So this was the infamous Christine. She was a pretty one to be sure. Margareite could understand why two men had both fallen in love with her. What she didn't understand was how at least one of them had simply just had they're way with her. It seemed more likely to Margariete that at least one of them would come out of his perverted shell sooner or later...
But the past three months with Erik had given her something else to think about as far as the male half of the human species wet. She had grown up her entire life being told that she was there simply for a man's wants and needs; nothing more. She was just a little toy without rhyme or reason to living except to be a man's pet. And yet, knowing Erik, know The Phantom of the Opera, had taught her so much more then she had ever known in her short life.
As Margareite gazed upon the weak thing that Erik carried in his arms, and anger at the petite beauty swelled up within her. She had hurt Erik so much! All he had ever done was love her, wanted to give her everything she could want that he could provide. And yet she ran off with the Viscount. The man was just a rich boy looking for pleasures, Margariete was sure. She had known too many young men of rich bearings that had bought her for a night.
"Climb in, Margariete," Erik's voice was rough with emotion as he gestured with a jerk of his head towards the gondola that waited in the flooded labyrinth beneath the Opera House.
Margareite nodded gently and climbed in, cuddling herself into the front corner so that there was room for the fainted angel that Erik held close in his arms. She watched as Erik placed Christine into the gondola with great care, his love for her shimmering around him like a magical aura.
It felt so weird having this other girl being Erik's focus, and as much as Margariete hated to admit it she found herself growing jealous as he banked the vessel in his lair and lifted her as if she were a china doll destined to break if she was jarred in the slightest. Watching Erik carry her up to the room so very like the fuzzy memory she had of the night Erik had saved her, the young girl had a terrible urge to trip Erik, make him drop his prize, wishing that she would shatter and break, giving Erik's full attention back to Margareite. It wasn't that she wanted Christine hurt, but after all this time Margareite had finally found a man that actually cared for her without wanting to hurt her; she felt as if she was loosing the one thing in life that had been steadily kind. If she did loose Erik, she wasn't sure she would be able to continue. She would rather die then return to the life she had once lived.

Christine woke, her eyelids heavy, her breathing ragged within her chest, causing her to cough heavily. Her eyes shut tightly as she rolled into a fitful bout of coughing that tore her throat painfully. Tears leaked from the corners of her doe brown eyes before her coughing subsided, and she sighed, all of her energy having been seeped up by the storm of coughs. She relaxed back into the pillows wondering where Raoul was; he couldn't be in the room or he would already have been at her side, worry creasing his brow. And then she recalled.
"Erik!" she gasped, sitting up abruptly, despite her lack of energy.
The Phantom of the Opera stood in the yawning rock doorway instead of Raoul, his one visible eyebrow pinched in the center of his forehead in concern, instead of Raoul. She had forgotten just how beautiful he was when his mask hid his deformation. He stood before her in all of his predatory glory; the candle light from the cave cavern behind him put a glow around his perfectly fit and tailored clothed body. She had also forgotten how tall he was, his 6'2 frame seemed to fill the room...or perhaps that was just her fear causing his aura to expand.

Erik stepped toward her uncertainly, his heart racing painfully. She had finally woken after a full night of sleep; a full bight in which neither he, nor Margareite spoke. He had been far too preoccupied with thoughts of Christine, causing him to almost completely forget about the young girl that lived in his home. The girl had been so silent, he wasn't sure she had moved from the cahir in which she sat and slept in the entire eight hours that they had hall passed silently.
Now Christine sat before him, tired and scared. He had never meant to scare her, although, what exactly he had thought stowing her away in the middle of the night would have done otherwise. But at least she was with him now... he could care for her properly, the way that sniffling boy never could.
The illness had taken a toll on Christine's normal beauty. She was still pretty enough, but the dark circles beneath her eyes, and her bloodshot eyes betrayed her hidden beauty. She had lost weight as well...

She had lost weight, causing hollows around her large brown eyes, but thankfully the wheight loss was not dangerously drastic. Her hair was greasy, truth be told, not having the strength to get up and wash if for the four weeks she had been sick, her curls stringy and laying tangled and flat against her head. Now thinking back on when he had carried her unconscious form, she had smelled of sweat. Poor Christine... had they not thought even to wash her with towel and sponge in bed? Anger at DeChaney rose up within him, and he voiced his opinion rather stronger then he meant to.
" did not that idiot of a boy think even to wash you?" he asked harshly, his voice rough.
Christine jumped and shrank back shaking in fear. Erik's anger rolled off of him like the rocks roll off a mountain in a land slide, stopping inches from the edge. Watching him closely, Christine could visibly see Erik fighting to restrain his temper. Christine's temper was rising to its exhausted height, giving her more strength to argue with her captor, however shaky her voice may be.
"They DID wash me Erik!" she shot back, her voice small. "But I sweat so much with those cursed blankets that I sweat fresh sheens everyday!" Erik peered at her his crystalline blue eyes slicing into her.
"And your hair?" he speared, his voice loud, teetering on the brink of shouting. It was Christine's turn to glare, her anger focusing solely upon him.
"So that I could catch pneumonia as well?" she bit at him. "Use your head Erik! What good did you think could possibly come of KIDNAPPING me in the middle of the night?"

Erik's head jerked in surprise at the tone of her voice, his thoughts reeling. Just what HAD he thought stealing her away in the night would accomplish? Anger reared up once again within him at this thought. What good had he thought would come of kidnapping her!
" I saved your life," he shot back, his voice dangerously quiet, reminding himself briefly of Margareite. "If I had not taken you when I did that boy would have killed you with his inadequacy to care for you!"
Christine was silenced momentarily, taken aback by Erik's accusation towards Raoul. How DARE he suggest that Raoul could not properly care for her!
"I'll have you know, Phantom, that Raoul has provided me with the best care that could possibly be given. You on the other hand bring me down into a cold, damp, dank cave and expect to be able to care for me?" Christine's voice cracked, but her emotion was unmistakable.
Erik's eyes narrowed, the one beneath his mask seeming even more sinister as he opened his mouth to shout back.

"That boy-"

Margareite sat in the main area of Erik's lair, gaping at the creature that was Erik. What had happened to the Erik that she knew? To the lethal, smooth, graceful panther like person that was Erik? The man that stood before her was clumsy with anger, and once again terrifying her as he never had before; before she feared his suave abandon. Now she feared his raw anger at whomever this Raoul was, his irritation at the woman that he had professed his undying love for. And now the two of them were arguing like an old couple. The more was said the louder each of them got... it was all too much. Too much too fast!

"Stop!" Marguerite's small voice rang out desperately, calling Christine's attention away from Erik back to the girl that had followed them back. Once again her curiosity was kindled. Where on earth had The Phantom of the Opera gained the care of a child?
"Please stop! Stop shouting!" the girl was covering her ears, her face twisted as she obviously tried to block out the yells.

Erik was shaken by the desolation in Marguerite's voice. He had forgotten the pure fear that was raised within the girl by a raised voice. How could he have been so careless? Caring not for Christine at the present second, he trotted down the stairs, kneeling before Margareite in the large chair she sat in a ball upon. A cold hand gripped his stomach tightly as he gently reached up and took her hands away from her ears, feeling her hands beneath his own shaking.
"Margariete..." he began, but stopped when he could think of nothing to say. The only thing he could think to do at the moment but speak to her in a calm comforting voice. "Ma chere, please. I'm sorry... I was just very... frustrated..." he looked back up at Christine who stared at the two in complete astonishment, her large eyes almost eerily wide.

What in the name of all she held dear was going on between these two? She had never know Erik to be so gentle with any but her, and even she, in all his anger, he allowed himself to become rough with at times. But this girl... he was so gentle with this girl, Christine found herself envying the child Erik's soft touch and voice. The musical tender tone that he spoke to the child with... it was so cautious... almost...FATHERLY. When he had sung to Christine... he had been loving... and yet... there had always been a seductive tone that had caused her nerves to stand upon edge, constantly quavering. But that had been when she was a virgin, terrified by anything more then the sexual activity of kissing. Now that she had slept with Raoul, the seductive voice in which Erik had spoken to her no longer held its pointed sword that caused her to quaver. However, she cursed herself, she still had managed to successfully fall for the spell of song that The Phantom weaved so perfectly.

Maragareite gazed down at the Phantom with frightened eyes, unsure of exactly what was going on between these two. When Erik had told her of his obsession and love for this new comer, Christine, she could only imagine him holding her tight and dear, giving her everything that she could possibly want...and yet, here they were, spitting at each other like two felines in a spat.
And two felines they were; Erik a sleek panther of movement, Christine a much daintier house cat not unlike a Siamese, as she seemed to much enjoy the sound of her own voice. It was and obscenely odd pairing. And yet, while both of them were like a felines, Margariete found herself an entirely different species, rather like a frightened street pup, in search of love rather then food. Where was she to fit into this couple that had reunited, despite their arguments? The fear of loosing Erik reared up once again, bearing its ugly head high.

Erik watched the change in the girl's eyes; she still was in fear of something, but it was a different fear then a moment ago. The fear was internal now, rather then of anything external. HE recognized his own thought patterns within the child, knowing how a single thought could spark yet another fire altogether different from the original subject upon which he had been thinking.

" Ma chere... what is it? Of what do you think?" his voice was genuinely curious, if not concerned. Christine watched him before the child, wondering at the sight that played out for her eyes. Erik, at one point, had given his life to loving Christine, finding a way to keep her with him... and yet now... it was all too plain. The Phantom had found another to live for... and yet, he lived to help her. His life had become this small child that he now comforted. This child was his heart, his will to live. Christine was merely and side thought no. Erik's obsession with her had grown slightly stale in the light of Margareite, as he had called her.; and yet now his continuing need for Christine loomed over, cracking but not broken, Erik himself completely unaware of the tearing fabric tat tied Christine to him. But she knew Erik. Christine knew The Phantom of the Opera. He would not let go this time. Never let go.

Raoul DeChaney flew out of the large white painted doors and bolted for the stable, pushing many servants around the manor campus violently out of his way.
She was gone! Gone! Right out from beneath his nose, his sick fiancé had disappeared! His heart pounded heavily in his chest, almost painfully as he snatched the reigns to one of the newer, greener stallions that were being led out to the small training ring by one of the stable boys. The young man, no older then fifteen allowed Raoul charge of the horse without argument, taken aback by his employer's rush.
Raoul kicked the horse roughly in his desperation, startling the stallion, used to gentler hands from his master, into a catapulting gallop, almost unseating Raoul. Gripping tightly with his legs, Raoul snatched up handfuls of grey mane, and leaned forward grimly to give the stallion his head, urging him even faster. The grey steed's powerful muscles flexed at full speed at first, his stride choppy, his hooves clipping sparks across the dangerously loose gravel driveway. For the first few moments, Raoul cared not for the horse, only for reaching his destination as quickly as possible.
Gone! How could he possibly be so blind? Who could have possibly taken her hostage from her own room?
The irrational assumption that the Phantom had come back t claim his obsession entered Raoul's brain, but he stopped himself. Surely the thing had gone off somewhere and died? He had disappeared so suddenly from they're lives that Raoul had not given any thought to what exactly had happened to him. He had simply been so glad to be rid of-
The stallion beneath him gave snort as he charged out of the iron gates full speed, his hooves slipping dangerously upon the smoother pavement, making him lean sharply to the side. Raoul's heart now did thump painfully within his bosom, waiting for the collision with the ground, but by some miracle, he felt the horse gain his footing and set off again.
The near fall warned Raoul that his recklessness was far too aggressive and would soon cause injury to himself and his charge, and so tugged lightly on the reigns, signaling for the grey storm that he controlled to slow to a slower pace. The stud settled easily into the less urgent stride asked of him, as Raoul sat back slightly. There as no point in rushing. The kidnapping had been done. The best he could do was continue to the authorities and ask for they're help.