I've slipped the rating up to Mature since it hints at something non-consensual. Please read onward at your own risk. There is nothing explicit however and it still remains safe to read, but the implications are there and I don't want to take anyone by surprise. This has details on Erik's past and when we see Erik's mother's debut there is disturbing content ahead. Nothing worse than Susan Kay. This chapter is to fill some gaps left from prior chapters. Be aware of lots of perception and time changes throughout.

Still, I hope you enjoy this, as much as it is dark.

His Butterfly, Her Capture - Chapter 10

Nadir's digging proved fruitful when he finally managed to hack through to the feed of the airport. The reason why it had taken this long was that 'hacking' was a general term for something Nadir was only adequate at, while also there are a large base of airports in the area. Erik, that beast, had taken the commercial flight on Virgin with the young Daae in tow – something that Nadir had blinked twice at. It had made things easier, while altogether harder. It would have taken months to search for a private bunker, in addition it would have been on private, highly guided, land that even with his ways of sneaking in would have been limited. Erik knew him and thus, would be expecting attempts on being followed. It only made such attempts of seeking knowledge in Miss Daae's whereabouts that much harder and added a need for great deal of finesse at concealing such moves. The fact that creature had chosen such a conventional method of travel for it had involved being in the public eye, was almost the last place or method he had anticipated, which, Nadir thought dryly, was why the monster had done exactly that. Nadir knew of Erik's hideaway deep in the bowels of the opera; his refuge after their paths had emerged in the capitol of Iran. Music, beauty and peace Nadir thought had cured Erik of his monstrous habits, the life of a former assassin purged by the tranquil peace Paris and the Opera Garnier gave. Erik had burrowed away into the ground, like mole. The retired agent had wondered if Erik would remain there for the rest of his days, each year becoming more like a phantom to the world.

But like a bear, he came out of hibernation. It took five years, but then Erik wanted to make his way into the Western world, awed by the ideas of travel and scientific exploration. Nadir, with no one else, had followed Erik to the western continent on his accumulated wealth (though there was little), there was enough to bring his meagre belongings and experience to keep himself going while taxes rose. Erik had disappeared the moment they had set foot in the new world and it was only by letter correspondence did he receive information on Erik's supposed whereabouts for the next year. However, Erik had found him by the next summer, already settling somewhere nearby (of course Nadir was not clued in on where), tired of politics, places and most of all, people. However, there was something different about him. It had made the alarm bells ring in his head when he regarded Erik. Though his eyes had remained haunted ever since they had left the middle east, there was a striking difference in those amber eyes. Nadir had seen them pitiless, hellishly cruel and at times, downright chilling, but Nadir had never seen them so weary. Taxed, as if he had lost any sense of hope that he had once harboured.

"I am done, Daroga," the voice said gravely. Erik had always called the retired officer by the name of an ancient Persian police inspector; this had almost become an inside joke between the two of them over the years.

"Then rest Erik," Nadir had replied calmly, offering him a threadbare chair to sit upon in his two roomed apartment.

Erik had been too weary to even curl his lip in disgust at the measly offering and all but collapsed in the chair, "Erik is very tired, Daroga." He punctuated this with an elegant hand gesture, despite his obvious sluggishness, "I have no wish to converse again with the vermin of this world," his voice lacked the bitterness Nadir was oh so used to.

"What happened, Erik?" his elbows came to rest on the arms of the chair.

Erik blinked at the jade eyed man, who was still sparkling with persistent curiosity, "I have always wanted a butterfly garden, you know?" he murmured in a deep thoughtful tone, "One with flittering dancing butterflies in it. Ones that can last forever - never fade - unlike ones out there. It would be beautiful," he gave a sigh, eyes flickering to the over the windows that had the starting drops of rain that belayed a grim storm waiting to unfold, "And they'd still come out in the rain," there, his full black shifted slightly, as his lips pulled back into what Nadir thought was a tormented smile, "I've seen one in these zoos and conservation places these humans have, but Erik wants one himself," his head tilted, rolling how a skeleton would, "Nadir, when you kept a butterfly, you kept it beautiful yes? Your Rookeyha was very happy, it is a shame such beauty died, is it not?"

Nadir choked on his tea and spluttered into a handkerchief from said wife.

Erik tutted, "Now don't you die as well Khan, that would be terribly inconvenient. I've not found my butterfly and I do not wish to be quite alone just yet,"

Nadir finally finished his spluttering and regained his breath, "What the blazes are you talking about Erik? You're making no sense!"

"You great booby, I am making perfect sense!" he hissed, eyes blazing with a fire that Nadir had never seen before.

Nadir shrank back in his chair, feeling a pressing need to relive himself from those eyes.

The great malevolent shadow rose, luminescent orbs seething with hate, "You don't think Erik deserves happiness now do you! Well Erik doesn't need your help and he never has. Erik will find and catch his own butterfly and keep it warm and safe. And you will never know until it is too late!" at this he cackled – truly cackled as an insane patient in hospital would – and sent tremors down Nadir's spine, "Erik WILL be happy Nadir! I swear this to you, you vile human!" at this he waggled his finger at Nadir, "Next time you see me, you will not know. You will not know at all,"

Nadir felt frozen to the chair, as Erik turned and walked towards the door, "I will see you Saturday for a game of chess and some of that poppy seed if you have it. If not I suppose a drink will do. I shall let myself out. Adieu, Khan,"

The door creaked shut.

Monster, beast, creature…Such words came easily now.

Erik had crossed a line.

Though Nadir had incited a promise for no more murders, he had not thought of kidnapping. He shut his eyes briefly, feeling the weariness invade his bones.

"Oh Erik, you have yet to be the death of me, but I swear to Allah, my body will not fail me before Miss Daae is returned, safe and sound,"

Nadir had been able to follow Erik's trail to a flight across the Atlantic, yet the trail ended there. The site had crashed on him at the very moment he would have been able to access the destination and Nadir found himself cursing when his one time entrance to the inner records had vanished the next moment. His hands had curled into fists and he almost found himself resorting in violence against the inanimate object – before catching himself and taking deep breaths to regain his composure.

He was not Erik, he would not react in violence, no matter what the odds. Erik still bore the scars on his hands from his younger folly. Nadir had promised never to do the same.

"Mamma, who's that monster in the screen?" large amber eyes blinked back at him.

"You, you freak," she hissed, nasty fingers reaching down to dig into the boy's bony shoulders, shoving him further towards the computer once more, "Haven't I told you not to call me that? You little demon!" he cried out as he felt a stinging pain between his shoulder blades. Erik bit down hard on his thin cracked lips, stifling a yelp as his head was hauled back, his neglected black strands being gripped in his mother's claw. He flailed against her, body twisting as he tried in vain to escape. But the pain was excruciating and there was no way out of the wicked witch's grip.

However, he had no choice to move as his mother used this as leverage to yank him even closer to the black screen. "Mother stop! Please, no more monster!" he begged as the monster straight from hell leered back at him.

Those eyes, big horrible yellow eyes stared back at him, a hole where his mother's perfect nubbin of flesh resided, pulsating blue and bruising purple veins that looked like rot spider-webbing across the skull-face –

"Look, you wanted to see! Oh mad Erik who wanted to see-" there was a choke and Madeline shoved him at the dead computer that reflected a beauty and a corpse. Little pale hands clutched at the chair-less desk, rattling breaths coming from Erik's frame.

The woman who seemed as dead as the face that stared back at her, felt nothing as she looked into those wide unblinking eyes. Hollow cheeks and sunken sockets, tattered black strands of hair, hanging limply down their face.

Her knees buckled and she went to claw at her withered corpse child, "You beast – I am pretty, oh so pretty – and beautiful," her words came out brokenly tuneless. Her back seemed to break as she hunched over, "Charles always said I was pretty," her chest was heaving, breasts heaving in sobs, "I have birthed a monster. Charles left me before and Eddie left me after he saw you- you my very own hell," she screeched a guttural cry, her fist slamming down on the floorboards.

Erik flinched at the sound, before the little boy gazed into the would-be mirror, shaking his head slowly, "You should be pretty, Mamma, but you're not," he titled his head, looking at the woman with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, tattered black strands of hair, hanging limply down her face, "We can be corpses together, and you can love Erik,"

The woman screamed as he approached, backing away into the corner, throwing the closest thing she had to hand at the boy, which happened to be a butterfly brooch, "Get away from me, demon!"

It came at great speed towards the boy and the deadly-sharp pin drew a shallow cut along his papery skin of his cheek. Erik stumbled back, numbed by shock as the piece of metal clattered to the floor.

"You will never be my son – my son is dead to me. I hated you the day you were born, and every day since. I wished you were a stillborn or that you would have killed us both while in the womb!" the woman spat, looking more unhinged with each moment passing, "I'd rather take poison from scorpion's bite than ever touch you again!" her eyes seemed to glaze in utter loathing, "I hate you – I hate you," she repeated with utter conviction .

There was a moment of stillness and the only sound was Erik's silent tears hitting the floor, "I hate you too mother," the glare of the computer screen was what dragged his attention back. And it was that which made him stumble towards it, fists clenching with murderous intent.

He barely noticed the sharp bang of the door as his mother fled from the room, eyes only on his reason of torment. His fingers with agonising slowness, slowly bent to reach the pin that had stabbed the thin flesh of his cheek. It was with that sharp-edged pin he destroyed the computer, in a haze of anger similar to his mother's.

"Die monster die," he rasped, hand hammering against the breaking screen even while blood continued to drip from skin that did not easily clot.

It was when the deed was he was done did he realise abjectly that the brooch was of a monarch butterfly. Even while pain hazed his thoughts, bits of the screen hung like pieces of a shattered chandelier embedded into his hand, he could only gaze at the metal butterfly that barely had a dent from rough handling. It was beautiful; even after it had suffered.

He wanted to have a butterfly to keep as his own, one day.

He had been waiting patiently by the phone for the last week, bar his observation on his subject as a well needed intermission. He could have sent Claude, Vincent or Duke to observe her, yet the thought hadn't crossed his mind until after he had gathered the information he had needed. Actually, the very thought of sending a male after her made the leather of gloves squeak with rage.

He did not stop to question why that was.

Erik had a knack of preoccupying himself, tinkering with half-finished projects, sketching subjects of interest, reading books of science, astrology and mythology. He really was very good at it. However, he was waiting like a cat, tail swishing, with eyes darting to and fro from the phone to his current occupation, waiting, ever so patiently for his prey.

The girl was smart enough to realise his game and that phone number was the ending of one and the start to the other. The next level, that Erik had already set up the rules for. He was an expert of waiting for things to fall into place; he had been the finest architect in arranging soaring arches of death, layering the foundations of great empires of villainy in the East and mounting a window of massive opportunity in the west to Lord over them all.
But somehow this wait was the most excruciating of them all. His fingers found themselves flicking through the pages of the bid for that crone's estate, cat-like eyes latching onto any possible escape she might attempt to make. Even while there was none, there was an overzealous pounding in his central organ as he checked again and again. The girl had already conferred with that well-endowed young fool and walked away without any progress made, of which Erik found himself breathing a sigh of relief, though it had been dulled by that unseemly sight of those insipid hands touching hers.

There had been one other time he had broken into the world of living to track her progress. He had watched with amusement as she hurried finally to the police with the documents in tow, only to be sent away a mere twenty minutes later, per his arrangements with his acquaintances in the system, looking rather brow beaten. Erik had not intended to witness the pure look of desperation in her eyes, or to hear those rattling sobs from the acute hearing system he had proudly installed in her car, convey her misery. It had sent an unfortunate chill down his old rusting heart and he had been a foul mood ever since. Foreign it was to witness the moment he knew he had won. And every bit of victory he might have had, slid quietly out of reach when he saw such utter despair on her pretty little face.

There was a sort of haunted look in her, reflected in her very soul and he was reminded of the night he had heard those few words of tune spring from her lips. Rasping talent, begging to be brought to life, rekindled by a master's fair hand. So far, he knew he had not been very fair in his method of acquisition on that fine instrument, in a sore need of tender care. But what else could he do when her mind so refused to listen? Erik had deployed his fine talent to enchant her, his worded gifts of stardom, fame, glory. Even then, she did not bat an eyelid. So resolute in that safely snug shell that her voice was trapped inside. The possibilities of seeing that voice slowly come out of hiding, blooming like the roses in summer, how divine, he, Erik had finely tuned that peerless jewel. A level of calling ecstasy he couldn't ignore. And so, as the common idiom stated, the gloves had come off. Before he had looked forward to such a chase, a new prey to entrap, stretch to the limits so he could snap up that beautiful encrusted diamond. Yet he had learned by taking away so much, did not always have a consequence he preferred. Her fear.

She was different from the others he had shown no mercy to. Never before had he truly stooped so low to cause harm to the womenfolk. The fact had struck a chord in him.

Was she merely an animal to barter for? No. His heart sagged grimly. Erik knew he had done wrong, erred far too much already with this girl's living.

With this, he vowed to make up for such deeds, when in return he would have her voice in his capable hands to mould.

"I'll protect you, mon petit papillon," he whispered to the cool night air. She would be beautiful and safe again.

Was it right for him to claim her, even before they had ever met each other's eyes? How the mansion was ready for her, even before he had a conscious thought of what he was preparing and why. That Erik had visited it, perfected her room himself and refused another to see it until his shrine to her was complete. Yet, it had originally been a matter of comfort for her voice, that had forwarded such goals. For the girl to be in conditions perfectly tailored to herself, so he would be able to perfect it in isolation. But all plans had been circumvented due to the realisation that he could not move her before she was ready. Erik would give her time. He was a benevolent man like that.

He knew from observation she had the right qualities to be a good student. Hardworking; she stayed on top of service each night and every tip she made was earned through her persistence, earnest sincerity that elicited smiles from customers and trailing glances following a being far purer than they. Criticism had yet to be seen and it had made him wonder how she would react when it he would be the one to deliver it. However, what he truly wished was to unlock that mind – the one that was so impenetrable to him. What motivated her was simple, her loved ones were on the receiving end of her devotion. Erik's sources had revealed that she was an only child, who had lost her father all of three years ago. Yet still, it seemed that it was what clouded her voice when she sang. She was entirely too caught up in such grief. The poor girl had no idea at all that it was her sorrow which was stopping her from feeling at all. It was much of a paradox – had she cared less, perhaps her voice would have been well indeed, however would have surely lacked such potential to grow.

Humans were truly such diverse and unique things. What motivated them, what they feared, where they desired to go were all crucial bits of information to one's centre (some would say soul) and differed from one being to another. One man may desire the touch of human flesh, yet what they feared most was rejection and never went there at all. Erik had been able to study a few intensely before they had been submitted to his program and he had found such research highly stimulating. He had eventually tired of it (humans were such terrible creatures in general), and most of his picks never particularly revealed what he had not already guessed. The most boring ones had found themselves quickly eliminated and progressed into his program at a much quicker pace. They were also the first to die too. Their fears were truly what killed them. Still, Erik had their case files somewhere in reach should he ever have need of them again.

He had been developing his enemies' programmes for years. Such stimulation often killed them on sight and it had been trial and error before he had the right balance. Once they gave into their fears, it really was the end of them. None of them had ever defeated it.

Apart from himself of course.

As a natural born survivor and of course, being the maker of it himself, he really did have an advantage.

Or perhaps he was truly fearless. A phantom without weakness.

Erik rather liked the idea.

Her flight down to darkness was not a pleasant one, the more she drank, the more she seemed to grow weary. She knew she had to see Raoul, she had to tell him about Erik; after all she had promised him. She hadn't been able to ruin their lovely escape with the reason for it, not when Raoul would only become worried. Was it too much for one person to long to continue their lives with blissful ignorance for as long as they could? Acknowledging that she would have to leave that matter for tomorrow, she found herself wanting to slip into bed to get over this sudden weariness. No, it was more than that, it was exhaustion. She managed to drink it all by the time it grew cold and the laptop resting on her seemed unbearably heavy – even her arms were shaking under its weight as she struggled to set it down beside her.

The travel must have done a number on me, she thought woozily.

Her arms flopped to her sides and the painful oncoming headache was doing nothing for concentrating matters. Moaning, she tried to heave herself up, but was caught by a wave of dizziness so much so she immediately fell back down again, eliciting a rather large moan.

"Ohmy-head," she slurred, slumping back on the sofa and managing to heft a hand to rub at her sinuses. It then smacked the sofa like a dead weight once completed its purpose. Suddenly it was rather difficult to connect thoughts too. As if she had been inebriated, or that there was a rather large obstacle from rationality in the way.

The idea to take a nap right then and there appealed, until her phone buzzed beside her. One eye opened to focus on the name blinking up at her on the screen. Unwittingly a groan left her mouth as her impossibly unsteady arm rose and trembling fingers inched to accept the call. There she could almost reach it. Shaking fingers that were so w so devastatingly close had almost managed to brush the screen when, a swift hand of a shadow knocked the phone away from her fingers. She let out an anguished cry, one she was not sure was out of frustration or terror. Had she the energy, she would have cringed at the sound of it hitting the carpet.

An icy chuckle surrounded her, before she was met with a few disapproving tuts, "We simply cannot have you answer the call my dear, you are currently…(indisposed)," his voice sneered, "Can't let that boy of yours know you have been taken by the monster," he let out in a contemptuous hiss.

Christine merely groaned, words too far to reach while adrenaline coursed vainly through he veins, as if it would be enough to break the her confinement of her incapacitated body. Her head pounded something torturous and a slow nauseating numbness was creeping into her fingers and toes, causing them to tingle painfully. Christine whimpered. The black legs stepped into view and she had not the ability to see the identity of her tormentor, however she knew exactly who it was by his voice.

He gave a painful sigh, "I wish I had not been forced to use this method on you, it is not the most pleasant experience. At one point, I had thought this would have not been necessary at all," he gave another sigh, before the knees moved before her and she came eye to eye with him.
She gave him a feeble blink instead of a glare, slightly despairing of her lack of hate at this moment in time.
Christine wished to speak, but her tongue felt leaden in her mouth. To her mortification her mouth came to open slightly before him, as if automatically readying herself to sleep.

There! A surge of anger stung her heart and she made a grunt as she lent forward slightly in an effort to rise.

"No, no, we will have none of that," he uttered gravely, eyes affixing upon her as if she were a child. She could only watch as his large bony fingers emerged into her line of sight and lightly pressed her back against the sofa. Her head lolled into the sofa's plush cushion behind her without resistance to his touch. A sound of what seemed like a hoarse grunt issued from her. At this, Erik's black mask shifted slightly.

"I only wished to this gently, even while you have betrayed me," his dark voice sent a chill into her heart, "Yes, Erik knows about his Christine's secret little tryst. He plans on taking her away from such distractions, so she can remain true to her Ange. Erik will be benevolent this once, for you have lost his trust," one hand left her shoulder to brush a finger just over a curl, "Oh Christine, you will be very happy with Erik," his voice seemed to rise in hope and her heart seemed to break at it, yet she felt growing alarm as the numbness had reached her thighs, working its way up her pelvis and the other part worked at the junction of her shoulders.
Desiring a need to defy his claim, she artfully twisted her head to one side - it seemed happy to tilt downwards - while then struggling to lift her head enough to twist to the other side. But she managed and locked eyes with him, conveying her steely message with a resentful pursing of the lips.
Her cheeks ached. That wasn't a good sign.
Yet, her display of defiance brought nothing but wondrous amusement to Erik's curling lips.

"Ah ma belle colombe," this was punctuated by a blissful look in his glimmering orbs, "You do inspire me, never would I have guessed you possess such spirit," he sounded riveted and those hovering fingers shook for a silent second before it closed into a fist, "But mine is mine, and I have been yearning to claim you since the beginning of time, mon petite," this whispered past her ear in such a croon that it sent her eyelashes come fluttering shut and she exhaled a sigh -even while her body screamed to fight - it was simply shutting down.

"Erik is just going to make you more comfortable, do hold still," he said softly, as if she had much choice in the matter. Christine found her head craned forward, his leather fingers holding her chin still when she felt silk wrap around her eyes. Squirming feebly at this invasion, she tried to evade his grip, but because of her weakened state, Erik was easily able to compensate her movements with the adjustment of his grip. Panic rose and with a great effort she bucked against him, that alone making her want to lie down to recover from a wave of dizziness. However, all efforts were abruptly stopped with a menacing rumble from him that made her heart tremble in such a way that it never felt before. Fear once again made her submissive and she stilled in his hand, unable to deny the terror squeezing her chest. The silk came to a knot behind her head, yet the soft tugging remained gentle and a delicate caress came to smooth her tussled hair as a slight reward. Christine stifled a shudder.

"There there, it wasn't so bad, was it?" came his voice as gentle as it had been when he was an angel. No, that guise had merely been an illusion too.

Her tears started to wet her blindfold when his steadying hand left her chin, to gently push her head back to lie on the sofa.

Her heart was pounded ruthlessly and she was struck with a primeval fear of why she was not allowed to see! His mask…His identity…God, please let him not truly be this horrific, not the monster she had never thought he would be. NO! NO!

She would rather die than be taken here, on this sofa.

(Mine is mine…

I have been yearning to claim you since the beginning…

I wish I had not been forced to use this method on you…)

She was trembling now, terrified beyond her wits, no, no, she'd rather be dead than live through this.

Not this, not the one thing that women were subjected to. No! No! The blindfold was pressed to her eyes and still she was numb, even while in her mind she was screaming for help.

"How long I have waited to make you mine," Erik purred gently and there was a rustle. Christine froze like a deer.

"To feel the air on my face," came his dizzying whisper.

His mask was gone, his mask was gone! Nearer, nearer and -
There was an odd moan from her companion and then something unnaturally shaped pressed itself on her lap. From the muffled breathing she realised with horror it was only a head that rested on her lap. But there was something unusual.
"Let me have this one indulgence," came his tortured whisper and her heart cried as she realised that this was only what he had meant. A simple touch.
Her mind, like a terrified mouse, shrunk away while her body did not.
There was something oddly disturbing about his head – assumed for it could not possibly be something else – but she couldn't put her finger on it. She was blinded to reality. Their breaths intermingling in the air were the only sounds. That was, until, she heard an even stranger noise and the body, god she could feel his legs pressed against hers, shudder slightly. A moment of stillness came between them, when another soft hiccup was heard. Was he crying? It was even stranger when his beautiful words came out as sobs.

"Oh…" he exclaimed, his head twisting slightly in her lap, "Oh this is heaven... Erik never... Never had this... Erik is very bad... Can't be punished now... He's far away... Far far away... Christine - you are a good girl... Very good girl... Now sleep for Erik," he sighed against her and his breath warmed her jeans, "Oh, you smell so lovely, nothing of death-" he shuddered as he gave a hiccup and his voice turned into a croon, "Just sleep mon petite ange, Erik will never let you go, there's-" his body shuddered, "There's no need to fear..."

And with those words, his voice became the haunted tune she had heard in her early dreams before he became the Phantom. His darkness slowly consumed her and her body became doll-like once more.

Nadir glanced at the opulent Opera Garnier, a shining epitome of grandeur and grace. It had been a living musical hub for centuries, standing tall and proud in France's finest city, Paris. At long last, Nadir was back in France. His stomach did a little flip as he regarded the leering statues that had been lovingly crafted that adorned the roof. Hailing a taxi, he had directed the driver to his old neighbourhood in passable French. He would never have the grace Erik had in conquering languages.

His temporary accommodation was a cheaply priced hotel room, that was windowless and simply furnished. It backed onto a tightly packed road of houses that looked as fine as the decrepit hotel building he had managed to find in short notice. One of them had once been his, until he had followed the beast to the land of 'Freedom'. But he wasn't here for glamour, he was here for Christine Daae. Nadir was used to simple. He had been living in that lifestyle ever since he left Tehran, coming up to twelve years ago. Erik's generosity, he had loathed to admit it, had been of aid in supplying him of an apartment in America. Now some of Erik's blood money was supplying his own man-hunt. Nadir's lip curled at the irony and he swallowed the bitter draught in his hand along with it.

His brief stop at the Garnier on the way had proven highly useful and sent a naturally suspicious air of caution through him. Nadir could not believe his luck, for he had found the perfect occasion that would draw out the monster.

The Bal Masque was in three weeks.

And the Phantom of the Opera was sure to attend.

Honestly, that was hard to write. So many sad bits, interspersed with angst and drama. I intend to at least make up for this one next time! Poor Christine worrying about what a woman should never worry about, but it's only natural when one is being kidnapped. I am not sure if it can be classified under a T-rating, just because like drug use, I would definitely categorise it as something that younger readers should be wary of. Erik only wanted to perhaps take his mask off and he couldn't have her look at his face, so what other option was there?

Maybe not do it at all? But this is Erik we are talking about, he only wants a hug. Or a head rest when one's arms don't work.

Anyone like the butterfly connection? I sure do, Erik does love pretty things, no?

And Christine is the prettiest one of all.

I think Nadir is an interesting character because there aren't many characters like him. He's very unique. I know every character is unique, but Nadir Khan/the Persian is on a level by themselves in a way. Their driving force and motives, and his story is one that is neither wholly good or wholly bad, but the circumstances that determine what he does in his future. He can be written so tired, so weary, yet there is this energy that reminds me of someone who is bound to a master, endlessly following them for the rest of their days…Rather what Nadir does to be honest.

Ah, to explain it simply, he is a tragic character. Just like Erik. However, in one way he is to blame for his own situation, in the other, you can't help but feel sorry for him. He is compassionate – in a way like Christine at the end of the book, where they only feel horror for Erik. Something holds them (mainly Nadir) back from killing Erik, because they can see the good/potential good in him and generally want him to be happy. Thus it is a tragic circle when once again, Nadir has to follow Erik to correct his mistakes and finally realise that harm may be the only answer now to stop him.

It is a tragic story, period, yet I cannot deny how so very beautiful it is.

To quote 'That pleasure at which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.'

And it was said by none other than Edgar Allen Poe. That dude was a genius.

At least, his quotes remind me so much of Erik.

Thank you again for all your lovely reviews! They are the things that keep me going.

I will answer them when I have a spare moment (to TenthMuseSappho and Laurenvbellado). I just wanted to post this quickly because school starts next Monday and boy, it's gonna be different with Covid restrictions ect, so I don't know how much I can post (again). This is also shorter because of all the prep, my apologies. My mood also affects my writing, so in the end, this was darker than I had intended.

If you want to be extra motivating to your authoress, please do drop a little hello in the review box! It makes my day.

Thank you for reading to this point,

Enigma.