Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own anything to do with POTO. However, Nadya and any other unrecognizable characters are mine. I'm not making any money off this (also sadly enough), so please don't sue me, I have nothing to give you. Enjoy!

"Nadya" is the French form of the name "Nadezhda", which means "hope" in Russian.

"Chenu" means "snow white" in French.


Someone was calling her. She could hear them saying her name, but she had no desire to answer. It was so peaceful here in this dark warmness. It was as though nothing could harm her here. Yet that voice was so terribly insistent, calling her over and over again. It was now louder, and she could feel hands on her shoulders.

Nadya's eyes flew open. There was a man standing over her, shaking her. Images flashed through her mind and she started to scream. A large, gloved hand was clamped over her mouth. "Shhhhh!" Erik hissed at her. "Do you want to wake everyone in the house?"he asked irritably.

At the sound of his voice, Nadya began to remember where she was, and she started to calm down. Erik could feel her stop trembling and begin to relax. He removed his hand from over her mouth, and released her shoulders. She lay there, getting her breath back. Her breath was still coming in gasps, a testament to her very real terror. Her eyes were wide, darting back and forth, as if she expected something to come flying at her. "I'm sorry," she said in between gasps. "I didn't know...," her voice faded, unable to finish the thought.

Erik stepped back, suddenly realizing what had made her scream. 'Of course,' he thought, 'I should have realized.' And yet, when she hadn't responded to his calling her name, he didn't know what else to do. But still, he had told her that he would have to wake her. And didn't she believe him that he wouldn't hurt her? With these thoughts rushing through his head, he turned and stalked out of the room without a word to her.

Nadya watched him go in confusion. What had happened? Was he that very angry with her for being startled? She remembered that she had not told him what had happened to make her so afraid. Perhaps he had not been the one who saved her. She realized she didn't know if that had been this Erik or not. From these musings, her thought ran naturally back to the events of the previous night. Try as she might, she still could not understand how he had known to follow her, how he had even known she was leaving. Remembered scenes flashed in her mind; riding, hearing hoofbeats out of time with her horse's. She wondered what had happened to Chenu, her white mare. She remembered being pulled off of her...she shuddered and yawned. With these thoughts swirling through her mind, she succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion and fell into a troubled sleep.

Erik himself was not so calm as he stalked through the house, leaving bewildered servants in his wake. He threw the door open, slamming it shut behind him. 'Amazing,' he thought ruefully, 'one day in this place and already I am making as much noise as any of those ballet rats in Paris!' This thought did nothing to improve his mood.

He strode to the stables, intent on taking out one of the horses Madame Giry was supposed to have bought for him. As he walked between the stalls, he was momentarily startled to see a white Arabian mare. Then he remembered, she had been in the woods last night as well. He had almost forgotten telling Adèle to have someone go fetch her. He went over to the stall, cautiously putting his hand out. The mare came forward warily, her nostrils widening as she sniffed him. Apparently he met her approval, for she butted his hand. He slowly stroked her head, the previous hours events still coursing through his mind.

After having unpacked his belongings and eaten, he had returned to the room where Nadya lay. She was sleeping soundly, and appeared to be comfortable. Having assured himself that she was still well, he had gone on an inspection of the rest of this house. It had been years since he had seen the place, and it certainly bore little resemblance now to what it had been. Antoinette Giry had done a remarkable job in the little time he had given her. He had intended to bring Christine here after Don Juan. However, his plans had changed somewhat. He had decided to come here anyway, since he needed a new home. Since he had never seen the house since it had been fixed, never imagined Christine in it's rooms, it was relatively free of memories for him. For that reason alone, it was immensely more attractive than his home under the opera house.

Having roamed the halls and rooms of his new domain, he had again returned to the girl. It had now been several hours since she had awakened, and he was concerned. She must not sleep overlong with an injury such as hers. He tried calling her name, softly at first then louder. When she still did not stir, he had begun to be alarmed. He started to shake her shoulders gently, hoping that would wake her. And wake her it did. He shook his head in remembrance. He had not thought that it might scare her. Looking back, he knew he should have thought of that. After the previous evening, probably being touched at all would frighten her. But what else was there to do? He sighed, frustrated. He had wanted nothing more than to disappear, to try to knit his soul back into something he could live with. And now, here was someone whom he did not know, had little wish to know, and yet somehow he felt the need to care for her. It was very perplexing.

Erik looked up as the mare butted his head again. Apparently, she wanted something more than caresses. Looking around, he spied a tub of apples. Taking one, he gave it to the mare, who nipped it neatly out of his palm. Erik sighed as he watched her. He knew he had frightened the girl, something that uncharacteristically he did not want to do. Christine's words about his distorted soul had struck a chord within him. A disfigured face was something to be hidden and feared, but not something that could be changed. A soul in that same state was just as abhorrent, but ultimately changeable. He knew that nothing he did would bring Christine back to him, yet he had no wish to continue as he was. What to do? Apologizing went against his nature, and he was not sure he could quite bring himself to do that. Perhaps explaining would suffice. He turned and walked briskly back to the house.


Authors note: Well, here's another chapter. Once again, please please review! You have no idea how much reviews can motivate and produce updates:) Any ideas on where you think this story should go? Let me know! Thanks for reading!