Author's notes: Alright, all is explained here! Reviews are in the profile, as usual.

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Chapter XXIX

X X X X

Christine, being led to her chambers, thought of something other than Erik – for the first time since they arrived. Her eyes kept moving to the package in her arms, as if she was afraid she might lose it if she didn't check whether or not it was there. God only knew the dress must have cost a fortune. Yet she knew not why she had been awarded with such a gift. Surely the khanum – from what she had heard, a rather non-pleasant woman – didn't want her for anything?

Hearing a set of brisk footsteps behind her, she stopped and turned, half-expecting Erik to turn up. Her hopeful face fell a bit, but she was pleased to see Nadir Khan nevertheless. The Persian made a gesture to the slave, who also stopped to see what was going on. The girl quickly nodded, bowed to Christine and set off very quickly.

"It pleases me to see you again, Christine." He was still not devoid of the heavy accent, but she could hear that his French had been bettered greatly. He was clad simply, mostly in dark shades, and despite his warm greeting, he seemed to be troubled by something. "You are wondering where Erik is." The Persian noted with the briefest and lightest of smiles.

Christine would have laughed, were it not for the seriousness of the situation and the unease she felt. "That is only one of the many questions that troubles me." Nadir's eyes fell on the package in her hands, and a questioning look settled on his face.

"That isn't one of your belongings… who gave you that?"

"The khanum. She wants me to meet her tomorrow around midday. I don't know why… she said little that I could guess from." Christine opened the package and showed the daroga the dress. "And she said I am to wear this."

Predictably, the Persian frowned. "Strange."

"You believe I shouldn't go?"

"No, you must go. Risking insulting the shah's mother is most unwise." He said immediately. "However, be careful." He returned the dress to its package and looked at Christine. "I know not what she would want from you, but be assured that this is no friendly invitation. There is some plot, something in the background."

"You believe she wants to use me?" Christine asked doubtfully.

"Pardon me for saying this, but I'd say that from the political point of view, you are worthless to her." The Persian fell silent, but didn't voice his thoughts. They were clear, however. The khanum could have figured things out by now, and… "Erik is away from the palace today. He shall return tomorrow – or is already on his way, the fool, since he should know of your arrival by now." Bowing slightly, Nadir turned to leave.

"How is Reza?" Christine couldn't resist calling.

The Persian stopped in his tracks, yet didn't turn. Christine saw that he bowed his head slightly. "Still alive." And he left.

X X X

The first part of the first day back was uneventful.

Christine unpacked on her own, since she sorely needed something to do. Walking in the gardens wouldn't be able to attract her attention for so long, and she couldn't do what she yearned most – sing. It was an outlet of energy that she knew she would miss.

However, true to her word, the khanum did send a fetching girl for Christine at eleven o clock. By that time, Christine had tried on the dress. It fitted her more or less, and the veil covered most of her. It made her seem less European, due to its color. The pallor of her skin seemed to have been drowned beneath the shades of brown. Still, it was comfortable to not wear a corset once in a while.

The slave led her outside, past the gardens and the main entrance of the palace. While Christine had never been to the harem, she had been told that that was something like the khanum´s private domain. And she had been enlightened about what a harem is. She understood it, but didn't like it.

Her host she recognized only due to the fact that the khanum was clad in the most expensive fabrics. However, the other woman recognized her immediately, despite the shielding veils. "Welcome, dear." she welcomed Christine, with that same strange warmness that sent chills up Christine's spine.

Christine bowed. "I am here, your majesty. You said you wished to speak with me."

"Conversations can wait until after the entertainment, can they not?" the khanum replied lightly, but Christine remained uneasy. "Come – I believe you will find this interesting."

The khanum began walking somewhere and Christine followed, along with several of the servants. It seemed that they knew well where they were going, and some were anxious, some eager, but all seemed to be more or less frightened. Only the khanum was calm, as if nothing was happening. Being the only one not knowing what was going on was not what Christine expected.

In the end, they proceeded to a balcony, large enough to fit them all. The khanum made a motion to some guards nearby, who disappeared from sight and then brought forth a screaming man, clad in rags. They dragged him into the strangest thing that would have caught Christine's attention the moment she had arrived, were it not for the screams that distracted her.

A hexagonal chamber, with mirrors as walls… and in the middle, the strangest object of all. A tree. Yet that was no decoration to display a piece of fauna. A rope was tied to it. A rope that ended with a noose…

Before Christine could even realize what was going on, the guards thrust the prisoner into the chamber, and by some miracle, a terrible spectacle began. It could have been hours, for all Christine knew. Yet she could not tear her eyes from what was happening, despite the tears of horror, shock and pity that she felt on her face. She couldn't move a muscle, and therefore didn't notice that the while khanum was enjoying the entertainment, she kept glancing at her and smiling ever so slightly.

Never in her entire life had Christine seen something so terrible. It was more than disgusting – it was twisted, sick and twisted, and the screaming continued, until she thought she would never get the sound out of her head. Finally, however, the victim didn't have the strength to resist the rope that meant freedom and hung himself.

The moment of the appalling crack was when Christine began panting. She didn't scream, or shriek, but felt as if she had run a mile. She now glanced down at her knees, feeling her insides burning.

"Enjoyed that, my dear?" the khanum´s voice reached her ears. She dared not look up. "I confess it might have been slightly unorthodox for a European such as you, but entertaining nonetheless." She paused, but received no reply, so she continued. "You should enjoy this, too. It will be… swifter, but more amusing." Clapping her hands twice, she did something again, and Christine heard footsteps leaving.

Was this meant to be a torment for her, or did the sick woman really think she would like this? Christine didn't know. She felt sick, very sick, and was afraid that if she would have to look at another of these… procedures… she would throw up or faint for sure. Gathering the last of her strength, she looked to where the khanum was looking.

It was outside the chamber, but this time, it seemed even stranger. The guards led out a second prisoner, if you could call the man that. This one was armed and dressed properly, almost like a soldier would be. Then someone else walked out and the khanum looked at Christine again.

Christine almost shrieked this time, but couldn't find her voice. Somehow… this was too cruel. Slowly, she began to understand. But she didn't want to.

The armed prisoner charged at his opponent. If someone would have blinked, they would have missed it. The soft swooshing of a thin lasso, not unlike the one the first prisoner had hung himself upon. And a moment later, a sword fell to the ground. Its wielder was dead.

The victor turned round, his eyes lingering for a moment on Christine, whom he scanned for a moment. She was a stranger, but he supposed it was one of the more prominent ladies of the harem. Yet Christine did not fail to recognize the eyes, least of all the mask that hid his features.

Formalities aside, Christine stood up and vanished with a whoosh of the veils. The khanum almost chuckled out loud. Even through the fabrics, she could see her "guest" paling with each moment.

"Well done again, my friend." She called from the balcony. Erik, who had been collecting the lasso, looked up. The routine killing was getting really tiresome, especially since it was hindering his progress with the palace. And Christine had arrived yesterday, or so he heard.

He had devoted himself to work in order to survive those months of separation. And that he did, yet it resulted in the fact that he failed to meet her on the night of her arrival. But the sooner he would finish the palace, the sooner he would leave. With Christine, if she wished it.

"But it seems Miss Daaé didn't like the performance much."

It was almost like an icy dagger passed through him. At once he looked at the khanum – the smirk in her voice he ignored – and a mix of shock and disbelief ignited itself in his eyes. "I believe I misheard you, Madame."

"Oh, I think not." The khanum heard the slight wavering in his voice, which angered and pleased her both. "I invited her to have a look at my way of enjoying myself, since she sang for me once. She didn't like it, I'm afraid." She said with false remorse. "At least she liked the dress I gave her – she was sitting here with me, clad in brown. You saw her, I suppose?"

The dagger had been twisted in the wound.

X X X

Locking the doors and sealing the windows, Christine threw herself on the bed. She didn't care about any of the khanum´s plots now, or the reasons why she had been showed that horrible torture. Nothing mattered to her now.

She remembered the terrible night of Luciana's death. She remembered the voice, cold as ice, the hand that threw her to the ground, the mad gleam in his eyes as he tore the mask from his face.

You want to see? You want to see! Then look!

But it was today that she had finally seen underneath the mask.

Christine felt more than miserable. She had lived in a dream. More than anyone else, she blamed herself, for her naivety, her childish trust. The Angel of Music? There was none. He had left long ago, and there was only Erik. Only Erik.

She had loved the Angel. Had she loved Erik? Before this? Before she knew? She had. Now? She couldn't. Not even all that he had given her could ever excuse this… this… twisted evil she had witnessed unleashed the moment the prisoners died.

"Christine!" came a knock from the door. Looking up with red eyes, Christine recognized Raoul´s voice. She stood up to let him in and opened the door, but took a step back at once.

"Christine, please listen…"

"No!" she screamed and backed away. It was Erik who stood in the doorway, Erik, who, probably perceiving that she wouldn't have let him in now used some skill to imitate Raoul´s voice. At the sight of her – her puffy red eyes, still teary, the tangled mass of her hair and a pained expression on her face – even his determination to be firm seemed to vanish.

He shut the door behind him – Christine didn't even bother lowering her voice. "I've seen enough! More than enough!"

"What you have seen…"

"How could you do that to those people?" she whispered, "How? You, with such capacity for good." Erik reached for her left arm, but she drew away. "Don't touch me!" A sob escaped her lips.

"Let me explain!" Erik interrupted her. But Christine shook her head.

"There is nothing to explain. Go."

"Christine…"

"I hate you! I hate you, your sick and twisted self! Had I known your soul matches your face, I would have never promised anything! Truly you are as monstrous as all believe, Erik!"

For a moment, silence fell, as Christine looked into Erik's eyes, which seemed completely blank. He didn't seem enraged, merely silenced. It would take time for the pain to show outwardly, and while her words were harsh, Christine didn't take them back.

Then, without a word, Erik turned and left, leaving her to her maddening grief. No word could describe the comparison between the first wound and this fatal blow, but he saw that with it, Christine brought ruin to herself as well, robbing herself of happiness and perhaps sanity at the same time. That on its own accord pained him, but not as much as her words.

Truly you are as monstrous as all believe, Erik! I hate you!

The words rang in his ears for hours as he sat in his chambers. And then, all vanity and pride forgotten he cried, after what seemed years.