A/N: This section's a little short…not too much action, just thought and descriptive writing and such. The song in this first section is to the melody of "Wandering Child/Angel of Music." The lyrics were REALLY hard to come up with for this one…Here, I'll give you a visual:

I was sitting at my computer in my pajamas (big t-shirt, sweat pants…no, I don't sleep in the nude…) at two o'clock in the morning, trying to come up with lyrics that an angsty guy sings to the woman he loves…who has just been raped. The words don't exactly write themselves for this one. I went through, I dunno, thirty (maybe forty? Fifty?) differentrevisions before I came up with these (which still don't exactly work with the tune), so y'all just better appreciate them…a lot… :Glares threateningly at readers and shakes fist at computer monitor: Just kidding…you know I love each and every one of you.

P.S: And thank you goes out to my reviewers (Tiger and Raven are sticking in my mind…for some particular reason…:cough cough: haha) for helping me in my strive for 200. Only five more to go:Does a happy dance:


TORMENT


"Beautiful angel, once untainted…

Now robbed of all pure virtue…"

The singing echoed from somewhere above her…but was it truly singing? Perhaps it was simply a melodious voice, musical speech that filled the air around her head. The words escaped her, as if their meaning lay hidden away in her mind, and she simply listened to the sound.

"Plagued by these men of cruel intention,

Find in me your refuge…"

She settled on the decision that this was a dream. Yes, that was it: a beautifully divine dream that dwelled somewhere between the state of delicious, unrealized sleep and the perception of her slumber. Shadows drifted aimlessly across her eyelids, and she felt her lips part, allowing for a new stream of breath to fill her lungs. She let her mind float on blissful ignorance, her memories murky and forgotten, and the song echoed in her ears.

"What evil has left itself in you?

What scars still have stories to tell?

Why is it your body must suffer-

When mine…should burn…in Hell…?"

The words were now intermingled with Erik's bitter tears, the soft, moist beads landing gently on her shoulder…and suddenly, she remembered everything. It all came back, flooding her senses, and her frame became rigid and still as her mind filled with images of…

Oh God…

Christine moaned in her sleep, the peaceful expression that had lined her face swiftly transforming into one of pain, grief, and utter horror. "No…no!" The shriek burst from her mouth with such energy that her voice cracked beneath the force of the sound.

"Erik!"


The heavens seemed to be mourning along with him; the clouds cast long, black shadows across the room, and the deep scarlet hue of the emerging sun turned her flawless white skin into a deep, enchanting rose color. In essence, the sky appeared to have been painted by an artist who possessed only two colors: black and red. Loss and vehemence, despair and bloodlust. Erik looked out the window, his eyes fierce and intense.

But the tears still ran.

He turned back to the figure that lay motionless in the white satin bed before him, his eyes instantly softening, the droplets that streamed from his eyes growing in size. "Oh, Christine…" This pain was so foreign, so strange and unfamiliar to him…it was pain that was not his own, pain more intense than anything he had physically underwent before.

Erik reached out his hand, then he hesitated, uncertain…wondering if he should actually touch her. What if she should awaken from this tranquil slumber that had so graciously been bestowed upon her? But as he stared at her, watching as her lips parted ever-so-slightly, he found his arm had a mind of its own. Erik intertwined his fingers with hers, his other hand resting gently on the crest of her brow, stroking the side of her face tenderly. He did not even realize he was singing until she gave a slight smile in her sleep.

"Find in me your refuge…"

Your refuge…your refuge… Erik's eyes grew dark at his own words, the implication of the phrase taunting him. Had she not been under his refuge when this happened to her? Had she not been in his protection? He grimaced at the thought of the duty he had abandoned…

It had been Erik who allowed her to go into town (at night, no less!), as he sat in the comfort of his own room, thinking of her, dreaming of her, imagining himself within her… He flinched subconsciously at the notion that as he had been picturing all this in his mind, the very same had been taking place less than five miles away…with Christine powerless to stop it…

When all was said and done, it had been Erik's fault all along.

"Why is it your body must suffer-

When mine…should burn…in Hell…?"

The words did not come…through the wrenching sobs that filled the room, he watched as Christine stirred. "No…no…" she murmured, her voice heightening to a shout. When she cried out his name, he was there, lifting her into his arms, pulling her to him.

Erik stared at her face, eyes wide, as her brow drawn together in a knot on her forehead, her teeth pressing into her lower lip with such fierceness that a small trickle of blood gathered at the indentations and silently flowed down the crevices of her skin. He put his ungloved finger beneath her chin and caught the thin crimson river before it seeped into her white gown. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately, but in the end, vainly, to block out the memories of whatever unimaginable horrors she had experienced.

Erik turned his tear-streaked eyes to the ceiling above him, his anguished gaze shooting daggers at the heavens. "What have I done to have You inflict such pain on her!" he bellowed into the emptiness. Only the silence of nothingness answered, a ringing sound, mocking him. "If You are so intent on it, destroy me, here and now, in all your glory!" His voice became a choked whisper in the darkness. "But why make her pay for the sins of my past?" He felt his legs buckle beneath him, and he fell to his knees, still clutching Christine to his chest. "Must you break the one thing in this Godforsaken world that I love?" he hissed into the blackness, eyes blinded by his own tears.

As he knelt, shaking, on the floor, Erik felt the warm touch of flesh to his left cheek. Bringing his gaze back down to the ground, he saw himself in the tiny pools of ebony enclosed in Christine's chocolate-colored irises. Her mouth seemed so small and insignificant placed beneath the deep, wide oceans of her eyes…eyes that brimmed with tears at the sight of her shattered beloved. "Erik…" she murmured. She ran her fingers over his cheek.

He took her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, over and over, telling himself to stop but incapable of doing so. Christine did not respond to his kisses, instead allowing him to cover her with his lips and tears, feeling his need for her radiate from his skin. "I will never leave you again…" he whispered between each kiss. "Never…oh God, Christine, what have I done to you?"

Erik stopped, his face resting upon her cheek, his gasps labored and irregular against her ear. His words echoed in her mind, and she stared at him. He blamed himself…? "Erik…look at me," she said, watching as he closed his eyes and turned away. "Erik…"

"I'm responsible for all of this, Christine…" He savored her name on his lips, the word drawn out on his breath. "I didn't stop you…I didn't even try…" Erik met her gaze, his mouth quivering.

"No." Her voice was strong, harsh…he hardly recognized it. He stared at her, mouth agape. She took his hand with both of hers, grasping it to the base of her throat. "He is." Christine saw the quick anger return to his eyes at her words before turning away from him. "...or he was."

Slowly, Erik pressed his long, slender hand to her paling face, his eyes filled with all the sadness in the world (A/N: Sorry, I like that line!). "Oh, Christine…what did he do to you…?"

He had not expected an answer…he had not wanted an answer. But as he watched her eyes glaze over, her small frame tremble, he suddenly knew he was going to get one anyway.


"It was so sudden…"

Erik took her hand and squeezed it…harder than he intended. Christine glanced up at him, and he loosened his hold. "You don't need to answer. Maybe you should get some more rest," he murmured. He lifted her into the bed and pulled the blankets over her thin shoulders, his eyes making tiny circles around her face. For a few minutes he knelt there, running his thumb over her white knuckles, before getting up and heading for the door.

"I hadn't even known he was there, Erik…"

He turned back to her, mouth trembling. "Christine…" he said, his voice almost inaudible.

She cut him off, her voice sharp and unusually low. "You asked what he did, Erik…" Christine reached for his hand, her fingers grazing over his arm. "I'm prepared to answer."

"But I'm not prepared to hear it!" he shouted, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Christine watched him apprehensively, the flickering of the candles on the walls throwing strange shadows across her face. The stillness that filled the room was unnerving. Slowly, he made his way back over to her. "I don't think I'm…" he began, his eyes locked on hers. A sigh flew past his lips, and he started again. "I'm not strong enough."

There was a light tap on the door, and after a few moments of hesitant silence between Erik and Christine, Madame Giry stepped in the room. Erik stood from his place beside Christine's bed, turning to face the window. Madame Giry watched them, her eyes fierce and analytic beneath the wrinkles of her weathered skin, before walking- but it wasn't really walking, for her steps were so smooth and graceful it was as if she floated across the room- and settling down beside Christine. "My child…" the woman murmured.

Erik listened to her speak, his fingers pressed against the glass. Madame Giry said just the right words, talk of strong spirit and undying resolute to be held against evil…innocence lost but not completely destroyed. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyes closed, his lips mouthing curses aimed at his own inability to console his dear Christine.

"Erik rescued me, you know," Christine whispered to Madame Giry. He turned his face slightly, his back still to her, as the rising sun emitted long, blood red shafts of light through the glass. "I was going to die, but he saved me. I saw him, I saw his face…" she said softly, her eyes fixed on Erik as she spoke. "He truly is an Angel…a Guardian Angel of Music…" He squeezed his eyes shut, his face trying unsuccessfully to hinder the inevitable tears that had already breached his eyelashes. Erik covered his face with one of his hands.

He felt warm skin touch his wrist, and he peered through the cracks in his fingers. Madame Giry stood before him, a comforting smile lining her lips. Slowly, he let his hand fall limply to his side, and he watched as Madame Giry's expression changed from consolation to one of hesitant confusion. "Erik…" She reached out and touched his right cheek lightly. "Where is your mask?"

Erik's hand flew to his face, tracing the uneven crevices of his deformity. An image sprang into his mind…a vision of a hand colliding with the side of his head…and he remembered. "It fell off…" he whispered, his voice filled with dawning horror. "It fell off when I…" His voice trailed away, and he stared at Madame Giry. "It's right next to the body…"

They were interrupted by a loud, fervent pounding at the front door.