Erik pounded out the notes of the theme song that he had composed for his Don Juan Triumphant, angrily slamming his feet down on the worn petals of the organ, his fingers aching from the constant wear that he had put them through the past night. He had discovered now his only way to escape his mind was to fall into the rhythm of the vibrating sounds emitted from the organ's pipes, the harrowing notes souring and thundering through the small cavern. There was nothing but the lightning sounds coursing through his veins like fire searing through his soul, his eyes closed so that he saw nothing, heard nothing, but the pure passion that wrought it's way out of his mind and into his fingers pouring out over the ivory key board. It was all or nothing with Erik. Everything in his life had been all or nothing. Pain or complete and total emptiness; pure ecstatic joy, or white hot rage. Complete rapture in music, or no sound at all. It was all for something or nothing for nothing. Everything had a reason and out, cause and consequence. Everything had a price. Everything. His face; a life of hatred. Music; His soul's only comfort. Christine; an eternal slash across his soul's fragile heart. Margareite; once again misunderstood, but this time the misconception was brought upon himself. Everything has a price.

Maragarieite sat huddled ageist the stone wall, wincing as the hard music rang though her ears, the wall vibrating behind her, quavering her body. Somehow, the music comforted her though. It was as though it was expressing the pain inside her, relieving her of the duty of expressing the pain, sorrow and despair that wrought within her little body. It was so cold, so bone chillingly cold, her skin rising in goose bumps on her arms and any other part of her body revealed to the cool, damp air around her. Earlier she had stripped off her long sleeved layer, knowing that when she lay down in the bed she would be covered by the satin blankets. She had not thought to slip the longer robe on when she had approached the sleeping Erik in her one, vital mistake that had cost her everything she had gained. Now she shivered uncontrollably, but was unwilling to move, fearful that the movement might cause a distraction for Erik from his music, and therefore angering him. She did not want to chance making him angry and this time have his rage lash out at her.
She shuddered at the memory of the tone of his begging voice, pleading with her to forgive him. But it was too soon. He was asking for the one thing that she could not yet give to any man that so much as make her feel the slightest bit uneasy. They were all the same. Cold, lying, unfeeling bastards that wanted more than she was willing to or should have to give. Some just took her without thought, without warning, slapping her into silence, others taking longer, biding their time until the knew that could come close enough that she would not fight until it was too late. She did not understand the need or the use of this hurt. A man's shaft sheathing inside a woman's body. It hurt so much….it was always harsh and tearing…it was always painful. The horrid feeling of the men inside of her, moving above her…all of this, and she still did not yet figure out how any of it worked, why any of it worked, and why it cost her so much pain and pieces of her soul that were ripped from her each time a male slammed himself into her. She had thought for a time maybe, just maybe if se could understand why then maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. But no matter how much she tried to puzzle it out, all she could focus on was the pain, the agony, and the realization that she was just there for their use.
She wanted to forgive Erik, but she couldn't, and after seeing that terrible rage flash in his eyes and the way he so effortlessly threw her aside, she was terrified one day she might provoke his anger even further. When she had spoken so harshly to him, she had been sure that he would back hand her, but seemed to have no control over her mouth and what came out of it, like she was just a ghost of herself watching her body fight back where she never could. She couldn't look at Erik as he had spoken to her in that shaking, choking voice. If anything, she was sure that it was his pleading voice that had sent her into an uncontrollable rage. A man, asking for her forgiveness when men took so much from women? It was like stealing something from your best friend and then asking for their forgiveness while refusing to give back what you stole.
It was all utterly useless. All of it. She didn't even know what she had to live for anymore. She was certain that sooner or later she would become Erik's exclusive pet. It was inevitable. She was there, trapped in his home not knowing the way out with no one to help her. There seemed to be no other option.
In her pain and anger, she had forgotten how Erik had come about taking her in.

Erik slammed his hands down on no particular notes upon the milky white keys beneath his fingers in utter rage at the world, the organ protruding a hideous mixture of miss-matched notes. Finally, after a full night or playing the music in an attempt to soothe his soul, Erik slumped, defeated, his breath harsh as he emitted half sobs, his eyes dry from tears. The world was a hideous place, and the people in it were horrendous creatures to do such things to a child. He himself had experienced the world's cruelty at a young age first hand, but never would he know exactly what this child must have been through. It had not occurred to him tat she might have been advanced upon before his rescuing her, but now the suspicion stung at him that she might have been forced more than once into a grown man's bed. In which case, that would explain the scars that resided upon her arms, legs, shoulders, and even one he had noticed one day, upon her neck; a thin pearl collar around the thin width of her young neck, looking suspiciously like the skin had been rubbed raw by something placed around her neck. He had been shocked when he had noticed it two days ago hen the girl had stretched, allowing her head to fall back and reveal her neck. But at the time he had simply refused to accept that some one had done that purposefully to such a tiny little thing without defense, that perhaps she had come across the injuries by accident, knowing that life on the street for the poor was not safe, especially of a child. But now he was coldly aware that the marred skin may have been linked to something else other than street dangers.
In the next room up the stairs he knew sat a hurting child that needed guidance to understand that not every male was evil, that not all males lived simply to rape young girls. But now it had quickly become apparent to him that that was her only experience with men, and it ripped him through the gut like a fire hot sword tearing through his belly. It was no wonder that she had been so extremely terrified of any unexpected movements. He had thought before that it was just immediate fear caused by the men who had been beating on her when he had saved her, and that she would grow comfortable with men again in time. But it was so much more than that. So very much more. It seared him like a hot coal dropped down his throat when he thought the amount of just what he was unaware of that dappled her life with horror. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to find out. What he did need to find out now, was what he could do to earn back the girl's trust.
Moving carefully, easily, he made his way to the bedroom in hopes of maybe sitting on the opposite side of the room until the girl became accustomed to his presence again. But upon reaching the door, his eyes fell up the girl in the farthest corner of the room, her body curled up, her hands over her head, gripping locks of her marmalade brown hair. But she was no longer weeping, and by the sound of her breaths and the up and down movement of her body, Erik was sure she cried herself to sleep. His throat gripped once, tightly, at the knowledge that he had caused those tears. Inspecting her body more closely, he could see tat she was shivering, and in paying the temperature of his lair special attention, noted that the stone caver had become rather cold over night. He longed to gather her up and place her in the bed, wrapping warm sheets around her trembling body. But he feared what terror his touch might instill in the girl, and hesitated with his decision.
After a moment of thought, Erik gather a number of cherry red velvet blankets from the bed and strode over silently to Margarieite's sleeping form. Carefully, he lay the sheet over her, tucking the edges in deftly, cautious not t touch her body in more then a feather light glance as he did so, then stood, observing his work. Sufficient enough without waking her and scaring the poor child, he decided. It would keep her warm until she woke. Nodding in an attempt to make himself feel better in the knowledge that he at least had given the girl a small comfort in one way, he walked to the other end of the room at lit two candelabras in hope that the flames would warm the room, then sat, in an intricately carved wooden chair against the far wall, but placed so that he could still see the girl, and sighed despairingly. He just hoped beyond hope that he could gain back the – affection? No that wasn't the right word. He had ever seen any proof that the girl felt any affection towards him. Trust maybe; yes, that was the right word, trust- that he had earned before.

"Time erases memories… but not the ones you want to get rid of….funny how that works, isn't it?"
Margareiete couldn't remember where she had heard the words, but she found them so true, even at her young age. But then, at this point in her life, they weren't memories... they were living nightmares waiting for their next chance to spring. And that next chance to live or die in Erik. All in all, her fate came down to Erik, and it terrified her. He had only proven himself more unpredictable than before, and now she was not sure in any way what his motives were.
Her eyes were open, but her face was hidden in the shadow of her arms, guarding her in darkness it seemed. Ah, to be enveloped by darkness was a mercy she reveled in. It was so easy to momentarily give herself over to the darkness, to be embraced by the black oblivion without sight, thought…or feeling.
NO, not without feeling. As much as she wanted to numb the emotions that constantly coursed through her seven year old body, hate pain, fear, none of it ever ceased to plague her.

Erik sat in the chair across the room, had been sitting for quite a time, watching the sleeping body with glazed eyes. After a time he had stropped paying special heed to Margareiete and had drawn inward into his own thoughts ad memories.

"Wandering child,
so lost
so helpless
yearning for my guidance…"
Christine's crystalline voice rang out through the graveyard, the mist around her enveloping her like his seduction he knew he spun around her well. Erik looked at her from the corner of the roof, never allowing her to see me as she replied to my call.
"Angel or father,
friend or phantom,
who is it there staring?"

"Have you forgotten your angel?" he murmured almost bitterly, but fought to keep my voice pleasant. Having her know of human ruin everything, remind her that he was just a man, not angel, nor daemon, nor ghost, nor phantom, but…..Erik. A man.

"Angel oh speak,
what endless longings,
echo in this whisper..."
Christine's voice begged for me to answer and so Erik did, with the most enticing of voices.

"Too long you've wandered in winter
far from my fathering gaze…"

Christine's eyes searched the large grave of her father, gazing, peering into the steal doors, looking for the voice, but had remained hooked upon his every word.

"Widely my mind beats against you
but the soul obeys…..
Angel of music \
I /you denied you
Turning from true beauty
Angel of music do leave me
Come to me strange angel….."

The two had sung in one unison, the beats of our hearts pounding in the words as we sang of one mind, one spirit…..

At last the little body stirred across the room, taking him back to the present just before the young boy, this Raoul, had intercepted his plan….. Erik sighed quietly, letting go of his bitterness. He could not allow himself to be bitter around Margareiete. Erik did not know that if the rule for when one rode a horse, of showing fear and therefore causing fear in the horse, applied to human girls who had been so terribly hurt, but he felt sure it would be wise to follow this guideline. It was extremely important to be as cautious as possible around this young girl, who was rather like a skittish filly attempting to get her feet beneath her to run away from the horrors that chased her, imagined or real.
If only he could know exactly what horrors she ran from. Rape, beatings, and perhaps deliberate starvation, he was sure, but what had brought such things down on a seven year old girl? Where were her parents when all this had been happening to her? Had she no friends, no protectors of any sort?
There was more than just the pain of physical abuse in those mahogany eyes. The fear that seemed to over ride thought skimmed her eyes constantly, but in the time that she had locked him down in her gaze, ad he had studied her eyes as well, he had deciphered more than fear. There was an emotional agony, a haunted quality that told him she was running from far more than he had gathered at the time.

Margariete sat still in complete darkness, no longer cold; she noticed, due to the blanket around her shoulders, the smooth material shifting against her tender skin as she stirred slightly. She heard a soft sigh come from across the room, and fear immediately gripped at her throat. Why had he followed her into the room? She didn't remember him entering, but then she remembered being cold and now she had a blanket wrapped and tucked around her. The only conclusion dawned on her and utterly confused her. Erik was the only one who could have done his…. It did not seem highly unlikely as he had cared for her well the past week she had spent with him, but something about the previous night had shattered that trust that she had gained in him…
"I had hoped to move you to the bed so you could sleep more comfortably," Erik's baritone voice was gentle, soft, almost tentative, "but I wasn't sure how you would react at the time."
Margareiete didn't' answer, simply stared at him, her body tensed fustily. Even if he made a move towards her, there would be no way she could manage to escape him quickly enough o evade him when she was in the position of a tight ball. He would be upon her in a second. Slowly, cautiously, Margareite stretched out her body to a more flexible position, the sat, observing Erik's large form in the chair placed in the corner of the room, directly diagonally from him. He seemed relaxed enough, and he wasn't moving, simply looking at her, clearly expecting an answer, although there was something about the air around him that told her he was uneasy about something as well.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, almost incoherently, "for the blanket. I was cold."

Erik strained to hear what she had said, but her voice was so small, it was impossible. Ah well, at the moment what she had said was not really of importance. The fact that she had spoken to him was all the reassurance he would receive for now, and he knew it. I don't want to hurt you damnit! He wanted to scream his frustration, but no, that would only make things worse. Take what you can get, he reminded himself bitterly.