Christine had followed the sweet song she could hear from so far away. It was soft and pleasant, making her smile slightly. As she opened her eyes, the song gave way to drumming. A terrible hammering drum in her head. She clenched her eyes shut once more, throwing her hands over her eyes in defence from the strong sun pouring through the window. Her thoughts were not in focus yet, and she could not remember a thing. She pulled up material that was draped over her, up over her head to block out the rays. She groaned in pain as her wrist throbbed violently like her head. Her leg felt none the better when she tried to turn over. She eventually opened her eyes to see she was in a beautiful room. She was lying in an ivory white bed with terracotta décor finely detailed around the rim. The walls were decorated the same, with matching shutters that were wide open, framing the morning sky with cream drapes, billowing softly in the breeze. The song she had heard in her sleep was the birds outside her window, calling cheerily. She sat up awkwardly to see she had been undressed to a simple nightgown, and her black clothes hung over a wicker chair in the corner of the room.

Christine sat bolt upright at this point. The image of her old clothes brought back the horrifying last images that had remained with her in her black out. She jumped out of the lavishly comfortable bed, and limped over to the window. There, she saw the path leading up to the house she was in, the same path she had walked up that terrible night with Nasih, now lit perfectly to reveal the beautiful gardens below, and the iron gates in the distance.

She gasped in fright, throwing her good hand over her mouth. Her face twisted into a terrified frown. She turned to run, and was greeted by a squeal as she ran into someone. A woman, middle aged and matching her climate in features, grabbed her as Christine spun into her.

"Whoops!" She smiled. Christine looked in shock at the woman, who held her arms. "Madame, I am not so ugly as you face tells me, I am?" She smiled kindly, talking in her accented French. Christine shook her head.

"Why…why am I here? I need to leave…"

"No no, you will do no such thing. You will lie here," She was guiding Christine back to her bed. ", and you will rest. You have been very tired."

"No please…" Christine tried to resist, but she felt too weak to protest. The woman helped her back into the soft furnishings of the bed, and threw the covers back over her. Christine felt herself go faint. He was going to kill her if he knew she was still here. But why was she back here?

"My name is Hadjira, and you can call me for anything, Madame, ok? Oh, no, no, Madame, please don't fiddle with that."

She was referring to Christine now plucking at the strapping she had tightly bandaged to her wrist, the one that felt so sore.

Just a sprain, Madame, but keep it on all the same."

Christine felt anxious, and needed questions answering. She opened her mouth to ask the lady, yet a knock came on the bedroom door. Christine squealed and brought the covers up to her face in terror. The woman ignored her and opened the door, glancing around it before hand.

"Nasih, please come in."

Nasih entered the room, allowing way for the maid to get past him, leaving Christine and him alone. He shut the door softly, and turned to look at Christine. He held a very particular expression. It was that of guilt and…was it pity? He walked solemnly to the wicker chair were Christine's clothes were hanging. She watched him closely as he sat slowly, letting out a sigh. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting and taking a long pull back.

"How are you feeling?" He muffled through the cigarette. She ignored this question.

"What have…am I doing here?" She almost whispered. Nasih sighed as he stared at the floor for a long time. He finally raised his head and answered, after another pull of his cigarette.

"You've been out for two days." He muttered. "I was worried."

"Nasih!" She said louder. He frowned, and she gave him a stern, but begging look.

"You…you were found in a street a mile away from here. You collapsed in exhaustion, doctors have been around to check on you, don't worry."

"Who…who brought me back?"

Nasih stared into her questioning gaze.

"He did."

She sobbed slightly, and looked down into the beautiful silk coverings of the bed. Her head was throbbing even harder now, despite the tranquil nature of the room. She listened to the rest of Nasih's story.

"He…after you ran, he…I don't know…remembered something, I don't know. But he ran after you, and came back with you about an hour later. I…I don't know what happened really."

Christine had soon noticed the deep coloured bruises on Nasih's neck. Bruises that were darkly shaped like a hand print. He reacted to her frown by shifting his collar higher.

"I'm so sorry." She sobbed, tears welling once more. He shook his head in reply, but looked sorrowful. He felt his pain only for Christine.

Christine felt so guilty for putting this man through so much on her behalf. He had even been in France because of her. She wept into her hands over the children he had left, the wife he had abandoned, all for the money for looking over Christine. And what for? So Erik could waste his time by casting her out? She actually began to fear anger overtaking her sadness. She clenched her good fist and pounded it on the bed.

"If he was so concerned for my safety, why cast me out after hiring you to look after me? Nasih, I'm sorry, you should never…never have had to see any of this. I will pay you for your trouble as soon as I can."

She spoke little sense to Nasih. He could not deny that money played the most important role in his being here, but now things had changed, and the situation was far more complicated than he dreamed. He knew he had explaining to do on his behalf, and not to Christine.

Christine had got out of bed again, and was making for the door. A new sense of anger had taken over her. A little for her own sake, but mostly about Nasih's involvement in all this. She would not allow it. But before she could open the door, Nasih had jumped in front of it.

"Christine, I wouldn't. Please don't…"

"Nasih, let me past, I have to…"

"No, he…he doesn't want to see you. He wished you stay here…to stay from him."

Her heart panged painfully for a second. What was that feeling she was experiencing? She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a tiny sense of selfishness. He had once loved her, and wanted nothing more than to see her. Now he could deny that. Christine felt guilty instantly for ever thinking like that. Why shouldn't he turn her away, after what she had done? Had she forgot the moments of depression she had spent in the De Changey house, knowing this was exactly how he felt about her now But now what? Was she to spend the rest of her days hiding in this room, away from danger, but away from Erik also?

Christine turned away from the door in despair. She kicked over the chair Nasih had just been sitting on violently, screaming at the same time in sadness and anger. Nasih tried to calm her, and held onto her shoulders as she struggled and kicked. He took her thrashes, and held her as she cried into his chest. Nasih frowned as he stroked her hair soothingly, waiting for her tears to subside, as he had done so many times before.

- --

Days past, some overcast, but most full of the strong Eastern sunshine. Christine had wandered out of the room every now and again, going to the beautiful kitchens to ask for something to eat during the night, after she had made sure Erik was no going to be around. She admired the amazing structure that had been built like a labyrinth. There were so many corridors and rooms to turn off too, so many turrets she could see from her bedroom window that she had yet to find a doorway to, impossibly hidden, rather like the labyrinth that had lay under the Opera House. She had noticed also, that like the Opera, the house was kept in darkness. It was cooler than her bedroom, which had been opened up to let sunlight in, but the rest of the rooms had heavy drapes, hiding the sun away from the interior. She had seen little of the sunlight apart from in her room; she was beginning to feel oppressed.

Christine finally got up the courage to make her way down that long corridor to 'those' stairs, to 'that' door. She wanted to wander through the gardens that had been so well kept from her bedroom window; it seemed a waste to not admire it. She changed into her former black clothes purchased in Turkey, and opened her room door. She peered anxiously down the dark corridor, listening carefully for any movement. Nasih was not here to help her this day. He explained to her he had been sent away by Erik for a few days, and did not explain any further. She had felt nervous being here without him, but she had soon found a confine in Hadjira, the maid who had been service to her for the past few days. She found her extremely pleasant, and cheering her mood on occasion, yet she had refused to speak of her master full stop. She seemed afraid, as Christine would see her avoid her eyes every time she would ask her about Erik.

As she tiptoed quietly down the corridor, and around the corner, she came to a flight of staircases, two, and then another long corridor. As she past through the darkness, she thought of Erik. She thought of him in his rage, in his eyes she had seen pure hatred and anger. That was what had scared her the most. Not his rage, but the lack of admiration she had once known him to always have for her. She had been so afraid of seeing him now that she could not trust him to not harm her. She had seen his aggressive nature to those he did not care for, and now she was one of them. She was of no use to him anymore. A sob came to her mouth at this thought. She wanted to cry, surprisingly to herself. She had always known he would react in this way. Why did she half expect different?

These thoughts vanished as she approached the familiar corridor, where the largest of doors lay in the centre. She held her breath as she moved silently towards them. She was sure anyone behind the door would be able to hear her heart slamming against her chest noisily. She tried to ignore the screams in her head for her to turn back. She slid past the door, keeping her front always to the door, her back facing away. When she had finally past the door, she jogged the rest of the way. The front doors looked a little less threatening in the sunshine. Christine's eyes throbbed under the hot sun, but she still moved forward into it. She closed the door over; leaving it open slightly so she could let herself in again. When she stopped squinting in the new bright day, she looked around into the gardens. To the right of the paths, flowers of exotic colours and smells looked heavenly. She moved over towards them, putting her face down to a few and breathing in their amazing scents. Some flowers reached right up to her chest, and she ran her arm out to brush past them. There she saw in the centre, on its own, a large fountain. It was of stone colour and texture, but astounding in detail and carved to perfection. Roses crowed the base of he fountain which lay at knee level, holding sparkling clear water. Its sprouts were even more magnificent. Despite the smaller details of instruments, cherubs, birds and exotic animals, the main feature took Christine's breath away. A beautiful long haired statue held a harp, full of exquisite detail, her face held nobility and intelligence. To the right of her, a dancer, obvious through her flowing costume and her raised leg, graceful like ballet, her arms outstretched. The final statue, and the most finely concentrated, was a singer. Christine marvelled at her recognition of this by the beautiful girls features, her mouth slightly parted, her relaxed pose, and her distant look of her stony eyes. Christine felt on edge at the eerie resembelence to her curls, which cascaded down the statues back and shoulders. Christine looked away quickly. She looked back over the other side, towards the left of the house. It was full of trees, going deeper than the flowered side. It seemed to go one for a long time, full of palm trees and other foreign foliage. She enjoyed the shade from the harsh sun, and touched every tree she past, taking her sandal's from her feet and treading through the dry, but well kept grass. It was tranquil and calm, yet Christine found it difficult to quieten the demons in her head. She wandered aimlessly, trying to rid thoughts of what awaited in her future. She toyed with the idea of leaving on her 19th birthday, back to Europe, where she would take her inheritance, and leave this place for good. But for the moment, it was the one good hiding place she had felt she could be safe. Now, she had begun to doubt it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant tapping noise. She stopped and listened curiously. It was coming from the left of her, more near to the house. She had walked in a circle, so must have been not too far from it. She followed the noise curiously, and heard it become louder and louder, growing in force and clearness. It sounded rhythmic, like hammering. Iron on some other material. She wondered where this could be coming from in a secluded garden, when she finally came to a clearing. The sun shone heavily on the house she could see towering over the palm tree tops not to far in the distance, but here, it shone on another building. It was small, backing off a larger one, which looked like stables. It was made of wood, unlike the house which was white washed mottle. She curiously sniffed the air to find it smelt of wood shavings and burning. She moved a little closer, careful as not to stray in sight of the door, which was slightly ajar. She walked stealthily, dropping her sandals to slip them on again. She felt the air become heavy, and her head began to pound under the heavy rays of the eastern sun. She wished to be in the shade, so made her way more quickly to the door. It was dark inside the wooden hut, and very hot. She could make out an open fire while peering in through the door, which surprised her a lot. It was the middle of the day, in a blazing hot country, who would have a fire going? She realized it was a smith house, and so an open fire for craft work would have been necessary. She stepped into the hut and glanced around, it was larger than she had expected, holding different rooms, boarded by wooden walls, the hut spilling into the stables at the back of the hut. She could now hear the loud strikes of a hammer clearly now, and she held her hands slightly over her ears at the noise. She moved her way through the bricks and stray pieces of wood, the crafts and statues that lay littered around the hot furnace. She wiped her head which was glistening in the sweltering heat. She fanned herself with her hand quickly, trying to shift to make herself cooler. Something caught her attention as she did this. It was a hand. A stone hand, perfectly structured, yet with a crack down the centre obviously abandoned due to the split. It held something which Christine did not recognise at first. She picked up the small figurine, and turned it over in her own petite hands. There, was a stone rose, perfect, clasped lightly in the stone grip. She dropped it in shock. It smashed horrifyingly to the ground, and Christine clasped her hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. The hammering stopped abruptly, and she could hear shuffling. She spun around, not wanting to see the man see now realised this hut was inhabited by. She tried to leap clumsily over the large planks of wood and stone, hurting her legs as she did so. She cast glances back in fright, but not seeing anyone behind her. As she reached the door, she looked behind her once last time, her heart racing. Nothing. She stood listening for while, more scared at what she couldn't see to what she could. Her hand was resting on the door handle, and it was jerked away suddenly by the door shutting abruptly. She jumped as the door slammed out of her grip, feeling like someone had shut it for her. Spinning round, she gasped at the inevitable sight.