Adelson's Caricatures

by Rue Marie

In the bitter world, there exists a place where many people dare to forget. They refuse to remember the one escape that is offered to them, and in doing so, turn away a chance of salvation. This is the world of dreams.

5. Skeletal

Adelson's Caricatures

A moan passed over Christine's lips, her eyes feeling heavy, as if they did not wish to open again.
'What happened?' Her thoughts racing, the petite vocalist strained her memories. 'I was waiting for my Angel, and ignoring the Monsieur De Chagny outside, and then I fell asleep. Next I knew, he was calling me. I remember that. He called me, and I could do nothing but obey? I walked to the mirror, and there was a strange violin playing, and the mirror melted away, and I walked right through it, towards my Angel. But it was dark, to dark to see, and then something grabbed me, and I screamed. It felt like a skeleton's hand.' Shuddering, the girl forced herself to continue, unwilling to do so.
'Then the same cold, skeletal hands grabbed my waist, and then something that smelled of death, wrapped over my mouth, then I must have fainted.' Shifting again, Christine's eyes fluttered open, her eyelashes brushing her pale face. A black figure towered over her, something in its hand. Flinching, Christine drew herself up, and pushed away with what energy she had. Recognizing the disjointed feeling of what was asleep, and awake, Christine realized she was in the Opera house of her nights. 'It still feels like my heart is about to beat right out of my chest!' She thought indignantly. Her indignation was short lived, as the terror of her situation, threatened to overwhelm her again, as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Compelling herself to stay calm, Christine took several deep breaths in the way her Angel had taught her, and began to puzzle out how she came to be in such a dark place, with a stranger who she never knew.
"You are not a nightmare of this world are you?" Christine asked, wary, passing a tiny hand across her forehead, to wipe away the astonishingly real perspiration. Shaking away the absurdity of a nightmare living in the realm she was in, no matter how unreal, she muttered to herself a moment, before posing another question.
"You have not seen or heard my Angel, have you? He was supposed to come for me tonight, to better teach me, and I was waiting for him before? Before I heard him call me?" Confused, Christine stopped, before painful realization dawned on her.
"You are my Angel but you are not. You are only?" A sob wracked her body, and to suppress looking more foolish then she knew she did, she wrapped her arms around her legs, and Christine buried her face in her new skirts.
"Only a man..."

At the sound of Christine's sob, Erik leaned back subtly, in a manner of concern as he gazed at the young woman. His heart sunk, as he felt his pretence, which had been so wonderful in bringing Christine closer to him, fade away with the echo of Christine's words. "Yes, so it is the truth!" Erik nearly cried, his placid tone, tinted with relief. "Your Voice is no angel! Your Voice is Erik." He enlightened hastily, as if only too eager to expel the truth. And then, with a sudden rush of fear, which came with losing Christine, Erik sunk lower then the girl, and clung to the skirts of her dress with trembling hands. "Do not feel ashamed Christine! It is my fault! Talents, miraculous talents, all used to mislead you! I shouldn't have done so!" He released Christine and cried out in self-contempt. "So heinous!" Erik growled at himself viciously and all but fell at Christine's feet- and unknown to himself, he began to weep. The dread, that Christine would despise him, stabbed like a knife to his chest, plunging in and pulling out with every ragged unneeded breath that escaped his mouth. "Oh, Christine! Love, love; I had done it all because I love you! And what a wretched love it is! Magnificent, but wretched." As Erik spoke, the cold cement beneath them shifted to carpet and the stone morphed into walls. Furniture seemed to manifest from the air, until what surrounded them was a tangible sitting room. The change had not fazed Erik; in fact he ignored it with a sense of normality, and continued. "Beautiful, respectable Christine! Do not hate me! For love, love...please, please."

Christine stared blankly at the man grovelling at her feet. It took a few moments for his words to register, and when they did, they offered her no reprieve. Shaking her head as if to deny the treacherous world, which was closed around her until the morning, Christine pulled her skirt around her tightly, not wanting his hands to hold it again. ' I should have expected as much from such a horrid place. So empty, and now…where am I? Mon Dieu, where am I?' Desolation assailed her from all sides, as she clumsily brushed away her tears. Everything had changed too fast for her to see, and she was otherwise engaged with the masked man's proclamation of love.
"What do you mean, you love me, false monsieur? You fooled me, lied to me, and now have taken me to god knows where, and you expect me to say what? I love you too, even though I do not know you at all?" Christine hissed, her voice choked with disappointment. Not wishing to sit anymore, she stood with deliberate slowness, and shook out her skirts, to rid them of dirt, and to occupy herself.
"False Angel, take me back." A small voice supplied his name for her, but she did not use it on purpose. She wanted nothing to do with he who so cleverly made her believe that her father was proud. That she had some way to talk to him. Her 'Angel' had preyed on her helplessness and 'And taught me to sing…and much more.' Sighing, Christine relented.
"Monsieur Erik…" She paused waiting for the man to fill in his last name. When he did not, she continued.
"I do appreciate every thing you have done for me…but you must understand I can not stay here. I will not stay here." Wanting to say more, but fearful, for all that her Angel ' no…he was never my Angel...', had never done her harm.

Gazing up at Christine, as his words of lamentation silenced in light of Christine's own voice, he stared in patent misery at her, as if she were an angel granting judgement. And in another instant, Erik was standing with a woeful sigh that passed from his lips. The expression of sorrow reverberated off the walls as Erik's intent gaze wavered, and fell. "Then, I will show you out." Erik said, his dulcet voice fraught with remorse. The grief that once so visibly affect Erik's manner, had diminished, as he moved forward, gaze fixed forward as he so determinably kept from looking at Christine. "You sang divinely tonight, Christine." Erik spoke softly, and his voice calmed to that as if had been on every night of Christine's lessons, as he stepped forward, in the gait of a man locked in a trance. "How the heavens must have rejoiced in hearing such a voice!" He paused then, for a moment, before a door that seemed to have emerged from the very wall. "Je tremble encore... J'y crois à peine.
Plus de haine. Ah, d'ivresse mon âme
est pleine. C' est Dieu qui nous protège
encore." Erik sang, and the despair that had once carried his manner, now laid bolder in his voice, in a way that brought what was meant to bring joy, to sound like a elegy. "That had been so wonderfully portrayed!" And done with his compliments, Erik opened the door, and turned to gaze at Christine.

Christine sighed heavily, moving guardedly to the door.
"Monsieur Erik…why did you bring me here of all places?" She asked, stepping over the threshold lightly, but finding she could not continue. For some strange reason, she could only follow what path Erik was taking. 'It stands to reason that since this is his part of the dream, only what he wishes so, will be…and obviously, me leaving is not one of them.' With the same purposeful steps, she focused on moving past the door, and found was in yet another room. For every door Christine walked through, it seemed a veritable amount sprouted from the very richly carpeted floor beneath her feet. Trying to not glance at Erik too frequently, the former ballerina, finally having her fill of the labyrinth that stretched seemingly forever, she spun, her eyes annoyed.
"Monsieur Erik! Please, return me to the world in which I was taken from, or…" 'Or what? Will you yell at him? Throw a distasteful vase at his head?' Christine scoffed at herself.
"I will be quite a bit more unhappy then I am right now. Monsieur…I am not happy at all, just so you know where you stand." Cold and imperious, Christine fisted her hands in her skirt. No matter that he had been her Angel, that he seemed perpetually sad as Erik, he still had abducted her. 'And if nothing else, I can hold a grudge, if not a plie.' She thought mulishly.

With his eyes no longer on Christine, as he seemed to be deeply concentrating on ignoring his dejection, Erik gazed solemnly ahead. He answered her questions, with nods, and sorrowful murmurs of 'yes' and apologises, that were so full of unhappiness, they nearly sounded insincere. Erik kept his attention forward, and did not stop until Christine shouted. His vacant gaze fell on her, and he took a moment to wonder on her words. "I had told you I would return you, and so I am." Erik said quietly, before unlatching the front door and pushing it open. What met them both, was the dark, cold, and musky air of the vast cellar. The light that shone through the door lit a path across the grey cement, to the black waters of the lake. The scene, that seemed to reflect the very loneliness of the house and all that occupied it, brought a sigh to pass from Erik's lips. "Do not be unhappy, Christine. You will surface soon, and then you will never hear from Erik again." With this, Erik slid into the darkness, and waited patiently in the dim mixture of light, and the darkness that seemed to be consuming it.

Biting her fear that she would have to cross the lake by her own, and the very feeling of aloneness that came when he said she need not hear from him again, Christine stopped. All her instincts told her to run, and be free from the dark underground. Her very nature rebelled staying in the darkness of a closed place for so long.
'He may have lied to me, but while he was my angel, he only helped me.' She thought.
"Monsieur Erik, please, it is not that I do not want to speak to you, or hear from you but, I need some time." 'A large amount of time. Still, I cannot leave the poor man so alone, if this is where he lives. Dieu, it is so desolate. ' Steeling herself, she laid a careful hand on the shadow's arm. She knew he would take her back now, but the urge that made her want to comfort him, also made her need the comfort he had given her. About to say more, Christine's eyes caught on the mask the man was wearing, and a burning curiosity spring within her. As if entranced, the mask loomed in her mind's eye, until, in a sudden movement she had it clutched in her hands and after a small silence, she looked up at the man who lay beneath it. Only to discover no man was to be found. In stead of her former angel, stood a demon, in the guise of the dead. Bright eyes burned from beneath sunken sockets, and high cheekbones rose from the man's gaunt face. Then, it moved. Clutching the mask to her chest, and backing away, she heard a noise that was like the sound of murder victim. Then she realized it was her own voice, and found that she could not stop it. When the air ran out of her lungs, she clamped her mouth shut, and fixed her eyes on the being in front of her.
"I'm sorry! I did not know." She pleaded pitifully. "Please, I'm sorry!"

For a long moment, Erik stood silent, shocked and at first, unable to understand what had happened. His gaze fell to his mask, only it was not on his face. It was then, the misery Erik had felt seconds before, drowned in a flood of rage. A strange, feral cry escape from his throat, one that sounded so dreadful, it seemed that neither man nor beast could have possibly produced it. "Imprudent Christine! Prying, reckless, Christine!" Erik growled viciously, and lunged toward her. He reached forward and reached swiftly beside the left side of Christine's head, to enwrap his hand in her hair. "You could have had your freedom!" Erik cried, shaking her, as he pulled her away from her door and back into the sitting room. "Your freedom, Christine!" Then the door had disappeared, giving the room the look of a prison and Erik turned to face her. "Is this not what you expected to see? Oh! Why could not be content with only hearing Erik's voice?" He lamented, voice carrying throughout the room. "Well then look, look! Feed your foolish acquisitiveness!" Erik snarled, the anger returning to his tone as he pulled back Christine's hair, forcing her to look into his misshapen face. "And know; know that this is face of the man who loves you! Ah- damn your curiosity! Damn it!" Erik cursed, before snickering wickedly. "Now you can never leave! You may never go. I will keep you here!" He enlightened resentfully, laughter tinting his voice. "It is quite something, is it not?" Erik inquired; the anger in his voice suddenly vanished, and was replaced by a sardonic sort of placidity. "It is almost unreal! Oh- but I assure you, it is very real; perhaps you do not believe me? Sometimes I wish I did not believe myself, but it is Christine, it is! Why settle with only staring? Give me your hands," Erik instructed, and he released Christine, only she made to run, and so Erik quickly snatched up her hands himself. "Or I will take them! And feel the skin, whatever skin it is." His mask fell from Christine's hands and cluttered to the ground. Erik firmly brought Christine's hands to his face, despite her struggle, and aided in pulling her hands across the mauled flesh. "And so now you know it is real! Ah- you shudder- what an awful texture it is! How terrified you must be! To see the face my father never had, that frightened away even a mother's love!" Falling into incoherent murmurs that fluctuated from being vicious, to being ridden with anguish. Erik had released Christine, and weeping, the wretched man staggered and drew away from her, opening a door to the right with tremulous hands before slipping inside, shutting the door behind him.

Christine clutched her hands to her chest, rocking in a ball on the floor. She could dully feel the stinging that heralded bruises on her hands, and for all that she wished it away, her dream world was becoming more and more real. When she looked at her hands, she realized they were tinted with a dull red colour, and with a shriek, she recognized it as blood, and not her own. Suddenly, she did not even want to think about any world, especially the one she was in. Nevertheless, she could not resist from hating herself. 'I should have known he would not hide anything he did not feel he had too. He did not hide from me, so why would I be so stupid?' Her self-disgust abated as she shakily stood. The door that had been the exit for Erik had disappeared behind him. Disbelief coursed through her veins, and she could hear to pounding in her ears, as she surveyed her jail cell. It was tastefully furnished, with beautiful antique furniture. She giggled hysterically, to find that such a monster had taste that would be the talk of many salons. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she let the bubble of madness subside, until she remembered the blood on her hands, and she was gone again. Positive the walls were closing in around her, Christine's silence was broken with screams. She raced at the walls, beating them with vehemence.
"Monsieur, I'm sorry. I will not do it again. I won't tell anyone. Please!" She cried, her voice choked with fear.
"Do not leave me here to die. Please, Mon dieu please!" Christine screamed until she was hoarse, and when she could find neither the will, nor the energy, she crawled over to a plush Persian carpet, and lay on her side in a ball.
"Please someone…let me out…" She whispered almost inaudibly. She knew she would be able to wake up until she was free from the place she had been thrown into. Furthermore, she realized she was not alone. No…he was waiting for something. He would not let her die on her own. 'On my own...'
Monsieur Moncharmin paced in front of the new diva's door. Their new patron had complained that he thought she was ill, and it wasn't until the crowd had thinned, and the patron had returned home, that the new manager of the Garnier Opera house, thought to look at the truth behind his story. As his co-manager opened the door with a skeleton key, Moncharmin held his breath. Then, simultaneously they stepped through the entrance. Christine Daae lay on a couch, her breathing light. Relieved, Monsieur Moncharmin reached his arm out to shake the girl awake. When there was no response, he felt a stab of worry.
"Monsieur Richard, retrieve a doctor…" Moncharmin muttered, absently looking the girl over. For the entire world, it looked as if she merely slept, but after sending a nurse to retrieve some smelling salts, and getting no response from the girl, he became deeply concerned.

Half dragging himself across the threshold of what was his dismally adorned room, ragged sobs emitted from Erik's throat. The reality of the situation had him nearly trembling. A loud cry passed from his lips, that held anger, yet was fuelled by miserable thoughts. Before Christine had acted so thoughtlessly, there was still a chance! A chance, that perhaps the young woman he had spent to much time instructing, and whom he had so assiduously taught, and loved, may have learned to share his sentiments. Erik cursed himself viciously, for having thought so foolishly, before steadying himself with the bench before the wall of metal divisions and drawstops. "Oh, Christine, Christine!" Erik lamented sorrowfully, for pitiful situation she had put herself into, and for the horror he must have caused her. Anger flared again, for a moment, as Erik growled faintly and shook his head. The horror she caused herself! Erik decided, and his shoulders flagged, and a woeful sigh passed from his lips, that echoed back at him from the walls. Forcing himself up, Erik settled on the bench, and slumped forward listlessly, the singular tears that dropped on the lower manual, smearing red on the ivory keys. With resentment, disappointment, and culpability all crashing against one another, Erik straightened up and placed his hands lightly on the Great manual. And with quick, lithesome movements of his hands, from the many divisions of pipes, came the most dark, doleful music, that had, until then, only been heard by the composer and walls of the forlorn house. Fluctuating from soft octaves, that expressed years of sad, continues pains and anguish, to cruel tales that entwined and lay embroidered under violent mutations and vicious diapasons. And the loud curses at the world, and the tormenting thoughts of Christine, were drowned out by the intense blare of the music, as Erik's mind sunk deeper and deeper into its sound.

Christine woke from a light sleep, and for a moment, she had thought she was free from the realm of dreams, until she heard the music. Shutting her eyes tight, and trying to block out the rude awakening, the girl almost succeeded until she felt a pang. Opening her eyes, and gasping in pain, she realized she had bitten through her lip, and was now bleeding. Fighting the urge to start crying once more, and completely breaking her delicate walls, the girl fisted her hands in the luxuriant carpet, and waited for the music to end. Only, it did not. It continued, until she was sure she would go mad.
She passively let it continue, until the build up of anger, and rage snapped her fearful restraint. With an inhuman shriek, she raced at the walls and beat on them.
"Let me out! I swear to God, if you do not, I will, I will kill myself!" She threatened; then, she grew quiet, and surveyed the room.
'Perhaps if I die in this world, I'll wake up in my own!' The thought was comforting.

At the sound of dull, heavy thuds, interrupting the despondent harmonics that resounded around him, Erik flinched. For a moment, he was angry, as his fingers faltered, and his hands stilled. And from the adjoining room, the last of Christine's words cut through the wall, and were heard as if she had been standing only some feet from him. Christine's threat made Erik start, and his once still hands, shook. Withdrawing from the manuals, the man appeared exhausted for a moment's time. A part of him wished Christine away, and the mistake he made in misjudging her and his own self-control, though, Erik was rebuking himself for the first desire only seconds later. Moving toward the door, Erik brought his hands to his face tentatively, the hideous flesh only too familiar to his fingers. How ghastly it must be, for Christine to threaten to take her life! And so suddenly, a heavy mix of both guilt and sorrow weighed his heart, and Erik stopped before reaching the door. Turning on his heel, he strode to the organ silently, and sat, back to the door, afraid, if he appeared to Christine, he would have to hear her horrified scream yet again. With a listless wave of his hand, the door opened, and Erik began to shuffle the papers on the console. "I apologize, mademoiselle, for not answering you sooner. The music, you know, was quite loud." Erik called soullessly, into the silence, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Is that what you want, Christine? You would care to kill yourself, to escape from here?"

Christine oppressed any rash urges, and instead, shook her head, though she knew he could not see her.
"I would have killed myself if you keep me locked up within that room much longer." She warned. For a moment, Christine felt brave and powerful, though when Erik's beautiful voice broke through the illusion, she might have cried.
"Monsie-...Erik. Please set me free. I will tell no one of...of what I have seen. ." The tone piqued a bit at the end of this sentence, as her panic disabled her as efficiently as any man could have. With her heart in her mouth, the girl left the now open room, and realized she had no where else to go. 'And he seems quite upset...' the girl thought. Dredging up all the lessons Erik had taught her, Christine approached him at the massive organ with ease; though she was sure that Erik would spot her lies the minute she uttered them. However, when she spoke, her voice was steady, and calm.
"It does not matter to me what your face looks like. It is trivial really." Waving her hand flippantly, she continued to gain ground, even reaching the point where she had sat next to Erik on the bench, and looked him fully in his unmasked face. Not even flinching, the girl smiled, and gestured to the instrument.
"Will you play again?"

From the time Christine had entered his room, Erik had not moved, and so remained perfectly still, gazing at the console intently. Without his mask, he felt ill at ease and exposed, and with his anger dissolved, even weak. His gracious resolve to keep himself still, to avoid frightening Christine, was broken as she sat beside him, and Erik shifted in discomfiture, refusing to look at her, despite how she gazed at him. And instead of responding with voice, to the words he yearned to be true, a miserable groan passed from Erik's lips, which seemed to reflect the very music he had been playing. That had been his only reply to what he knew to be Christine's lie. Suddenly becoming animated again, Erik straightened up, dropping his adroit hands to the Choir manual. "You will enjoy this much more, Christine. It is of the idle music that you are accustomed too." He murmured fairly mordantly, and from the pipes rung lighter, gentler notes, and despite how fastidiously played, it seemed trivial in the lingering sentiment of the sinister music.

Christine avoided looking at the man directly, for every time she did, his face made her feel faint. 'How can a man have such a face? How can anyone who lives have the face of a corpse?' A shiver ran down her spine, and in an effort to mask it, she rose abruptly from the bench. She saw Erik stiffen, but she did not run, but instead walked to a small desk, upon which sheets of music were spread. They were empty of writing, though she was sure she could see where notes indented on the snowy white page.
"What is this?" She asked, waving her hand towards them vaguely. Her ears were still ringing with the playing of his that had seemed more perfect than any she had ever heard before. She was; however, troubled with the music that had woken her. It was dark and almost frightening.
"Will you play what you were playing before?" Christine requested, gluing her eyes onto the man's thin back. For all that it was so dangerous, it had seemed to have taken away much of the unmasked man's anger, and for her duration of her stay; which she hoped to be short, she wanted him to be as calm as possible.

Worried, and with ill nerves, Erik listened intently to Christine's footsteps, afraid in that in some mere seconds, she would flee; only she had not. Instead, he felt Christine's gaze on him, and shrunk visibly closer to the manuals, having to stop himself from looking back and considering her queries. Suddenly, Erik stood rigidly, staring forward gravely. "I will play you anything but that Christine. It was only on a misstep that you had heard. In any case, it is Erik's music, and Erik's music is not...benign. I am afraid it may have you screaming again." His last words came sharply from his mouth, and with flaring bitterness veiled by well-drawn placidity, Erik turned on his heel and strode from the organ. He moved with assurance, however he did not once glance at Christine, as if afraid to see her wince, and as soon as Erik reached the door, he turned briskly and exited. Though Erik's steps were lithesome, his hast was obvious, as he crouched to retrieve his mask and replace it on his face. After straightening up, Erik sidestepped as he turned to look through the doorway to Christine. "Instead, I will play for you, the song of Death's first dirge." With that said so simply, Erik turned away again, and hurried across the threshold of the room, to sit at the piano that seemed to coalesce from the shadows. "It is sad too, Christine, sad, but only so." Erik enlightened softly, before he began to play what was indeed, a melancholy euphony, and he sang, with a beautifully identical voice.
"IF thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then sleep, dear, sleep;
And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;
Lie still and deep,
Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o' the sun to-morrow,
In eastern sky.
But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then die, dear, die;
'T is deeper, sweeter,
Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming
With folded eye;
And then alone, amid the beaming
Of love's stars, thou 'lt meet her
In eastern sky."

Christine shook her head, wishing to stop the dark songs from all they had gained entrance.
"All of such heartrending things…" The girl murmured. Despite promising herself to remain cheerful and bright, she found the darkness around her no help, and with a great surge of pity for the man who lived in it constantly, she approached the piano with timid steps. Fleetingly, she considered requesting a song, but she knew not the way her angel might twist it. Laying her delicate fingers over the keys silently, as if to still them from any more troubling melodies, Christine shook her head.
"Perhaps…perhaps you could show me about?" She suggested lightly.
"Then…we can work on singing afterwards." Christine was being as cheerful she could. But her head still hurt from the hair that had been viciously pulled from it, and her wrists were sore from his skeletal grasp.

Shifting his gaze from the keys, to Christine, Erik inclined his head to look up at her, staring with a vacant countenance. For a moment he appeared paused, before nodding subtly and, carefully sliding away from Christine, he stood. "Of course, mademoiselle. If that is what you want." Erik replied quietly, before turning and crossing to room toward a hallway, which was present only now. Erik, however, did not seem to realize this, and turned to face Christine expectantly. "There are many rooms you will find locked. Though, I assure you, there is nothing of terrible interest behind them, and so allay any curiosity. I would not want you to feel disappointed." Straightening up imperiously, Erik turned and bid Christine to follow him down the dim, short hallway. After passing several doors, he finally paused before one in particular, and opened it leisurely. "I am sure you want to see where you will be staying. This is your room, Christine." With this said, Erik gestured through the doorway, looking back at Christine.

Biting her lip, Christine peered past the tall figure, into her new dwellings. Her heart plummeted to think she would be there for so long, that all the amenities provided for her, would be used. Smiling with a forced eagerness, Christine thanked Erik warmly, and took a step into her room. Beautiful Louis-Philippe dressers, and wardrobes adorned the charming room, and a bathroom was generously provided. When she knew Erik was not watching her every reaction, she realized the door had no handle on the inside, and suppressing a shudder, she debated whether to sleep with the door perpetually open. "It...it is very lovely, thank you Monsieur Erik." Christine was unsure whether to fully explore the room while Erik had left her, or to let him continue the tour, if it were indeed, to continue. In the end, she succumbed to honesty.

"Monsieur, it is a very beautiful room, truly considerate. I do not however, know the proper etiquette that is to be showed in this type of...situation." 'After all, it isn't everyday a girl gets kidnapped in a dream world, and given her own room in hells keeper's own house.' She thought dryly, her fear all but dissipated in the light of her new surroundings. When Erik was near his organ, he seemed far less approachable then when he was in the world of the living.
When Erik's intent gaze had left Christine, he appeared for a moment, somewhat brighter, and chanced a glance down the hall as if debating if he should leave her. Looking back to Christine, the worry that had been in the air of his manner dissipated, and he instead gazed steadfastly at Christine. "You are welcome, Mademoiselle." He bid, appearing relieved, having been sure Christine would only shun his efforts to please her. "And please, do not fret over etiquette. Your decorum is perfectly adequate. Furthermore, consider what is mine, your own. You are free to explore what is open to you. But you must be weary of my company and so I will leave you, Christine, so you may be free to do as you please, in these confines." As Erik spoke, pleasantly and calmly, he stepped forward, and reached as if to take Christine's hands in a gesture of farewell only Erik seemed to realize his mistake, and withdrew his hands. Shrinking back from Christine and averting his gaze, Erik murmured a voluble 'good evening' and swiftly disappeared from view down the hall.

Waiting for the masked man to disappear from view, Christine threw her hands up in exasperation.
"What am I to do? Surely…no. I'm in this reality until I have…what? Amended for my curiosity?" The girl murmured to herself. Muttering crossly, Christine snuck a glance out of her doorway, and then checked in the drawers and closets. As she had suspected clothes in rich fabrics were provided for her. How he had gotten her size of clothing, she put down to the reality in which she found herself in, and with a blush she realized she was hardly clothed at all. Though she had slept in normal clothes, they were nothing compared to what she would have worn if she were going out.

'He's wearing evening dress, and I, nothing more then second-hand cast offs.' Taking one dress out, after another, and shaking them out, she noticed that they were many different styles from ten to twenty years ago. Wondering why they would be so outdated. Ignoring the bustle that went along with the dress, and merely putting on the s-bend corset, and undergarments, in her closed bathroom, Christine paused to look at herself in the mirror and started. Before, she had been able to appear with any random hair and eye colour, but now, it was back to her own blue eyes, and boring blonde straight hair. Dragging her hands through it, purposefully disdaining the brush that had arbitrarily appeared, Christine hesitated. Becoming conscious of the fact that she did not want to leave the bathroom, and face what ever was outside her door. The face that had so shocked and appalled her. Steeling herself, she opened the door, and found nothing but an empty room. Releasing the breath she had been holding, Christine decided to take Erik up on his word, to explore, and exited the room. The hallways seemed far darker then she recalled, but pressing on, she ventured down the darkened corridor. 'He said I was allowed to look in every room, right?' She asked herself, pushing door after door open. Yearningly she stared at a row of books in the library. She could not read more then a few letters, her lifestyle previous to the Opera Garnier, had not left room for letters, and books. Leaving the door open so she would not forget it, she carried on. At the end of the hallway, was a room with a black door. Wonderingly, she pushed it open, and after looking in, felt ill.
'A coffin…someone died and is now...' Shaking, Christine pushed the door open further, slowly moving to the casket, she took a gulp of air, and peered into it. "No one…" She said softly, drawing back from the red silken covering. Then, a more frightening thought that someone had died, aroused itself. 'Who is it for?'

It was very late, when the young doctor had been woken from his sleep via housekeeper that he had received a letter, imploring his assistance immediately to the Opera Garnier. He had begrudgingly informed the woman to ready a chaise and that he would be down in ten minutes time. Had it not been the second time he had been requested to see to a patient at the Opera, the doctor was sure he would have rejected the call. Though, he found it quite easy to wake, with the curiosity that arose in light of a second illness, this one of their surrogate diva. When the doctor had arrived, the anxious appearing managers who promptly bid him to follow them met him. He obliged, and found it quite rude that they had not even offered introductions. Though, his distaste toward their manners faded, when he began to realize the small crowd they had gained. Most of which were young girls, who spoke in hushed tones, giggling periodically, while some only followed in silent curiosity. One girl had, at some time, offered to carry his bag, at which the doctor politely declined the offer in wary mistrust, and was surprised when she scoffed. The crowd stopped before an open door shortly, which the doctor recognized, and he gently moved past the person that had wandered in front of him. A black haired girl scowled at him when, he supposed, his bag had hit her, and informed him to 'watch it' quite sharply. The doctor began to wonder if everyone who resided here was rude, if it was something that came along with being a thespian besides acting queer? He did not put much thought in it, in the end. The doctor did not like theatre much in any case.
Despite the lavish décor, the doctor's attention went right to the being of the young woman who lay stoic on the couch. He began examining her, while the managers, in the meantime, could be heard shooing away the crowd. The doctor missed this, when the two men returned, and began to ask ridiculous queries, most of which only reflected selfishness. They only quieted, when the doctor stood and gave them a cold stare. "This is, as you could tell Messieurs, a very serious situation. She does not reply to stimulus, but yet her pulse is steady. She appears to be not ill physically, by what I can see, in the least. Though, it is my medical opinion that Mademoiselle Daae is in a state of catalepsy." He paused, and when he gained no response, the doctor began to clear the men of their ignorance. He explained, as simply as one could, that she is either suffering from epilepsy or is a victim of a serious mental disorder. He inquired if his patient had been known to anomalous behaviour. The managers only look at each other, then back to him, and replied that they could not say. When the doctor asked if she had any family members, or friends, he could speak too, they only responded in the same manner. It was with obvious irritation that the doctor instructed them to find someone that could give him the information that he sought, and added that he would remain with his patient until they could do so, as well as acquire a proper nurse. It was with that that the offended managers left.
From the moment Erik had left Christine, his mind seemed to be cleared somewhat of its misery drowned state. In the refuge of his grim room, he passed with quick strides, and periodically would murmur aloud his thoughts, all of which pertained to Christine. He had said, Christine would never leave, and while the idea offered relief, it gave sorrow, considering he had been the one who had announced it. And if he did indeed, keep Christine, it would be undeniable that she would hate him, if she did not by now. For a moment, Erik paused, and wrung his hands; Christine had been acting civil, though, since she had removed his mask. Perhaps, she had not been lying? Despite how Erik's heart palpated in contentment with this thought, he shook his head, reprimanding himself before he continued pacing. Time had passed considerably, when Erik gave up resolve to figure a solution the dilemma that presented itself. For now, his mind only settled on the simple fact that, Christine would not leave. And, with this cruel thought so simple to him, Erik left his room to search for the young woman. He located her quite easily, when he noted the open door to the library, and slid into the room she had entered as quiet as a shadow. Erik watched Christine for a moment, as she examined the casket, and considered saying nothing, until she turned to see him. Only, he caught the nervousness in her manner and decided otherwise in veiled concern. "That is were I had slept." Erik enlightened, pleasant voice disrupting the silence in the room. He strolled forward and past Christine and rounded on the casket. "I say had slept, only because it seems I am never tired lately." Erik frowned for a moment, before his gaze rose to Christine, and he stepped away from the casket. "It is not for you, Christine. Caskets are for those who are dead, and you are certainly not. So you have nothing to fear."

A nervous woman was ushered into the room, as the doctor took several more tests on the unconscious Mademoiselle Daae. Unconsciously wringing her hands as the man surveyed her, and noted she would be a probable candidate for chest pains. Repeating his questions, he received a blank stare and hesitant answers.
From what the woman told him, he was able to gather that Mademoiselle Daae was always absentminded, and she had no living relatives. Her father had been a poor violinist, and her 'aunt' was ill at the moment. The aunt, he surmised, was the woman who had taken her in. Suggesting that the ill woman take care of the ill girl, would be wrong in the poor man's opinion. Not feeling comfortable enough to recommend bloodletting, the young doctor finally consented to send the woman home with a Monsieur De Chagny. He claimed to be a close friend, though the doctor could see the tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at the sleeping girl with bloodshot eyes. The doctor was not satisfied with simply letting the girl go unchecked, and so, assuring her maiden hood intact and vowing to reassure it was during his next check-up, the man sent the two away from sight and mind.

Christine nodded, her mouth running dry at such a casual companionship with death. Clearing her throat, she spread her hands out, palms turned upwards like a beggars.
"I'm sorry Monsieur. I did not mean to intrude on your private room. I thought that when you said I was free to look about, still, if I had known, I would not have entered." With a poor attempt to smile, Christine edged to the door, not wishing to look at the coffin again.
"Will you show me the library yourself? If it is not too much trouble?" Christine requested, as she made her way to the door, which stood ajar. She did not enter, not wishing to find another surprise, hidden where she had only briefly glanced.
"I only learned to read music, from my father. I have the alphabet somewhere in the back of my mind, but he never emphasized it, as he did notes." Christine clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. She had never meant to say that, much less to him. 'Why did I just say that? Now he knows how stupid I am.' Biting her tongue, Christine refused to reveal any other weaknesses to the man who had so cruelly tricked and abducted her.

Gazing after Christine for a moment, Erik's gaze fell to the casket, and he stepped away from it with care, before turning and following Christine. "No need to apologise, Christine, it was perfectly all right. If I had known the sight would have unnerved you, I would have instructed you to stay away from that room." As Erik spoke, he slipped past Christine and into the library, sidestepping to allow Christine to enter, his steadfast gaze returning to her immediately as he turned. To avoid embarrassing Christine further, and to uphold propriety, Erik said nothing in response to Christine's comment toward her education, and instead turned away from her. "There is a great number and arrays of categories for you to select from, my dear." Erik enlightened gently, gesturing lithely to the rows of books, as he moved further into the room across the marble flooring. "Finding one, of which you can read, should be quite simple." He murmured gently, before turning back to Christine, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, before he suddenly became animated. Turning, Erik crossed the round room and upon reaching a shelf, began to sidestepped whilst peering at the titles. He paused, and straightening up, placed his fingertips lightly against the mahogany framing. "If you are curious, look from here, Christine. Out of this section, I am afraid the themes may...worry you."

Blushing Christine murmured a thanks, and with her eyes only on the section indicated, she studied the spines of various tomes. Selecting a heavy one, which she promised to puzzle her self over later, she hugged it close to her chest.
"What...do you do all day, Monsieur? I could hardly expect you to simply pace the halls..." When she was nervous, Christine became overly chatty, and shrinking a bit, the girl cursed her stupidity. 'He was kind enough to overlook my lack of education, you can overlook his...his what? His insane tendencies?'
"Excuse me Monsieur, it is none of my business..." Hastily retreating from the array of volumes, Christine nervously brushed out her unfashionable skirt, her other hand securely holding the book.
Raoul De Chagny fondly brushed a strand of hair from Christine's face. He had to leave in a few weeks for his expedition to the arctic, but that would not change the treatment his dear friend would receive. At first he had been angry that she refused him admittance to her dressing room, though his ego was soothed by the thought that she was already unconscious when he had come to see her. Every noon, he would sit by the bedside of the catatonic girl, and read her stories, and reviews of her performance. Or he would remiss, as she lay asleep. A week had passed since she was discovered, and he was anxious that she awake, so perhaps, she would come with him to the arctic.

"I compose, build, design, and," Erik paused, to wave a listless hand toward the shelves, "read, as you see. I have much to keep me busy, Christine, you would be surprised. I alone, have built the very structure in which you stand, as well as what shines four cellars above it." He explained candidly, without caring to knowledge Christine's apology. As he spoke, Erik appeared almost proud, as he reflected on his accomplishments, though, his shoulders flagged, and the pride seemed to visibly drain from his manner. "But after so many years, their appeal has begun to tarnish and I find myself quite jaded." Erik added, gaze falling for a moment, before he looked up to Christine attentively. His behaviour changed completely then, and the sadness that shone so clearly in his manner, was clear again. "Come, let us take to your lessons now, Christine, for that is why you are here. Five days, Christine; Five days and you may leave Erik forever." And with this said, with such a weigh of sorrow, that his own words made him nearly cringe, Erik started past Christine.
Five days had begun to pass, to Erik, extremely quickly. With each, he would harshly resolve to extend Christine's time, though only to see her, and falter completely. With each hour, it seemed he loved her more, and Erik found when he was alone, he only thought of her and cursed time viciously. When his anxiety to see her seemed unbearable, Erik would hurry to locate Christine. Usually, he would find the young woman busy, and so he would merely inquire on if she was in need of anything; the response was always a civil no, and so Erik would reluctantly leave her. Most of their time together was spent in Erik teaching, and periodically he would attempt to turn conversation elsewhere, only to have Christine dodge his efforts. Only once, nearing the end of the fourth day, when the hopelessness had his head aching with the dreadful thought desolation, did he dare to venture into the sitting room, and remain, when Christine was present. He approached her, with cautious steps; afraid she would flee, as she usually did, to her room. When Christine did not stir, and her eyes did not leave the text of the novel she held in her hands, Erik stepped closer and sunk to the floor beside the settee in which she was seated. Inclining his head, Erik gazed up at Christine adoring, his distress fleeing momentarily. "Good evening, Christine." He bid softly when he risked speaking, and he suddenly wished he had not. With a mournful sigh, Erik hung his head, and feeling childish in his search for Christine's attention, leaned against the frame of the settee lightly.

Christine had counted the days down, at first with excruciating eagerness, then with a much more calm approach. Novels seemed to grow easier to read, and so, when she was not having her lessons, Christine found herself absorbed in one. She had once dared venture past the place Erik had mentioned would suit her tastes, only to find books on such gruesome subjects, that she grabbed the first book she found, and quitted the library. She realized one other thing about Erik, and that was that he was a genius. At first, she was shocked, and did not believe that he could have built such amazing things, though gradually, she found herself accepting his intelligence as a fact. It was in her preoccupied state, that Erik had found her. Christine knew when he entered the room, for it always seemed to grow colder. Since her first day, Erik had not touched even the slightest hair on the back of her head, and Christine felt secure that he would not harm her, unless she invoked his anger somehow. With his mask securely in place, it was easy for Christine to forget what had lain beneath it, though she would wake up in the middle of the night, and for a long time, lie awake, sure that his blazing eyes were glaring at her in the darkened room. Pulled from her entrenchment in the tome, the girl looked about for a second, before realizing he was on the floor in front of her.
"Is it evening Monsieur? I can never tell..." Christine trailed off distractedly, finding nothing to hint at the time on the walls. Focusing her gaze once more on the masked man, Christine placed a finger in her book, to hold her spot.
"All the same, good Evening Monsieur. Is there something I could help you with?" Smiling humourlessly that she would be offering her help, Christine waited, but received no answer. 'Ah- then he has just come to sit by me as I read.' The girl thought, with a small chill. It was decidedly distracting, and in the end, Christine gave up altogether. With an exasperated sigh, the girl dropped her book, and stared at Erik evenly, and repeated her offering of assistance.
The young doctor murmured to himself, recording on a sheet of paper, Mademoiselle Daae's vital signs.
"It seems monsieur, that everything is becoming stronger." Recording the girls increased heart rate, and several other things, the doctor wrote a set of instructions for the worried Vicomte.
"If she starts showing signs of waking up, you should have someone there to assist her. It is probable that she could have forgotten many things, or she may be delusional." Clicking his medical bag shut, the doctor collected his francs and left Raoul alone with the girl.
"Do not fear, Christine. I'll be here when you wake up..." Raoul murmured, disgusted, and giddy at the same time, for the amount of compassion he was showing to his childhood friend.

Erik, for a moment, appeared concerned; believing his presence had struck Christine as an irritant. He deciphered quickly, that that was indeed true for obvious reason, and sighed dismally from the indifference in which she showed. In another instant, Erik felt angered abruptly by this, as well as from frustration with his being unable to completely grasp exactly why Christine carried on in this manner. He had, in the end, given her all his attention, in teaching her matters of music, which were absolutely beyond the knowledge of any man beside himself. Erik offered her a most poignant love, which only betrayed him by turning to pierce his heart when Christine had so mercilessly dismissed it. And yet, he still foolishly laid it before her, clearly by his manner, and despite how Erik wished to abandon these sentiments; he simply could not. In one swift movement, Erik was standing, and he gazed down at Christine with burning eyes, queries reeling, disordered in his mind. "Yes, Mademoiselle, perhaps you would be so kind, as to help me to understand something." Erik began placidly, resentment tinting his voice, as he took a small step back from the girl. "What had I done that had been so terrible? I offered you your freedom when you had requested it! My temper however...is in deplorable condition, but you had been the first to test in quite some time! And the method in which you had was quite biting." He paused ominously for a long moment, jaw clenched, before he stepped toward Christine again and his anger dissolved into dejection. "You would not be so repulsed by me, if you still thought me an angel! If you had not removed my mask, you would certainly not be so calm at the thought of leaving Erik." Erik said miserably, and held out his hands toward Christine, sinking subtly, as if he would soon fall at her feet again. Only, Erik started, and instead drew back from Christine and bridled, as if he was troubled by his own words. As his muscles relaxed, Erik gazed through Christine, singular tears slipping from under his mask as his vision idly fixed on her. "I had not meant to frighten you, Christine, you must understand..." He murmured softly, and though he wished to, Erik refrained from moving any closer to Christine.

Christine bit her lip, chewing it as she debated against the voices in her head demanding her ignore everything Erik had said. Simply put, she could not. She opened her mouth to speak, several times, before she could find words to aptly fit what she needed to say.
"Mons...Erik...you of all people must know of betrayal. You, who I so revered as an angel, is only a man." Pity stirred her soul as the man who was contrary to himself, knelt before her, yet never touched the ground. Christine hated the way that he could make her cower in a moment, and then implore her forgiveness the next. She hated the dark world he forced on her, and she hated that he would demand her attention without a word. Laying the book aside completely, forsaking the pretence of marking her page, Christine rose from the chair as proudly as she knew possible, and straightened to her full height. The tears that followed, completely unnerved her. She knew the man would cry, he had before, but then, it had always been accompanied with passion or rage. Now they were self-pitying and full of sorrow. Cursing her apparent inability to remain stoic, the girl timidly pinched the cloth of Erik's fine evening attire, and tugged as a child would.
"I will return…" She promised, though she knew that once she was free, once she had flown from her midnight cage, and into the sun, she would not wish to.
"I will return, and I will visit you. Not every night you understand but I will return. I have been here for a week and only God knows what people must think…" With a precise, practised effort, a kindly smile slid into place, masking the doubt, and anger that she would so willingly return to a man who could, without a shadow of a doubt in Christine's mind, kill her in his anger. 'Still...' Christine thought dispassionately. 'It would be worth anything to stop that tone in his voice.' The one that cut her to the quick each time he spoke to her. The hurt resentment, the anger, and the love, which frightened her the most. If he had been, perhaps, beautiful, or merely plain, she might have found it in her flighty heart, to fall madly in love. 'But who would want to be loved by a demon?' Christine asked herself, loathing the small answer that rose. 'No one.'

In an instant, Erik's resentment fled from him, towing with it his fear. The concept of Christine returning, was enough to do so. He gazed instead, down at Christine, with a sentiment of admiration, and a stronger love for, Erik figured, in the least, Christine would not completely forsake him. "Thank you, Christine." Erik murmured tenderly, voice nearly shaking with relief. And it was then, that the man could no longer simply suppress his delight, in a prospect that would have been only so little satisfying for others. Erik fell instead, before Christine, this time in worship instead of beseeching, and began to mutter dulcet praises to the young woman who he esteemed and hopelessly loved. The words seemed to die on Erik's tongue, and he was left staring at the fabric of Christine's dress, which appeared crinkled by his grasp. Erik reached forward and brushed down the material with care, before standing and with a fleeting look, stepped away from Christine to cross the threshold of the room. He appeared, for a moment to be in thought, though he turned suddenly, and gazed anxiously at Christine. "May I remain with you, for the duration of the evening?" Erik inquired carefully, and a most cruel thought came to mind. If Christine could not decipher the time, he could certainly lie and give himself more. This idea died however, because it would only pique Christine's feeling of distrust in him.

Christine let him stay that evening, and the others that followed, until the day she would finally return to the world she knew, arrived. Grimly, with little words exchanged, and only fleeting glimpses of half spoken sentences, Erik returned her the long way. Across the inky black lake, from his house on the shore, and through the many basements of the Garnier Opera house. Christine renewed her vow to return, and with a wary countenance, she fled the moment Erik had disappeared from sight. She could feel the insistent calling of the world of the waking, beckoning her to awake once more. It was with a relieved sort of air that she gave in and as the world faded away, a new one rose to meet her eyes.