Her Grieving, His Grief - Chapter 7

(continued directly from prior present day)

After the walk with Clarice, Christine retired to the conservatory, finding the warm tiles underneath her bare feet pleasant and the soft sofa beneath her delightfully comfy. Her fingers flicked through a book of poetry – ironically about the season she had just witnessed outside. Clarice had left her, needing to attend to her chores. Erik, once again, was nowhere to be seen. For a man who oft required, near desired, her presence, he was often very hard to find. Sometimes she thought about looking for him, almost perpetually worrying about him; her overactive mind imagined he lay on the floor having a heart attack, before she promptly sending the distressed thoughts away and schooling herself that she should be grateful not to have his company. However, her father had died suddenly; a head bump, brain bleed and then a quick death. No prolonged suffering. It had taken what seemed like years to think that without bursting into tears. But the phrasing had been something to cling onto – why she was so 'fond' of it now. Rationalising, controlling and releasing.

Coping.

She once watched a programme where a spy had been kidnapped and while been tortured for information, sang a diddy to keep him centred. He only broke when his loved ones were stripped away from him. She supposed in a twisted way, it was similar.

Christine felt the shift in air, yet his voice still jumped her as it seemed to come from above, "You seem to enjoy this room more than others." It was a question, disguised as a statement.

"There's light and warmth here, why wouldn't I?" she replied, sitting up and watching as Erik still found the shadows of that room to hide in, "What were you doing?"

His mask moved fractionally against his skin, but she found herself wondering if she imagined the slight gleam in his eye. His hand gave a nonchalant wave, "Business call. And you?"

Christine decided to play his game, "Walking outside with Clarice. I saw a peacock butterfly, I wanted to paint it. Watercolour, or gouache I think, would have been interesting."

Erik inclined his head, stepping nearer to the sofa she sat on.

"Did Christine then enjoy time outside?" his voice was oddly soft.

Her eyes managed to flicker away, resting on a golden lamp with a tall curved spine, "Christine did. She would have liked it better if–" she faltered.

"If?" Erik intoned, coming closer.

"If she had been able to go outside the perimeter and go into civilisation." she blurted out. Christine shivered as the room's sunny temperature drop in tense disapproval.

"I'm sure she would have," Erik replied coolly and she could almost feel those burning pits narrowing at her back, as if he knew what she had been trying to do – she couldn't help but wince. The air froze for a moment, before Erik's icy tone began again. "Would Christine like to come for a lesson, or shall Erik read to her?" his voice dared her to argue the 'suggestions' and retreat to her room. The only way to erase her blunder was to not infuriate him further. That was done by not disobeying him.

Her shoulders slumped after a moment, " A lesson would be lovely, thank you."

"No! No! No! Posture, girl! Posture. I thought we have covered the basics eight months ago, unless we need to digress to nursery rhymes to correct such ers." He scolded none too gently from the piano seat. Even after agreeing to his whim, Christine knew she had ruined her chance for any forgiveness with her comment that afternoon and he had been in a foul mood ever since.

"I'm tired. " she whimpered, pressing her hand to her forehead and trying to soothe an oncoming headache.

Erik bit back a retort, seeing his rose wilt with not just tiredness – weariness – Erik's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What ails you child?"

Christine closed her eyes, his voice suddenly like a wave of calm washing over her. He had beaten the resistance out of her with his persistence and song. Once she had fallen the first time, it became a natural instinct to allow herself submit to it again. Her will was often quashed when he used that tone on her – the epitome of gentleness that confused her greatly – she could never seem to be bothered by in the moment. It was too beautiful to shun, too scathing when ignored.

"Christine," her Angel prompted soothingly, "Tell me what is wrong,"

"I'm tired," she confessed again.

"And why are you tired, my dear?"

And with one jarring thought, Christine snapped back to reality, backing away to the sofa and folding her arms over her chest. "I don't want to talk about it." she snapped, miffed at his technique. "I thought we covered this months ago, stop using that voice on me, it's not fair."

"Ah, but I was merely asking you what was wrong. You were never going to give a straight answer otherwise. However, it does seem that you are upset about something." Enough to snap out of her trance, he thought meaningfully.

"I said I don't want to talk about it." she bit back a snarl and her eyes flickered towards the door.

"So you wish to run away from me, like all your other problems, no?"

Growling, she retorted, "You can't tell me about running away, why that's all you ever do to me!"

And in that moment, she knew she had gone too far. There was a great stretching silence that made her wish she had just told him what he had been trying to know and let him feel the guilt she felt.

"I will give you thirty seconds to tell me what is wrong, or else you shall go to your room and not come out until you are ready." his voice made her shudder, it was too calm, like a spider that was calmly eyeing it's prey caught in it's web.

Christine's own eyes narrowed, "And will I go without dinner too, father?"

He would never deserve the title of father. Never. She thought venomously.

"As you seem so fussed about it, then yes." his eyes flashed a warning, "Your seconds are up, will you tell me, or not?"

"Bastard," she hissed, "You can't force me to tell you anything! Just like how you can't force me to love you." Her hands clenched the back of the sofa, "I will never care about you. I'd rather die than ever hold the tiniest ounce of love in my heart for you! I hate you!" her voice choked, as if it were a lie.

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." Another whispered mantra added to the collection and her breathing became quicker with each one, tears already stinging her eyes.

"I hate you because you murder. I hate you because you lie." The world shook as her body seemed to wobble with un-shed sobs. Sweat dripped from her fingers, the leather cushions spongy with the extra fluids. Still she clung on, as if it were an anchor for her slipping into insanity.

Insanity.

He was insane.

Her sobs caught and she began to speak, cutting off his chance of reply, ""You murder." She repeated again, "You murder people without a second thought. You don't think about what pain you cause." her vision clouded as she spiralled out of control, her breathing becoming panicked once again. Her fingers trembled as she sank to her knees, sinking into the red carpet. Red red red, there was too much red…leaking all over the carpet. A red noose and Joe, hanging on the end of it. Red; his eyes were beginning to bulge. Red; those cheeks were red and dying. Red; his lips turning now, a worrying shade of blue. Red and bloodshot veins in those ugly horrible screaming eyes. Red; his checked shirt with those stringy locks of hair were soaked, stuck across his face. His red blueing lips were trying to mouth something, something, something…A word, a name, no it was 'Run'.

Get me out! Get me out! Her mind screamed and she dully registered that Erik was shaking her, his bony lifeless hands were shaking her. But all she could see was his face, Joe's face. Hearing was a dull roar, but all she could see was the face that haunted her.

"You killed him." And the world seemed to slow, her body was dangling, just from his fingertips and her head was gazing up at his killer. Amber eyes that adored and killed her.

"You killed him." She said in mild complacency, "You killed him. Snap, snap snap…And he dropped." She stated, her fingers made a spiralling movement, but they were caught by a calming hand. A big hand. A large hand. A hand that placed it by her side with gentle intent.

"He was an innocent." Her mind swam, where was she?

Joe. She was talking about Joe.

"He never harmed anybody –" and her body was being slowly rocked back and forth, was it her or someone else?

She continued, dazed, "I remember, you killed him. In front of me."

His voice rose, but she resisted falling victim to it, was she so far gone in her own insanity to notice. Wonderful.

"He was just a friend. Harmless. Am I allowed no one?" she wondered why she was still rocking, why there were tears down her face, were they his? The idea of their tears mingling seemed perfect insanity, perfectly hysterical, "Harmless. He was harmless."

There were a few moments before she gazed up at the eyes that watched her, had always watched her, before she felt herself sink into her body, and she found the sofa digging into her back and her feet on the floor. She wanted to gag at the carpet's colour. At his hands on her shoulders and that strange look in his eyes. The black mask was too near. Her body pulled away and the man let go, sinking back on his heels. He was silent as tomb. His eyes glistened as she finished softly, "And you expect me to fall in love, with you?" her voice mocked while her bottom lip trembled, "You, who takes and takes and takes and never for one minute, thinks about other people." Rationality came and her fists clench, voice gaining gumption,"You, who hates the entire world and don't think that I don't understand that, people are horrible, but you don't have to be one of them. " her finger came to point at the man, that despicable man, "And you have resorted to violence, murder and god knows what else, just because of one thing."

Her nostrils flared, "I don't know why you wear a mask, but until you can get over what's underneath, I can't bloody help you." With that, she put her head on her knees, with her tears and words spent. Christine barely heard the slight rustle of movement as Erik rose.

Not a word of apology was aired.

A wordless melody began around her and as much as she tried to tune it out, it compelled her to listen, the raucous noise of her laboured breathing coming gradually to slow, as it gently held her in an embrace. 'Dry your tears, dear one,' it seemed to hum, 'Do not fear the darkness,' it soothed…and her weariness seeped the strength from her body as her head began to lull against something behind her. Darkness crept through her senses and for a moment, there was peace.

And she did not see the silently weeping man beside her, his voice lulling her into sleep's grasp once more.

"How long have you been having the nightmares?" his voice came from beside her, gentle as a lamb.

Christine turned over face the other side, covers rustling as she stared at the painting of the monarch butterfly on the wall. The lace lining was soft between her fingers, edges slightly rougher than the middle and perfectly spaced holes.

"This is going to get old, but go away," she replied, her jaw clenching as she glared at the pastel yellow wall that met her once more. She hated yellow. She hated that yellow wall, that yellow colour that mocked her with its chirpiness. That coat of yellow artificial happiness meant to bring light and warmth to the world. It was fake. Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake and it reminded her of Raoul. But his hair was golden. Almost golden wheat, with a dollop of golden syrup and a golden shine that was alive, so alive.

She could say to him, Erik, that she hated yellow and it would be gone within the day. But that reminder that it was not Raoul and not happiness. Artificial settings. Artificial life. She was in a doll house. His doll house, but she was not his doll!

"Let me help you," he whispered, his voice seemingly coarse. Oddly coarse. No, she stuffed the remorse down, she was not telling him anything.

"You should drink something, can't have that beautiful voice of yours disappear." she muttered.

She didn't need to turn around to know that he stiffened at that.

"You may spend time willingly with me more than you have ever done, but you will never leave this place until you will confide to me." his voice grew sharp.

"You're not my person."

The leather squeaked as his hands curled into fists. "I used to be," he hissed.

From the safety of his eyes, she gave a scoff, "That was before you – everything happened. I don't have to explain myself to you." She rolled over, sitting up in her bed and for the first time, perhaps seeing the frail man's insecurity in full clarity.

Erik's raven hair was dishevelled, as if he slept the night there on that chair. The shade's beautiful eyes swimming with despair and sharp flint-like anger, that was all a mix of some higher emotion she could barely grasp.

Helplessness.

The irony was enough to almost make her loose a bitter laugh. Here he was, in control of her life, yet helpless to watch her in torment. To be shut out. She didn't want his 'help', because his help was his love and she couldn't want that either. Another slip could be fatal.

They would destroy each other if she fell and still resisted. God knows he couldn't take rejection. As long as he knew that she was unwilling, he was in as exquisite agony as she.

A hand tugged back a curl, brushing it behind her ear and she looked down at the floral covers, "I have never needed to explain myself to you. You just – I don't know why – but you chose me."

His eyes bored into her and she quickly ducked her head away. Silence.

Permission to continue.

"But I never wanted to be chosen. I might have needed to get my life together, but it was my life. My life to end, mess up, have fun in," her eyes raised to the canopy, barely noticing the way his fingers softly twisted a ribbon in them – was that hers?

"I never wanted this." Her hand gestured to the room, the room she had dreamed once about. A princess, a queen of a kingdom with a fae prince and music all day and all night.

"I never wanted a world that is governed by another." Her head bowed, remembering her father's words about her. Her and her mother.

"You have a beautiful spirit. Wild and free. Independent like your mother," his eyes misted, "You'll always long for the elements, sea, forest, mountains…The world of today holds no value to you. Holds no beauty." A big hand came to ruffle her hair, "Your spirit remains in your voice, my little angel, " his teasing made her giggle, climbing on his lap.

"Tell me more Papa!"

There was a laugh, "You chose your own destiny and even when tied down, you remain your own self," his large fingers tugged playfully on her hair and she squealed, ducking into his embrace away from his hands.

"Your laugh is like warmth on a summer's day. There's a glow that lights people up wherever you are," he pressed a kiss to her head, "You, my little bundle of joy, draw people in like a sun. They gravitate to you and when you sing, it is bliss they feel," his large hairy arms wraps her in a hug, "You soothe pain, it's why all those grannies coo and pinch your cheeks." She giggled, squirming for a better position in his lap, a hand tugging at this shirt, "I don't have chubby cheeks, do I Papa?"

There was a rumble from his chest as he laughed, "Oh no, you have the most pinch-able cheeks a little angel could have."

Christine blew a raspberry and gave a yelp as he buried his face and tried to blow a raspberry on her neck, large hands stopping any escape. Her squealing became ones of laughter as her father leaned back with love shining in his eyes.

His hands helped her stand on his knees as he looked at her with his big blue eyes, "I love you very much, little daughter mine."

She kissed him on the cheek, used to his dark beard, "I love you too Papa."

She bit back tears from the fleeting memory, aware of the shade that watched her still.

"You, at one point, were my friend. But you ruined that." She shook her head, despairing slightly, "You made me enjoy life, spending time with you … Things made me forget." She shuddered, "But you cannot win anyone's love by forcing a life on them they don't want." She insisted, her brown orbs desperately trying to make him understand.

A plead to let her go. A truth that he denied.

Not wanting to stay in bed anymore, unable to bear such a close proximity, she rose, grabbing a robe and tying it around her, before she went to brush her hair at the dressing table.

"Is there no chance for you to enjoy it again?" he whispered, the man hunching in his chair.

Her eyes focused on her hair, the gentle strokes as she tried to coax the knots into submission.

She could not deny that it was far softer here than it had ever been.

"You truly do hate me," he muttered after her silence, such dejection in his lucidity that it made her heart ache. To want to take back the hate she had thrown at him. A pitiful thing compared to the beauty he had given her. That perhaps affected even her normal speaking voice.

She sighed, the sound of the brush being set down on the wood. Swivelling she turned to him.

She wished she hadn't.

His bones protruded from his starched white shirt, as if he had grown thinner in the time she had been there. Skinny arms held his utterly dejected hanging head. Even with the shadow of his black mask was all angles, still it gave him a sort of haunted gaunt sort of face. No luminescent eyes watched her now, they were closed in their own sort of agony, a music of sorrow swirling and ebbing around him. Her heart squeezed and all she wanted to do was to reach out, to a lost man submerged in his own sort of agony. With nothing and no one to ease the pain.

Apart from her. It was her that was wanted, it was her who could be his only lifeline, his only love, the only being he cared about. Christine was there on the edge, watching him fall, those pleading eyes begging her to save him. And she was the only one, the only hand that could pull him back from the brink of utter darkness. His form was being pulled from shadows, threatening to consume him. His beautiful soul of music and beauty.

She wanted to save a life. A life she knew could hold such beauty.

Abandoning all logic, repulsion and disgust (for she could not feel them other than her desire to save him), her footsteps sank into the carpet as she walked slowly towards him. His eyes did not rise as she neared and her heartbeat seemed to fill the room. Taking in a deep breath, she steadied herself, before she was lowering, lower and lower, until she could wrap her arms around his bony form. She heard a choked gasp, a shuddering breath that seemed to rattle the frame of the man who had brought music and life and death to those around her.

She froze, suddenly aware that he could easily snap her neck in a moment, before she pressed herself harder into him, urging him to lose the initial reaction of responding to a threat. Her eyes whispered closed a few moments after, allowing herself to submit to his hold.

His skin was pasty at best up close, a yellow tinge at the worst, which she pretended she couldn't see. An odd musty aroma – cologne – seemed to waft around him. Somehow, Erik's head came to rest on her upper chest, pressing against her in almost an intimate caress. Even though she knew the awkwardness of such an action – from her own kidnapper no less – her heart told her that what she was doing was the right thing with every beat. She was saving him somehow, giving him contact that he seemed to crave from her. Holding off the darkness so that light could catch them. Perhaps, just a bit of kindness was what he needed.

His bones dug into her even through his formal wear and such sadness for his current state made her head rest on his shoulder, not even managing to wince at the discomfort. Christine had never seen him eat – for his eyes ever watched her at the table – yet she had assumed he always ate in private. Perhaps not.

Warm wetness dripped through her white robe and she squeezed her eyes in an effort not to release tears of her own. What had happened to him, that he would cry over a simple embrace? Christine knew by the shuddering of the body around her, that the wet patch would not dry very soon. In response she only hugged him tighter, increasing the pressure around him.

"Shh, it's alright," she whispered naturally, allowing him to set the pace of their rocking and a hand rubbed against the soft material of his shirt. When her fingers brushed against the protruding bones of his spine her sorrow grew.

The man only sobbed harder, his cries slightly muffled by the fabric, yet she still felt the thin arms come to hold her to him. Yet they were light, almost lighter than air, as he could barely believe she was in his arms. A pressure so tender as if she would break with the slightest touch.

"Shh," she whispered against him, fingers continuing their soothing passage. "I'm here, I'm here," her voice came in an unknowing croon.

At this, those light arms turned to steel bands, hugging her to him fiercely, body sliding to the edge of the seat in order to clutch at the angel in his arms. Christine almost fell into his lap at the sudden gesture of possession. She could almost hear the message in his actions, 'Stay, don't leave, don't leave me, don't leave me.'.

Her heart ached desperately, wanting to cure this pain she felt emanating for him, but wishing she could admit this wrongness. No, it wasn't alright. And it perhaps it never would be.

Let me go. Her mind begged for her to ask. But her mouth did not open and her heart wept silent tears. It was not her job to help him, yet for the first time, she wished she could cure him.

At least be able to give him one moment of peace.

It was the first moment of bliss he had ever received. Contact that was given not out of fear, or obedient compliance. Neither he felt in those steady arms and sad brunette eyes. It was always how he imagined, yet a far more unearthly experience; bliss was a lesser term of which could barely begin to cover the ethereal beauty that rested in his embrace. Supple warmth surrounded him like a holy caress and there – there oh, he could feel the faintest pressure of her beautiful head against his shoulder, her curls brushing the bared skin of his neck, so soft that it seemed to tingle.

And it was beautiful. And she was so, so beautiful.

The mask was in the way, in the way for feeling her, her soft skin against the face of a corpse that loved her, oh how he loved her. And he would never let her see, see the ruined flesh that was one of death. Death, death and yet, all he felt was life. A golden light, so warm, so kind in him, around him and golden tears leaked from his golden eyes.

I love you. I love you. I love you. His heartbeat breathed with every pump.

Oh, how he loved her. How, even though she wished it not to be, she belonged in his arms. Those beautiful hands making unknowing caresses down his spine only made his reaction stronger. A pitiful beast, to hold such an angel in his arms, her soft coaxing croons resonating within his heart. Not even his mother touched poor Erik, but she – his Christine – did.

Her words seemed so soft, so gentle, he wanted to cup them in his palms and place in a jar, store them in a place where they'd never be lost. No one, not even that measly timid maid had ever dared to speak to him in such a placating manner. No, this wasn't right. She never deserved such a loathsome monster, he knew, he knew that she held no love for him, but he never wanted to let her go, not his little Angel of Music, his Venus. And lightly, ever so carefully, his hands came to cup her back. Even his leather confines on his hands dampened his sense of touch, yet he could barely stomach the thought of resentment while he held such beauty. His chest expanded rapidly while the faint smell of lilies from her freshly pressed robe entered through the small nostril holes of his mask… Erik could dare to imagine the luscious curls, soft pearly skin and one day being able to caress them. The dream from a fortnight ago from the confines of his grounds seemed to be one that perhaps descended nearer to reality. Just imagine, his heart expanded, if he waited long enough, another embrace could be gifted to him. Perhaps more. Maybe herself, in a beautiful satin dress and cascading veil and a shining ring. His bride, to love and care and blush prettily. The thought filled him with surging swells of joy. His arms came to clutch her to him, needing his salvation to be in only his grasp. His angel. His beauty. His Christine.

My Christine, you have yet to be more than my salvation. But you will be, now more than ever. Your place is beside me, for Fate links thee to me for ever and a day. (1)

It was crowded. The crystal glass at first was deceiving, but when you neared, the blurred mass turned into a hundred human figures. Jazz could be heard buzzing while the crowd seemed to be filled with quiet talk and the occasional raucous laughter. Christine was already regretting making the deal with Sarah. Obviously, she was part rather a well-endowed law firm, sponsored by The Changy Company, because the opulence of the hall was simply overwhelming. Christine frowned, feeling rather out of place in her navy dress and flats, while Sarah confidently sashayed too the entrance. Marble flooring clicked under the short heels of her companion as they walked to 'sign in'. A smartly dressed man near the guest list eyed Sarah.

"Miss Beckam and guest?"

"Yep, the one and only," Sarah gave the man a flirtatious wink. Christine cringed.

He grinned with his white teeth and waved them in, "Enjoy your evening, ladies."

"We will!" Sarah called and gave a bark of laughter at Christine's expression, "Oh, I'm just a big flirt. Harmless really. It's always fun to have a man's attention though, right?"

Christine nodded uncertainly, "Right."

Sarah appeared to not hear her quiet reply as she spotted a table in the far side of the room, thoughts jumping like a grasshopper, "Ooh, a buffet! Come on, it's eating time and Mama is filling up on free food!" Christine allowed Sarah to tug her along, wincing as they brushed by a dozen people. A dozen different smells and sounds assaulted her senses and she found herself pushing away a wave of claustrophobia. Thankfully, the table wasn't so crowded as the mingling central hub, and they travelled down the buffet at a reasonable pace. Christine let out a sigh of relief.

They got to the drinks and Sarah eyed her thoughtfully, "Don't think you're over nineteen, let alone of drinking age, am I right?"

Christine laughed, "I'm nineteen this October, thank you! Anyway, never liked alcohol. I've always been a bit of a lightweight."

Sarah gave a small snort and passed her a fizzy water, while collecting her own flute of champagne. She took a sip and her eyes widened, "Well, you're missing out. This is the good stuff."

Christine chuckled and shook her head, "I am perfectly fine with my delicious fizzy water. I think (I)you're the one missing out." They both shared a laugh before being interrupted by a young man with black rimmed glasses, his nose twitching like a weasel.

"Hello Sarah, thought you couldn't make it."

Christine tried not to wince at the nasal voice that accompanied the greeting.

Sarah grinned, "Christine," she gave a nod to her, "Decided to be a life saver and come with me. Anyway, this is Tod," she gestured easily to her co-worker. Corny braces on his teeth appeared, while he gave an appreciative glance at her. Immediately she felt herself bristle at the apparent ogling. Reluctantly, she gave her hand to him in a sweaty handshake.

"A pleasure," she smiled through gritted teeth, inconspicuously wiping a hand on her skirt.

"Pleasure's all mine," he winked, "Why don't you lovely ladies come over and chat with us? We could use the company." He gestured to his group of male buddies, making little effort to disguise their own ogling. Sarah giggled, fluttering her eyelashes, "Oh we'd love to, right Chrissy?"

Stifling the urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the sudden nickname, she shook her head, "You go ahead, I need a breather. It's already a bit hot in here. I'll re-join you later, ok?"

"You sure?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yep, you go on." Christine smiled convincingly. Maybe she should think of looking into an acting career.

"Well okay then, I'll catch up with you later!" she said enthusiastically. And with this, Sarah, freed from her lead, placed her arm in Tod's as he guided her towards his friends. Christine however caught the fleeting dark look of Tod's beady eyes on her, before he was swallowed up by the crowd. She suppressed a shiver.

"Why am I always surrounded by creeps?" she muttered, dumping her too bland and cold food on the side and heading to the balcony from the grandeur staircase. Once she was outside, a hand rose to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The balcony overlooked a park, with a basketball court and a line of shops, restaurants spread out like interweaving branches of the same tree, a siren wailed in the distance along with a series of car hoots. Christine sighed.

"This was a mistake. I hate parties." she grumbled.

"Not the social butterfly type, eh?" came a voice from beside her.

She jumped, scanning the mostly deserted balcony until she spied a blond-haired man, surprisingly handsome with sparkling blue eyes that sent a jolt of recognition through her.

"Raoul?" she whispered.

He blinked twice, before understanding and recognition dawned on his face. "Lotte, is that you?"

She nodded, swallowing, "All those tales of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music," he – Raoul - gave an encouraging nod, "And father playing his violin…" she trailed off, hesitantly stepping closer.

"And those stories of the North? Of goblins and riddles and frocks," he flashed a dazzling smile – which took her back to those of the seaside days – with lips that quirked and were slightly, delightfully lopsided.

"And ribbons, don't forget Little Lotte's ribbons," she teased.

He gave a laugh, "How could I forget? You used to show me your ribbon collection in fervour every year!" he reminisced fondly.

"And braided them into your long boyish locks," she grinned.

He mock gasped, before leaning in whispering, breath brushing her ear, "I thought we swore never to talk about that,"

She gave a giggle, feeling heat rise to her cheeks, "Oh Raoul, I can't believe it's you after all this time." His hair was short now, which in the newer times, suited him as much as his long hair.

"I can't believe it either. I thought I lost you after your father's death. You disappeared. After all that time we had known each other, we never once traded numbers," his voice fell softly.

Christine bit her lip, swallowing a wave of pain, before looking up at him, "Well you found me now, right? We can trade numbers, if you want." she joked.

"I would love to," he murmured sincerely, and his phone appeared, as if ready to take it there and then.

And they did.

"Come dance with me?" he offered gallantly, gesturing to the ballroom.

Christine peered in and was faced with a moment of trepidation, "I haven't danced since – well – I can't even remember."

"Then let me help you," Raoul smiled and her hand came to place in his, ready to dance the night away.

They stayed on the dance floor for three songs straight. It had been casual, which she was thankful for. Christine had looked at the drink stall longingly as a slow romantic song came on. Raoul caught her glance and tugged her gently off the dance floor. While they sipped their respective drinks, they found a quieter table to sit at, so they could speak without having to raise their voices.

"So how come you're at this party? I wouldn't put you as a law-firm type," Raoul raised a groomed eyebrow.

Chuckling, she shook her head, "No, a friend from work took me with them since a boyfriend didn't arrive. I'm studying at College though. English major."

Raoul lent back, folding his arms causally, "Ah, that I can imagine. You always loved reading."

"Still do." Christine amended lightly, "So, what have you been doing? I've heard that The Changy Company is faring well."

He nodded, "It is, it is. We're meant to be having a newspaper covering and I'm taking them around our central building. It's going to be advertising for our new patronage in our local theatre. If all goes well, we'll become invested in the works of the new production this October. Our hopes is that it's going to be Hannibal by Chalumeau but nothing is in the books as of yet."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the arts, "So you're definitely diving into the theatre industry? That's amazing. If I had a big hotshot company, I'd do the same."

Raoul grinned, "I knew you'd approve. The arts are always needing funding and when it comes to profit, well, if we can help them, they can help us. As long as they keep up the advertising for our sponsorship, all's meant to be smooth sailing. How's your singing dream coming along?" he probed.

She winced, "Ah, that's nothing really now. I just sing out of habit more than anything. Want to travel when I graduate. Just need to save up for it and write for a living."

"You ever considered Journalism?" he questioned.

Christine wrinkled her nose, "I dislike commenting on what's real. Most of the time it's depressing or boring. To write about it for a living…Well I'd rather not. If things get worse maybe I'll consider it, but for now, I'm happy as I am. There's an open bookstore assistant position open that I'm thinking of applying for, I saw an advert for it. It would be better suited for me than any restaurant."

Raoul nodded in agreement, "I don't think I can imagine you enjoying work in a restaurant either. Too loud and chaotic."

She huffed laughter, "That's why I quit. Was going insane with all the music they played."

A loud ringing tone interrupted their conversation and Christine picked up her phone in surprise, "Excuse me for a moment, Sarah's calling,"

"Hey, what's up?" she spoke into the receiver.

"Hey Christine, I wanna skip the joint. Tod's going to drive the group to a different bar and we've spent the required time here. You want to come?"

Christine winced, "I thought you were going to drive us home. We came in your car."

"I can drive you home if you want?" Raoul's voice came in the background.

She quickly glanced up, meeting his sincere and trustworthy eyes. 'Are you sure?' she mouthed to him and he nodded eagerly. She smiled him a thank you and raised the phone to her ear.

"Actually don't worry Sarah, I got a ride home anyway. Be safe and have fun. Text me when you get home though."

"I will," Sarah promised.

"I'll see you at some point, ok?" Christine lied.

"Yup, see you soon Chris."

The line went dead.

She sighed, "So much for sticking together."

"Some people are like that, but at least you get to spend more time with me," he cocked a handsome eyebrow.

"Oh joy," she drawled and they both laughed.

Raoul dropped her off not too soon after that, hearing her claim for needing some beauty sleep. Raoul had promised to call so they could properly catch up. Christine had thanked him profusely for the ride and didn't comment on his music tastes. Post Malone was not her first choice in terms of music, but she coped with Imagine Dragons.

It didn't matter that they had different music tastes at all. Not one bit.

She knew that listening and singing musical tunes were not his area of passion. Not that it mattered, in the end. They were just old friends catching up. So why did that parting glance he gave her made warmth bubble within and a little blush stain her cheeks?

She shook her head. She wasn't going there. She wasn't some fawning fool in love and she was never going to be.

The blanket was soft beneath her head, stars twinkling warmly up above. It had been a perfect day. After skiing that morning together, him persuading her to trust him and trying not to stumble down the slope on her skis, they had returned to the heated cabin, only to have a snowball fight out in the front. Raoul had won, but not for her lack of trying. When she had surprised tackled him to the ground, he had simply been able to win out of pure strength and had tickled her until she conceded. Together they stumbled around like new-borns, kissing one moment and laughing the next. Christine had suggested the idea of a snowman and he agreed readily. Both had to improvise when making a snowman – with a makeshift nose (a little stump of wood since they had not a singular carrot), they used Raoul's navy scarf, along with pine bristled arms, while she put antlers on it wearing her new pink gloves. The previous red ones that had been a gift from the kind Mama Valerious had mysteriously disappeared. Christine had been devastated.

After making the snowman, she had a lovely shower in the on suite of her bedroom to bring warmth back into her numb fingers and toes, while Raoul made them toasted sandwiches for them; he had not gotten so wet for he was an expert at sports. While eating lunch and after they had curled up on the sofa, watching romantic movies and teasing each other with each sappy scenario to appear.

"I would never invite you to a dinner and expect you to pay, you know," Raoul murmured, as on the television as the man handed the woman the bill. There was a round of artificial laughter from the screen as it focused on the look of shock on her face.

"Gentleman are a dying breed." she teased.

He chuckled, "And I would never expect anything of you before you're ready."

At this Christine froze, leaned over and stopped the TV.

"What are you saying?" she peered at him.

Raoul's blue eyes met hers, suddenly serious. "I love you Christine. I want to do anything to make you happy." he swallowed, "Are you happy here with me?"

Her mind flashed to the last half a year, all those moments she had held onto those rays of hope for seeing Raoul again. How now, she was in a place (I)he would probably never find her. And the thought made her have a sense of peace she had not felt in what seemed like years. Perhaps a place of belonging with a man who truly loved her.

"I haven't been happier."

There was a bitter taste on her mouth as she said it, as if it was not the whole truth. She ignored it. (I)He would never know.

And so, she pressed her lips to his to forget the calling in her soul.

They both lay sprawled on the blanket now and gazed at the stars above them together. It was an illusion, just an image in a planetarium Raoul had rented for an evening. She had no idea one could even rent a planetarium, but Raoul had connections. He could probably reserve a table at the finest restaurant in the world too.

"It's beautiful." she marvelled softly, "We could have the whole world at our fingertips and no one would ever know, it's like it's our own little world."

"At least there's heating in here," Raoul commented from next to her and the kind kiss of his lips on her head. She sighed and snuggled closer in his embrace. Christine let out a contented 'hm'.

"You are so adorable when you nest," his voice held an endeared tone and his arm came to hold her to his chest.

"And you are a very good home," she murmured into his cotton shirt, warmth spreading through her. He was like her incubator.

A finger traced the line of her cheek as Raoul leaned over to place a gentle kiss on her lips. Her head rose smiled against his lips, kissing him back before asking, "Why do you have a planetarium on top of a mountain?"

She felt a vibration of laughter as he leaned back to answer her question, a hand brushing her cheek, "Phil said that the research hub up here likes keeping track of the star constellations and the public would pay to come see it. He's right, you know."

She smiled, a hand coming up to finger his soft hair before tugging his head to her and he chuckled, scooting even closer. A warm hand cupped the side of her face and she leaned into it, pressing a kiss to his palm. She closed her eyes in bliss as he placed warm kisses along her neck. She was safe, she was free and she was loved.

I love you Raoul.

And for a true moment, she believed she did.

His face, his eyes, his dark dark form appeared before her. Just a terrible outline in the darkness. But sharp catlike eyes regarded her with burning intensity, and she was struck suddenly as a curling tail of darkness wrapped around her throat like a suspended noose. Her cry of horror was stopped swiftly by a pinprick of deadly ice. Rage, blinding rage filled her, emanating from the inferno before her. His emotions seeped into her, like poison.

"You have betrayed me," he rasped. She felt his pain with another prick and her knees gave way in surprise. Another tendril took advantage and slipped under her top, curving around her abdomen and resting above her heart. It pulsed and with another prick, tears started to leak from her eyes.

"You breathe as I will it," there was a flash of white and she felt the coil compress until she wheezed. Desperate to release herself from her confinement her fingers came to tear at the cruel thing off, before two more shot out of the darkness and cruelly yanked her hands behind her. Christine cried out, but gave a silent gasp.

"You speak as I want it," his voice curled around her and she shook her head while her body heaved in misery. In cold dead silence.

"You love as I need it," his voice dropped into a snarl and three more of his serpents detached from the scene around her.

His voice wasn't beautiful. Not here. Not in her dreams. Not anymore.

"I have done nothing wrong." her voice of steel wavered, even though she was trapped by tendrils of darkness. Cold wicked things, that slithered around her body, tails like pointed eels.

"You lie to yourself." And he emitted a most terrible laugh, condescending, leering, echoing from around her. "It is ironic." His amber eyes peered down at her, "You lie to yourself far better than I have done to you."

"Leave me alone." her voice was hoarse.

"You lie, but you are mine." And a hand of a skeleton, dead, clicked and crackled as the bones moved and shot out to grasp her chin. Her head jerked and she was screaming, but no sound was emitted. Her heart was sledgehammering against her rib-cage, she could no longer feel her legs as those things squirmed around her.

"You have always belonged to me," his cold dead voice rasped against her ear. He smelt of death. So much death. An eel slithered it's way over her mouth, muffling her shriek as a deadly slender digit wiped away a tear.

"I will haunt you until the day you die, my Christine."

And she screamed once more as his demons tore into her and sliced her into darkness.

She sat up in bed, arms clutching herself as she sank back into reality. Somehow the window was left open, the shutter was banging with storm's wrath. Leaping out of bed, she shut it, putting great care in locking it firmly. Her eyes scanned the bleary darkness outside, but only sharp flakes of snow tapped on the glass. Two amber stars twinkled and she shuddered, twisting the cord so that the blinds became opaque. Glancing at the dim room, she knew that she would only fall into other nightmares if she stayed in there. Grabbing her stuffed toy, (yes, she still slept with it), she hugged it until she reached Raoul's room.

Tiptoeing in, she came to timidly pat Raoul on the shoulder, stirring him awake after a couple of tries.

"Hm whatta matter?"

"Can I sleep next to you? I had a nightmare." she sniffed.

His blue eyes gained worried awareness at this admission and he shuffled along, offering his arms like a second home and she dived into them. Tears started to come forth and she felt Raoul's arms rest over her, his voice calm and unworried.

But as the wind battered the world around them, Christine felt more lost than she had ever been.

(1) Original quote from Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera, 'Fate links thee to me for ever and a day'

Hiya peeps, people and fellow phans. Once again thank you, my lovely reviewers (TheTenthMuseSappho, Chevesic and Laurenvbellado), for well – uh – reviewing! You all get a big fat rose and trinket from Erik and others will too next time if you pick up the practice as well! Yes, I have no money so he's paying. Don't tell him that though. He already got mad at me for using his money to buy me a whole load of roses before. He's quite the generous fellow, no?

Also, Erik and hugging = breakdown. Who knew? Anybody like Erik's and Christine's comparing interpretations? Ah, I just love Christine's compassion.

And the colour yellow is a total coincidence in comparison to my own preferences. Christine's room was already yellow before I remembered I also hated yellow. It is the one (well I hate snot green) colour I actively dislike on most things. Sometimes I come across a yellow which isn't totally unbearable, but as a sensitive soul (literally, I can't take too much noise or colours – aka the world of an Aspergers syndrome inflicted person) it hurts. Fun fact, light rain hurts too. Feels like a dozen needles being inserted to one's skin. Fun. Vey fun.

;) You guys can learn a lot from me if you ever want to write an autistic (mainly high functioning autistic) character. Erik and this Christine definitely displays characteristics of it. We are all very slightly spectrum-y but it is multiplying some symptoms by a hundred and things that affect your daily life, along with processing time, understanding language and all that jazz.

Also, I love writing dreams. Anything can happen. Hehe ;P. And no, there is no other tone in that either, sheesh this is a T – rating. No hanky panky here thank you. I might dabble in a bit of smooching as you've seen, but I don't think I am ready to write anything mature. If that disappoints you, there are plenty of phics in the sea.

I see some lurkers, and if you tell me what you think, I can only say that the slightest encouragement really boosts this writer's confidence you know? Even a line or two counts!

Disclaimer : All medical jargon may not completely be accurate, I haven't fact checked it. Please no kill moi.

To Laurenvbellado

I am glad that even without an account you are happy to guest review! I was a guest a long time before I discovered that you could review, and to actually do it? Scary…XD Thankfully I got an account and post things on here now! I am honoured to hear that and Erik is very happy to hear that too, though I have to tell him not to allow his ego to inflate to Don Jaun level. Erik's hardly a dashing libertine, no? (even if he likes to think so) I hope dearly I continue to impress and that you continue to enjoy this series. At the moment, I have no intention on stopping! ^^ Merci, Enigma.

Anyhow, see you readers on the other side!

(P.S If there are any errors, I'm tired, so my appologies XD)

Merci

Enigma