Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters.

Note I - Translated from Latin, 'amentia' means madness.

Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews.

Lee

Amentia

Christine

"Coming."

Christine made her way down the hall, in no particular hurry. The second knock was a little louder, more insistent. She sighed. Some people. No patience. "Coming!"

She opened the door. "Oh."

She forced a smile. "Hi." The air conditioning brought sharply to mind the ice-touched wind of her dream, the snow-clouded air in the photo on the mantel. A shiver traced her spine, she felt the distinctions of reality blurring round her again, the coldness of the mirror-grove touch her, the paled colors, suspended life. The frozen growth, the chill seeping into her veins, creeping ice to splinter her.

She shivered. Raoul's eyes were intent on hers, at odds with the welcoming smile. "Hi. Glad I managed to catch you this time."

This time? She blinked, shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I came by a few days ago, but you were asleep." Raoul paused, a somber sincerity underlying his voice. The hazel eyes were firm on her. "Chris, I think we should talk. Just sit down and try to figure this whole thing out. I don't like being so awkward with you." His voice was even, an attempt at soothing her, calming her into acquiescence.

As though she were a child to be coaxed. Or something yet more intimate... someone yet more familiar...

Christine tightened her grip on the door, the edge biting into her hand. "Not today, Raoul. I can't- not right now." Not when she could feel the mirror-girl descending on her, the grove caught between winter and spring all around her, closing her in. A prison of dying buds, encased in ice before they had ever felt the true touch of the sun. Christine saw the bare branches raising their arms above her, their tiny leaflets sheathed in cold.

Captive.

A nervous tension flowered in her, her heart beginning to pound in her ears. "I- I just can't deal with all of this right now, Raoul." I can't... The photo on the mantel smiled at her. I don't want to...

"All of what?" Raoul raised his eyebrows in inquiry. Then he looked more closely at her and his voice warmed, concerned, as though what he saw there worried him. A note of care entered his tone. "Chris, if you need to talk about something-" His voice pled with her to trust him.

Why was his trust with her so deep? Did he really think that... that she could... "Please, Raoul. Just- not today. Later, I promise." Anything to make him go. Even if that meant a promise to bind her to the that place again. Just not now. Not now, please.

Her skin prickled, she felt suddenly trapped, the dream taking hold of her. Blue-grey shadows creeping up her skin, twisting binds... "Please-"

Please...

Raoul

My God. What's wrong with her? Her face was deathly in its pallor, bleached of all color, her breathing quick and shallow. There was a slight tremor in her voice, a flickering in her eyes as they stared into nothingness. If Raoul didn't know better, he would have said it was fear he felt coming off of her.

It is. he thought numbly, as he noted the quiver in her free hand, the sudden glassy, glazed look over her eyes. She didn't seem to see him.

"Chris, are you all right?"

She flinched. "Fine. I'm fine, Raoul, just-" she broke off. She seemed suddenly fey, some wild creature poised for flight.

Chris- Raoul felt his heart tighten, blood suddenly humming. What wasn't being said? What could make her so afraid? "Chris, what's wrong?" He reached for her hand, clenched on the door. Don't hide from me like this. Please.

She shrunk back from it. A coldness threaded through him at the tacit distrust. Almost as though she feared to be touched.

Why is she...

"Chris?"

Her eyes were almost black with the tangle of emotions imbuing them. An endless, heaving sea, tempest-tossed. An oblivion beneath the surface like the vast, unexplored depths. Eyes that threatened to drown him if he looked too long, submerging him in an ocean of chaos and fear. "Just go." Her voice was soft, pleading.

Raoul fought off a rise of incredulity. What kind of person did she think he was? Would he leave her, would he leave anyone in the state that she was currently in?

Not likely.

"Not when you're so upset." he said firmly. "Chris, whatever it is-"

"Is there a problem?"

Raoul stopped. Erik surveyed him over Christine's shoulder. Raoul felt a chill emanate from the man, an ice in the startling eyes, as cool and remote as the eerie white half-mask. For all the softness of his voice, there was an inflection in it that made Raoul suddenly wary. A thread of warning traced its way up his spine, whispering into the back of his mind.

A sudden flush infused the cheeks of the girl before him, easing the colorless face. Her eyes steadied somewhat. "Would you go?"

His jaw clenched, resolution solidifying. As though he would leave her when she was so blatantly upset. "Chris-"

"Mr. DeChagney." Erik intervened quietly. His tone was mild, yet Raoul sensed steel underlying the silk. A latent something that triggered a wordless, half-understood warning in his mind. "If Christine wishes you to leave, it would be polite to do as she asks."

For a long moment, they locked eyes. Raoul stared back resolutely into that intense gaze, refusing to look down. The air stilled, a tension straining. There was a sense of conflict, a silent, subtle battle of wills beneath the facade of courtesy.

The eyes on his were unwavering.

Finally, Raoul glanced back to her. "Later it is, Chris. Goodbye."

She nodded faintly.

As Raoul turned away, he saw her look up at Erik, dark eyes unreadable, swirling with myriad emotions.

Later. Raoul thought firmly, as he heard the door close.

Later he would find out exactly what was going on.

Erik

As the door closed, Christine whirled, stalking into the living room to stare out the window, hands clenched together behind her, tendons strained and white. Dark shadows mingled with the ruddy light, as surreal as though he had stepped into a Salvador Dali painting. The dying sun painted a wash of blood-red over her, infusing her skin with a pale, steady glow of crimson, touching her hair with flames. Her back was rigid.

He followed her, concerned over her sudden silence, the wall of fierce tension about her. A breathlessness, a forced silence. "Christine?"

She gave no sign that she had heard him. He touched her shoulder. "Christine?"

"Why did you lie to me?"

Her eyes were fixed on the sun, golden in its expiring blaze. Her voice was perfectly controlled, hard. Coldness masking the hurt. She crossed her arms over her chest; her shoulder taut under his fingers. He felt the blood racing, an angry pulse under her skin. She stared out at the descendant sun, expressionless.

"Christine, I-" Damn it, how was he to explain? How could he tell her that-

That he-

"I'm not a child, Erik!"

She spun to face him, her voice bright with anger. Her eyes blazed, challenging, demanding an answer. Her features were taut, hurt warring with anger. The air around her crackled, her body tight with the emotions rushing through her. The red sunset bathed them in fire, translucent.

"I know you aren't, Christine." he replied, cursing the softness with which he spoke the words. His voice continued irregardless when he willed it to stop.

"I didn't want to see you hurt again." A hum of tension extended throughout him, his blood racing with the force of it. If only she knew the true extent of that statement...

If only...

The anger drained from her with startling abruptness, the bright flare doused with cold. Her body went slack, her eyes sunk to the floor. Erik started at the sudden change, a numb kind of dejection. Hopelessness. Christine. A chill traced his spine. What on earth...

Was it something he had said?

"Do you know, I think I am anyway." Her whisper was almost inaudible, a pained admittance of disillusion. Her face was remote, eyes looking blindly into nothingness.

Erik went cold. Had he-

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, before his emotions could take a firm hold. He steadied his mind, forced the feelings inside to still. Control, Erik. Focus on Christine's problems, not yours.

Never yours.

She looked up at him, something too bitter to be called a smile curving her lips, mocking the gentle arch. "I don't know if I can love anymore. I just don't... I tried, but..." She shrugged helplessly. Her eyes were lost on his.

"Christine, you're far too compassionate to ever-" It was a moment before he realized he was holding her. Damn it, Erik. He began to draw back.

Her hands clenched in his shirt, effectively stopping him as a sudden flare of temper overtook her. Her dark eyes flashed as she broke across him in a tumult of words, her voice shaking. "Goddammit, Erik, I'm not talking about compassion! I'm talking about loving someone, actually loving them! They're two entirely different things, Erik! And I don't know if I can love- do you know how that feels?" she ended in a broken whisper. He felt her tremble as she tried to quell the rising storm.

Her eyes were wide on his. He felt a stirring at the raw pain in them, the pleading in the mahogany depths. Damn it, Erik, think. His mind had gone strangely blank, falling into the dark eyes before him.

Dark eyes that were yet so bright with tears.

She looked down and he felt the spell broken. He could breathe again. A wave of regret and guilt broke over him, bitter longing. A cold and shadowed emptiness. The dying sun made a fiery halo of her hair; he stared at the wavering lights within it without seeing them.

No, Christine. I've never doubted my ability to love.

Only to be loved.

Christine

She felt suddenly ashamed, seeing the care in the bright eyes above her. She lowered her head to his chest. "Sorry." she whispered after a moment of silence. "I shouldn't have said that." Her hands tightened, her insides hollowing.

Can you do anything right, Christine?

She felt her eyes burn, closed her eyes against the searing heat. Under her ear, she could feel his heart beat, a steady rhythm that allowed her something to cling to, allowing her to keep her fragile composure.

A firm hand tilted her head up. A hot rivulet of moisture seeped out of her eye, leaving a wet streak on her skin, salty, bittersweet. She didn't open her eyes, holding to the comforting touch as she willed the tears to stop. Christine did not want to see the eyes that had been so often warmed with concern, distanced with hurt.

Especially when she would be the cause of it.

"Don't."

She looked up at him despite herself, startled at the quiet warmth of that seraphic voice. His eyes were intent on her, she felt a warmth flooding her at the summer blue that basked her in its light.

There was no shadow in those bright eyes.

Only the same care that had soothed her countless times before. His voice was soft, gentle. Christine closed her eyes at the warm caress of it, sliding over her like rain cleansing, the touch of life on a barren garden. "Don't hold it back, Christine."

Her breath caught. Blood suddenly humming, she looked down once more, resting her head against him. Her insides knotted, twisting and tangling like thorn-crowned ivy over a trellis. Choking her with tendrils of guilt. Christine's throat closed, burning.

He stroked her hair, the motion soothing, somehow forgiving. A sudden shame flooded her. I can't believe I shouted at him. How could I be so- Christine broke off that thought helplessly, clinging to the comfort he offered. A sheltering warmth, a sanctuary at which she could cleanse her self-doubts, her grief.

You don't deserve this, you know. her conscience admonished her. She closed her eyes. I know, but...

This was safe.

Flushed, she looked up at him, numb to the sting of tears on her cheeks. "I'm sorry." she repeated. "For asking."

I'm so sorry.

He shook his head. "It's all right, Christine." His hand stilled. She was suddenly aware of the arms around her, warm, so comforting. A thrill of warmth rushed through her, a touch of light like the sudden flicker of embers to low flames. Christine forgot her tears, momentarily losing herself in the brilliance tracing its way through her body.

His eyes are so bright.

She drew back unwillingly as an piercing ache overwhelmed her. "Thank you." He loosed her as she pulled away. "Thank you." she repeated softly as she retreated from the room. She glanced back at him once, a lone figure illuminated by glowing red and gold.

His eyes blazed blue.

Erik

The sunset was long gone. Erik looked out over a night sky, charcoal-grey and deep blue with the smoky clouds veiling the brightness of the stars, a pale, lighter ring where the moon broke through. Stars were few and far between, motes of light where the soft obscurity of the clouds parted briefly.

You hoped she might have been able to love you, Erik? He traced a finger over the window, following the outline of the moon. She doubts her ability to love anyone, what makes you think you could change that?

What makes you think you have the right to?

He knew he had no right to. He knew that very well. He shouldn't have felt this way, now or ever. People like her weren't meant for him.

People like her aren't meant for things like you. You know that. Just accept it, Erik.

It was inevitable.

Just accept it.

And yet, as he recalled how her voice had melded with his that night, so fluidly, so flawlessly, as their combined voices ascended and the rain fell softly down... The blaze of glory, the few sweet moments in which he had heard Heaven itself.

Only a memory, Erik. No matter how much you care for her, do you think she could ever feel the same?

Yet how his spirit had soared at the sound. The music made sacred by her voice, the voice of an angel. Christine.

"Erik?"

Christine.

He turned, willing himself not to show how much she had startled him.

Christine looked worriedly at him. Her hair fell over her shoulders, damp and curling, skin still radiant from the heat of the shower, opalescent under the moon's touch. She stood not five feet away, eyes lit darkly by clouded moonlight. Otherworldly, fantastical. Her mahogany eyes were warm with concern, a warmth that he both craved and feared. A genuine concern that he could not let himself answer. If he did...

"Erik, are you all right?"

If he did...

She reached out to him when he did not respond. "Erik?" Her voice was soft, questioning. Her eyes searched his.

He shied from her touch, evading the eyes so bright on his. "Perfectly, Christine." His voice was level, unemotional.

She was suddenly much too close. Christine. Erik evaded her eyes, stepping around her. He needed distraction. Something to take his mind off of the wondering eyes, the warm touch. The care in her voice.

He barely noticed the speed at which he made his way to his music room, intent only on reaching his sanctuary before he was overwhelmed. Before he lost his control.

Erik relaxed somewhat once he was seated at the piano. Here was his music. Here was his control. His art, his safety. Here he was in control.

Christine

She looked after the retreating figure, a sharpness biting her at the rejection, the sudden distance of his voice.

Was it something I said? Christine ran a hand over the back of a chair absently. Her hand tightened. Did I do something wrong?

Had she somehow hurt him despite herself?

Don't be such an egoist, Christine. It may not be about you at all.

What then? What had caused that chill, that distance? Why had he closed himself off from her like that?

As though he were almost afraid of something. But what?

Christine heard the faint sound of the piano, the discord, the chaos he had masked from her so clear in the notes as they pounded through the night. A terrible and violent beauty. She made her way down the hall, drawn to the sound, a tightness in her chest. Why, Erik?

What are you hiding from?

She paused in the shadows outside the door.

He was lost to the world, a lone figure lit by moonlight that he did not feel, could not see. Lost within himself, succumbing himself to the music, a wall to keep all else out. His eyes were closed, lips tight. Intent on something she could not understand.

She hesitated. If she entered his sanctuary now, of all times, would she be trespassing? If she broke the discordant melody, would he be angry? He had already made it clear that he did not want to speak with her, with anyone, tonight. Should she disregard that?

A hollow chasm opened inside of her. No, Christine. Give him his privacy. Don't force your company on him when he wants to be alone.

She remembered the night her voice had joined his, a soaring, sublime purity. The thrill of seraphic glory that had enflamed her and kindled his eyes to incandescence.

Not tonight, Christine.

Not tonight. The thought was a little wistful as she watched him from the shadows. The song faded, his eyes clearing somewhat. She watched as he rubbed his wrist meditatively, eyes faraway. The sudden silence closed in around her, oppressive, stifling. She turned away, slipping silently down the hall to her own room.

Not tonight.