Due to the fact there is no present occurrences in this chapter, the italics has been missed. To clarify, this all happens in the past.

Enjoy,

Enigma.

P.S The first POV is from a character we haven't heard much from until now, so don't be alarmed. ;)

Their Discovery – Chapter 17

It was nearing morning when he found it, laying abandoned on the grassy bank.

"She was here," he rasped, hefting up Christine's rucksack from where it lay in the dew-wet mud, the pounding of his heart a dull roar. Dawn peaked the sky, the slight breeze ruffling his hair. When he raised his eyes, the clouds reflected the rose of her lips. Something hard coiled within a subtle tightening that was underlying all the pent-up worry and torture his mind had been in for the last seven hours. Searching for her.

Raoul tasted salt on his lips as he wet them, fingers unzipping her violet rucksack to find any trace of her whereabouts. He cursed when he saw her phone tucked neatly inside one pocket. Weary fingers from gripping a torch switched the phone on, stifling the urge to impatiently bounce on the balls on his feet while it took an age to boot up. It was an old model (the cracked screen and peeling case was only more evidence of this), and a little nagging guilt urged him to consider adding a new phone to the list of present ideas for her birthday.

Would she accept it? No. Would he give it to her anyway to see that smile and blush? Any day.

His heart thumped at the thought. Everyday, if I could see that impish grin of hers. To see her so near before –

The phone buzzed awake, finally revealing the lock screen. He blinked. It was a collage, at first all he recognised were that there were words in different languages. Some were English however (seeming that though she had tried to find them in their native tongue, not all google images met the same requirements). He recognised the French, after all, he did like to pride himself on knowing his native-land's language. Not that Miss Weaver had ever told him that he was excellent at it; no, she only reserved those kinds of comments for the real French kids.

There were a few couplets he did know, only of a minimalist education of opera for the theatre that they were funding, that alluded to the fact they were from arias. One specifically caught his eye however and made his heart clench, "Ah, come back again as you were then, then when I gave you my heart, Ah, come back to me…".

Pushing past the wave of whatever it was he felt, he saw on her notifications that she had a dozen missed calls. Frowning, he peered closer. All of them were private – no number was there.

It wasn't someone she knew and there had been quite persistent to leave twenty calls on her phone. Was it the college?

His jaw clenched as he glared at the wide space around him and the prickle of air on his arms. Or maybe it was from a freak which had stolen her. How in the hell he had gotten her number, he had no idea.

But it was worth a trip to the police.

"I'm sorry son, but has she been missing for twenty four hours?" the officer chewed on the end of his pencil, moustache wiggling like a squirrel. The droning of people hummed all around them, shouts and bells ringing somewhere. It stank of smoke, weed and unwashed bodies.

And it was doing nothing for his foul mood.

He refused to growl in frustration, instead leaning further over the desk with his hands planted down, "It has nothing to do with 'how long she's been missing'. Christine vanished from the stadium and when I found her bag, lying in the middle of the field mind you – as if she had been dragged – her phone was still inside!"

The man leant back in his chair mildly, the pencil careening up and down as he rolled it between his teeth, "And this couldn't have been because of a fight or anything between the two of you? No drunkenness, or wander'in hands that she might have got bit freaked out about?"

Raoul's eyes flashed furiously at the implication, "We are very good friends, and I resent your implication Officer," he spat. Had his cheeks heated in anger or something else? It mattered little now.

The man sighed, eyeing the cigarette pack lying innocently on the desk, before returning to Raoul, "Look kid, we get these cases all the time. Give it a day or two and she'll turn up right as rain. You youngsters have fights all the time. Give it a break,"

"You're not listening to me!" Raoul's hands slapped the counter, almost sending a stack of papers flying, "She was acting all freaked out, as if someone was following her. Calling her name and all that stuff, she could be in serious danger here," he insisted.

The cop's eyes steeled a warning, arms crossing and sitting up, "Look here, it seems like your girl is either had a bit too much of all the smokes, needs to see someone from psych in a hospital or will turn up one way or another. Now I suggest," he rose and Raoul's hands vanished quickly from the worktop, "That you get out of here and when you see her again, you sign her into your nearest mental hospital,"

The man's beefy hand snatched the box of cigarettes, bounced the pencil in his mouth once more and started to head to the staff back doors.

"Hey! Wait, you son of a-" his fist banged against the bell, again and again until the officer swivelled around, tall shoulders broader than his, "If you wanna keep doing that son, I'll be happy to lock you up for that until your rich brother comes to bail you out, for harassment and insulting an officer,"

He removed the chipped pencil end from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear, moustache writhing and those ugly fingers clenched around the box.

Phil would be pissed if he had to come and bail him out. And he couldn't risk losing his brother's support. Not now. Not when Christine was in danger.

Raoul raised his hands in surrender and stepped away, biting back the words, 'Happy now? You horrible piece of cow manure,'

The man's eyes glinted, "Good choice, kid," with this, he turned around and started whistling a tune that grated on his ears.

What Raoul really wanted to know was how exactly did someone use their lips to whistle under all that hair?

Meg had no knowledge of Christine's whereabouts either and was extremely alarmed to hear about Christine's sudden vanishing act, when Raoul knocked on the door of her dorms later that afternoon. The girl had just gotten back from an all-day rehearsal for their autumnal performance, already slightly worried from not hearing from her after knowing about her plans with a 'friend'. Raoul attempted not to grimace at the obvious friend-zoning message, yet he knew that had they been able to finish their splendid date, he knew that a kiss would not have been far from the horizon. Or several kisses if he had been lucky. There was something there in those chocolate eyes he had been thrilled to coax out with their time alone, each consecutive date that they made, he felt the desire to kiss her grow. God, she was alone and had no one! Why wouldn't he want to show her someplace that held love once more?

Of course, he recognised Meg's influence (though they had only ever been talked about through Christine, he knew that the girl had recognised him and had welcomed him into her dorm), the carefree attitude that looked adorable on Christine had originated from the rambunctious dancer. Though he hadn't been there for the death of her father, his father thought that boarding school had been a great idea when they recognised the tell-tale signs of infatuation and therefore sent him on a plane to it the end of that summer, leaving no room for goodbyes or exchanging contact details. He knew Phil had a sort of sympathy to the girl, even his hard-chiselled manner had been slightly taken with the spirited little fairy that had made his charge so spellbound. But he could still see the touch of grief that had darkened her bouncy curls, the quiet reserved-ness he had always seen as a child and desperately charmed away by games that played to her strength of imagination. He admittedly enjoyed them too. Far too much, really.

Meg got Raoul a drink from her small fridge, popping the can open and pouring it into a glass. Both of them could taste the tension and the call of a routine edged them back within a more comfortable zone. On a strict diet herself, she filled her glass with cool bottled water and she nodded to the living room. They came to perch on the sofa, mimicking a semblance of normalcy.

Meg finally gave him a longer look, assessing him with an unreadable expression. Her smile seemed almost tight, "It's nice to finally meet you Raoul, I wish it would be under better circumstances," her hands clenched slightly around her glass and she took a sip, distaste resting on her face when she realised she needed something slightly stronger, "I wouldn't normally say this, but I think we should skip the small talk and get straight to the problem," her body leaned towards him, earnest worry finally cracking through and her blue eyes met his, "What happened?"

It felt like torture to relay what had happened, how he had lost Christine in the crowd, how hoarse his voice had gone when continued to call for her, how long it had taken before he finally realised she was gone, but couldn't give up on the matter.

Meg listened mostly, pensive questions here and there that would gain a yes or no answer, and then he would continue. When he finished he clasped his drink and took a swallow, feeling the bubbling sprite burn his throat and sit on his chest uncomfortably.

Slipping Christine's phone from his pocket he handed it to her, its battery's percentage slipping ever lower as the day drew on.

Meg's wide eyes caught his, "She left that with you?"

He shook his head softly, "It was in her bag, along with her dorm key and other bits. I plan on sleeping there tonight in case she turns up and she can't get in-"

Meg was already shaking her head, "No, I have a free morning tomorrow; I will keep an eye out for her. And she'll know to knock on mine – she knows my schedule,"

"I was hoping you'd be able to get into her phone," Raoul gestured to the device resting limply in Meg's hands.

Meg glanced at Raoul, raising one eyebrow slightly, "You've already tried?" it wasn't really a question.

His hand sheepishly scratched his neck, "It locked me out. I didn't try after that,"

Meg gave a small snort, "No kidding. I know what it is anyway,"

Meg woke up the phone with a tap, before sliding in the digits of her password.

The buzz of it telling her it was incorrect cause a frown to mire her face. If one looked closely, they could say she looked like the great Ballet Mistress Madame Giry – who was a quite a sought after figure in the arts - and quickly work out the family connection. But instead, Raoul leant forward, mirroring her scowl.

"Huh, that's never happened before," Meg muttered, turning on the lamp beside her before putting another combination in. Blue skies had faded into grey storm clouds, which were starting to swirl overhead, casting shadows over the windows plunging the apartment sharply in darkness. Raoul got up and sauntered to the light switch for the room, unable to cope with just the one amber lamp glaring at him. By the time he sat down, Meg was waiting for the 'timeout' to deplete after using up her first couple of tries.

However, three indignant phone-shakes later, Meg gave a cry of frustration, "She never changes her password! That girl hasn't changed it for the last five, why is she doing it now?"

"It could be to do with those private calls," Raoul murmured thoughtfully.

"Private calls?" Meg questioned, leaning forward.

Raoul looked up from where he had been staring, "When I first checked her phone there were a lot of missed calls from a private number, but by the time I next checked her phone they'd vanished," his brow furrowed, "Obviously, I couldn't get into her phone to check her call records or trace where the number has come from…But it might have something to do with the fact she's been taken," he theorised.

Meg looked back down at the phone, eyes widening slightly now, "No – I can't believe it-"

"Believe what?" Raoul craned his head to see what Meg was seeing, "It's just the lock screen,"

"Yes, but what the lock screen is – I know it,"

"What do you mean?" Raoul persisted.

Meg was shaking her head dazedly, "These are opera couplets! Opera couplets,"

"Yeah and what does it matter?" he border-line snapped, feeling the helpless feeling rise in his chest. No, he would not be useless in this. Useless in losing her.

Meg narrowed her eyes at him and he had the decency to be ashamed. Running a hand tiredly through his hair he apologised, "Sorry Meg, I know you've been trying to help. That was rude of me. I'm just running on no sleep at the moment, but that's no excuse –"

A pale hand reached over and squeezed his. Slowly, he raised his head to meet Meg – who was giving him a tender look, "Christine is lucky to have you. Most guys wouldn't be doing what you are right now," he went to speak, but she cut him off kindly, "Now shall I explain?"

Raoul nodded, ready to listen.

Meg took another sip of water, before setting the phone down and clasping her hands together, "Christine, gosh, when I first saw her, I knew she needed a friend. Desperately. Not that I knew she really needed that – I was just drawn to her. There was something so – so lonely – about her, you know? And I wanted her not to be. Simple as that," she shrugged, a small smile glancing her face.

"I could have had anyone as a friend, I was only slightly spotty when I started Middle School and was great at PE – and you can know the rest from that. But, she was truly an opera gal, constantly listening to it while it belted out of her headphones – do you know how many times I had to tell her to turn it down?" she sighed, gingerly brushing away a strand of straight hair from her eyes, before continuing, "She would race home to sing while her dad played. Christine was so happy when she talked about Opera, all these great tragic stories with dashing romance and secrets and mysteries…Christine lived in her own head and I often had to protect her from those who hated that. If I hadn't had a good reputation well, I can say our time wouldn't have been so pretty,"

Raoul nodded grimly, "Yes, I know what you mean," while he hadn't been cruel to those not in the hockey team or the ones that permanently resided in the library with too large glasses and pale skin, he had known that they often had targets painted on their backs.

"It grew cut-throat when her father suddenly passed and as how it is, the rumours had started within that very night. By the end of the week Christine had moved in with Ma and me, but I knew she never got over it, not the comments, the looks that condemned as much as pitied," Meg swallowed, "Opera vanished within a night and it was a subject to be avoided at all costs. She never screamed, she never cried really. Only little snuffles at night when the dreams came," her eyes shut briefly and the tapping of rain began on the window panes, "Gradually, she began to sing again – never quite how she did before – but maybe after a year or so, I heard her singing," the smile was bitter, "When I congratulated her on her stunning rendition of 'Oh Holy Night' I didn't once hear her sing again when I was around. I knew she did, at points. There was always this weird sort of vibe – like an unsettled melancholy – that was stopping her from something," Meg gave a helpless shrug, "I'm no big thinker like she is – she could go on for hours about this and that, why that is bad, what is this like and all that jazz. I often felt she was on a whole other world from me. I even grew so jealous once I read her diary to try and figure out what she was thinking," Raoul could see the guilt etched in that sardonic grin.

Raoul felt a pang of compassion for Meg, who had borne the brunt of a grieving girl, when he had been off on an all-paid plane trip to a boarding school.

"I know Christine stopped writing her dairy in front of me after that, however I also think she stopped altogether. It was my fault. But," she looked out of the window, "A teacher told her that she had good writing skills after an exam and pushed her to start writing for herself creatively. That and art, which was always something I noticed even before her father and which had nothing to do with it. I think that's why she carried on with it, it didn't remind her much of him so it was easy to do something without the pain,"

The rain pounded harder at the windows, thumping against the glass. Meg set down her glass and picked up the phone again, "So you see, the reason why I was so shocked is because I haven't seen this picture in years,"

"I'm surprised you still remember it if it was so long ago," Raoul murmured.

Meg huffed laughter, nowhere near carefree, but somewhat less forced than it had been earlier, "Best friends don't forget these things, I promise you,"

His lips curled upwards ever so slightly, "I have no doubt about it,"

He was just about to discuss their plan of action and exchanging contact details when a shrill phone wail stopped all thought.

Raoul looked apologetically at Meg and took out his phone, wincing at the name angrily flashing at him.

"I've got to take care of this, please excuse me," Raoul stood while Meg nodded, who then rose to take their finished drinks to the sink.

Shutting the white door behind him he answered the call, having no time to speak before his brother's rang out.

"Raoul Aurélien Marceau Vincent De Changy!" Phillipe scolded down the receiver, "You cannot just play hooky, being half the face of this company, when you feel like it! You missed three meetings, a pre-tour with the company coming in to advertise for us and forgot to order the audits for one of our smaller branches. Where in the hell have you been!" Raoul held the phone away from his face, flinching at the tone.

"Christine is missing," Raoul hissed in a low tone, glancing down the hallway to make sure it was empty, before putting the phone back to his ear, "I have spent all of last night and all day trying to search for her,"

"She's missing?" Raoul heard the wheels of his chair move and heard Phil call out to his secretary, "Daniel, push back my meetings for half an hour. There's a family emergency I need to take care of," another squeal of the wheels and he heard the phone being picked up again, "Now tell me what happened,"

Raoul smiled a little, feeling a relief wash over him. Even a major CEO with jobs coming out for his ears, Phil would still put time aside for his brother - and the people he felt he had a duty to.

He hadn't lost his brother in the way he had lost his father.

"You know we went to the festival, right?"

"Yes, you said about taking her there," Phil affirmed.

"Well, we were at the festival and the next thing I know she's disappeared from the stadium. When I reported it, they made a public announcement and they sent a small search party out when she didn't come back after three hours, but they gave up pretty quickly. Instead, I spent hours searching for her with my torch and eventually I found her bag a few fields away. When she was with me before she had started shaking and thought someone was trying to get her. Some bastard has taken her, I know it!" he exclaimed, voice still rough from the lack of sleep.

"Woah woah, calm down. What's all story about this man taking her? Really, do you even have any proof of this?"

Raoul clamped down the feeling of defensiveness, knowing that if he tried to use bluster with Phil, he would just get shut down.

Phil needed facts and calmness – the opposite of how Raoul felt right now.

He started pacing outside the apartment, "No, but she was acting scared. On her phone some private number tried to call her – at least twenty times. I don't know her password and it locked me out after trying and Meg has had no success either. I can't get any information at all,"

He heard Phil's grunt, the sound of his pen clicking as he fiddled with it. That was usually a sign he was puzzling it out, but Raoul didn't know whether it was a good omen or not.

"You've told the police?" he asked.

Raoul nodded subconsciously, before realising Phil couldn't see such a thing and said, "The police will do nothing until she's been missing for at least twenty four hours, I pushed but –"

"They wouldn't listen to you," Philippe finished grimly.

"I don't know what to do, Phil –" he stopped as his voice threatened to crack, still haunted by his father's words 'Now, there's no need to cry, is there?'

His brother sighed, "There really isn't much we can do. Best thing to do is wait. Come in tomorrow – keep yourself busy with work, but take the rest of today off. I'll let the college know about her absence, they'll be better talking with the chief funder and family friend to a certain Miss Daae,"

A weak smile passed his lips imagining the reception Phil would receive once he mentioned Christine to the director board.

Swallowing thickly, he murmured, "Thanks Phil. Meg knows to keep an eye out and I'm not leaving without her phone number. I'm going to check Christine's apartment to see if she's there or find anything that could help know of her whereabouts, but I don't think I'll be successful,"

"Let me know if you find anything," Philippe replied.

"Bye then," Raoul said and hung up as he heard Phil's farewell.

He left Meg's with her phone number installed in his phone and a promise to reconvene if they heard any news on her whereabouts. After, he made his way home, knowing that he really needed a nap with the final leaving of the adrenaline of all that day. When he parked (he knew it was some of his worst parking but didn't have the energy to care), he all but stumbled inside and face-planted himself onto his bed.

XxX

She didn't think it would, but the chambers echoed slightly when it rained on the house above. But instead of it being a freeing notion that the world above was not so far away, it only heightened a sense of claustrophobia that was gathering within. Christine could almost smell it, the faint whiff of 'other' that epitomised the word damp. The more she listened to the muffled pitter-patter the harder it was to stop the desperate yearning that resonated inside her to get out out out.

Pacing had never appealed to her; she was always unable to count how far she went one way and then went too fast to make up the difference when she turned – it was a tiring process and never really made her feel better. But if she could pace now, by god she would.

There were a few shelves that waited for her perusal, but she refused to take the chance of becoming angry again, not when she knew for a fact he had found out her sizes of clothes. He was certainly a hypnotist, but not a telepath.

Christine had retreated to under the covers of the bed as it steadily grew chillier (how the house was perpetually cold she had no idea) and it almost struck freezing when the echoes grew eerily louder. How did that man cope! He of all people, she thought, would be driven to distraction from such a sound, who was hardly known for his large amount patience.

He didn't bother her and for that, she was relieved.

But when she had finally had enough of the four walls staring back at her – she had no way of telling the time with the one lone lamp in her room – she knew she couldn't prolong her curiosity, now she had a feeling that Erik still hadn't returned.

Still, Christine did try to be quiet (just in case), but that damned creak in the hinges made such a task impossible. How her dirty sock-covered feet instinctively tried to reach places on the floorboards that were overlayed by a burgundy rug that she was sure would muffle sound, it groaned. That even when she started edging along the side of the hallway, the floorboards squeaked – all the while trying to muffle her panting.

Which, by the time she made it down the hallway and opened the door to the lounge (that she knew led also to the kitchen), she realised that his 'absence' and lack of sound was a way to draw her out, because he was there waiting for her, sitting down idly with a book in his lap.

Christine froze.

His eyes kept on the page in front of him, as if to make him seem as unthreatening as possible to her.

The thought would make her snigger, if only her heart would stop beating so hard against her ribcage.

"Welcome to my humble abode, again, my dear," the sereneness in his tone only added to the claustrophobia that surrounded her. Why wasn't he trying to hurt her like she had to him? Where was the danger that had lurked in those depths? That steely resentment that had chilled her to the bone.

Why wasn't her corpse being lugged in a body-bag to turn up in her apartment?

I wouldn't be here if you wanted to kill me.

"As much of a beast you might think me, I would not harm a hair on your head," that calm voice replied and she realised she had said the thought aloud. Heat claimed her cheeks.

Not harm a hair on her head? Ha! What about last night when he stopped the car so suddenly that her head was aching today because of it? Her footsteps retreated back to the door, ready to bolt back to her room if he made so much as a threatening move.

Though she needn't have worried as he only turned over the next page, as if he was truly reading. Christine only found a slight ease when she saw that those alarming amber eyes were hidden by the sharp side of his mask. In fact, that she noticed that his mask had changed, now black with golden streaks, which glimmered in the amber lamplights that hung from the walls and rested on the coffee tables each end of the sofa. Oddly enough, it suited the décor of his home, especially without the average TV there. However, the mask he wore still ended with ever-so-slightly fluttering beard, which allowed him to speak without it becoming muffled.

Christine didn't think she'd ever get used to the sight of him wearing a mask.

"I need my glasses," she stated, crossing her arms over her chest. She had taken the blasted contact lenses off when she had woken up, hating the itchy rawness that occurred whenever she forgot to remove them before bedtime. It was not like she was just going to pop them back in after they had sat at the bottom of the bin. Really, she wasn't that used to them, only applying them when she wanted to be inconspicuous. But last night with Raoul she had wanted to feel pretty without the thick lenses, to have an unobtrusive view of him, just in case – no. She wasn't that stupid to get involved with him. They lived completely different lives and she was a nobody, unlike his wealthy family which all had a degree in business.

But last night, before everything bad happened, there had been a moment when she had allowed herself to give in to the dream.

"Your prescription is only for mild short-sightedness," he said mildly, before he turned to her, pinning her like a trapped butterfly on the wall, "Unless you have been irresponsible and not got an up-to-date prescription," his glare sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for her jaw to work, "I had my test only last year thank you. And how do you know my prescription?" she demanded, squeezing her fists while keeping her arms crossed.

The man shrugged elegantly, "You cannot expect me to be a good teacher if I am not aware of your medical needs,"

"My bloody medical needs have nothing to do with this!" she exclaimed, feeling the dam braking once more. How dare-

He raised a reprimanding finger at her, shaking it like a parent would do to a child, "Now, there is no need for cursing. We were having a perfectly civil conversation. You speak so eloquently without such horrid vulgarity, I am ashamed, ashamed," he emphasised with a steel voice, "With your constant outbursts of such language, Christine,"

Christine flinched, a horrible image of her father appearing and wearing the same frown she heard in Erik's voice.

Shuddering, she lowered her head, "I'm sorry,"

The man accepted her meek apology with a dismissive wave, but she felt surprise when she looked up that her father's face was no longer there. But she caught the pain before it had time to hurt and shoved it away by refocusing on the phantom that sat in his chair.

"Please, sit," Erik said softly, gesturing to the sofa. Curling up on the furthest seat away from his armchair, she watched him warily.

"Now," he began again, control domineering his behaviour so much that she almost thought she imagined the shining eyes that gazed at her, "I believe we should set some rules, don't you agree?" his voice had softened marginally, but he continued onwards without waiting for her response, "One, no asking to go outside,"

Her voice began to rose in protest, but he cut her off, "Let me finish,"

"One, no asking to go outside," he reaffirmed, golden eyes watching her for any sound of dissent before moving on, "Two, do not touch objects I explicitly tell you not to, or touch things without my permission," again, he paused, letting it sink in while waiting for her nod of agreement, "Three, do not go sniffing around locked doors, for they are locked for a reason," her eyes settled on the carpet as she nodded again, "Four, there will be no more obscenities and shouting, because I find both offensive and disruptive," if he expected a wounded reaction from the jab, he received none.

He carried on patiently, "Lastly, rule number five; also the most important one," Erik's orbs narrowed dangerously, in the way a cat's eyes would become dangerously slitted before pouncing on an unsuspecting victim.

Christine heart spiked in terror, frozen in place on the sofa as her gaze locked with his. Clenched fingers refused to move.

This was where the danger had vanished last night, now resurging as he said in the softest voice she had ever heard, "Touching this mask will not have pleasant consequences and taking it off will condemn us both to hell. Of that I assure you," those amber eyes never yielded and she shrunk into the leather.

The utter gentleness of that tone combated with such a threat, pushed frightened tears prick her eyes and try to roll down her cheeks. But she held them back, knowing that she should not – could not – cry in front of him.

"Do you understand Christine?" oh, the danger hidden within that voice and those piercing eyes.

She could see the wrinkles of the leather on the arm of the sofa, the unlit fireplace that provided no escape, "Yes Erik," her voice came out flat.

"Those rules do not mean you cannot enjoy yourself, my dear, while you are here," he replied in obvious notation to her mood, "As long as you follow those rules, you remain my esteemed guest,"

She struggled not to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, guest? Guest? Joking, the man must be joking.

But when she dared to look at his eyes, the sincerity burned her.

Christine shrunk back into her corner and shivered.

His shadow rose above her like an arrow and she braced herself for an attack, before she heard a choke.

"You think I would truly harm you, girl?" it came out as a hiss.

Christine didn't think she could get any closer to the back of the seat as her arms hugged her body protectively, "When you're like that, yes,"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for his scathing reply until she felt a blanket drape across her. By the time she had raised her eyes, his shadow stood by the mantle piece, stern, commanding and yet so…heartbreakingly-tense. How his hand curled on the pane of wood, like a curled instrument

The slightest inkling of something crept into her heart at the sight, the feel of the soft afghan around her, how he had not touched her at all. How skittish he seemed, almost hunched within the shade of his home. As if he was only seeking a refuge rather than being the owner –

No! her mind screamed at her, she would not feel anything for this man, this terrible man which would keep her here indefinitely. Who would not let her go, who kidnapped her when she missed one lesson. Who terrified her and blackmailed her and threatened -

Who stole her away in the night and took her freedom.

"You were shivering," he intruded on her thoughts, "I do not wish for you to freeze here,"

Down here, she knew he meant.

Christine tugged the blanket around her slightly, content enough to stay in her nook at the moment. If she peered hard enough, she could see the blurry shape of the stairs in the far corner leading upwards.

"When can I go home?" her tremulous question rose up in the stale air.

His posture seemed to coil with restrained menace, "Did I not just explicitly say that rule number one was-"

"I didn't ask to go outside," she interrupted, with more gumption she thought she had, "I asked when will I leave?"

The masked shadow gave a cruel laugh, almost-chuckle, as luminous eyes once again pinned her to the seat, "You are as special as I thought, having the gall to ask in such a way,"

Christine tore her eyes away from him, focusing on the woven thread of the blanket.

It was all slightly surreal.

"But since you worded it so eloquently, I am obliged to tell you," he sauntered nearer, brushing past her only to move to his chair once more and she stifled a sigh of relief, "A week I shall have you for," he seemed to decide, before he titled his head keenly at her, posture softening in the same way that had made her heart flutter earlier, "A week is all I ask,"

A choice. A plead?

She shook her head slightly, before lowering it, "It is not like I have a choice either way. I refuse and you'll keep me here anyway, or I say yes and everything would be a lie,"

Just like before.

Before he asked her to take his tuition and now he asked again in the same fashion. Would he ever change?

She doubted it.

The man seemed to flinch at this, "You like music, but isn't beauty an illusion?"

Why were they having this conversation? How was he suddenly talking to her as if it was an everyday situation? She didn't understand.

Christine pushed away the thoughts, "Not all beauty. The arts are…subjective," her fingers fiddled with a stray string on the inside of the blanket, "Just as anyone loves something, it allows hate to be given too. If beauty is an illusion, then so is hate,"

"You truly think so?" he seemed interested in her answer, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

She shifted, shrugging, "Well it doesn't matter what I think, it's not like it would change anything,"

"Ah, but that is also subjective, yes?"

Christine winced at his neatly placed trap, "So?"

"So what I think does not necessarily what you think, but then is what I think unimportant?"

Christine grunted, "I don't know,"

The man sighed, fingers steepling, "I trust your breakfast was sufficient? I was concerned it was not to your liking,"

"So it is morning, then?" she inquired, avoiding the question.

"Nearing two in the afternoon, now," he corrected.

"Is there any clock in this place at all?" she tried hiding her irritation.

When he looked at her, she thought he must have raised an incredulous eyebrow as he asked, "Time is relative. A entirely human concept they've conceived to trace time. It could very well be night or day and you would be none the wiser. Why is it so important to you to know exactly when it is, rather than resist the restraint others have placed on you?"

"Is it so hard for you not to answer me in riddles?" she growled from her corner, refusing the urge to flee from the headache growing in her mind. She was not ready to start talking philosophy to this man, "Can you just give me a watch or something?" She refused to beg. No please – even though her father had bred her up with please and thank-yous like bread and butter.

"I don't have one," he quipped, rising once more to the mantle piece and taking a dark brown box from the corner of it. A limb unfolded and offered it to her.

She stayed still, eying the container suspiciously.

Erik gave a huff, which was half-muffled with the billowing of the beard, "Had I wished to harm you, I would not use a box to do to so. It is perfectly safe,"

Christine shuffled to a proper sitting position, carefully keeping her legs under the covering, before raising an arm and reluctantly taking it from him. Hovering, the shadow waited for her to raise the lid. It opened silently, varnished plum wood soft against her fingertips.

Inside was a steel circle, that she took out under the gentle nod of her captor, testing the object's weight in her palm and the cool surface numbing her skin. It looked like a circular curved compact, with a button on the side which was an oval bump that was hardly distinguishable. A chain fell from the top, that reminded of her of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Christine pushed down on the raised lump.

One half of the 'compact' flipped open, revealing a beautiful rendition of the earth and a little moon placed in the upper left of the circle. Curious, she watched as a slight shadow started to grow from the left, moving towards the right in increments as seconds passed; the shadow moved in the way you'd compare it to how the moon waxed and waned. Mesmerized, she continued to watch until it fully covered the both the earth and moon symbols, when the shadow vanished. A small gasp leaving her mouth, seeing the bright symbols suddenly barren. Christine was still searching for where it had gone when her eyes caught movement in the corner. The shadow was beginning once more.

"What is this?"

"What you asked for," he replied, studying her astutely.

"This isn't a way to tell the time, it's a diagram of the earth," she snapped at him.

He released a chuckle, "As you wish," he plucked the box and item from her, returning the box to it's place before turning to her.

"Wait-" the protest rose in her throat.

He regarded her, unblinking, "Yes, my dear?"

"Is it a watch?" she asked meekly.

From behind the beard of the mask, she swore she saw the flash of a smile, "It is whatever you wish it to be,"

She couldn't stop the irritated sigh as he returned to his riddles once more, "I'm going to my room," she pushed away the blanket as her feet sank into the plush carpet.

"Do you not want to keep it?" he held the gleaming circle in his gloved hand, offering it to her once more. Dangling it like a shiny toy in front of a child.

As much as she wanted to study it, watch the steady shadow devour the earth again and again in an endless rotation, how she for once just wanted to take it! Take something beautiful and expensive, but she loved the plain and simple. She was used to the plain and simple. Used to the chipped mugs because she remembered how her Papa used to cradle one that her mama had given him, refusing to part from it. Used to the hairclips that had lost nearly all of its plastic jewels because she didn't want to ask for more. The hairbands that became elastic bands when all the blue ones had snapped.

She would not be bribed.

Christine shook her head, not giving the device another glance as she passed. Her fingers landed on the doorhandle leading to her hallway.

"You might wish to peruse the wardrobe for a new change of clothes, Christine," It was not a suggestion.

Though she knew phrases with scathing curses was no longer permissible, it didn't stop the wish for her to spit it at him. The arrogance of that pig! Telling her what to do as if it was his God-given right.

Christine almost gave him a rude gesture instead, but realising the risk was not worth the result, she settled for slamming the door behind her and stalking to her bedroom.

It was only when she stepped inside did she realise the echoes had stopped.

xXx

Hello! As a reward for being amazing and having some lovely reviews from you all, I am posting this chapter much earlier than expected.

A big thanks to: Laurenvbellado, cmisselt98 Ikujoutsi, GothicLolitaxo , HoursOfMazenderan - honestly, what you guys said brought me to tears (very very touched happy tears)! Your support was the highlight of my week, thank you so much for continuing to back me and this fic! Both Erik and Christine were immensely pleased to see this.

My sincere apologies to cmisselt, however, since I didn't give you a shout out last time because I didn't see your beautiful review until after I had posted!

To Laurenvbellado

Re your review on Chap. 15 – I am super pleased you enjoyed the background on Erik! It was difficult to write on so many levels and I've never written something so psychologically demanding before, but still I am very happy it came across well! And yes, ah fluff, I hope to encounter some more (hopefully soon but shhhhh) – though I hope this chapter was a bit fluffier for you…XD and for Chap. 16 – I am sincerely happy you feel that way! I hope it's a little escape here!

To GothicLolitaxo

Omg! You're here! So lovely of you to drop by – thank you for leaving such a wonderful comment too! I hope this instalment was as good as previously! :D

Moving on…

Finally! YES! We have the entrance of RAOUL!

A couple of things to note –

Don't hate me for my interpretation of him – I like to give characters a fair chance. The intro to each character is so important because it shapes our first impression of them for the rest of the entire story. Sometimes, the version we have seen of him really influences us, and that affects our writing and they way we see other characters in return (i.e the dynamic between Raoul and Erik is one of the most important because they are 'hero' and 'villain' – I'll let you decide which they are – or if they are bits of both?) and if we favour one over the other, why must know why we do this. There must be a side to both to make an informed decision. Like when writing arguments, you often have points for and against.

I wanted to make Meg and Raoul known as characters in this, who haven't actually really interacted with each other before. Christine has been a link between the two and it's interesting to see how Meg and Raoul become foils for each other!

Meg in this isn't perfect, but she's got best intentions at heart! No one is perfect and some of the best things I've read don't skirt around how people are just people and that they aren't perfect. I've tried to make them likeable, but it is what it is ;)

Anybody like Raoul's extensively long french name? P.s they all mean something special ;)

1. Aurélien - French form of Latin Aurelius - means "golden"

' Or-rjee- le-iun' – French pronunciation "Or-rel-ian"- English pronunciation (these are written as to how I would say them)

2. Marceau - French variation of Marcel - "little warrior"

"Mar-sue" – French pronunciation "Mar-sell" English pronunciation

3. Vincent - is from Christian origin – to conquer

Also, a link - /gallery/3683131/Watch-Earth-and-Moon - I know FFN doesn't do links well, but I feel like I must credit one of the ideas in this to a certain watch designer! I thought it was fitting, with night and day, sun and moon aspect that occurs in Phantom. All will be revealed…Haha XD

Plus, the quote used from earlier is from the opera Norma! :)

Anyway, I'm getting tired, so I'm finishing now!

Happy Christmas everyone if you don't see me pop up again before hand – you'd think that teachers would at least give you a break on all the coursework before Xmas – but nope!

Merci to everyone,

Enigma