Christine was sitting in a small wooden rocking chair on the porch. She spent so many afternoons sitting in that chair that it practically conformed to her body. She slowly pointed her toes, causing the chair to roll backwards. Her eyes were slightly squinted and her lips were tightly pursed. She was intently working on her needlepoint. On her last journey to the village with Erik, she had purchased a small white handkerchief into which she was now stitching hers and Raoul's initials. She deftly pulled the pale blue string through the fabric, then plunged the needle back in. This was one of Christine's small, but many acts of defiance. She reveled in the little ways that she held on to her hope that Raoul would rescue her. Some days she would make up love songs and sing them in her head or write letters to Raoul that she could never send, imagining what his response would be.

One day she found a green notebook that had been discarded under her bed. She picked it up and blew off the dust, causing her to release a squeaky sneeze. She opened the blank, yellowed pages and decided that it would be perfect for writing down her thoughts. Christine began by writing the story of her life. She thought it was better than any tale she could invent. She dipped her pen in the ink and the very first word she wrote was "Raoul". It was with Raoul that she felt her life had truly started. As time went by and she wrote more, the story grew more and more fantastic. Perhaps she had done it on purpose, or maybe her memory had become so distorted with her fantasies. Whatever the reason, Christine loved quietly awaking in the middle of the night and reading that book by candlelight. She would never reveal any of these things to Erik, but simply knowing that she had committed the act lifted Christine's spirit. Whenever she felt like he was winning, like he was finally going to break down her spirit and make her give in to him, she would find someway to fight: her small acts of defiance.

She finished her needlepoint and stopped rocking to observe her work. She gingerly ran her fingers over the threaded letters. Suddenly a gust of wind came up, causing Christine to shiver. She held tightly to her handkerchief which had almost been blown away. She rubbed her bare arms and stood to go inside. She folded her handkerchief and hid it inside her dress. She would immediately proceed to her room and place it under the loose floorboard under her bed to hide it with her other prized possessions, things she feared Erik would try to take from her. Among them was the beautiful engagement ring Raoul had given her. The first day they had arrived Erik had grabbed hold of her hand to take it. He asked her where it was.

"Oh, I…it must have fallen off in the catacombs of the Opera house or on our way to the carriage. I must have lost it." She hung her head and pretended to cry. She knew Erik better than he thought she did. She knew that he would never let her keep a reminder of her true love. She had taken it off in the carriage and put it in her shoe. Christine smiled to herself, remembering her treachery. She was so caught up in the memory that she walked right into Erik on the way to her room. She almost fell backwards, but Erik caught her arm and lifted her to her feet.

"Ah, Christine. You're freezing cold, would you like a hot cup of tea?"

"No thank you. Is that all?" she replied curtly.

Christine didn't notice Erik wince slightly. Despite his facade of power, he was very sensitive to the way she treated him. She hardly ever spoke to him, and when she did it was always in short, terse sentences.

"No, it's not. I was actually just about to come find you. I thought we could have a picnic dinner tomorrow night. There will be a full moon, so it should be very lovely. Would you like that?"

"Does it really matter what I like?" she asked in an exasperated voice. "I am your prisoner here. Whatever you decided will be done, by my will or not. Good day, sir." She gave Erik a curtsey and an angry look before continuing on to her room. As she walked past Erik, he grabbed her arm and whirled her around, pulling her body up against his, their lips almost touching. Christine tried desperately not to reveal her terror; she couldn't let him know that he could frighten her. She had to stay in control.

"I need to go into town to buy the food for our moonlit picnic."

"Go then. Who is stopping you?"

"My dearest, do you think I would leave you here all alone?" he asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

"Fine!" Christine pulled herself from Erik's grasp. "I will be prepared to leave first thing in the morning."

She walked briskly to her room and slammed the door behind her. She threw herself down on the bed and screamed into her pillow. She kicked her legs violently, causing her red quilt to fall to the floor. After a moment she sat up, feeling completely foolish.

"Christine, grow up," she chastised herself. She folded her quilt and placed it back on the bed. She got on her hands and knees and reached under the bed, instinctively finding the loose floorboard. She removed the handkerchief from its hiding place and gently laid it amongst her other treasures. Maybe one day she could give it to her daughter. Christine smiled at the thought of children. She would be a very loving mother. Christine looked down at her possessions, wondering if her children should really know about this part of her life. She noticed the faded green notebook and realized that she hadn't written in it for a while.

She sat down at the old, scratched desk in her room and turned to a blank page. She looked out her window, hoping for some inspiration. Christine could tell that the cottage was old just by looking at the window. The glass had become very distorted over time, causing even the most beautiful flowers to appear ugly. Christine stared out the window, but her muse never came to her. Perhaps tomorrow she would have an idea to write about. She was about to close the book when she was struck with the urge to draw. She began tentatively, putting her pen down over the same place a couple of times. Eventually she had an oval. She continued to add to it, placing a circle here, a line there. Her hand seemed to be moving independently of her thoughts. She wasn't sure exactly where her pen was going; she just kept her hand moving. She looked up from her drawing when Erik called to her. Lunch. Very well. Since Erik had condemned her to an eternity in the cottage, Christine always ate with an appetite. What was the point of starving herself? She needed her strength to continue fighting. She glanced down at her drawing and almost cried when she realized what her hand had created. The drawing was made in the perfect image of Raoul.

Christine went to bed early that night. She excused herself from the table after dinner and went straight to her room. She pulled the musty drapes closed; only a sliver of light from the moon fell upon her bed. She knelt beside her bed and folded her hands to pray. She prayed for the same thing every night. In fact, most of Christine's life nowadays was routine. Sometimes she longed for the busy life of the Opera Populaire. It might not always have been fun, but at least she was never bored. Christine let out a quiet sigh. Why doesn't life ever turn out the way you plan? Sometimes she felt like fate was punishing her for some sin she committed in her childhood, some sin that was completely unknown to her. She pulled back the covers and lowered herself onto the bed. She fell asleep almost instantly, wondering what new surprises life had in store for her.

When she awoke the next morning, Erik was outside preparing the horse and carriage for their journey. She went to her armoire to choose a dress. It was cold in the morning and Christine could see her breath, but she knew that when the sun came out, the afternoon would be quite warm. She finally settled on a daisy-yellow dress. It was simple, no frills. It would be comfortable enough for the journey. She tied her dark green cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up. Her footsteps were silent as she walked towards the carriage. As she approached Erik he turned around, and she saw that he wasn't wearing his mask.

He quickly turned his back to her and said quietly, "I wasn't aware that you were awake. I'm sorry."

Christine often wondered why he continued to wear his mask around the house. There was no one around for many miles; no one ever traveled these roads. And she had already seen his face. She thought that, perhaps, Erik was more horrified by his face than she was. He hurried into the house and called to her to get into the carriage. When he joined her outside, he was wearing his mask and was carrying a large handful of money that he put in his pocket. Christine wondered why he would need so much, they were only buying food. They began their long journey, as always, in silence.

They arrived at the village in the middle of the afternoon. It was very warm, as Christine had predicted. The sun stood in the middle of the sky, banishing the shadows. Christine took off her cloak and left it in the carriage. The men in the village stared at her as she passed by. Christine looked down to avoid making eye contact with any of them. Erik walked slowly ahead of her and led her to the old woman that they always bought their food from. He carefully selected the food that he would prepare for their picnic. He gave the woman her money, and a little extra. He was in a generous mood. He turned to Christine and gave her a sly smile.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Erik walked off towards another vendor, every few steps looking over his shoulder to make sure Christine was still standing there. She kept her eyes on him until he was out of sight. She frantically turned to the old woman and grabbed her wrinkled hands.

"Please, you have to help me! My name is Christine Daae. That man is holding me captive in a cottage south of here. Please, can you help me?" Christine's words flew out of her mouth so fast that they were almost indistinguishable.

The old woman just smiled and patted Christine's hand. Christine's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Do you understand what I said? The man in the mask has made me his prisoner!"

"I'm afraid she's quite deaf," a deep voice from behind Christine said. Christine turned around, coming face to face with Erik.

"Don't worry my dear. I'm not angry. I knew you couldn't be trusted. I planned on your attempt to escape, that's why I left you with someone who couldn't understand a word you said."

Christine glowered at him. He was so arrogant!

"I will still give you your gift, though. After all, I put a lot of work into. I had it made especially for you."

Christine finally noticed the box that Erik held in his hands. It wasn't very large, no bigger than a jewelry box. He had it hidden under a small square of red fabric. He smiled at her and slowly lifted the fabric, revealing an ornately carved music box. He tossed the fabric aside and wound the box up.

"I do hope you like it my dear. I know that our relationship has been…strained lately. I thought you deserved something nice."

Erik lifted the lid, revealing a recreation of the stage of the Opera Populaire. On the stage was a tiny figure that looked remarkably like Christine. Christine's eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful gift. She placed her ear close to the box and listened. She knew that tune. She had heard it sung to her before, in a strange world of endless night. She reached her hands out to take the box, but pulled them back to her side. What was she thinking?

"It's very nice, but I can't accept this."

How could she even think of taking a gift from this man? He is the enemy, she told herself. Do not let him work his way back into your heart. Things can never be the way they were. If you want to leave here, if you want to return to Raoul, you have to stay strong.

"I can see that you put a lot of thought into it, but you must return it. I won't take it."

Erik tried to remain calm. "Very well," he said, roughly closing the music box. "I will take it home with us. Perhaps you will change your mind."

Erik looked to the sky and noticed that the sun was beginning to set. "We should go. Now. We don't want to be here when night falls."

Christine noticed that several other vendors were packing up their wares. "What's going on? What happens at night?"

"This isn't the safest place to be in the dark. Come along, into the carriage."

Christine climbed into the carriage and Erik gave the horse a whip, starting it to a trot. They had made the journey so many times that horse knew its way back to the cottage. Erik hardly had to guide it anymore. He glanced back at Christine who sat rigidly in her seat, hands folded in her lap. She was looking to her side at nothing in particular. Her dark eyes were shining and the setting sun reflected off of her hair. Her beauty captivated Erik. But if his focus hadn't been on Christine, he would have seen the group of men on horseback hidden in shadow not much further behind them.