I woke the next morning to the click of his study door closing, and though his feet were silent on the bedroom carpet, my heart easily tracked his passage. As he neared the bed, I sat up, my doe-eyes peering into the pair of flames that cut through the darkness of the room. Almost before I knew he had moved, there was a hand on my shoulder blade, and another entwining itself with my hair. His mouth met mine with a hungry snarl; the sheer force of the kiss was bruising.

The hand in my hair clenched, and jerked my head back. My vision brightened, and for one irrational moment, I feared that he had snapped my neck. The brightness faded, however, and the pain was distracted by my body's more current affliction: the teeth at my throat. They evolved from passionate kisses, to angry tearings of the flesh, though I was nearly sure that no blood was let. I cried out—in terror or ecstasy, I was not certain which.

Cold, slender fingers slipped beneath the collar of my gown, and ripped it open in one smooth motion. The air that hit my skin was like fire compared to the icy angel who was lying me back on the bed. His clothes were gone, though I was certain they had been there only moments before. That frigid body kneeled on the bed beside me, eyes glaring down.

I dared not move.

Slowly, his hands began to roam my body—an act he was well familiar with, by now. Every tender spot, every favored sensation was granted, and it was not at all long before he had me soaring towards bliss. And then, stillness. My body writhed on the bed, hips thrusting upwards of their own design. He sat, watching my misery, without a movement. My hands, which had previously clenched onto my pillow, now released their hold and moved to touch him.

I did not even see his motion, as he drew that terrible lasso from nowhere at all, and tightened it around my wrists. This, he secured to the bed; a similar act was performed on each of my ankles, though these were kept separate.

For the first time since Paris, I truly feared him. There had been moments, of course, throughout the years—days of terror, hours in which he had been of such a temper that I had been certain my life was at liberty—but never had I done more than doubt his ability to recall who I was, what I meant to him. Now, though... Now, I fully expected to be permanently maimed, if not killed, and I was near certain that he knew exactly what he was doing.

This was no blind anger. This was calculated, icy hatred.

As my body cascaded into trembling fear, his hands began to roam again. They were gentle, and loving—they gave naught but pleasure. It was not long before he had seduced my body again, coaxed my mind into emptiness. My body was once again climbing towards that sinful pleasure, and he allowed me to come painfully close to release this time, before once again falling still. I let out a frustrated cry, straining against my bonds. Tears were spilling readily from my eyes.

"Why are you doing this?"

He did not answer.

Several times more, he played that terrible game with me, employing every intimate detail he knew of my body and using it to hurt me. Again and again, I begged him, but no release from that misery was permitted.

Finally, finally, that frigid body covered mine. I felt his breath on my cheek moments before he began trailing kisses across my skin. Every sensation was painful; my senses, through repeated promise and subsequent betrayal, had become almost bruised. I let out a weak moan, as his lips tenderly closed over mine.

"You belong to me," he whispered, and I nodded in affirmation. "You.. are.. mine!" I flinched away from the severity of his tone, but again, nodded.

"Yes, Erik," I murmured. "I am yours... Yours..."

He thrust into me forcefully, and I cried out. My body reveled in finally being granted that much-desired sensation, at the same time that it fought against the pain of his actions. Each of his movements was too hard, too brutal. Each thrust was met with another cry, and each cry grew weaker than the last.

"Erik," I pouted, "you're hurting me!"

His teeth closed on the skin of my collarbone as my sole reply.

With only a few more breaths, I climaxed, arching beneath him. His own release was simultaneous. Only a moment was spent before he rolled off of me, stood, and began to dress.

I could not feel my hands, and my feet could only tingle feebly. With my heart pounding wildly—from fright, now—I cleared my throat. "Erik?"

Silence.

"Erik.. my hands... Untie me, please?"

"Be quiet," he growled.

Those words shocked—and wounded—me. "E-Erik?"

"Silence!" he snarled.

A bit of anger allowed me the courage to disobey. "Y-you can't just leave me like this!"

Cold, gentle words, as he sat down on the edge of the bed: "Can't I?"

"Erik..." Fear put a tremor in my voice. "Erik, what is wrong? Why are you doing this to me?" He did not answer, but I kept going, regardless. "Y-you hurt me, Erik... You frighten me! Please, untie me! We can... talk about this..."

He turned his head to the side, glaring at me from the corner of his eyes. "I do not want to talk about it, Christine. Why am I doing this? Why did you go to see Raoul? Why did you laugh, and flirt, and touch? You did not see me... in the shadows, watching... like in Paris... You did not see me... but you see me now!" His voice was becoming more and more fervent. "You betrayed me!" That voice broke, and I could hear him ripping at his chest, could see him rocking slowly. "You.. betrayed me..."

"No, Erik!" I cried, straining towards him. "I did not betray you, my love—my Angel! Please, Erik, untie me!" I was weeping as desperately as he was, as frustration welled up in me. I wanted to hold him, to assure him, and could do nothing but argue pitifully from my unfortunate position.

"No... no, no, no! You will leave me, and you will leave Sonora, and you will flee these monsters, and go free with him!" He was retreating from the bed, ignoring my screams, ignoring my pleas. "You will stay with me," he said quietly, as he opened the study door.

"Erik, wait! I..." Think, think! "I'm cold!"

"I'll send Henri, with a blanket." The door was closing, on my husband and on my only chance.

"Erik!"

"Go back to sleep, Christine. It is not yet dawn."

"I love you!" I cried.

He paused, and my heart leapt with joy. "I know," he whispered, moments before shutting the door and leaving me again in darkness.

"Mama?"

My eyes fluttered open, swollen and sticky from constant tears. Certain I had imagined that sweet voice—Sonora had never once in her life called me "Mama"—I allowed my eyes to shut again.

"No, Mama! Wake up!"

I tried again, and felt the blessing of cool, damp cloth on my lip, and then on my eyelids. A soft blanket had been tucked around my body. "Sonora?"

"Oh, Mama!" Her arms wrapped around my neck happily. "I'm so glad you're awake. The whole house is silent, except Papa is playing. Henri was too afraid to come up here. He thought I would be safer." As she spoke, she crawled up onto the bed, and began picking steadily at her father's bonds.

"Sonora, don't bother. You'll never—" A sudden rush of pain accompanied the blood now flowing into my right ankle. Soon, my left foot followed, and Sonora began massaging them gently. "Thank you, my darling," I gushed. "Oh, thank you..."

"I do not know if I can free your hands. Papa's noose... I have not yet mastered all its secrets." The shock that she was being taught the secrets of the Punjab was set aside, in favor of attempting to think.

"Sonora, what if he—?"

She gave me a degrading look. "You know what he is like when he is writing."

I smiled a little, and nodded. "Of course." She crawled to the top of the bed and began working on the lasso. Suddenly, the silence occurred to me, and with the tremble of fear in my voice, I whispered, "Sonora?"

"Hm?"

"Did you say Papa was composing?"

Her fingers paused. "Yes... Why?"

"Why can I not hear the music?"

We both hovered in silence for a moment, before she began to attack the lasso with a controlled frenzy. Finally, she broke through its cruel barrier, and I struggled to rise. My hands and feet ached, but I ignored them, and somehow managed to pull on and tie my robe. Sonora grabbed hold of my hand. "I'm coming with you," she said, in a tone I dared not contest.

We crossed the room and nearly flew out the door, down the stairs, and across the foyer. My hand had just fallen onto the doorknob that would admit us freedom, when that mighty voice boomed through the house, sounding for all the world like the very voice of God.

"Where are you going?"

I spun, back pressed against the door, as I stared up at him. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking as powerful and glorious and terrifying as he had in Paris. I was still trying to find the words to answer him when there was a knock on the door, directly against my back. I screamed, and launched myself forward—the fright would have been amusing, under different circumstances.

Sonora calmly opened the door, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. With a growl, she turned to look at me. "This is bad timing," she muttered, as she pushed the door open. Raoul stood on our doorstep, looking confused. When he saw me, saw what Erik's hands—and mouth—had done to me the night before, he started forwards.

I braced my hands on the door and pushed with all my might, managing to shut it against him. Numb fingers locked him out. As Raoul's fists began pounding on the door, accompanied by shouts of my name, I felt Erik's rage skyrocket to murderous degrees.

Slowly, I turned to face him, before running up the stairs to his side. Fear was abolished, and I forced myself to cling to him desperately. "You frightened us, Erik... We were stupid, to run, but that foolishness has passed, I swear it!" My hand tipped his head towards me. "Erik, if he gets in here, he will not understand. He will call the authorities, and he will have Sonora and I both taken away from you!"

His hands closed over mine, and immediately he became my gentle, loving husband. "I will not let that happen," he promised. "I will kill him if I must."

My hands tightened on his. "Erik, no! Then you will be taken from us!"

He only smiled, and shook his head. "Let the boy in."

"No, Erik!—No! Sonora!" My daughter froze, hand on the door knob, staring at us both like a deer caught in headlights. Before my husband could speak, I flung out desperate words.

"Do you want to live like everybody else?"

Whatever words had been on Erik's lips died. Slowly, Sonora nodded her head.

"Would living like a fugitive—always in masks, always in shadows, always running—be like everybody else?"

A shake in the negative, this time.

"Sonora," I said—slowly, to press my point—"if you open that door, that is how we will be forced to live."

She backed away from the door.

"Go to Henri," I suggested, and she nearly leapt at the chance to obey. I turned now to Erik, confidence already boosted by my one victory. I could not read his eyes, but my fingers tightened on his even more, and I peered into the flames of his eyes as earnestly as I could. "Please, Erik... Let Henri answer it. Turn him away. We... Take me back to bed. I can't..." I slumped against his chest. "My ankles... So tired..." And though it was over-acted, there was truth behind the words.

His arms caught me, as I knew they would. "He will come back," he whispered, even as he gestured to Henri—who must have come when Sonora came running into his room—to open the door. Those strong arms lifted me, and tucked me against his chest.

"Then we will turn him away again, and again." My arms wrapped around his neck. "I am not his to claim. He will not return forever."

My heart was thumping wildly as he turned away from the stairs, and began towards the bedroom. For now, he was Erik—but how long, before he again became the Phantom? The injuries I had sustained were superficial, but what would have become of me without the interference of my daughter, and the distraction of Raoul? How long would he have left me in that bed?

"Christine!" Raoul shoved past Henri, looking around for me. The butler shoved him out, but not before the young man's eyes found Erik and I. "He cannot keep you forever!" he yelled. "I will—" The door slammed shut, and only muffled noise could be discerned.

I felt Erik's chest swell, and the corpse's face turned to stare down at the door. His arms already threatened to drop me.

"Erik..."

"No," he said firmly. "He must be—"

I cut him off with a kiss. I held it as long as I could bear, and when I drew back, tears were rimming in his eyes. "Take me to bed, Erik," I said gently.

"To.. bed?" he asked slowly. His meaning was clear—he did not expect me to return to him. Perhaps, I should not have, and truly it looks like madness, to do as I have done. Perhaps I wasmad.

"Yes, Erik," I answered, as I lay my head down on his shoulder. Hair, still tousled from the night before, spilled across his arm and back, as my lips fell to rest against the skin of his neck. "To our bed," I whispered, and he slid into motion.

Later that morning at breakfast, I found that I could concentrate on nothing but eating. The mere thought of food caused my stomach to turn, but the more I felt sick, the more I wanted to eat—the more I became convinced that I had developed some sort of eating disorder. Sonora, I believe, was naïve to my odd behavior, but Erik cast me many a strange look as I sat shoveling food into my mouth as if I were some pitiful, starved dog that had been blessed by charity. I had awoken early that morning, and gone to the trouble of setting up a schedule for myself that would keep me moving, keep me active—and, much of the time, keep me outside. It was unfortunate that the trip to Paris—scheduled for several days hence—would disturb my schedule when I had not even had time to set it in stone, but I intended to return to it as soon as we returned.

I told myself we would return with an almost violent force. I would not allow myself to believe anything less. Erik, Sonora, and I would go on this little trip, and then we would return, all three of us, just as healthy and happy as we had been before.

I could not bear the thought of the alternative.

When we had finished our meal, we parted—Sonora and I to pack, Erik to set up arrangements for his business to be taken care of while he was away. I helped Sonora just long enough to realize that she needed no help, and then retreated to my own room. I dragged out our suitcases, musty-scented from disuse, and began moving about the room, folding and carefully setting away each of the articles of clothing that I had deemed necessary, for Erik and I. He had agreed to leave it up to me, to pack his things, though I believe he did so with some trepidation—my status as wife and mother was little more than a marriage contract and a birth certificate; I had few wifely qualities, and he knew it.

It was only halfway through his packing, my own not yet begun, when I heard an odd clink at the bedroom window. Frowning, I moved towards it, one thin hand drawing back the curtains. I was horrified to find Raoul standing on my lawn, on Erik's lawn, mindlessly throwing pebbles at the window. I pressed a hand against the glass to beg him to be still, and then rushed out of the room. He had enough sense to be in the back yard, at least, and thus was I able to slip out onto the back porch and down the steps.

He had grabbed hold of me before even a word could be said. Firm hands began dragging me away from the house, as he muttered something about rescuing me, "as I should've all those years ago".

I bit my lip against the desire to cry out for Erik, and instead weakly attempted to break his grip on my arm. "Raoul," I whispered sharply, "stop this insanity! There's nothing from which you need rescue me!"

He paused, and turned a saddened look upon me. "He has you so brainwashed that you cannot even see—"

My free hand collided sharply with his cheek. So stunned was he that he released my arm, and without thinking, I turned and ran back towards the house. He shoved his way in through the back door before I could lock it, and instead of continuing to struggle I just rushed up the stairs and into the main compartment of the house, he ever trailing me.

"Christine, you must listen to reason!" he shouted, with no regard for his own safety. "This is foolishness! I must get you away from him!"

"Raoul, be quiet!" I begged, hands pressing the air between us as if to suppress the volume his voice had risen to. "He will hear you!"

"Let him hear me!" the foolish boy bellowed. "I want the monster to hear me! Let the beast come!"

Oh, God, I recall thinking—he's lost his mind!

"Erik!" he yelled, cocking his head back as we reached the foyer. "Oh mighty Phantom—do you hear me? I am here to take her from you, Erik!"

"Foolish child!" I screamed. "He'll kill you! He'll kill us both!"

I started up the stairs, horrified to find Sonora standing at the top. She peered down at us, maskless, with numbed expression. "Mama?" she whispered. "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know, honey," I said quickly as I reached her. "Go back to your room. Go quickly!"

"Mama," she continued, eyes widening, "Papa will be so mad!"

I could hardly think, for the sound of my heartbeat. Hands shaking, I gave her a gentle shove towards her room. "Go, Sonora," I said tonelessly, and she obeyed.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed my elbow, and gave me a sharp tug down the stairs. "Leave them, Christine!" Raoul begged. "Leave them, and come with me! You may stay with Mari and I, until you find a home of your own—"

"Christine?" The questioning note in my husband's voice brought unhindered tears to my eyes, and I choked out a sob. My eyes, blurry though their vision was, managed to find him, poised at the opening to the east wing. He, too, was maskless—he had not yet had time to sit down and mend the damage our daughter had done, and honestly, I preferred it that way.

"Erik," I managed to whisper through my tears, hands reaching out towards him. Raoul tried to pull me farther down the stairs, but I threw myself to the floor like a child, and tried to make myself as heavy as possible. When he continued to pull, I reacted in the only way my brain could imagine: I screamed.

That scream launched Erik into action, and almost before I realized he'd moved, he was standing over us both, that wicked lasso in his hands. "I let you live once, boy," he snarled, "I won't allow you that privilege a second time."

I heard a click, and out of the corner of my eye, saw the glint of metal. I twisted my head, and saw a pistol in Raoul's hand. "I'm taking her away from here, Erik."

"No, Raoul!" I struggled out of his grip, managed to stand. "Leave! Leave, please!" I begged. "Your aid is neither desired nor needed—just go!"

I took a faltering step backwards, and then another, until I felt the coolness of Erik on my back. Shivering, I managed to keep eye contact with Raoul.

"Christine," Raoul said, "step aside."

I shook my head quickly.

The pistol rose, took aim over my shoulder. "Please move, Christine," he repeated, at the same moment that Erik begged me with similar phrase. Again, I shook my head.

"Mama!" squealed Sonora—two heads, mine and Erik's, turned in the direction of our daughter.

"Sonora, no!" I screamed. "Go back to your—"

I was cut off by the roar of a gunshot, and as I felt the wet, hot spray of blood on my skin, I did what any foolishly delicate woman would have done.

I fainted.