Her Angel – Chapter 14

One thing she was sure of, was that she was alone on that rooftop. The thing she had not expected, was how terribly dark it was. Cold air pinched at her bare arms and cheeks, sending lines of shivers down her spine and goose bumps rising on her skin. But her eyes were focused solely on the moon's silvery rays, which was waning but not extinguished.

She shuddered to think that had it been only a bit later in the month and the moon would have been gone, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Shivering she used her adjusting eyes to scan the rooftop. Smaller than expected, for it was only around a couple meters long. It almost seemed a pointless exercise to create it, yet Erik's design should have probably told her that everything would have a purpose one way or another. Switching her gaze to the multitude of stars she had seen similarly from her bedroom window, she wondered if the reason was to do with the telescope she had spied the time she was allowed a peek into his office.

Smooth tiles dug into her thin socks and she wished she had a pair of fluffy socks to yank over them. Forcing herself to blink away the image of her perfectly new ones that had been waiting for her at that apartment, she moved closer to the edge.

Christine peered over it, looking at the height of the manor compared to the lamplights out the front was oddly dizzying. A rough laugh bubbled from her throat.

Would Erik stop me before I would jump?

The thought disturbed her more than it should have and nervously, her footsteps retreated from the edge. The fear lurking in her heart was something she could not identify the reason for.

Moving away proved to make something shiver in the edge of her vison and she spun back to look at the edge more closely.

What was it that struck her as odd?

Something like a stone sank in her stomach at the sudden thought. Perhaps he wouldn't need to stop her, if there was some sort of prevention anyway…

Christine dropped to the tiles, on her knees searching for something that would meet her requirements. Finally, her fingers caught upon a stray leaf. She squinted at it, then back at the edge.

This would prove difficult, she knew.

Is it worth it? A frenzied feeling aimed to surge through her, but she held it at bay resolutely. Yes, I have to know! I have to know if this is as much a cage as the rest of his domain is!

What decent man would keep her trapped?

She sobered.

What man who was so lonely, so blind to this world's society and rules, see this as a crime?

Slowly, with stiff knees and joints aching at the cold, she rose, wandering closer to the edge with the leaf held between two fingers.

There was something nauseating curdled in her stomach at the drop. Christine frowned. I have never been afraid of heights before, what has changed?

I don't know.

Raising the leaf higher and ever closer to the edge, she released it and blew. It swirled for a moment, before drifting lower and lower until –

Zap!

Flinching, she stumbled backwards, this time seeing the shape of the zigzagging electricity before it could smite the leaf. Moments later floating ashes drifted in the air, not big enough to be zapped on the shield's radar. It was shifting, she noticed as she peered at it, as if there was an invisible hole it was aiming to cover. If she listened closely, there was the tiniest hum in the air. Blinking, she scanned the shield and wondered for a moment, where was the source that powered this thing.

If she could locate the power source, switch it off, then it might allow her a chance to escape!

Escape…And guarantee Mama Valerious's doom.

"No," she whispered, clutching at her hollow chest with her arms, futilely defending against the hopelessness that seemed to be closing in at all sides.

What could she do, but endanger the life she had a duty to protect. Christine had already failed Mama once and she would not do it again.

Christine writhed against her captor, her screams muffled by that grimy leather hand. His steel arms were too strong, tightening like a boa constrictor the more she struggled. Her bag wasn't there, her bag wasn't there-

"Hush, child," the warmth seeped into her like rays of a summer day, commanding her very being to stop, to relax, to breath. His Voice, that Angel had returned. A giddy smile stilled her lips. She couldn't taste the blood from where she had bit her lip from. Even her head seemed to buzz. Angel.

Angel.

Angel.

You came. Christine shut her eyes in bliss. A small placating tune whispered in her mind, for a moment she felt movement as her body seemed to sway with his. Stars and night time appeared in her mind, darkness spreading easily into her soul. Christine let out a sigh, falling from her lips as she was in the embrace of sleep.

"I had no wish to use this against you, my dear," his voice syrupy in her ear and those hands held her gently to him, as if she would fall without his support.

Her mind was still giddy, Angel. You came. You came.

The hand slowly came away from her mouth, sliding gently into a hold around her neck, "Breath, but do not speak,"

She went to nod, but the hand became firm and encouraged her to remain still. There was a niggling thought that Angels didn't exist but then that Voice spoke from the heavens again.

"You disobeyed your Angel, child," and his wrath zipped through the air like currents of electricity, zapping the ends of her nerves and she willed her body to remain compliant.

"That does not go unpunished, you have shamed yourself and your devotion to me," a small whimper of terror hummed in her throat, and there was a smile in his voice as he said, "Ah, but you see, if I do not punish you at all, you would think it acceptable to shun your craft. The very Angel you asked for. Do you wish for me to go to heaven, child?"

The hand relaxed and blearily she shook her head. Dream or fantasy?

"No? Then you shall have to repay such debt. The Angel of Music does not tolerate deception," the hand tightened slightly, before it paused and gave her crystal throat a languid stroke. Despite his Voice, something jerked at this and the arm around her abdomen squeezed a warning.

"Hush, child," he commanded gently again, sending peace through her body like a drug.

"You will stand and wait, until I return," his voice slid into her, stealing away resistance and deadening her muscles until they were stiff. She could stand, without his support.

The bands of metal slipped away and dazedly, her eyes opened looking at the moon illuminating the sky. Her body, however stayed still.

There was a vague sense of wrongness, but her body resolutely obeyed the Angel's command, unwilling to move – and the sky was so pretty. Her mind seemed to move sluggishly, logic too far away to reach and the sensation of the air breezing past the sweat on the back of her neck the only sensations to concentrate on. Odd sounds of crickets clicked in her ears, small light touches of the breeze, heart pumping lazily and the motion of her listless swaying. There was no telling how long she spent in that state of apathy. Distantly, there was a tune wailing higher and higher.

Music. It was music.

Her swaying came to a slow halt.

Distinctively rock.

She blinked. That was rock music.

It was wrong. A finger twitched, straining against the spell of which held her body captive.

Something was wrong. Her nostrils flared after another moment, tugging her muscles into action.

Salt, vinegar. The chips we shared for lunch. We…We…We…

Her hands gradually curled into fists, discordant information traveling to her mind.

Move, move, move! I need to move. I need my -

Angel – Voice – Obey –

Erik.

Erik.

Erik.

Awareness of the danger resurged, terror swimming it's way to her stomach and the need to run like tidal waves.

Run.

Her neck clicked painfully as she managed to gain the strength to finally move her limbs, willing them from the haze of Erik's influence induced. It was like wading through tonnes of mud, but finally, she cracked its grip and her knees slammed into the grass, giving out over the conflicting instructions her body had been given. Gasping, she pulled much needed air into her lungs, the sheer amount of effort that it required to break that drug winding her.

Who in the holy hell had that sort of power with just a voice?

Christine started to crawl, legs moaning in protest after her muscles had been suspended in that position for an indefinite period. Mud sucked at her fingers, but she didn't care how they sank slightly into the ground, the overriding goal of scrabbling to find her bag in the darkness.

Her bag which contained the means to calling the police.

There was no way she was ever going back to that sociopath.

No matter what, she would get away from him! Him and that goddamned voice!

That dreadfully beautiful voice.

"Stop," words that were sharpened with ice, impaled her and she found that she could no longer move her legs, her hands suddenly bearing the brunt of her weight. She shrieked out in panic, "RAOUL! HELP! I-"

"Quiet!" Erik hissed and she found herself stuttering, fumbling for words.

How was this possible?

She would have screamed in surprise, when those arms gripped her from behind, yanked her from the ground as she were nothing more than an errant dog or stray cat. Her body was heaved into the set of bony arms. His leering mask eyed her cruelly. No words trailed out, frozen by his wrathful command.

"I had hoped the illusion would be enough of a measure, but it seems we shall have to install another method," his eyes dropped to hers and fear clamped in her gut. The shift in the air around her told her that they were moving.

Raoul. The quiet voice in her head whimpered.

"There was no need to disobey me," he continued, quieter now. They seemed to be heading for the line of trees and she craned her head to see if her bag was left behind. However, the arms squeezed around her again warningly and she returned to her original position. Ground swayed underfoot as Erik's lithe gait ate up the distance.

"You must know, that it was only precautionary that I installed it within you," at this beard of his mask whispered in the breeze that picked up and she tried to hide her confusion, "I had not realised that you had the defiance to risk havoc that I can cause," he paused, golden orbs strangely gleaming as he made eye contact, sending her stomach turning, "I have never seen such a fight before. You do truly have something to be nurtured. Not just everyone can achieve what you did, my dear,"

Christine pressed her lips together in order to keep the tears at bay, glancing to the stadium that was almost indistinct on the horizon. Raoul. Oh Raoul, what have I done?

He chuckled, mistaking her frown for one of confusion, "Only one has ever been so near to breaking such a spell. Tell me, what is it that allowed you to break from it? You have the most unique mind. To fall so quickly, only to break it so easily. What is the point of that I wonder?" he questioned and Christine felt another trill of fear as those eyes eagerly devoured her form lying in his arms, "And we shall have a glorious time in my home. Do you prefer shellfish or that fattening garbage called 'burgers' for lunch?" when she only stared at him, he seemed to shrug, "Very well, I see you are undecided. I suppose both will do tomorrow,"

"I have class tomorrow," she said dumbly, words returning to her.

He cackled gleefully, "Oh my dear, you do realise that it is a Sunday tomorrow, don't you?"

Sunday. The implications tremored through her.

"I have an English essay due on Monday-"

"Nonsense, you will be with Erik," he interrupted. The trees parted at last, with a small clearing revealing itself. Naturally, a black phantom vehicle hid within the treeline. He stopped, looking down at her caught tightly in his arms. With a chill in his voice that would make an ordinary man shiver, he said, "If you try to run, this will become that much more unpleasant for you, do you understand?"

Her whole body shook at those words, but managed a nod, forcing the innocence into her expression.

Erik narrowed his cold, amber-ringed eyes, "I am not inclined to believe you after your recent behaviour," Somehow the soft sotto voice was flecked with pain and some unknown thing twisted in her upper chest.

He continued in the absence of her answer, the slightest shift in his grip alerting her of the danger that crept into the air, "…However, it is not yourself you are protecting. May I remind you that your dear is within my care?"

Ice filled her at the thought of the light of the poor woman's cosy fire being extinguished. Two hunks of men dragging out of her apartment, to be taken to god's-knows-where in terrible conditions…She knew then the fear had crept to her eyes, as abruptly he set her down. Christine winced as her already bruised knees got jarred again, before unsteadily rising. She heard the car being blipped, but she turned her head in the direction of the stadium – only the lights she could see in the sky as if they were searching for her. As if Raoul was searching for her. Her breath stuck in her throat as she longed to careen into him and never let go. To follow him from this darkness that haunted her with every step. That for a while, she would only hear they laughter they shared that would burn out the remaining blight.

"Christine," Erik snapped abruptly, dragging her wide eyes back to his. His black clad hands held the front passenger door for open her, comforting leather seats and soft lights waiting for her to board.

Christine shot a glance back to the outside world for just a bit too long, earning a low rumble from Erik, before she quickly ducked inside.

She rattled the handle of the door again, metal biting into her fingers.

"This got un-funny a lot time ago!" she yelled, knowing he knew exactly where she was. He controlled everything – the doors, the people, her voice even – and never for one moment did he let her forget that.

Christine finally let her frozen hand drop, shivering against the breeze that whisked along the rooftop as the night grew steadily longer.

Maybe she should have stayed, if only then she would have been able to be locked inside of her room, rather than spend it outside like a dog languishing in a kennel. Raoul wouldn't do that to her.

"Oh Raoul," his name slipped from her lips, a plea. A prayer that was never heard.

Her body sank back into the shelter of the door. Curling into crevice that it provided, she slid to the glacial ground. Wearily, she rested her head against the shelter's protection. Feebly her arms they wrapped around her legs, letting her curls fall across her face as she huddled towards the entrance.

Desperately, Christine wished for the warmth of Raoul's fleeting embrace.

At some point, she had grown used to the arrows of pain nipping at her skin. At some point, the goose bumps had grown into racking shivers. At some point the whisper of the breeze had mercilessly tore into her, finding passage through the thin fabric that provided the perfect target. At some point, her teeth had stopped chattering. At some point moonbeams danced across the roof.

Numbness crept through her limbs, reaching her spine even though there was no relief. Sleep teased at her eyes and she fought to keep them open, knowing that to lose consciousness when she was so so cold.

"E-rik," she croaked, "E-rik," his name was a mockery of the beauty that he graced her name with.

"Erik!" pushing the last shout from her diaphragm, her last dose of energy was whisked away into the unforgiving grasp of the night.

She waited. Seconds slipped by endlessly.

Who was she kidding? Erik hated her now, she was sure. Never had his punishment been so extreme.

There was no reply minutes later. At last she gave up, slumping over and burying her head in the nest of her arms.

Sleep was the only other embrace she knew.

At some point, she was aware of approaching footsteps and made the slightest flinch away when those dark trousers came into view.

"Oh my dear Christine," came that reverent whisper laced with the world's remorse.

She shrunk away from him, heart stirring awake at the sound of his voice.

"Forgive your Erik," his tortured voice scalded her ears, that earnest plead willing her to forget his crimes against her. The sound of his knees dropping to the tiles cracked painfully in her ears and she tried to squeeze her eyes shut.

Just a nightmare.

I am going to wake up.

Just a nightmare.

I am going to wake up. Raoul will be with me, sun will peek through the blinds. He will lean over and place a kiss on my lips and I will comment on his morning breath. We'll laugh. We'll live.

We'll take what little we deserve.

Christine whimpered as the codling warmth of a blanket was placed over her.

Her head turned, away from Erik – away from the nightmare.

"Take me home," she rasped, "Please take me - home," she sniffed away a sob.

Erik's broken sigh told her all she needed to know.

Erik's presence hummed nearby, ever present since she had requested it after the incident in the lounge. Could she care anymore that his company soothed the weeping hole in her heart? That for a few moments, her voice flew straight and true? Her mind was finally free.

Was she using him? Using him as her own freedom in this unwitting cage?

"Ma colombe, whatever is the matter?" Erik's hands slowed on the keys, playing becoming softer to allow her to speak. His voice no longer lapped upon the waves of her mind, the traces of the Angel had seeped out of the persona that was only Erik.

Not to say that his voice wasn't beautiful. Erik's tenor tones lived with the touch of music life had gifted him. The Voice however, was used as a weapon to pacify and drug. As if he had absorbed the powers of Dracula and if he spoke to you, he would make you bend like he was a God. No, even after their trials here in this house, this countryside, his shelter, the Voice was a 'last case emergency' as she had so dubbed it. That wasn't protection, per se, but much better than his tricking her whenever he deemed appropriate.

Christine hated the deceit, in the corner of her eye the black mask loomed. Of course, she knew with increasing desperation that she needed to be able to identify him.

When they came and rescued her, when- if he escaped, she would have to describe his face, Christine would have to identify him.

Yet she trembled at the thought.

When Erik's eyes bored into her, she knew that she would have to answer. He had noticed too much to let it slide.

"I know it's slightly rainy outside, but may we go for a walk? I'll wear the floral anorak you bought for me," her voice was swallowed by the room.

It startled her when she saw the hunch leave his shoulders in surprise and something in her heart swirled at the sight. It was as if those few words were enough to change him. How could she revel over that change when those eyes gleamed with such earnest adoration? With a mere few words of companionship he was another person. There was a tonality that made his soft voice golden.

"What a wonderful idea," such pleasure at that voice ran through her that she almost wondered at how he would be like if she did truly love him as much as he claimed he did for her?

Perish the thought, Christine Daae! Came the cry of outrage in her mind. But what if he could be better?

She shuttered away the thoughts when they left the music room, allowing him to unhook the anorak from the hook and hold open the coat for her. Although the muscles in her heart clenched, slowly she put her arms through the sleeves, not missing the little distance between them. Electricity was static in the air and she hurried to regain her remoteness as they walked out of the front doors, her shoes ringing out on the marble steps. Her brow furrowed as he opened and closed the arching with ease, for whenever she had tried it before it had been locked. No doubt it was one of his magician's tricks. Abjectly, she wondered that if she had managed to get a magic kit when she was younger, she would have had a better idea on how such magic worked. Of course, her Papa had been little able to afford much else than the basic necessities. Even the angel lamp had been from a musty second-hand store. The violin that he kept had been their prized possession. His father – her grandfather Adalbert– had once played with it on the streets for a pretty penny, and had often used his savings keeping it in pristine condition. A small twinge in her gut told her that it had been too long since she had polished its silken wood and played a novice tune on its rosined strings.

It had been meant for an artist like Erik, rather than a daughter who could barely look at its battered case and wipe away the dust collected from the box she resolutely kept it in.

Of course, now it was on another continent.

Erik's elbow jutted into view. Christine stifled an ashamed wince when she realised his silent invitation.

Reluctantly, her pale fingers landed on the crook of his arm.

The stones crunched underfoot reminded the crunch of the metal door from the rooftop. That particular incident hadn't been discussed much after he had carried her off the roof. It had only been two days ago, but she could still feel the chill of which had buried into her bones and how he had put her before the fire in his very own armchair. Erik had been her diligent 'servant', pleading for little things to do in order make up for his behaviour of cruelly shutting her outside. Obviously, gifts had come fourth the very next day and finally she had set them down looking into his skittish eyes.

"This is enough," her voice resonated.

She could see his swallow, his shifting body as it seemed to hunch as if waiting for the infliction of pain. His black sheaf of hair looked stuck as his head bowed subtly.

Christine sighed, placing the diamond earrings aside. She had to not think of the exorbitant amount they must have cost. "I forgive you Erik," she tried to think that the words didn't taste bitter on her mouth, or that they sat on an uneasy plane of her heart.

Yellow eyes jumped to her, pinning her in place with the subtle narrowing of his eyes, "You do not mean that. You hate Erik," there was no spite in his voice, just statements as if he had recited them to himself more times than he could count.

She winced, feeling another sting and unable to truly categorise why, "I- I-" she cleared her throat, even though Erik disapproved of such an action since it was detrimental to her voice, he said nothing. Merely watching with that wary curiosity.

"I don't forgive you," the words were heavy in her mouth and she wished she had the strength not to say them. That there was something in her that couldn't allow her to forgive him. But she wasn't unbendable. She could snap. She could not forgive and forgive as if grudges were a sin. Resentment and upsets were part of human nature. Forgiveness was something she knew, knew her father had always been capable of – the good Christian he was – but with a heavy heart she had to admit that she was not the perfect person her father had been.

Maybe that's why religion, Christianity, seemed so superficial to her.

Had it saved her father? Had he sent her an angel?

No.

She wouldn't live a lie.

"But," and here, she met those eyes that seemed so dim, "At least explain why you did such a thing. You have no chance for me to forgive you if you never say why,"

At this his whole countenance stiffened, fingers automatically tightening, posture straightening. He seemed to turn away to the window slightly, eyes roving over the hills even though they were no different from yesterday.

"I do not –" he paused, seemingly lost for words. A frustrated huff left him, shoulders curling inward, "Shall we not forget about it?"

Go back to that daydream when everything was ok.

Christine pursed her lips, "No. I can't allow it. I can't allow everything to keep going as they are. That if you make a mistake that I'll never know what I did wrong. I can't live with anything else unknown," she was perching at the end of the sofa, hands folded in the semblance of calm.

Erik let out a shuddering sigh, "I cannot promise the explanation will be pleasant,"

Nothing about this situation is, her mind commented snidely. Christine tilted her head expectantly, shoving the errant thought away, "Go on," she mimicked his sigh, "I am tired of all these secrets," a weary hand rubbed her temple.

"I was…Displeased," he grated out.

"And?" she drew out, feeling much older than the 'adult' of the situation. She was reminded of that 'episode', the way he seemed so much a child.

Perhaps he had some growing up to do, as much as his knowledge indicated his age. It was hard to tell his age, yet if she had to guess, it would be between late thirties at the least and fifty at the most. His slicked back hair had a little bit too much shine and little movement, when the skin was an odd pigment which was an obvious medical condition. His mask seemed to be the perfect barrier in telling his true age, allowing him the decency of the benefit of the doubt when they saw him from afar and the elegant grace he excluded befitting of a younger man.

Practically the span of fifteen years.

Why she needed to take. Off. That. Mask.

But what if her action made him regress once more? What if he grew violent? It was just a mask, yet the way he guarded himself made it seem like his own very Achille's heel. Of course, she was wary about it, but it seemed like each day she drew closer to considering the idea. If she never reached for it, what would be the consequences?

What if Raoul came to her rescue somehow and never believed her that it was this man!

"And…" reluctance twitched in his jaw urging her recount her choice, "I disliked being ran from. Intensely," the latter half could be considered a growl.

Shame crept onto her cheeks, feeling the need to apologise for causing him distress. He had been there for her once. Had listened to her. Had played for her. Had taught her, taught her so she could get where she needed to be. Lights glaring and audiences swooning. There was only a vague disappointment that she never truly got to sing for them, that she had been cast into a silent role. But she had been there, the second lead role as 'Il Muto' which was also referred once as Quinto. Christine had never been able to sing, not even a tiny solo. Carla had truly been viciously pleased at that. She often used particular jab, sniggering that 'piccola Maria' (little Maria), a young soprano with only a slightly too heavy vibrato who sang as a maid to the Countess, was more pleasant to listen to and was truly able to sing.

Even while she had told herself that Carla was one spiteful toad, tears had still fallen later when she was alone. Erik had often made her feel better with his rare compliments after she had eased his need for revenge with a few soothing comments.

That didn't mean Carla didn't suffer from numerous pranks however that Erik considered 'harmless'. She hadn't personally thought that a dozen carcasses of spiders spread into a message of 'Boo' in her dressing room was particularly harmless (at least for the spiders that Erik later ominously confirmed as previously deceased), or her shoes had been doused in a chemical that made rashes crawl up her legs, or that a certain pin had been placed 'accidentally' in her costumes that was near a fairly important artery had pierced her skin, lived up to that categorisation.

She had never truly heard a confession of guilt, though it had been seen as plainly as the sight of his mask when she had heard his tone and gleaming eyes.

Not to mention that 'Boo' and ghost were of notoriously similar origins. And that no one else had the biggest motive other than he.

Christine's eyes drifted downwards, observing the interweaving flowers of his carpet and the centred black rose.

"I overstepped my bounds," she murmured, gnawing on her lip, "I needed space," Yes, because raising a comforting hand to a fraudulent, kidnapping murderer was not exactly healthy.

Erik gave a contemptuous sniff and Christine had not expected the sting of it, or the darkening flush of anger. "And should I need 'space', I certainly do not go screaming and running away, do I?" he sneered.

Her jaw clenched against the wave of agonising heat of her mistake, before reminding herself that she was not the villain here.

"And I do not shut you outside, barely clad, for hours!" fire forked within her words.

"If you had not ran away, then there had been no need for that!" his voice rose snarling, eyes flickering.

"You never apologised," she retorted silkily, folding her arms across her chest.

Erik stilled, his ire transforming into cold rage, "I believe I have asked for your forgiveness for that,"

Yes, it's all you do! Her mind growled in return and her head turned sharply, focusing on the golden tassel of velvet cushion.

"Asking for forgiveness is different from apologising, Erik," Christine replied testily.

She missed the tense shift of his shoulders, "I have never apologised,"

For a moment, she was too stunned for words.

Never apologised?

She wrinkled her nose, "What about as a child? You couldn't have gone through childhood without saying sorry at least once," her eyes skittered to his silhouette, gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back. Breakfast was hours ago.

Erik gave a dark chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine, "No, I did not say 'sorry' during my childhood," the words were tainted with distaste.

Something told her she didn't want to know more, yet the question left her mouth before she had time to stop herself, anger melting into - dare she admit it - morbid curiosity, "What was your childhood like?"

Time froze.

For a moment she swore the air dropped a few degrees. Chilly yellow eyes regarded her, slits that reminded her of a predator, "You would not wish to hear of my youth. I do not recommend asking such a foolish question again," his arms folded carefully across his chest.

Foolish! Nerve tingling anger rose at that patronising tone and she tried in vain to push it away. To remain calm.

"You do not know everything," she muttered bitterly, stomping to the door, "I won't deal with this – your behaviour is intolerable,"

It was when her hand clasped on the handle, did she stop and turn. Needing to say something, when nothing felt as if they had changed.

Forlornly, she gazed at his figure, cutting black and spectrally thin, "I don't know what kind of life you've had, but I'm sorry it's not been a happy one," she paused, heart hammering, eyes not even daring to meet his, "Maybe in another world, you would have had everything you wanted," her eyes travelled to his shoulder, "Maybe things would have been different," she gained the courage to meet the hot gaze upon her, "But, if you treated me as you have in this life, nothing would have changed,"

Her eyes adverted, knowing that somehow, if she looked at him she would see the terrible damage of those words. She was not ready to bear the burden of that.

No. I won't.

Christine swivled to the door, walking out as if she was triumphant in her delivery of these fatal blows.

However, when the door was shut, it was all she could do not to despair about the life that never was.

XxX

Woah! An update so soon? Yes, it seems MY OWN CLIFF HANGERS actually motivated me far more than expected this week…Weird huh? (AND because I've managed to get a little bit of a lighter load on the ol' homework)

My apologies for not replying personally, but WOW thank you all again for the amazing, astounding reviews; TheTenthMuseSappho, Chevesic, LoreLorelei and Batty Dings! WE PASSED THE FIFTY MARK WOOOOOOT YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! They make my eyes light up like Erik's ha ha. I know other stories have gotten more than mine, but every review makes my day and helps me to continue! I want to give you as many chocolates as I can…:D

(Sorry for not replying sooner Sappho, I promise to do so when a whole chunk of time is available.)

I'm not completely happy with this, but … there's not much I can do…I hope it's good anyway!

OOO, what's up with Christine and masks huh? It aint looking good.

Did you think that Christine standing up to Erik is a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

What about the ending to the music festival and Erik's voice…I always felt this with Leroux, and Kay that their voices had such a unique quality that they WOULD make you do anything – especially Kay. But, did you notice the unique twist on the famed music of the night pose? Hehe ;P

I plan to make the FIFTEENTH chapter a little bit special. Chevesic might be able to guess what this might be from their previous review. However, I do hope to post again soon…

Also, I need a tinsy bit of help from YOU – how are you all feeling about Erik – love him, hate him, or somewhere in between? I would dearly love to hear from you! Please!

Happy November to you all! Gosh, I love this season sometimes. So Many Colours!

P.s Quinto is actually an Italian name (Il Muto is 'The Mute' in Italian for those who didn't know) and Quinto means 'filth'. Honestly, I thought it fitting and Carla would definitely get a kick out of it…since Erik would have thought it would be the 'ideal' role for Carla! AND Gustaf/Gustaff is actually an old Swedish name too! I can't remember if Leroux or ALW made that up, (I think it's Leroux) but yeah! (the common spelling – Gustav/Gustave wasn't there however!) Also the French colombe means dove – just so you don't haveta look it up :) Sorry about using other bits of French I haven't given a translation for!

Disclaimer: NO PARTS FROM THE MUSICAL'S CREATOR'S MUSICAL 'IL MUTO' IS MINE. I HAVE BEEN TAKING ARTISTIC LIBERTY WITH ADDING THINGS IN. DON'T SUE ME.

Please?

Anyway, I'll stop rambling.

Night all! And thank you!

Enigma.