"Just be glad I'm not force feeding you chicken broth every two hours," Raoul stated to Christine, who glared at him. "I got so sick of the vile drink I simply gag at the smell."
Christine sighed heavily, forcing herself to listen to what her fiancé had to say. It wasn't that didn't want to listen to him, it was just so hot in the room it was becoming unmanageable. For goodness sakes even her lower legs were damp with sweat! Moaning her complaint, she threw the heavy quilts off of herself, a trickle of sweat running down her temple.
"I told you to keep those on," Raoul scolded from across the room, gazing at her from over a book he had been reading in a large chair.
" If I keep them on I'll die of heat," Christine retorted heatedly.
" If you don't keep them on you'll catch your death."
" If I keep them on I'll die of heat, thus defeating the purpose," Christine shot back defensively. "And if all you're going to do is sit there and lecture me, I suggest you leave me be in my bed of misery."
Raoul cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Are you suggesting that you can force me to leave you alone?"
"Yes," Christine answered with an annoyed air, crossing her arms. Raoul smirked at her, putting the book down and uncrossing his legs.
" I'd like to see you attempt such feet, Mademoiselle, even when well."
"Oh?"
Christine's eyes glittered as she rose to meet the challenge, pushing herself higher on the propped pillows.
Taking a small silver bell from her bedside table, she rang it delicately, its crystalline sound resounding throughout the room. She down right smiled when she caught Raoul's amazed look.
"You wouldn't," he scoffed, eyes narrowing.
"I did," Christine said, her eyes filled with unholy glee
"You rang, Mademoiselle"
A large bustling woman nick named Grey for her silver hair, with a kind but stern disposition that was not to be trifled with hustled in,. Her hands clasped in front of her white maid's apron.
"Monsieur De Chaney is craving a drink of chicken broth, I think," Christine told the servant, her lips twitching into a smile she fought to hide from the woman. Raoul positively growled from across the way, standing abruptly.
" No, Grey," he said quickly. "I'm fine, really! I was just about to go out for a cup of tea with the Gerard couple. Newly wed you know."
The maid looked between the two of them with a confused expression, her head cocked to the side rather like a curious dog.
"I'm sure you were, dear," Christine agreed through her teeth. At the tone of her voice, the maid finally caught on, a chuckle escaping her lips.
"Monsieur and thin you had better actually go and visit the Gerards before your mistress gets nasty," she suggested.
"It's far too late for that, mademoiselle," Raoul said sparingly. He turned to Christine. "That was down right wrong, my lady." With a huff, he turned on his heal and exited the room.
" Finally," Christine gasped. "I thought I was going to die of suffocation, the way he was watching my every move."
The made laughed lightly, pouring Christine another glass of water, and pushing it into Christine's hand.
"It will help with the fever," she assured her. "It's natural for one to hover when their better half is ill or hurt." She said with a smile, and then left the room as well, closing the door gently behind her.
Finally alone, Christine relaxed into the beding, sighing contentedly, and drinking down the glass of water.

"Christine...Christine..."

Erik's voice carried an old, familure memory caused him to shiver as he hid in the shadows, Margariete's breath barley audible behind him. How could he have brought his poor girl into this? All reason had been a blind spot that now showed its errors. A young girl was being towed along in a plan that if caught, could take her away from him. He was involving a helpless girl in an act that followed up on only what had been told to her two nights ago. But now, as he wondered at his ignorance of the danger he put the child in, all thoughts were drawn away to thoughts of Christine. Her slim, weary figure rose weakly in the bed, gazing around, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Erik..." it was a barley heard whisper, but it rung in the Phantom's ears perfectly. The way her voice clung to his name...

Margareite stood by Erik, cloaked by shadow, staring in wonder at the Phantom that stood before her, his voice unearthly. Never before had she heard such a perfect sound emit from Erik...all of his humming and small songs sung under his breath had been tired and without effort put into them...and yet now...his voice was like that of an angel's just come down from heaven... or perhaps some deceptive creature come up from hell...
"Christine... I am your angle of music... come to me angel of music..."
Erik had explained to Margareite that Christine had thought him, for some time, to be an "angel" promised by her father, and in his desperation to have Christine as his own, Erik had gone along with her belief...

He only hoped and prayed that it would work one last time. Christine was frightened; he could see it in her posture, the way she curled up, grasping the blankets around her, the way her voice trembled when she sang back...

"In sleep he sang to me..."
Christine was shaking in utter fear. It was him. Erik. He had come back. Come back to do god knew what... to kill her? Take her back? Kill Raoul?
"That voice which calls to me...

"Come to me angel, and hide no longer!" Erik's voice rose in all its hypnotic glory...

As he emerged from the shadows, Erik's daunting form strode across the room in four quick, sure strides, threw the blankets off Christine and scooped her up in his arms. Christine's voice seemed to crack as she tried to speak, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound came forward to cry for help.
Good, very good, Erik didn't need DeChaney chasing after them.
Surely the boy would figure out where to look in a short amount of time; the prat was not stupid, simply dangerously courageous. But he didn't have time to figure out how to trick Christine's fiancé just now. Now he had to get her back to the opera house quickly.
"Margareite," Erik called as he neared the window of the room. Thank god that had her on the first floor of the house...

Christine gasped as a young girl no older then nine, maybe eight at the oldest, and terribly scarred, stepped forth into the candle light. Where on earth had the child come from? When had Erik acquired a child to care for? Surely the man had passed the into insanity far too much to care for a child!
The girl looked at her with curiosity and a slight glint in her eye, although what emotion was held in that glint it was far too dark to tell.
Christine gasped again as Erik hugged her closer, cradling her in his arms and leapt out the window, landing with a slight jar. The young girl followed quickly.
"Erik..." Christine's voice cracked again, making it impossible to protest her capture. It was completely infuriating. It was not her illness that caused her to loose her voice. It was fear, rage, and another emotion that left her feeling helpless...and in her easily weakened state, she felt so utterly tired, that without any way to keep herself aware of her surroundings, she lost consciousness.