlotta quickly ran to her side. She wrapped her arms around her and grabbed her hands. Like an old woman, Carlotta helped her walk away from the rails. Christine was too focused on staying conscious than to focus on helping the struggling prima donna and leaned into her for nearly full support.

"You need to rest!" She grunted firmly. Christine didn't want to rest. She wanted to run, flee the ache in her heart. Erik had to be on this ship. She heard his voice and knew he was here. Carlotta already had her back on the cot before she could protest.

"No..." Christine mumbled weakly. Her voice was a raspy plea.

Carlotta hushed her. "You have been sedated for nearly a week now. You must rest to regain your strength. I will fetch Madame Giry, she will be able to help you. Just stay here."

Christine must have been dreaming. Carlotta Guidicelli, her dramatic rival and foil, was tucking her in and caring for her? Christine furrowed her brow.

"What..." But Christine closed her lips, terrified she would puke all over the diva.

Carlotta smiled weakly. "Don't worry. We are safe. We are on our way back to France and should arrive in a week or so. All you can do now is rest."

Christine felt the swell of tears. How could she rest when Erik was out there? Had he survived? Had he caught up to them? Maybe Carlotta knew where he was? But her hopes were dashed when Carlotta sighed, biting back a swell of tears. Her eyes were full of sorrow.

"I am sorry. Losing someone you love is a pain I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy...let alone a friend."

Christine waited until Carlotta had left until she burst into tears. Lose a friend? Her mind began to bargain. Maybe she meant Darius? Or Philippe? She couldn't have meant Erik. Erik was here. She had heard him sing, hadn't she?

"No." She cried, hugging herself tightly. She sobbed into her pillow as she accepted the truth.

Erik wasn't here.

Later that day:

When her father died, she had been left with an emptiness inside her. It hurt, ached, and pulled her into a black despair. But this was different. It was an insane burning feeling, one that no matter how hard she cried she could not dampen.

Madame Giry cradled her in her arms. She gently rubbed her nails against Christine's scalp as she had done in that cage all those months. Though it seemed bizarre, Christine would be lying if she said it was not the most therapeutic calming technique she had ever witnessed. Meg and Jammes sat on the large bed next to them, staring at her somberly.

"Wh-what happened." Christine cried against her instructor's bosom.

Madame Giry hushed her softly. "We had to leave, Christine."

Christine moaned. "Nooo. Not me. I-I was going to stay with him."

"I know, my love. I know."

Her usual stern tone was replaced by a soft coo. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night, something so soothing that Christine melted into her. Madame Giry waited until she had stopped crying before explaining the situation. Christine had passed out on the wagon and slept all the way to the train. Raoul was able to procure a couple of doctors to join them on the train ride, promising to pay them once they arrived in Beirut. The train was often used to transport injured soldiers and it didn't take much to turn a carriage into a medical bay. Christine's screams and hysteria became so bad they had to sedate her for the three day soprano shrill could be heard by the train conductor, who nearly stopped the train entirely. Christine trembled at the thought. Her dream with Raoul then had to have been a memory. By the sounds of things, it most likely was not the first time this had happened either. Firmin, Andre, Sophia, and Ignacio were all treated as well. Despite the crew's fears, they would be strong enough to survive the journey back to France. Madame Giry tried to skate around Firmin and Andre's condition, but Christine demanded to know every detail. What Erik had done had been under duress, she was certain. Knowing their state would not hurt her anymore than she already was.

Ignacio was well enough to sit out on the deck, though Sophia's hand would probably never heal completely. It had been too long without medical attention and the doctor was certain she would need surgery to fix it. However, her older, frail body may not be able to survive such a procedure. Firmin and Andre were finally able to speak, though they still screamed all night long due to their fierce nightmares.

Meg and Jammes sniffled. They had been nearly silent through the conversation, though Christine could see Meg was dying to chip in. Finally, at a pregnant silence, the blonde gathered her courage.

"How much do you remember before you passed out?" Meg asked softly, wiping away a tear from her cheek.

Christine tried to clear her throat, though it sounded more like loud, hoarse whimpers. "Darius...the eunuch killed Darius."

Meg's lower lip trembled. She took in a deep, shaky breath as she looked away. "I don't believe it… We were just laughing together only a little beforehand and...and…" She cut herself, burying her face into the palms of her hands.

Jammes wrapped her arm around her friend. Christine took another deep breath, sliding away from Madame Giry. She gripped onto the bar of the cot as she sat upright.

"Darius said that Phillipe had died. Is this true?"

Jammes and Meg nodded. Christine was surprised that they remained silent. She presumed that they were doing their best not to mention Raoul. Christine sighed. As much as she hated him in the moment, she knew that he too must have been suffering.

"How is Sorelli?" She asked instead.

At first, no one answered. Christine looked around. "What?" She asked. Her stomach began to flip. Had something happened to her?

"She is devastated." Madame Giry said curtly. Christine wanted to know more, but could tell that it was a topic of conversation the three did not want to discuss. She looked away, instead letting the silence take over the four of them. Eventually, Madame Giry left to grab some food, insisting that Christine ate something. Just before she left, she firmly cupped Christine's cheeks in her hand. Her deep stare and snug grip ensured that her student looked at her directly into her eyes.

"Know this, and know it well. None of this is your fault. Do you understand? None of it."

Christine's lower lip trembled. She nodded, though a pang of guilt cut at her heart. What if this was her fault? If she had been braver, then maybe none of this would have happened? Maybe she could have saved Darius or stopped Raoul from dragging her away?

When Madame Giry closed the door behind her, Christine began to sob. A few days ago, she had stood before everyone and declared that she finally felt strong. How naïve she had been. There is nothing she could have done to save them because she was too weak to do anything. It only took a few seconds before the three women were curled up on the larger bed, their silent tears dripping down each other's cheeks as they held each other tightly.

"I dreamed of the day we would escape that terrible place...But I never imagined it would be like this." Jammes whispered.

Christine didn't say anything. If she could choose, she would much rather be back in the Shah's clutches. At least then, Erik would be back by her side.

Gabriel and Louis joined Madame Giry as she returned with food. Uncharacteristically, the older woman chose to leave the five of them unaccompanied. Christine presumed the older woman believed the company of friends was what she wanted. Though she was grateful for their bright personality and conversation, the darkness in her soul forbade her from smiling.

Both Gabriel and Louis seemed gaunt and frail, though their boyish humour and charm had returned to them. The same guilt from earlier felt heavy in her. Christine had been well fed and taken care of in captivity and she doubted that the rest of the crew had the same treatment. Why did they have to suffer? They did their best to joke and came later, attempting to make her smile with their stories. She was too numb to even register they were being sarcastic. Carlotta even stopped by to see how she was fairing. Yet, no matter who came, she just couldn't feel anything.

She had stayed in the room for two days. Madame Giry and Meg slept in the bed, but Christine could not sleep. She saw Darius's lifeless eyes staring up at her while Nadir cried in anguish over him. But the worst nightmares were the ones that involved Erik. She saw him, bruised and hurt, fight for his life against those two soldiers. She was supposed to be there, to watch his back, and she had left. What if someone had snuck up behind him? What if he was dead and it was all her fault!

It was those short dreams that would wake her with a start. Sweat clung to her forehead and her laboured breathing was the only sound that could be heard.

Before she could change her mind, Christine quickly stood, stumbling slightly as she grabbed her long, wool nightgown. Maybe some fresh air would clear her head. As silently as she could, she snuck out of the room. The cold evening breeze chilled her clammy skin, but Christine was relieved to finally have a lung full of fresh air.

Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she slowly stumbled towards the back of the ship. It was a large steamboat, similar to the one that had travelled to Beirut many months ago. In the center of the ship, there was a large open area for sitting and leisurely walking around.

A series of lanterns lit the area. Christine expected to be alone, but a slender frame caught her eye.

Sorelli.

For a moment, Christine wasn't sure whether to approach the prima ballerina or to turn back to her room. Her elbows rested against the opposite rail of the ship, her long hair covering her lowered face. Christine felt herself shiver. As her friend, she should be over there and helping her through her grief. Sorelli was there for her when her father had died, shouldn't she return the favour? How could she console someone else when she, too, was suffering? Her limbs moved on their own accord. Though she had no idea what she was going to say, wouldn't her presence be something? She walked up to Sorelli, stopping a few feet away. What was she going to say? Sorelli must have heard her nervous pants. Slowly, she turned until the two women stared at each other. Christine gulped at the sight of her. Her loose hair ran wild in the wind, though clearly she had not been taking care of it. Her eyes were bloodshot and brimmed with tears. Her normally creamy skin seemed pale and ashy in the moonlight. She was the shell of the woman she used to be.

"Hello." Christine muttered. It was the only thing she could think of to say. Sorelli didn't respond. Instead, she just continued to stare hollowly at her

"Can I stand out here with you? I can't sleep either."

"I'd rather be alone."

Sorelli's cold response cut at her heart. Christine closed her eyes. Sorrelli was devastated. Though she may come off as cruel, she is just lost. Christine had to remind herself that she was not as understanding after the loss of her father either. Sorelli should not have been expected to be as well.

Christine nodded. "I'm really sorry for your loss. Phillipe was a good man...and he really loved you."

Sorelli said nothing, though Christine could see her lower lip tremble. Christine tried to give her some semblance of a warm smile, though her muscles ached. When was the last time she had smiled? Before the moment could grow anymore awkward or upsetting, Christine turned. It probably wasn't best for her to be out on the dock with her diminished health anyways. She was ready to walk back to the cabin when Sorelli called out her name.

"Answer me honestly." Sorelli begged. Her voice sounded just as hoarse as Christine's, though she was able to quickly change it with a quick cough. She took a moment to collect herself before asking her question.

"Do you think the Phantom did it?"

Christine's heart dropped.

"Did what?" She asked her voice a breathy whisper in the wind. Her heart rattled against her rib cage. Sorelli could not be implying what she believed. Her dear friend would never insinuate such a claim.

"You know what I am asking." Sorelli spat. Her voice quivered, though Christine could hear the malice undertone. "Did he kill my Philippe?"

Christine couldn't breath. She felt her fingers curl into fists. "How dare you." She muttered. "Of course he didn't. He was killed by Javad's men-"

"Is that what he told you?" Sorelli stalked forward, a menacing scowl forming on her thin lips. "Are those the sweet little lies he whispered in your ear."

"Stop it." Christine demanded, but Sorelli continued.

"All I wonder now is, did that monster kill him with his lasso or if he just stood by and did nothing as he was attacked. Both would be just as guilty in my books. Don't you think Erik returned rather quickly? Without Philippe's body?"

"Sorelli, you have lost someone you love. You are hurt and confused. Believing these lies and blaming it on innocent people will not heal this emptiness inside you!"

"I am confused?" Sorelli scoffed. "Says the woman who has completely gone mad! You've been drugged into a catatonic state because you were so insane that you screamed every time you opened your eyes! Before that your feeble mind was poisoned by his sorcery."

Christine trembled in place. She wanted this to stop, but nothing could come out of her mouth. Sorelli continued to yell, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. She pushed Christine's shoulders. Christine gasped as she stumbled back. Sorelli had always been bold, but never aggressive. Her lip trembled as she continued to yell. "Look at Andre and Firmin! Look at what he did to them! They will never recover from the madness in their heads and neither will you!"

Christine leapt forward, pushing Sorelli back just as she had done. "You are wrong! He was forced into that-"

"Bullshit!"

"-by the Shah! You know how cruel that tyrant was. Javad's men were all armed and Erik and Philippe had one gun between them! Erik would never kill him!"

Sorelli leapt forward, tackling Christine to the floor. Both of them cried out as they collapsed against the wood. Sorelli gripped onto the lapels of Christine's nightgown, shaking her body belligerently as she straddled her.

"Philippe is dead because of him! Why do you defend him?!"

"Get off me! He is innocent!"

"You mad bitch! You are just as guilty as he is! If you didn't insist on waiting for that freak then we would have all made it to the wagon safely!"

"Sorelli! Stop it!"

Gabriel raced over to them. He wrapped his arms around Sorelli, yanking her off Christine. Piangi helped him, both of them yelling over her frantic screams.

"This is your fault! He is dead because of you! If you know what is good for you, you will stay away from that monster!" Sorelli repeated it over and over, crying out Philippe's name into the sea breeze.

Christine turned, climbing to feet. She stumbled away from the scene. Sorelli burst into tears, crying into Piangi's arms.

"I loved him. I loved him. Oh Philippe...my Philippe. "

Christine felt her heart shatter. Philippe was a good man, he did not deserve to die. Erik did not kill him. This much was true. But she knew how much Sorelli loved him. She used to say how Philippe would save her from poverty, make her a vicomtess and they would live a great life together. She would have followed him wherever he led.

She would have been everything Christine couldn't be. She would blend in with aristocracy with relative ease. She thrived on gossip, was quick witted, and thick skinned. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she would have given Philippe all of the heirs he wanted. She would have happily been anything he wanted because a life with him would be everything she wanted.

But now he was gone. She would never get to say goodbye or bury him in a nearby cemetery. Instead, she would have to live the rest of her life knowing he was abandoned under a foreign palace that burned to a crisp.

Christine shook as she cried. The guilt became too much. If she had just let Raoul lead the way, then would any of this have happened? Why did she have to be so headstrong? Raoul had a plan, he just was looking out for her, but her stubbornness led to this.

Movement above caught her eye. She glanced up at the deck, her tears blurring her vision until she blinked them away.

The moon barely lit his face, but even at its brightest, she could barely recognize the once handsome man she used to court. Raoul's face was still bandaged though now he sported a ragged, thin beard and mustache. The moonlight reflected in his eyes. They were just as hollow and lifeless as Darius's.

She released a choked sob. That man had just lost his brother and his fiancé in one day and she had been so rageful. The familiar cold blackness of despair brushed against her as she looked up at him. He said nothing, though he did not turn away from her.

This was her fault. This was all her fault. Erik was never the monster-it was her all along.

She fled, racing back to her room. But even there, she could not escape the blackness that swallowed her whole.


Two Months after the Coup:

The last time she had been at the Chagny estate, she was told that she would return here as a victomtess. Now she sat alone in a guest room, knowing that it would never be true.

This is your fault. He is dead because of you.

Sorelli's harsh words from the boat flashed into her mind. The two of them did not speak throughout the rest of their journey. In fact, Madame Giry, Meg, and Jammes were the only two people Christine saw as she remained quarantined in their small cabin for the rest of the journey. Their arrival in a port outside of Montpellier was brief. Three large carriages awaited them at the dock and they were quickly escorted in. Raoul led the group, informing everyone to board a carriage. He did not look at her, nor did he speak to her. Christine wasn't sure if she was relieved or hurt.

He sat with the managers, Carlotta and Piangi in the front. Sorelli, Gabriel, Ignacio and Sophia took another, leaving Madame Giry, Meg, Louis, Jammes, and herself to the last carriage. Christine remained mostly silent as she took in the scenery of her home. It was so much greener than she remembered.

For the past two days, she had remained in her own room. Occasionally, the staff would come to give her food, but never did they offer her to eat with the others. Christine didn't care. Rotting in this room would be significantly less painful for all of them.

A swift knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. She turned just as a maid entered.

"The Vicomte de Chagny would like a word with you."

Christine felt her breath hitch. "I-I am afraid I am not feeling the best. Can you please let Raoul know that-"

"Not Raoul." The maid interjected. "His father, Monsieur Charles de Chagny."

Christine furrowed her brow. When they arrived at the Château, only Raoul and the servants were present. One of the servants had mentioned that his father was in Belgium and had not planned on returning for many weeks. Her stomach flipped. He must have heard about Philippe and returned at once. Would he blame her like Sorelli had? Was she to be subjected to the wrath of the vicomte de Chagny?

The maid stepped to the side, motioning out of the door with her free hand. "I am afraid he is most insistent, my lady."


Nadir POV:

One Week After the Coup:

Rookheeya had smiled at him just before she died. The sweat on her brow and the black bags under her eyes did not stop it from taking his breath away, as her smiles always did. He remembered first meeting her and completely losing all of his senses. He was a deputy at the time, a young man just starting his career when this gorgeous woman was arrested in his precinct. She had been accused of stealing, a crime that had serious repercussions. But instead of crying for forgiveness, like most, she came prepared with a bad attitude and ample evidence for her innocence. For him, it was love at first sight.

She continued to defy all political games, even when he joined the Shah's court. Maybe his softness towards her was the reason she died? If he had been like most husbands, and squashed the fire in her soul, maybe she would not have raced into the quarantined section of the city with food and medical supplies. Maybe then, she would not have gotten sick?

The Sultana had tricked her. She knew of Rookheeya's defiance and told her all about how a section of the city would be cut off from water, food, and supplies to contain the disease. Though normally, Rookheeya would have seen around the Sultana's tricks, she played directly into her game and went to their aid.

Maybe if he was a stronger man, both of them would be here now.

Darius was much like himself: bold, charismatic, but completely unprepared for the cruelty of the world. But instead of following orders, like he had, he wanted Darius to fight for what he believed in. If he had a son, he was certain that would be what Rookheeya would have wanted for him. SO he showed Darius both sides to the argument and supported him in whatever he chose.

Nadir's eyes were too dry to produce tears, though his body shook. If he was a stronger man, he would have made sure Darius was safe. He was barely a man, too young to have died in war. He should have met a nice woman, gotten married, had some children. He should have grown old with her and watched their children grow. Darius should have done all of the things that Nadir never could, but yearned for nonetheless.

He buried Rookheeya under a small tangerine tree up in the mountains when she died. It was the most peaceful, beautiful place he could think of. He wanted to bury Darius there too. The two of them would have gotten along perfectly and could watch over this new city as it rose from the ashes. But all he could do was cling onto Erik as he was dragged away. The bombs set throughout the palace went off just in time. It destroyed every tile and stone, even damaging most of the buildings that faced the palace. By this stage, he had lost too much blood to hold onto his dear friend...his dear son. Who knew if Darius ever would be buried, or would he always remain under the rubble of war.

Nadir glanced down at his hands. Why wasn't he happy? The Shah was dead. Mozaffar had even announced it himself to the public. Didn't that mean that he had finally enacted his revenge on that tyrant?

But at what cost?

Nadir trembled. What kind of man would he be to wish to take it back? For years now he had wanted this very moment- to finally get revenge for his sweet Rookheeya. But it was all so wrong. This was not what he wanted at all.

The best revenge is to improve yourself. Those were the words of his faith, one that nursed his broken heart. It was forced upon him as a child, though he later used it as a crutch. He had done his best to improve himself. He stopped following orders mindlessly and instead stood up for what he believed in. If this was the best revenge, then why did it hurt so much!

Nadir's hands were covered in filth. It was a miracle that they were still alive. They had been hidden in an underground bunker for three days before boarding this godforsaken boat. His leg had been bandaged, though Nadir still felt weak from his blood loss. The stitches were ragged and would certainly leave a scar, though Nadir did not mind. It wasn't as if his nursemaid was also bleeding out at the time.

He glanced over at his companion. How was it that the two of them always ended up like this? Broken, defeated, and utterly alone with each other. His back faced him, bare and exposed to the world. Nadir could see the many faded scars along it, wondering how many he actually had. Though they clotted together around the center of his back, forming thick, calloused skin, it did not hide the tension he saw there.

Erik sharpened his blades. The scratching of the stone against the metal was the only noise in the musty air. It had been a few days since Nadir had felt anything but pain and anguish. Yet when he watched each, precise, furious stroke, he felt something new.

Fear.

"Is there any more wine?" Nadir asked. Drinking seemed to be the only remedy for this particular type of pain.

Erik didn't stop his task. "No." He responded curtly as he continued to sharpen a long knife.

Nadir leaned his head back. He was still able to walk, though every limp ached. He would be no use to Erik once they arrived in France, regardless for what waited for them there. He cursed that fool under his breath. He should have left him on the battlefield.

"You are trying to tell me that there is no alcohol on this God forsaken ship?" Nadir groaned.

"I am trying to tell you that liquor is a poor substitute for therapy."

Nadir gritted his teeth. Many years ago, when Erik was heartbroken and alone, he had used those same words against him. However, Erik had never been much of a drinker, instead focusing on more lethal substitutes.

"I am a crippled old man, Erik. At least give me something to pass the pain."

"You may be old but you are no cripple. It has only been a week and you are already back on your feet. It just takes time."

Nadir leaned his head back against the crates. "I have no need for time. I have fulfilled my goals. The Shah is dead, Mozaffar is in charge, and Persia is slowly turning towards times of peace."

Erik turned to face him. His arms and chest were bandages, a stark contrast against his pale skin and dark bruises. Some of them had turned yellow. "If the rumours are true, your vengeance is far from complete."

"And once that mess is cleaned up? Then will you let me fade away in peace?"

Erik shook his head. Nadir scoffed. "You will have the woman of your dreams, music at your fingertips, and no leash to hold you back. What good will having an old fool like me around?"

Erik was silent for a moment. He turned away from Nadir, who let out a frustrated sigh. Why had that fool always been so difficult?

"I promised Rookheeya I'd look after you."

Nadir froze. The mention of his late wife's name was almost too much to bear. The way it rolled off his tongue almost brought her into existence in the candlelit room.

"Before she left for that quarantine zone, she made me promise to take care of you. It was as if she knew her fate. I know the Sultana's demise was your motivation to live for a long time, and I let it happen as we shared similar goals. I see now that was a mistake. In my short time with...with Christine... I have learned that there is more to life than your past. The future is not always as grim as it may seem, even in our darkest hour. Striving forward is what makes us who we are."

He finally turned to face Nadir. "We will go to Paris, kill that vixen, then we will both live good lives until the end of our days. When it gets tough, we will have each other to fall back on. Because only you and I know how grim these days were and only we are tough enough to drag each other out of the madness. Do you understand?"

Nadir swallowed. Tears dripped down his cheeks and he looked away. It was not proper for a man to cry, though Nadir and Erik had seen their fair share of each other's tears. In fact, Erik was probably the only person in this world that Nadir had ever been vulnerable with. It was a scary concept, to bear your fears and emotions to another person, but it made their friendship stronger. Even the horrors they committed in Persia, their shared trauma, could not shatter it.

Once Nadir had regained his composure, he turned back to Erik. He sat patiently and stared in Nadir's direction.

Nadir nodded. "Then we may as well train down here. If the Sultana really did survive, she will be one hell of an adversary."


I didn't respond to reviews last time (because I am the worst) so I am responding to both below!

Lindaweng: Aannndd then I crushed your dreams and separated them. Tee hee. But no need to fear! As you can see, Erik is on his way. Unfortunately, Darius did die however Nadir and Erik survived.

NPennyworth: I heard a bunch of screaming, thought- oh no! someone is in trouble! then went, ah wait, it is just NPennyworth. (JK). I am glad that you enjoyed the knock out punch! Their presence definitely did complicate things. You nailed it with Christine's emotions. She definitely was frustrated at being dragged around like a doll.

Guest: Haha it did deliver quite the punch! (Nice one) I promise that soon Erik and Christine will have their relationship sorted out, but how soon you will have to wait and see (am I cruel? LOL). Thank you!

Phantomgirl24: Raoul definitely deserved it-hence its existence. I liked your idea about sending Raoul to Antarctica- it would be better than any icepack honestly. I also liked your self defense strategy- need to sign Christine up for some classes honestly. (Don't go insane just yet-there may or may not be a reunion in the next chapter or the one after.) Thank you!

Lucyole: I hope this chapter explained what Fazia helped do, but more details on that situation will be revealed later on. Darius is a great guy and I really liked developing his character-however-it would be really unrealistic if during a battle against a tyrant that no one died. So Darius had to go-RIP. It also plays into Nadir's development. So sorry! And yes, you have my permission to go nuts on your favourite fop. He definitely deserves it. Thank you for your reviews!

Badpixieo6: So in my mind the Shah just carries around his whip on his hip or near his throne like his own personal weapon. He definitely had no idea it was his son- though it wasn't the loving reunion Mozaffar kind of hoped for lol. You were 100% right- Raoul did not take the news well.

FleshofMidnight- Did you play Christine on stage? If so- that is amazing! What a phenomenal experience. Also super excited to read your story! I will probably look into it sometime soon (at a time I should be doing my schoolwork most likely).

Guest: I know, I really liked him too. But unfortunately it had to be done. So sorry!