- --

Erik took up the chair next to the bed, where the maid had been sitting. He sat slowly, watching Christine toss and turn, frowning and flaying her arms slightly. He put his hands to his mouth, before reaching out, almost nervously, to take hold of her hand. He stretched out his fingers, and he felt his mind screaming. Don't do it! Run, run and leave her here, she will be fine without you! You idiot! He staggered his breathing slightly, his stretch hesitating. He felt his heart sink as Christine turned to him, her eyes still closed, but furrowed into a deep frown. He saw tears fall from her once innocence filled eyes, the ones that had watched him admiringly as he sang to her. He let a small cry of anguish escape his lips. He grabbed both her hands, and felt their softness in-between his own worked rough ones. He watched her still tossing, head rolling from side to side, as he stroked her hands, trailing upwards slightly along the width of her arm. He was torturing himself, yet he knew he could not leave her in this state. He couldn't ignore the pain she was going through, no matter what may happen to him. He slid from the chair, and knelt on the floor, leaning over closer to her. He felt her head, which was like flame, although she lay shivering.

Erik pulled the wet cloth from the bowl on the side table, and mopped her head. She reacted to the cool sensation, lessening her movements, and her breathing steadied slowly after a while. He patiently watched as she did continue to whimper, and tears still fell from her eyes. He felt his heart rench. How could he have been so cruel to her? His angel, he told her he didn't want her. What a lie that was. Although he wished her gone to mend his broken heart and dreams, in his deepest wish, he still yearned for her love. He looked into her angelic face. He still loved her.

"Oh Christine, why do you torment me so?" He whispered. Tears gathered in his eyes as he climbed onto the bed with her, being careful not to make sudden movements in fear of waking her. He slid one arm under her frame, lifting her slightly, and put another arm protectively around her, pulling her into his chest. He breathed slowly, so she would breathe steady with him. He felt her instinctively move into the warmth of his body, and his heart skipped beats. He lay with her for a long time, not daring to make another move. As hours past, he could here her now breathing steadily, and her whimpering and muttering had died down. He let out a silent sigh of relief, and looked down at her. Her tears had stopped, and her body temperature was beginning to normal. But Erik could not find the strength to pull himself from her. He lay a little longer, watching her sleep. How many times had he imagined holding her as she slept safely with him, both of them happy and loving? How many times had he been woken from this dream cruelly, and pulled back to reality. Finding himself alone, under the cold, dripping stone of the Opera foundations. More times than he could remember. He cuddled her more closely.

"Christine," He half whispered, half sang. "Why does fate mock me?" Tears ran down his face, falling onto Christine's head. "I'm sorry and I'm sorry I can't say this to you while you are awake. Christine…"

Finally, Erik shifted her weight onto the bed. He lifted himself from the bed, and pulled covers up over her small form. She shivered slightly from the loss of his body heat. He knelt down once more, to push a few curls from her face. She was so beautiful. Maybe God was punishing the devil for harbouring one of his angels…

Erik felt himself draw nearer to Christine, her head resting softly now on the pillows. He stopped directly in front of her face. He could feel her breathing. He lifted a hand to her face and stroked a perfect cheek. Pulling down his fingers, he let them linger on her lips, slightly parted in sleep.

"Goodnight Christine…" Audible to no one but her and himself. He stood up, still watching her, and left the room.

Christine fluttered her eyes open as he shut the doors. She let a small smile creep across her face, and she fell back into a more pleasant sleep

- --

Christine sat up in bed that morning, eating her breakfast hungrily. Hadjira had set about searching for clothes for her to wear, as Christine had asked if she could get out for a while.

"Are you sure this is wise, Miss?" Hadjira asked, frowning. "You were not very well yesterday."

"I feel much better." She smiled, still looking tired. "I would like a little fresh air; I think it may do me good."

Hadjira had asked Nasih if it would be ok for Christine to explore outside the houses grounds for a while, under her supervision. Nasih had looked a little flustered by this, but Christine had insisted she would be ok. Hadjira had picked out an outfit for Christine of deep red, almost bordering on black. It had a dark, nearly see through veil, which Christine thought fitting to keep her safety up. Nasih had agreed to this, and so a rickshaw was arranged for her.

Christine had taken a while to stand from her bed, and wash and dress, but when she came downstairs into the sunlight, she felt her spirits lift a bit. Her mood had been considerably heightened after waking groggily while wrapped in strong arms. She thought it a dream, yet heard the deep voice of an angel speak to her. It was no dream, and no dream would leave a lingering memory of fingers pressed lightly onto her lips.

The rickshaw took Hadjira and Christine out of the front gates and into the city of Shiraz. The city was small, yet it was the most beautiful thing Christine had ever seen. They rode past temples and shrines, astounding mosques and breath taking gardens. Christine's favourite was the rose gardens Hadjira took her to. They stretched out as far as she could see whites, pinks, yellows and deep reds looking heavenly in the Persian sun. She took a long inhale, letting the scent overpower her, the same way it had done in her dressing room in Paris, after her memorable singing debut. She felt a stinging sadness at the memory. She bent down, and plucked a single blood red rose, pawing its soft petals with her fingers, and brushing it against her nose. She felt a little light head, even with the sun pounding down on her.

Hadjira had animatedly talked about her city fondly, explaining the history of the city of roses and poets. Christine had loved hearing stories of the Emirs gone by, the love affairs that took a part in the history of shaping the city, the mystery of some poets riddles on their tomb stones, which they visited. Christine was feeling a whole lot better when they began to travel back.

"Hat-el-tef," Hadjira paused at the name, watching the reaction of Christine. When she turned her head, eagerly curious, she continued. "…he did not always live in Shiraz."

"Oh?" Christine cocked her head to the side.

"He took me on as a maid, years ago, Miss." She started her story. Christine was now intrigued, desperate to know about Erik's past. "He was a very young man. I was working as a servant at the Emir's palace. The Emir had heard about a strange young man that had been travelling around Persia. Where he came from before then, I do not know. He was said to have powers that no other man could possess. He was rumoured to be a sorcerer of terrible powers. The Emir had requested someone bring this man to him. On arrival, it was Hal-el-tef. He and the Emir talked for days and weeks. Men where executed for trying to overhear them. After a few months, the mysterious masked man was requested to plan and build a palace for the Emir. A palace that was unique, and deadly." Christine felt her head swimming at the story. Emirs? Palaces? Erik had seemed to live a fascinating life before the Opera. What had made him leave? Hadjira answered her questions.

"The Emir had now a box of magic. The biggest magic box anyone had ever seen! There were corridors of mirrors, invisible doors, trap ceilings and floors, hidden passage ways, doors that purposefully made you loose your way. Hal-el-tef even created a mannequin, of terrifying likeness to the Emir, so he could be in two places at the same time." Christine remembered the first time she had laid eyes on her own life like mannequin, and had passed out with fright. "But the Emir was also terribly afraid of the masked man. He was scared of the power he had, and of the ways he could disappear without anyone noticing. He was most afraid of him leaving and helping someone else against him with his genius mind. The Emir had Hal-el-tef sentenced to execution." Christine gasped in horror. "He must have fled, for I saw nothing of him till a few months ago, when he sought his old staff out quietly, so as not to draw attention to himself. He still has a very large bounty on his head."

And now he does in Paris, Christine thought. No kind words and no compassion. He had spoken the truth to her, and she felt her heart break for him.

"Why do you call him Haltef?" Christine asked. She knew its meaning, yet didn't understand why that meaning had any importance to these people. She thought only she knew him in that concept…like an angel.

"It the courts, he would sing for the Emir and his lords. Everyone who heard said it was that of an angel. Hal-el-tef means angelic." Christine nodded quietly, falling deep in her own thoughts.

They arrived back at the Estate later in the afternoon. As they were pulling up to the house, another rickshaw was waiting outside. Christine looked curiously at it as she hopped out of her own, aided by Hadjira. The front door was heaved open at that moment, and a young woman stepped out into the afternoon sun. She was very pretty, dark skin and matching eyes. They twinkled, yet looked sad at the same time. She was dressed in lavish clothes of muslin and silk. She glanced up at the two women, and nodded to them. Hadjira nodded solemnly back to her as she rode away in her carriage.

"Who was that?" Christine asked, frowning slightly. Hadjira hesitated.

"Err…friend…of, Nasih maybe." She didn't meet Christine's gaze, and she walked away quickly towards the front doors. Christine kept her gaze on the back of her head.

Christine had taken to exploring again. She avoided upstairs completely this time, and now wandered through the downstairs corridors, which lead to the large courtyard in the centre. She wandered through it, capturing the sun on her porcelain skin. Her skin had began to bring out soft freckles across her nose, making her complexion look a little refreshed and sun kissed. She wandered back inside, taking one of the more sunlight corridors. She came to one of the farthest doors, and entered. It was a very musty library, obviously not touched for years. The walls looked different to the rest of the house, of a grey coloured brick, so Christine reckoned the house must have been restored over this part. The books lay jammed into their selves, dust almost completely covering their titles. She coughed as she dusted some, reading the Old Persian manuscripts, none of the titles understandable to her. She wandered to the window, and finally saw the back of the house. A display of part of the city fell back down a hill, where trees of jasmine and palm littered the grounds. It looked so pleasant, she smiled slightly and sighed.

"So, you are feeling better?"

Christine jumped, startled at the voice in the doorway. Erik stood there, white mask covering his face, dressed in deep blue robes. She turned away after her heart race came down, occupying herself with the view.

"Yes." She replied, in monotone.

He stood, unsure of what to say next. He was there almost a good 2 minutes before talking once more.

"I…I heard you were ill." He muttered to her. She raised her eyebrows without looking to him.

"Really?" Her reply came almost sarcastically. He tilted his head back slightly, his pride being rubbed the wrong way. He took a few more steps into the room. She now looked at him, and he stopped. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"I thought you didn't want me near you." She exclaimed. He cocked his head, and then made to turn around. She didn't really want him talking to her, as he had made it quite clear how he felt about her now, even after coming to her that night. She would make it clear she would do as he requested. She hadn't come to Persia to gloat about leaving him.

"Christine," There it was again, her name sounding so wonderful in his deep voice. She flicked her eyes back to the window. "You are safe here. I want you to know that. And I…" He forced himself to say it. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She snorted. "Which one?"

He frowned slightly. "Christine, I know about the Vicomte."

"And you're sorry? I thought you would be over the moon!" She spat at him. He growled aggressively, and spun on his heel.

"I will not listen to your childish comments."

"CHILDISH!" She screamed. "You bastard!" Erik's face twisted into fury, but she cut him short. "You were going to kill him, Erik, to get what you want! That's how far you take childish!"

Erik became red in the face, and his breathing heavy. He stalked over towards Christine. She flinched slightly, and he shook his head.

"Did I not let you go?" He growled. "Did I not let you have what you want? I gave up what I want for you in the end!"

"You're the one who set up the conditions!" She screamed back. "I would not have let the blood of another stain my conscience! I made my choice, you know what it was."

He watched her sun kissed face grow more and more angry. He felt so much anger towards her, yet he couldn't help admire the way the sun was dancing in her hair through the window, or how radiant she looked. He felt all arguments fall from his head, becoming speechless.

"I…I did not come here looking for comfort for Raoul." She said more softly, Raoul's name causing a hot pain to buzz through her. "I came here because I thought I could trust you once. I thought maybe you could still find it in your heart to help me, and explain why this is happening to me."

He couldn't bear it if she cried again. He gritted his teeth for the over spill of them at the mention of Raoul. He grieved that she never thought of him like that. He grieved that her tears were for Raoul, and not for him. He couldn't help but feel insanely jealous.

"I will help." He said, still with an angry undertone. She lifted up her hanging head. "But now that you're not…still named Daae, you still are in considerable danger. And you know, if I am found, you are found."

Christine nodded, understanding that Erik also was in hiding, and understanding that her fortune had now not past to the De Chagney account that would have happened if she was married. It was her own fault, and if she had not been so sick, she wouldn't even be here. But it soon dawned on her that she was here because; she was in depression, a deep grieving, for this man in front of her.

Christine took a sharp breathe in, a gasp causing Erik to raise an eyebrow. It was because of Erik, she was not married, not because Raoul was dead. Indirectly, she was here, because of him. Because of Erik.

She quickly moved past Erik, half running from the old library. He turned, confused, and ran after her.

"Christine, what is it?" He said angrily, catching her arm. She tried to push him away, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. It hurt, as it was her healing wrist. She cried out quietly, so he loosened it quickly. She looked up at him, and felt that mysterious feeling she felt for him every time she looked. Her heart would flutter, her head would spin, and a strong magnetic pull would beg her body to melt into his. She had tried to ignore it, but now it had come clearer to her, and she was scared of it.

"Christine…?" He looked worried at her.

For the first time in a long time, she looked deep into his eyes. He felt sick at the frustrating power she had over him. He should hate this woman, hate her for leaving him. Yet he knew she had chosen to stay with him, and it was his love for her that let her go. Why was looking at her so hard? Her doe eyes entranced him, and her angelic curls framed her face so blindly beautifully, he felt dizzy. She raised a small hand to the bare part of his arm. On contact, he took a deep breath in, feeling his legs go weak. She trailed her finger softly along his arm, pulling it downwards to his hand, where he held it there tensely. He took a tiny step nearer to her, and she leaned further into his presence. She squeezed his hand slightly.

"Thank you for looking after me the other night. I appreciate it."

She let go of his hand and walked away, leaving him stood in surprise and suspense, watching her retreat down the corridor.