Quick disclaimer, I am not a born French speaker so if I get any wrong, take my sincere apologies! I used a translation site, but things like that isn't 100% perfect. I also don't own any of these characters, but I love to play with them!

Trigger warning: violence, slight self harm aspect

Big shout out to my first reviewer on this phic, TheTenthMuseSappho who left the most amazing review, which made me post earlier than expected. So, a big thank you to them. Of course, if you also left a review, who knows how often I'll post? ;)

Her Control – Chapter 4

She was alone. Erik had disappeared, leaving her a note perched on top of a rose served on a silver platter with her breakfast, of which Christine had promptly laughed out loud at the absurdness of it all. Really, the man was quite the romantic suitor – of course, she considered him neither to her. Clarice's stone-faced expression that often accompanied her, frowned and clucked at her disapprovingly.

Christine sat up in bed, used to being seen by the maid in her night clothes, of which Erik had been merciful enough to purchase full sets of body covering T-shirt and bottoms, shook her head tolerantly. "Clarice, if you so like his notes, why don't you go and seduce him? Then he won't bother with me and I can get on with my life."

With the look of the unimpressed maid before her, she let out another peal of laughter.

Clarice shook her head, pursing her lips in resignation at her childish antics.

"Oh come on, really, a note with a rose? I am not some fawning immature teenage girl here."

Clarice raised an eyebrow.

She huffed, crossing her arms, "Ok, I admit I am a teenager as of now, but I'm going to be twenty soon!"

Clarice retained the expression expectantly. When Christine still said nothing, Clarice gave a scathing glance at the fresh set of drapes Christine had previously ruined and then turned to give a pointed look at her charge.

Pouting she gave a little roll of her eyes, "Ok, ok, I am sometimes childish. But that wallpaper really had to go, it was dreadful! You can't deny that."

Clarice gave an indignant huff and gestured to her to eat her breakfast.

Her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "How did he know just how I liked pancakes: with lots of sugar, strawberries, a dollop of whipped cream on the side and a pot of chocolate spread!"

Her eyes narrowed at Clarice, who had shamefully turned around to unnecessarily 'right' her room.

"He was watching me with Raoul?" she hissed, suddenly pushing the tray back and getting up.

The maid spun round, a panicked look in her eyes and gestured to her to eat.

"I refuse." she growled adamantly, stalking towards her wardrobe.

Suddenly, she heard a rummaging in her drawers and a clattering of a pen, but she ignored it, clothes in arms to go and change in the bathroom.

Before she could go in, Clarice tugged her pyjama sleeve pleadingly.

Stifling a sigh, she turned around, to see the back of Erik's note written on.

'Nous serons punis!'

Her stomach dropped, suddenly awfully glad that she had painstakingly learnt French under Erik's tutelage. It read, "We will get punished!". As much as she wanted to tell the mute she was lying, the pure fear within her eyes mocked Christine. The same fear that had made Steph grow ten years older, drained and more dead than she had ever been. Christine suddenly willed the tears that rose unbidden away, the sudden realisation of the those around her suddenly not quite living the life she had wanted to imagine.

"Are you here of your free will?" Christine dared to ask, concern fluttering over her features.

And Christine let loose a cry when the answer was negative.

The only other sentence that Clarice wrote that morning was the plead for her not to tell 'Le Maître' ("the Master"), of which she deduced was Erik. But, it was not like she would suddenly shout at him to free his staff and her. No, this escape had to be done secretly. With Clarice's life and perhaps even all the other staff rested on her to get out of the hell hole. But Erik's warning of her escape and her poor Mama V's care in his hands impacted her, more than she was willing to admit. What was one life against perpetually dozens? However, that one life had meant the world to her as her own world had slowly turned to hell. Poor vulnerable Professor Valerious. How could she dare pretend to think about escape with Clarice when her own guardian would suffer Erik's wrath? Her desire to flee that very day with Clarice, who undoubtedly had access to keys made her heartbeat in restless anticipation.

But suddenly, a dreadful thought filled her. Erik's absence, Clarice's supposed 'entrapment' unexpectedly being revealed, the knowledge that the maid had access to the keys and probably the codes to access where the garage was too good to be true – if she was right, there would be a car waiting for an aided escape. Christine knew that with Erik, no coincidences were to be overlooked. He was far too smart to let things occur in any other way than how he wished.

The whole thing was a set up. To see if she would run, to drag Clarice, force her to allow them both to escape. Though Christine had seen fear in Clarice's eyes, any employee of Erik's would be afraid of upsetting him. Hell, even she was to an extent. And if she was to rationalise, the girl had always seemed somewhat fond, or at least supportive of Erik. Whenever Christine 'made a fuss' Clarice would tell him immediately. Where Christine would snort at his antics, she would frown at her. Or cluck her tongue or shake her head disapprovingly. There was more than fear, there was loyalty. Erik, somehow, had ended up gaining her favour and it was that which had repulsed her from day one about Clarice. How could anyone be loyal to him willingly for all that he had done? Today felt like a series of events meticulously planned to propell and entice her to escape. It was too good to be true, which was why the cynic in her was inclined to say it wasn't. However, she would either have to think of a way of drawing out the deception from Clarice or observe Erik's behaviour later when he returned.

But she didn't have to wait later in the day for Erik's appearance.

Now having the run of the house to her disposal and tired of her rooms that always seemed devoid of sun and life, she found herself later curled up on the sofa in the observatory.

Little did she realise that had she been in any other room, she would not have her suspicions confirmed. Midday she heard voices that travelled to the hallway and then the grand library. Erik and an unfamiliar voice, both in French.

Hating the fact she could only catch odd words, she rose with silence to her best ability and stepped into the hallway outside the library, her footsteps muffled by the burgundy fabric rug. Leaning down, she pressed her ear to the keyhole.

"Elle ne vous a pas cru?" came Erik's voice and Christine could hear the sound of rhythmic tapping of his fingers against wood.

Did she not believe you?

"Elle était très bouleversée. Je pensais qu'elle voudrait partir immédiatement." A female voice, that Christine saw came from Clarice, after pressing an eye to the hole, replied.

She was most upset. I thought she would want to leave immediately.

"Mais elle ne l'a pas fait." Erik replied. Christine was unsure of his tone.

But she did not.

Christine had been so focused on listening that when the doors suddenly swung open, she found herself on her knees before Erik, hands splayed out to catch her fall.

"I thought we had an eavesdropper." Erik announced, like a cat finding it's mouse to ensnare.

Christine scrambled to her feet, jutting out her chin, "I heard you come back."

"It seems so," his velvet voice murmured, before he turned abruptly, "Your presence is dismissed, Miss Bernette," he addressed the maid who ducked her head as she passed.

"Traitor," Christine hissed at the girl, unable to let the creature to get away with her deception.

Clarice didn't flinch. Slowly rising her head to look Christine in the eye. The amount of sorrow in those green eyes almost stole her breath.

But Clarice did not apologise, mute once more.

Erik's puppet.

All of them, just puppets. Something within her broke and she stumbled back, somehow the utter control Erik had seeming like a death sentence. Her whole world, under his tyrant coated grip, no! It was not fair! Not fair!

She wanted to run to her rooms, but tears were coming and the best she could do was run out into the corridor a hand coming to grasp a drape to keep her from falling. Her breathing hitched and she was hyperventilating, there was not enough air, there was not enough air, there was not enough air –

"Christine," Erik's calm voice floated towards her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her head against the wall. The coolness soothed her. No. She would not be calmed. She brought her head back to knock it against the wall. Pain slithered through her head and she hissed. No. She would not just 'calm down' dammit! Another sharp bang through her skull. No! Faster, she bashed her head against it again and again. Somewhere a voice was shouting her name, but she paid it no attention. It was agony, but look, look at how much control she was in. This pain was hers, only hers and no one could stop it. Another head bash and she was torn away from the wall and iron grip around her body. Christine thrashed, tears piercing her eyes while she fought for once ounce of control, one ounce of her life back in her hands.

She was sobbing, crying herself hoarse and screaming to be let go and the arms around her only grew tighter with each head toss. Her elbow slammed back into the frame behind her and there was a dreadful grunting sound, but the arms did not release from around her.

Her feet tried to plant themselves into the ground as she felt herself being dragged backwards. Twisting back and forth, squirming, hips bucking. However, like ferocious tiger, she saw the pale flesh that hindered her escape and lunged her head to bite down and god – that was skin her teeth was sinking into – and blood, so much diabolical tasting blood and she pulled away, gagging, heaving and straining against his arms. Still they held her. Her own sobs increased, mortification of feeling something sticky run down her chin that was a mixture of saliva and that thing's blood. Her stomach was rolling, churning and her own sense of smell altering her that she just bit someone. Leaning forward to retch, the arms allowed her to collapse to the floor, for her only to be retch on the burgundy carpet. She heaved again and remnants of pancakes, strawberries and gloopy chocolate in came out in one stinking heap. Her throat burned. Her head spun. Her body trembled. Letting out a moan, she bowed her head, feeling utterly and completely wretched.

"Hush now my dear, everything is going to be alright," a shadow came to crouch next to her, light fingers coming to stroke her hair and brush her curls aside. She shivered against his touch, even if his cold was oddly soothing. Had she not been feeling so woozy, she would have felt sharp panic when she saw a long glimmering needle, but she was too disoriented to realise her imminent danger.

"Forgive me, Angel," he whispered and then the next thing she felt was a prick of a needle inserting itself into her skin and the foreign substance surging into her bloodstream. Within moments her body went numb, frozen in motion and Christine squeezed her eyes shut against the pounding headache. Bony hands that were at once soft and unlike the steel she had felt around her, came to lift her body into his lap – a lightness that she found peculiar as her body rose and descended not of her own accord – the fabric of his clothes brushing against her skin. If her body would obey, Christine would have not been able to resist a shudder of mortification. Her captor, the one that was to blame for it all, now held her as if she were the most precious child. In her mind she was scrambling to get away, screaming and scrabbling.

Nothing.

Now even her body, to her horror, was not hers to control. The coldness of him seeped into her skin and had she not been paralysed, she would have shivered. Had she not been paralysed, she would have hit him for the utter indignity of it all.

Nothing.

Not a single nerve tingle.

Somehow, he had adjusted his grip so that her head came to rest in the nook of his arm. Her gaze came to rest on his two amber orbs, beautifully mournful as he held his fallen angel. She screamed, but she did not.

"The drug will kick in soon," his voice, a tender caress, came from beneath the fabric of his mask. A whimper.

Nothing.

Her voice would not come, her mouth would not move.

"You have been very silly," he sighed, a hand coming to brush away a piece of hair she could barely feel and then within a quick movement, a cloth to dab the corner of your mouth. She let out a cry of protest, a sob, anything – but her body was merely another prison to her now. Christine knew that soon she would fall asleep in his arms; the drug always took a while to kick in. But, she knew a moment of triumph when she realised that this - this terrible horrible cradling - was never really how he had wanted it to happen, he would have been wanting it out of love. However the victory was hollow, as hollow as her stomach now. Bitter regret, as she gazed into his eyes. He thought her a child. An unruly, misbehaving child. Now she would remain trapped in her room forever. Alone.

Her bottom lip should be trembling. Helpless, frightened tears trickled down her face, but she could not move to wipe them away. Deathly pale fingers came nearer and her mind screamed again as she could only watch as those dead hands touched her skin, travelled with her tears, mingled with hers. No! No. She was sobbing, sobbing, sobbing. Her tears. Those tears were hers.

Hers.

"Do not worry, Erik will take care of his Christine. He would know better than to leave her alone, now she's tried a terrible deed to part from him from her forever," his tone was suddenly too calm and the saliva on her tongue went dry. No.

No.

This was wrong. She hadn't meant for him to think that. No. She hadn't been trying to kill herself. No! She hadn't. She hadn't!

She had been doing the only thing she could to have a bit of control. It was her life, her life. Christine could control it. She could control her body! Her fate. Couldn't she?

If death had been the only option, would she have truly taken it? Yes. Her mind whispered. To spite him. To show that she would rather die than to kneel to him.

But she was a coward. It would be no. No, because she would not leave Mama Valerious, Raoul, little Meggie behind. No, because she was afraid of death, she had so much to live for. Christine wanted to live, to be free and to die would be to give up. Christine hated losing.

Losing to him.

"Do not worry my dear," as if he could see the fear in her eyes, "As long as you live, there is no reason for another to die." Suddenly, she knew the grip was tighter, her head came to press fiercely against his chest.

"You will not leave your Erik. Erik has been lonely for too long. He will not allow her to go."

Perhaps loneliness would have been better. Better than this desperate man, this man that was surely insane.

Christine could feel the drug taking effect and her vision was becoming fuzzy now, his mask one black mass. Only two shining orbs remained. Perhaps Erik knew, because he gazed down at her, a hand coming to cup her cheek. Her heart put up resistance.

Her body did nothing.

"Sleep now," Erik soothed, his hand going to stroke her hair, a strong enough sensation that inwardly made her shiver. Christine could feel her mind weakening to his voice, as if more susceptible to its charms.

Her heart fluttered weakly.

"It's alright," he crooned again, hand petting her hair once more, "Don't fight it, you are safe."

Safe…safe…safe…

Darkness was dancing before her, the drug pulling her eyes shut. The last warbled words she heard were, "Sleep my little songbird, sleep."

And she was helpless to obey.

Shuffling alerted her that someone was there.

Erik?

No, he made no noise. Clarice, then.

A pounding rang in her mind, her head a red angry giant with a hammer clanging on it like a bell. Her mouth tasted like something had died inside it.

Giving a moan, she turned. Or, tried to. Odd, her movement jarred. Something held down her wrists. Wincing, she gave them both a tug, to feel bonds around them. Bonds.

Oh. Why was she tied up? Feeling the first strains of panic, she fluttered her eyes open, revealing her darkened room that suddenly felt like a tomb. The burgundy drapes had been drawn shut and only streaks of daylight behind it showed that it was daytime. The burgundy made something flicker in recognition, a vague nausea climbing in her stomach.

However, when she twisted her head around, there was a sudden shattering of china. Christine glanced up to see the bowl Clarice must have been carrying in shards on the ground, the girl staring at her in shock. The girl fumbled around in her uniform, a hand picking out a remote with a red button and pressing on it, before dropping to her knees and hurriedly picking up the shards of china. What looked like porridge slowly dripped onto the wooden flooring, the viscous mass edging towards the carpet.

"Clarice, untie me. Please," she whispered hoarsely, choking on the dreadful taste in her mouth.

The girl hurriedly shook her head, not daring to even look at her as she swept the china with the brush and pan she had retrieved.

"Clarice, please." Was all she could manage.

Covers were over her, heavy and not encouraging movement.

"Clarice-"

"She will not talk to you," Erik's soft voice interrupted.

Christine chose to ignore him, keeping her head turned the other way, even though his voice beckoned her to recognise its siren call.

She did neither see his closing of his eyes, a large blink that was one of relief. Even now, nothing could crush that spirit.

"Your head is surely hurting," he began and produced a glass of water that he had been carrying, "And I will offer medicine if you do not do anything rash."

Christine remained silent, staring at the maid which rose with her full pan, did not meet the eyes of either and walked out of the room. The door shut behind her.

"She will be back soon with a replacement breakfast and you cannot take this on an empty stomach," he continued.

"Why must you tie me up?" she whispered, ignoring his words entirely.

"Did you truly lose your memory, or do you not remember how you started stupidly bashing your head against the wall?" his voice turned cold.

"I remember being tricked, overhearing how you made her lie and wanting a bit of peace." she murmured, gaze seeking out the cracks of sunlight.

"You did well until you chose to show your anger irrationally, out of spite," his voice hissed.

"Did well? To discover another lie?" her voice, though quiet, wore a veil of sarcasm.

"I wished to give you a friend," he said through gritted teeth.

"A friend who would report back on all I did. How kind."

She did not see how his eyes narrowed, "Do you wish for the medicine or not? If so, you will have to look at me. And, you will promise not to harm yourself, unless you wish for another to pay the price."

It took three long moments, long enough for something in Erik to shrink in despair, despair at seeing his girl resist such a life with him, before her umber eyes came to rest on him. Something stung within him as her eyes contained the greatest sorrow, pain thrust upon one who was too young to bear it.

"I promise."

Her pancakes lay before her, rolled up with chocolate spread inside and strawberries on the side with a sprinkling of sugar. Perfect. Christine had spent years perfecting the combination. Delicious.

"Raoul, I don't understand how you hate pancakes." she frowned at him from across the table, his private accommodation on the ski resort secluded and dreadfully cosy.

He took a bite of toast, cocking a dark blonde eyebrow, "It's not my fault I find toast a much better option. Waffles far outrank any pancake."

Christine gave a loud gasp, "So you're one of those people, are you? Waffles over pancakes? Are you prepared to face the consequence of that opinion?" she hefted the whipped cream a finger tapping warningly on the nozzle.

Raoul gave her a grin, "Oh, most definitely."

"Well then, prepare to die!" she exclaimed, pressing down on the nozzle and Raoul dived off his seat to the safety of the floor.

She gasped as her attacked missed and dripped down the wall.

"You sneaky devil!"

Raoul laughed.

Christine stood and charged to the other side of the table, of where Raoul started to crawl back.

"Oh no you don't!" and she squirted him so that it made a haphazard line down his face and gave a hoot of delight as it hit on target.

Raoul's eyes gleamed, tongue licking his lips, "You're gonna wish you hadn't done that," he promised as he lunged up and snatched the bottle from her. Christine squealed as she ran into the next room, whipped cream hitting the door frame as she dived onto the sofa.

"Someone save me!" she wailed melodramatically and she grabbed a cushion to protect her. Her cushion hit him square in the chest as he came through and he gave a surprised 'oof'. However, in retaliation he gave a squirt and Christine felt a line of cream land on her head.

Her eyes narrowed at the guffawing Raoul, "This is war, Changy."

He came to lean across the sofa and watching as she scrambled away to the centre of the room to find another cushion to throw.

"Nope, not happening," Raoul said in an undertone. As Christine turned around triumphantly, she was met with a pair of arms that tackled her onto the sofa, where she delightedly squealed and squirmed in his grasp. His face came to hers however and wiped a trail of cream on her face, leaving her to wail an 'ew'. Her hands slapped him playfully and let out a cry of protest as Raoul tossed the cushion away.

"You're going to leave me defenceless?" she pouted, playful teasing in her eyes.

"No, not defenceless." Raoul purred, brushing his nose against hers.

Christine closed her eyes in bliss as his lips touched her own, the taste of whipped cream and warmth spreading through her. Oh, this was bliss. Safe, warm, loving Raoul.

Outside, the January blizzard carried on and the two lovebirds never saw the camera narrowing its eyes.

Short, I know. But, I gave you a pretty dark one but with a light ending (pot of gold at the end of the rainbow huh?). – Christine came to tell me she wanted a nice time with Raoul for a change and she did want to eat her pancakes – I have to apologise though, the pancakes were featured twice and she still didn't get to eat them. However, she got a better taste of Raoul instead. Hehe. I don't think that most fics deal with Raoul and Christine truly being together, or at least, without Erik breathing down Christine's neck. While Christine wanted them to have screen time, I wanted to write it with them being alone, as well as they are quite the wholesome couple, compared to Erik and Christine's constant duality and dysfunctional relationship. Plus being snuggled inside in a blizzard in Raoul's private home sounds cosy and Erik-less!

Erik, please, spying on a happy couple isn't polite. And no, it doesn't count if your ingenue is with another. Oy! Don't glare at me sewer goblin. Go stand in your corner and behave!

Sorry, these kids are a bit too much sometimes.

I hope the switching back and forth between times and perspectives are not too confusing. I aim to give as much indication of the point of time of where each incident takes place, but since I'm not the reader, I don't know where I need to clear things up a bit.

Also, what I love about Phantom and especially Leroux's Phantom, is that the characters are so interesting and that by the end of the book, they are completely stretched from their natural character. In a new-ish Phantom of the Opera game by MazM, (which is a brilliant Leroux interpretation) Raoul's and Erik's, Christine's and our beloved Daroga's characters are so distorted/become distorted. It's like Erik stretches all of them from their original shape, and some in consequence of Erik's actions (Raoul and Christine especially) are never the same afterwards. It's like a too stretched elastic band and becomes loose and shapeless. Sometimes it works in Erik's favour, sometimes it doesn't. I am not trying to do this exactly, but I do think Christine and Erik can both reach the breaking point at times – either they can grow or spiral downwards from it. Christine is the type to grow stronger and Erik can be unpredictable. It depends whether he's open to learning a new way and because he's very stubborn for so many reasons, it can be quite hard.

I also try to aim that the chapter name both connects past events with future ones, so that it's almost like an episode you see on those TV programmes. Take, for example Once Upon a Time (cookie for those who know that programme). And that the 'message' is symbolised in two ways. Make sense?

How are people liking our mute, or not so mute, maid Clarice? Hating her now, are we?

On a side note, I am wondering what sort of role Daroga will take in this. Any suggestions?

Anybody like my new summary? It was bugging me that it was really vague and wanted to correct that! It also seemed a bit light for this story. Haha.

This isn't my favourite chapter, but I do hope it's up to scratch with my other ones so far! ^^

Anyway, thanks for reading!

If you R&R and Erik becomes happy. Well, as happy as he could ever be without being with Christine or playing with his toys. He's such a child sometimes…Ahem, back to the script.

Merci,

Enigma.