:A/N: Dear readers, lol, I like to begin my author's note with this! Here is another chapter, and the plot for the following ones is already up. I hope you'll enjoy it.
:Disclaimer: It's not mine, nothing of this is! (And I do not mean the plot but the characters and the main idea)
:Claimer: Madame de Jour is mine. Plus, the plot does belong to me!
:Summary: I was eleven years old when I saved the Phantom, and if I had known what he would do to my poor soul, I would have left him in the iron cage.
:Rated M:Warning: Read "warning" in chapter one, "Spring Storms". I won't repeat myself a thousand times.
:beta-reader: Incapability
:Thanks to: MmeGiry, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz (spelling? I'll never get it right, I'm SO sorry!) and Incapability
: The Empty Cage :
: Chapter 1 : Visitor at Night :
The envelope and the note fell onto my pillow very slowly as if somebody had slowed down my apperception. With the grace of a feather, the envelope landed on the white cover of my pillow and a shadow formed in the dim light of the candle on my bedside table. Suddenly, the door opened and the noise of it made me flinch very hard, roughly pulled back into reality. I hastily grabbed the envelope to hide it behind my back and turned around, trying to cover my fear with a smile. "Oh goodness," Madame de Jour said, "you're pale." She came closer and with every step, my nerves stiffened. "Do you remember that we wanted to talk about your husband?" I shook my hand and clinged to the folds of my skirt, rumpling the envelope. Did I even hear what she was saying? She went on talking to me about something, but my mind was so clouded I barely knew what to do. "Is something wrong?" Madame de Jour leaned her head to the side, frowning. I shook my head, rambled something about an illness I had just made up and excused myself. Today, I know why Madame de Jour began to keep an eye on me. My behaviour started to become very dubious, and since she hadn't fallen on her head in childhood and all her senses were perfectly intact, it was no wonder she detected the problem some time later. Too late? Soon enough?
I ran down the hall, my brain working hard and felt my heart beat against my chest. 'Where to hide?', I thought, almost stumbling across my own feet, which tried to flee slowlier than I wanted them to. I already felt the sweat that would come soon, but kept running, someplace, someplace – where he wouldn't find me. A place I hadn't shown him before, a place where I'd be safe. At that time, though, I was too foolish to consider the fact that Erik had conquered the halls, rooms, walls and floors of the Opera Populaire himself and a long time ago. Turning to the left, I suddenly found myself in the girls' changing room. A sigh escaped my throat and seconds later, my knees gave up. I sank to the floor, slowly closing the door behind me. The darkness around me seemed to come closer with every breath I took, and I feared the silence. Withal, the silence pressed on my ears as if it were the whole orchestra assembled around me, playing their favourite piece right into my ears. I pulled my knees to my chin and sat in that position for what felt like forever. It might have been some seconds, minutes, hours – the silence and darkness around me swallowed every earthy feeling I had left inside of me. Then, I decided I couldn't sit by the door forever. He would find me if he opened the door, he might be so angry that he'd throw it open – and what would be left of me wasn't going to please anybody who didn't like to go to the morgue.
Slowly enough to realise what was in front of me, I crawled through the room, touching the air. Sometimes, my hand landed on the benches on which we girls put our clothes before classes, other times, the wall was my only companion. Finally, I found a corner behind a bench and sat down there. My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could make out parts of the room, at least those that weren't too far away from me. Already fearing I would not leave that place before the girls would come for their next class, I felt a tear running down my cheek. 'Wonderful,' I thought, rubbing my fingers to feel that they were still there, 'before it has begun, I am already crying.' It seemed as if hours had passed, and my head leaned against the cold wall, and a dizzy chill grew from my toes to my fingers. Would he find me here? Did he even know about this room? I closed my eyes and felt how tired of the day I was, not having eaten a single thing that remained in my stomach, having trained very hard, left alone all the emotions my poor soul had to stand. 'You mustn't sleep,' I told myself alarmingly, but sleep won the battle. But I didn't even have time to dream. A second after I had closed my eyes, or at least it seemed likely, the door was pushed open and a dim light fell into the room. My body froze immediately, my eyes stared at the person standing in the door. He had found me. And he hated objections.
To my surprise, he did not scream or pull me out of the room by my hair. Slowly, with confident steps, he approached me and came to a halt in front of me. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he grinned. I still stared at him, feeling my heart beat against my chest in angst. I felt nothing but fear, and my mind was only able to look at his evil smirk. That moment, I was not in the mental state to make plans on how to get rid of him… I gulped, still staring at him, and didn't dare to respond. "I said good evening," he repeated, his voice suddenly sugar-sweet. "Have you missed me?" He kneeled down next to me, putting the candlestick on the floor. "Have you?" His hand reached out for me but I winced and finally dared to react, suddenly turning my head from him. I could hear him breathe, so silent it was. "Antoinette," he said, now not sugar-sweet but rather upset, "be delighted that I haven't punished you for hiding from me. But I will, for turning your head from me. You should be highly thankful for my mere presence, left alone what joy I shall bring you." I was disgusted by his words, feeling my stomach turn again, but at the same time, I remembered the night before and knew he had had no change of mind. He was still the same Erik, and the same Erik would do the same things to me… Or worse? The word 'punish' made me turn my head back to him, feeling more tears making their way down my cheeks to my chin to drop on my dress. My face must have had an expression of a lack of understanding, so he said, "I'll show you later. Stand up." He stood up, looking down to me. I felt as if I would never move any muscle again and the thought of standing up and going with him to feel the shame of the night before again was destroying me. "I can't," I whispered.
"You can't?"
He bent down and lifted me up to carry me. I cried and cried, powerless at the thought of all the chagrin, the agitation, the dismay. His voice was muted again. "Antoinette, don't cry," he said, "there is no reason for it. I won't do you any harm." And he lied. Oh, how much he lied.
Was I too young to understand what animalistic desire pushed him into this? Was it the lack of sexual education that stopped me from pushing him away the first time he had touched my cleavage? Was my character to naïve, too frail? God, I soon discerned I feared him copiously, for I knew he'd search for me, even if I went to far away Russia or even further away. He'd find me, and he'd punish me more. Did I think it was better to give in and close my eyes? Was I thinking at all?
We reached his lair and he put me down again. I stood in front of him and stared at his eyes which were as dark as the night itself. "Erik," I begged, "please…" But he shook his head and tore the upper part of my dress apart in response. The loud sound of it made me wince again and I swallowed a loud scream, pushing my lips together not to cough out my emotions.
When he had finished, he stood up from the bed and went over to the piano. I turned from him and whimpered a last time, feeling that there were no more tears to cry. He began to play. It was a light piece of music, perhaps composed to be played at a ball. It was the opposite of my feelings, and for that, it calmed the storm that was inside of me down. I closed my eyes again and wished myself far, far away, someplace else, - "Oh, Mademoiselle, I like to look at you. Would you turn around?" I didn't answer. His voice was sweet again but I knew how fast it could change into a vexed one. And alas, my fears were to be proven appropriately. I heard his steps approaching the bed, finally, they reached it, and his strong hand took hold of my wrist. He pulled me up and no tear escaped my eye, for I had found out there were things much worse than the pain shooting through my arm. I cannot call to mind exactly what had happened, I think he beat me really hard. He must have brought me up again, for the next morning, I woke up in the girls' dormitory, still tasting some blood in my mouth. I could barely open my eyes. Loud whispers had woken me up, and I heard people hush around my bed. Soon, I heard Madame de Jour's familiar voice. The girls must have called for her. A warm hand touched my cheek. "Antoinette, can you hear me?" I couldn't answer for some reason, feeling to weak. Everything I saw was in a blurr. The next thing I remember is that I woke up and Madame de Jour was sitting next to me. "Are you feeling better?", she asked, and I nodded my head as well as I could. "You have slept for hours. It is in the evening now, Antoinette. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I lied, for I felt my chest aching. "Fine," I said again, trying to remember what had taken place. "The doctor was here to take a look at you." She leaned closer, soothing me by stroking my cheek again. "Can you tell me what occurred?"
"I do not know what Madame means," I lied again. What had the doctor seen?
"Antoinette, please don't lie to me. I do not know who did this to you, but the bruises on your body are to be seen from miles. You need to rest in bed for a couple of days and let the swelling go away. Your face is fine, it's just …" She took my hand. "Your wrists are insanely blue. Please tell me who did it so that we can amerce the person adequately."
"I can't," I said, fearing Erik wouldn't let me be alive if I told her. "I cannot."
"Is it somebody I know?"
"No."
"The doctor said that… you have bruises all over your body. All over your body… Antoinette, do you know that if … a man … and a woman … they … she can be pregnant from it." I barely understood what she was saying but nodded. "You will have to marry. Soon. Really soon. Your reputation will be ruined if you don't, and neither the Opera, nor you needs this. I already spoke to your fiance, of course without telling him what occurred. He agreed on marrying you in a month, you must understand, he is a very occupied man. There are no more dangers of ruining your reputation if you agree."
"Madame – I do not undestand…"
"This is not important. You will, later. Mademoiselle Antoinette, I would recommend it highly to you. You will understand it, I promise."
And I did, later. Months later, when I waited for the red spots on my underwear which used to come once a month for several days. Those red spots which the girls talked about, saying they made them real women. Those red spots that had never been of any importance. Yet.
:A/N: Thank you for reading this fanfiction.