Trigger warning: Major adult themes approached in this chapter. Please read at your own discretion. Thank you.

Her Story - Chapter 24

What could she say without making it sound like she was enjoying herself?

That each moment spent in Paris made her wish that she could stay there for another week, another month, another second in a place that filled her with longing. It was like Paris sat just right, like a gem placed on a tiara where it caught the light, like a puzzle piece finally settling into place, a perfect stroke of a paintbrush on canvas. Christine's world was brighter because she could wake up in the morning and smile.

How long had it been since she'd smiled at waking up? It must have been when she'd stayed in Brittany with Raoul, skipping along the paths until they reached the water, diving in expecting a mermaid's tail to follow her into the swirling depths. The way she had curled up beside Raoul while they'd dry themselves by the campfire, singing long into the night with her father playing like a fiddler, roasting s'mores and marshmallows, telling each other stories that would frighten the socks off each other! But every morning, without fail, Christine would smile.

Unlike her home across the seas, which filled her with a panging ache Christine tried to assuage, Paris filled her with a sort of unfettered joy that affected her once-sullen mood. Why did she like Paris so much? Was it some past life that had lived there? Was it the atmosphere? Was it the company?

Erik had been more amiable than usual, as if affected by her ambience. He wore less of the full-faced mask behind their closed doors, however had always donned his lifelike one when they went out.

When she had sang with him a few days ago, he'd been so pleased by her efforts that he'd indulged her in a duet. And oh! What a wonderous thing that had been. Never had she taken under the effects of his voice like she had that evening, not to mention she had sung Juliet to his Romeo. With every passing second, she had drawn closer to him, spellbound by the beauty that came from his mouth, walking to him in a sort of dream-like haze. It seemed impossible that the Erik she had known all those months ago and the one that had sat so longingly before her on the piano bench had been the same. His figure had been slight and demure, in a way she could almost describe as passive. Easy. Welcoming. As if she had wanted, there would have been a place for her under his arm. He had only given her gracious praise on her voice, hailing it to be like a gift to an emperor, not once critiquing it.

"Your voice could quite possibly be the finest in all the world, Christine," he had said her name like a prayer. A small part that Christine had ruthlessly tried to bury that feeling of helpless wonder, allowing Erik to guide her to the piano bench with a wave of his hand and hopeful eyes.

Erik even taught her to play some of their song on the piano. Their closeness would have been painful to her, but something had startled awake by his gentleness. Christine had never known that those demanding orbs could glimmer so softly, voice calming like a summer breeze, that had eased all apprehension with the mere sound of his vocal cords.

Would life be like that if she never left?

The memory stayed like a fog, ever so slightly blurred around the edges, but pleasant. Christine couldn't remember how she got to bed that night, because she had awoken in her clothes and her morning breath had been something foul!

Just like the rest of those nights where she had fallen asleep curled up outside his door and resting in the oblivion his music provided for her, she had known instinctively that Erik had been the one to move her back to bed. The knowledge would mortify her if Erik had made a statement on it, but the fact was, the occurrence had been swept under the rug one too many times that to address it now would be awkward. How exactly could she go about telling the man who loved her that he was not able to move her to a more comfortable position because he had noticed her falling asleep?

Maybe the slight child in her cherished the long-ago memory of her Papa doing the same to her, after they huddled by the fire for music and stories. Or maybe she put up with it because she didn't like the amount of aches she would receive for not allowing Erik to do so.

Or maybe it was something else; like the guilt she faced if she couldn't allow Erik to do one thing for the person he loved and who took some small pleasure in being able to take care of her. Though Christine knew she was likely naive for her age, she wasn't completely stupid when it came to the male psyche. Raoul had a similar complex. Him being able to pick up her favourite ice cream when she was having a bad day was the same drive Erik seemed to have. To be able to care. Compassion lay within accepting other's help when they loved you. Just like Christine hadn't been able to do for most of the time with her friends.

What if they have given up on me? I can't say that they'd put their lives on hold for me forever. It's not right. Selfish. Everyone has to get back on their horse someday; with Erik's influence, my disappearance would seem like a logical leap of judgement – and they'd find planted proof or something, wouldn't they! This is Erik I'm talking about, not some amateur. Why would they suspect anything else? How distraught is Mama V?

With those depressing thoughts, Christine passed into the dining room, expecting the empty chair that greeted her. She had been left alone. Erik had regretfully needed to attend to some business that thankfully didn't require his briefcase. Christine didn't want to know what his business was.

What was shocking was that Erik had permitted her free reign of the hotel, as long as she had her mobile device on her at all times. However, she suspected some black clothed lackey would watch her remotely. If she made even a single movement out of the building, it would be reported to Erik immediately.

And Mama V was still his blackmail. It was with a definitive sadness that she contemplated this information as she started poking at her lunch. If Erik didn't hold Mama V's life over her, would she stay out of pity? Out of fear?

But those answers don't seem right to me. Pity and fear…Is that what I am reduced to when thinking of him? I don't want to think of him like that. Not when we've made progress. Not when I can finally see the tenderness in his eyes. I don't want to lose that. I'm afraid to. I can't go back to it being so icy between us.

I think I'd go insane.

What surprised her was that by the time she'd finished her lunch, that a knock resounded lightly on their doors. Opening it, she found a familiar face staring back at her.

"Clarice, what are you doing here?" Christine exclaimed, allowing the maid to enter and regard her cautiously.

Did Erik send her to spy? Or was it because Clarice had some news of a catastrophe about the English mansion? Or did she carry news of Erik, was he hurt? Was she free?

As if to answer her, Clarice turned, handing a note with an unreadable expression on her face.

Unfolding the cream paper, Christine read the red-inked scrawl.

'My dearest Christine,

I have requested Clarice's presence as I am sure you long for company, to guide and wander with you through the streets of Paris. As my work as kept me absent from attending you, it is my wish that you make your full use of time in Paris without hinderance. Clarice will be staying in a few rooms down from us. She will not be disappointed, however, if you do not wish to venture out and therefore do not require her services. Bear in mind that your continued good behaviour is depending on such outings, I would hate to see you lost in the streets of Paris and unable to see other places while I am away. The girl is fluent in French, so will be able to arrange travel and such things – but do not assume that she will be receptive in speaking directly to you.

Your humblest servant,

Erik.

P.T.O

There is no limit on funds, so spend as much as you wish on anything you want to acquire. For each penny you spend, I will match the amount of which will go to children in need of aid. No purchase will be wasteful.'

"Sneaky bastard!" she huffed under her breath. That man! She couldn't not spend anything, now that he would send the matching amount to some poor kids in Africa. Godamnit. He knew just how to twist her plea into a decadent outing. It would be flattering if it weren't so annoying. But…At least he didn't view it as some begrudging duty as Raoul had.

"I have to go to another charity ball next month, I'm so sick and tired of being Phil's representative," he groaned, taking a bite of his breakfast bagel at the table while Christine washed up their plates from last night.

"But it's for a good cause, the kids fighting leprosy need help," her fingers scrubbed at the tomato sauce splattered against the china from their shared pizza last night.

"I know, I know. It is for a good cause. It's just," he sighed, "Those tuxedos always itch and are too stiff. I hate faking smiles for hours, pretending to be some white American (actually French), superhero. I'm not. I'm just a guy born into this role and everyone wants to thank me for it. I never get to see what it really goes to. For all I know, I could be donating to aliens on Mars!"

Christine continued to scrub at the plate, feeling an odd sort of injustice well up. I would kill to have that chance to change someone's life. I know Raoul finds being in Phil's shadow hard, but doesn't he see that it's a gift to help someone in a way that can support them for the rest of their life?

But she remained silent, giving Raoul the encouragement to vent, "And don't get me started on all the prune-shrivelled grandmas with their stuck-up noses and every other young lady shoved at my face, fake eyelashes batting at me like some meat on sale. I could absolutely groan at the foolish way those young idiots spend their inheritance money. Those old fat white men chuckling, making sexist comments and I just – ugh!"

Raoul slammed his hand on the table and she could feel how trapped he was. A never-ending cycle. How he had to wear a mask like any other, putting it on like an actor with each occasion, showing the world how it was meant to be. How the 'good life' was meant to look like.

Sometimes Christine wondered if that what he saw in her was a life he could feel content in, because he was able to feel a difference with her. That what she wanted wasn't money, wasn't some fake idol who was taken at face value, like some prize cow that had to be bartered for with fake smiles and the political dance of the elite. All she wanted was him, as a person, a living human being.

"You make me feel ordinary, but in the most extraordinary way Christine," he murmured, picking at the bagel's crust, a tender look in his eye, "You make me feel invincible – but – I don't know – human. Like I actually matter,"

Christine heard the scrape of the chair moments before warm arms wrapped around her stomach, "That's why I love you. You make me feel more than I already am and God, I've never needed that more," he placed a kiss on her neck. Christine sighed as she lent back, hands resting against the side of the sink.

"I love you too, Raoul," she murmured, unable to understand why his words didn't entirely fill the cavern inside.

"You make me feel ordinary,"

The words rattled in her head, the phrase sticking to her as she gazed out the shop's window.

Was love meant to make one feel ordinary? Raoul had meant it as a compliment, but it was a phrase that banged around in her head every so often and as much as she wished to push it away, it came back at inopportune moments.

"Mademoiselle, are you finished looking?" Clarice's silken French disturbed her thoughts. At least she's speaking to me now, thought Christine dourly. Probably because Erik had finally given the girl permission to do so. Though her French was limited, Erik had been able to teach her a few more phrases while they had taken to walking around the city centre during the last couple of evenings, conversing about the Notre Dame or the Muse de Orsay they'd seen that day.

Just last evening, Erik had led her aboard a barge and they had eaten while they drifted down the Seine, gazing at the city as sunset blossomed into night time. With the quiet murmuring of the crowd, twinkling candlelight and rich food, made the scene seem more like a picture you'd find in some magazine. The memorising quality of Erik's voice quietly explaining the mechanics of the boat and the construction of the Eiffel tower had been equally riveting. Christine even had the pleasure of hearing his rare, sought-after laugh, genuine pleasure alighting in his eyes that had taken her breath away.

As if the malignant phantom had been lit with a sparkle of evanescence.

"Mademoiselle Daae?" Clarice's voice sounded again, a hint of worry entering the timid maid's voice.

Christine blinked, assessing the shirt in her hands, before realising she didn't like the shape of the top and hung it back on the rack. Ducking from behind the line of clothes, Christine moved her way through the boutique to Clarice, who was diligently holding her items over an arm, green eyes flickering around.

"I'm here," she gave the girl an apologetic smile, "Got lost in thought again," Christine added as Clarice gestured to the changing rooms. It was odd to see Clarice out of her full-length black dress and little apron. Her ginger braids were still intact however, but her attire was of a dark green, velvet skirt and a slightly frumpy, white blouse.

"Wait," reaching out, Christine stopped Clarice by the arm and was shocked when she flinched, eyes widening in fear. Christine instantly released her, horrified to see the way Clarice had reacted to a simple touch.

Oh God, who has hurt you, Clarice? Who's allowed you to be hurt?

Licking her lips, Christine tried to supress the undulating sorrow inside.

She was at the wrong place at the wrong time. That was what Erik had said. Did that mean Clarice had been a rescue of his, picking up another stray from the street? Her situation must have been worse than Stefan's and Mathew's if Erik had been unable to talk about it, the look of grief in his eyes had seared itself in her memory.

I'm so sorry, Clarice.

Christine gathered herself, aware of how Clarice was eyeing her like a wary doe, "Why don't you grab something you like?" she offered gently.

A stiff shake of the head, gaze averted.

Maybe there was more to her mutism than what reached the eye.

Christine held back the instinct to reach out to her again, to hold her close and yell at the world for touching this wounded soul, "If you did, it would make me more inclined to spend Erik's money," she jibed.

Ah-ha! There was that small glimmer of amusement Christine sought.

"Please, I would so much prefer if you'd try on something with me. You don't even have to buy it at the end, I just – I miss having a friend to do this stuff with,"

When the girl lifted her head, Christine felt the world go still. Clarice's eyes had filled with tears, but upon her lips was a beautiful smile.

"Oui, Christine," she whispered.

It was thrilling really to walk the streets of Paris, one shopping bag on each arm, a companion by your side and the sun shining above you, shoes clacking along the pavement. Sweet aromas filled the air, bustling crowds of tourists and the constant motion of cars and busses thrumming as they drove past.

Christine had indeed indulged herself in buying a few items (well maybe more than a few).

After being stuck with predetermined items for the last four months, perhaps longer, Christine had hardly realised she'd become drunk on the power of selecting new, untainted clothes. Clothes that glided over her body with its inner satin lining, snug in the right places and loose in others. A grin became a permanent fixture as Clarice's black shiny card swiped over the machine, thinking smugly of all the money that would go to the children.

Oh, how good it was to try on outfit after outfit, squeal inside her cubicle and twirl in fabric of good quality, being for once able to admire herself in a garment that flattered her entirely. Not one that had been chosen for her; not the chaste little creature Erik imagined. Not a dozen ill-fitting clothes with those giant red 'sale' tags on them, snatched off some thrift store rail, while also knowing she'd be later sewing a hole up in their hems with the wrong colour thread.

Was this freedom? Was this what Raoul had lived his life with? Expensive clothes, expensive tastes, all catered to his every whim? Envy had never been much of a vice for Christine. Though on the odd occasion living with relative poverty had worn thin, like when the heating had gone suddenly in the winter and Papa had aged ten years in the span of a few minutes, there had always been a feeling of guilt weigh in her chest, rather than envy.

If I didn't burden Papa, then he'd be warm. If I didn't need a new pair of shoes, then he would be able to afford the varnish for his violin. If I wasn't here, then he'd be safe.

Whenever she'd aired the thoughts to Meg, her response had been empathically minimal.

'He loves you Christine. If you weren't there then he'd miss you. Do you wanna borrow my scrunchie tomorrow? Your hairband looks like it's about to snap.'

Though, how much wisdom did a young daughter have with a mother who had a stable income?

Christine shook her head, ridding herself of the past when her father had been alive and swallowing a gulp of her chilled soda, despite knowing Erik would likely chide her of indulging on a glass of caffeinated sugar. For some reason, the man had always known when she'd had some, as if he could taste the sugar in the air.

Flapping of the canopy drew her attention as the breeze picked up. They had stopped by a little café for drinks and afternoon tea. Though Clarice had tried to usher them inside, Christine found her voice and had asked for a table overlooking the winding street, unable to stomach the thought of being trapped inside while they could enjoy the fresh air.

I can finally enjoy the world of the outside, something I haven't been able to do by myself in eons.

An amused smile pulled her lips as she recalled Clarice's stunning figure in that summer dress, shy and meek, with a red blush on each cheek. In something other than drab attire, Clarice became a beauty, blazing green eyes and the fiery shade of her hair. Without the braids, it would be an even greater sight as a rippling mane of orange; a wonderful portrait she could imagine making of Clarice. Christine had to bite down the urge to slip out her pad and start sketching, like how exactly was she going to define Clarice's small feminine nose.

Not that she would welcome my artistic observation, she thought, lips falling into a frown. No, she could not imagine Clarice liking the idea one bit.

Christine observed the girl as she made her way back to their table, how Clarice weaved through the seated public, awkward and skittish in the world that seemed to move too fast for her. Back at home - the mansion - she'd had walked the halls with a surety, an innate knowledge of rules and schedule. The quiet seemed more suited to Clarice's nature, Christine could see that now. It was a wonder to see that Clarice had travelled to France. Perhaps one of Erik's lackeys escorted her? The image of the hulking stature of Mathew and petite Clarice sat next to each other on a plane made her grin.

"You can see how much mischief I've got up to sitting here by myself while you went to the toilets," Christine drawled as Clarice sat back down.

With a sardonic raised eyebrow from Clarice, Christine laughed.

"So, since you speak French really well, are you native born?" Christine inquired, resting a chin in one hand.

Clarice pursed her lips, before shaking her head.

"And does Erik take care of someone for you know?" Christine remembered their long ago walks in Erik's estate, how she'd slipped that a family member resided outside the dome, "He takes care of someone I know too," Christine added gently, unwilling to pressure her to speak.

Clarice raised her gaze from the table to her untouched glass of water and began tracing patterns in the condensation, giving Christine the slightest nod.

"Is he taking care of that certain someone as payment of your service?"

Clarice's eyes flickered to hers a moment long enough to confirm Christine's suspicion. Yes.

"Do you love him?"

Christine posed the question carefully, taking in the shocked expression of her companion.

Clarice frowned for several moments, fingers curling against the glass. Christine slipped out her notepad from her bag, along with a pencil, "Will this help?" she pushed it towards Clarice.

The girl took the paper, pausing before writing something down, then passing it to her without making eye contact.

'As one who wishes the best for a friend and employer. I do not love him in a romantic sense.'

She did not feel relieved.

"And do you think I'm the 'best' for him?" she leant back, biting her lip slightly.

Another pause, then more writing.

'I think you make him better. He suffered before.'

"You make it sound like I'm some medicinal cure," Christine murmured.

Clarice gave a shrug, 'What is the difference between a mental or physical one when both are aided by the same remedy?'

"Do you know what he did before he took me to the mansion?"

Clarice sent Christine a reproachful look, 'He will not speak of it. But he does what he does for just cause.'

Just cause! Yeah, because murder certainly qualifies.

As if Clarice could read the suspicion on Christine's face, she started writing for an indefinite period of time. A minute, a few, ten? At last, with a dull gaze, Clarice gave the notebook back to her.

'You do not know of which the circumstances that I was hired. It was long time past and most do not know of the crimes committed during that period – mostly due the interference of the Master. He was tasked hunting down a criminal ring, a group who dealt with illegal human trafficking –'

Christine could see the writing grow steadily shakier and felt dread curdle in her stomach. Please. Please don't tell me.

' – I was part of the selection. One night when I was walking back to my aunt, I was snatched and transported across Europe to a foreign country, that I believe was Iran, with a group of other girls taken from various provinces of France, including a few from Paris.'

Shaking her head, Christine took a deep breath, trying to clear the tears gathering in her eyes. Clarice! Oh, God. No. No. Mustering the courage, Christine continued, gritting her teeth.

' – I do not know how long I was stuck in that shaking van, or how many girls there were stuffed either side of me. I couldn't see. It was dark and there were many girls. All I know is that being stripped of our dignity was the least horrific thing that occurred. Eventually, Master came to us all and with another man with bright green eyes and we made our escape. Split up in two vans, we escaped; had it been a day later we would have been lost forever, since I heard that we would have been sold as –"

The writing cut off and began anew a line later. Christine couldn't stop the mounting horror or the tears that started to trail down her cheeks.

' – We saw the bodies of the guards who had beaten us into submission, who had taken a girl who became too troublesome and beat her black and blue – she couldn't speak after. We all heard the scream and then the silence. Her clothes had been ripped off. We did not cry for our broken abusers, in fact, I knew a few cheered our two rescuers. After we'd left, they tirelessly ruined the girls with their families. I was the last one and I had found out that my aunt had been in a car crash on the night I was abducted. It had paralysed her from the neck down.'

Christine shook her head, not wanting to know what came next. Clarice was silent as she watched Christine.

' – Master Erik took pity on me and offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. A home, safety and a distraction of keeping his estate in England once it was built, not to mention full payment of my aunt's healthcare in a special facility. Master spared me a fate worse than death. He has done what he can for you, because he is good.'

"Why are you telling me this?" Christine whispered, unfolding a tissue that Clarice passed her.

' - You needed to know. I am not meant to have said anything. Master will be displeased to know I have told you anything of his past. If he finds out, it will jeopardise everything I have. But his kindness to me is the one favour I owe to him after all he has done, and I am willing to risk it for the woman he loves.'

Christine swallowed, taking a sip of her watery soda now the ice had melted, "Don't worry, I won't let him know about this. I – thank you for having the courage to tell me that. I know it must have been hard,"

Clarice gazed at her with a new appreciation.

'He has chosen wisely. I hope we can be friends for a long time.'

Christine sniffed, giving her a weak smile, "I hope so too,"

It had clouded over by the time they returned to the hotel room and after using the lifts, both breathed sighs of relief as they were able to drop off the numerous bags of clothes onto the carpet that they'd bought that afternoon. Christine prided herself that Clarice had found a few items too, enough to fill up a medium sized paper bag. It had been a new experience to go shopping with a friend quieter than herself. Usually, Meg made the experience a dazzling expedition filled with gossip, news and zipping to each shop as Christine straggled on behind.

Trying to engage Clarice in conversation had been more difficult than expected, since she was more silent than outspoken. However, attempting to fill the sombre air after visiting the café, they hit the boutiques for one last hour. Worrying that she might miss Erik if he had already arrived back at the hotel, Clarice managed to find them a taxi that dropped them off without too much trouble.

"Mademoiselle Christine, do you wish for assistance in putting away your purchases?" Clarice intoned, swiping down the electronic key card and opening the door for Christine.

Christine turned to her, quickly moving the dropped bags inside of the suite, "No it's ok. We've had a big haul, but I'll manage. You probably want to rest since you only arrived here today,"

Clarice stepped forward, eyes unwavering, "I am here as you require, it is my assigned duty to help where needed. Do not send me away if you desire aid,"

Christine softened her smile, "It's alright. I promise. I can handle a few clothes by myself. I'll come and rap on your door if I need help,"

Is she really my friend? Is that sincerity I see in her eyes? I'm so tired of second guessing everyone. I feel like Eve – not knowing where the serpent is anymore.

Is it wrong that I am accepting Erik's handouts now that I can say it's going to a good cause? Where has all his money come from?

Is it likely that I'll ever find out?

Clarice nodded, stepping away back down the hall, fingers wrapped tightly around the handles of her paper bag.

At least I've done one thing right.

The smile sank as Christine ventured alone into the gloomy grasp of her hotel room, void of any presence but hers.

Finding the lights, the bulbs warmed the room with an amber glow, chasing away the greyness the clouds had brought. Grabbing as many bags as her hands could lift, Christine stumbled into her bedroom, finally feeling the slight panic of how many there were.

One, two, three, four…Five, six, seven!

Seven bags of clothes. She'd never had more than two before! Oh God, if Erik was going to see the bill, there was no way he'd match the price and send it to charity. Christine had lost track after two hundred euros.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Erik is going to kill me!

"My darling, are you home?" Erik's voice glided to her. He was back already?

Unable to hear his footsteps, she panicked, "I'm home, just don't come in!"

"Christine, what is wrong?" warning slid through his tone faster than ice.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine!" she was scrambling over to the doors of the cupboard – if she could just shove the bags in there, then it'd be alright.

"Christine, tell me what is wrong," Erik demanded. His voice sounded close – far too close.

She froze in the middle of lifting one bag when her bedroom door swung open, accompanied by a ferocious looking Erik. His eyes shifted over the room like a predator, searching the room for a threat and he stalked past her to the bathroom, checking its empty interior before turning, face and blue eyes staring at her, unreadable as ever.

"What seems to be the matter, dear?" he asked, calmly surveying the clustered produce, before his eyes flickered to hers, questioning.

"You're not mad?" Christine glanced at the shopping bags.

An eyebrow rose, "Why would I be angry that you've spent money on products that you wish, that I specifically stated that is yours to use at your whim?" he gestured lazily at the clothes, "I was beginning to think that you would not exhibit any kind of female behaviour of enjoying spending money at all and that would simply confound me,"

"You expected I would go shop-crazy?" Christine set the bag down, leaning against the wardrobe.

Erik shrugged, limbs rippling with the movement, "I had my assumptions once you were given a noble cause to justify your spending," Erik's eyes glimmered, focusing on her for a blessed second, "And you achieved it spectacularly. Many children will live another day because of your generosity, Christine,"

Toes curling, she looked to the floor, feeling flustered with his attention, "It wasn't that noble,"

Stop. Stop staring at me like that. I'm not good. Not pure. Not saintly.

I've used your kindness for others.

I'm so confused on what is good. I'm not even sure if I am. Because I can't seem to hate you, Erik. I don't want to. I don't hate you. And I haven't for a while. All I can see is your love-sick eyes.

What did that make her?

"Come here, Christine," Erik moved to the windows, the arching glass creating a frame around him that Christine wanted to remember, wanted to catalogue the colours and the shapes, the shadows of. A shadow – he was always a shadow to her.

"Why do you always dress in black?" she asked from her post by the wardrobe.

Erik's head jerked, face mired by a frown, blue eyes dark, "It is a black soul you see before you, my clothing conceals nothing,"

"You think you are a bad person?" she stepped forward, heart hammering. It was as a good time as any.

"Erik has done many regrettable things,"

Christine saw his tremulous swallow and it almost shattered her resolve.

He is a broken man. Don't make it worse.

Don't hurt him.

"So has everyone," she murmured. Almost there. A few more steps.

"But not like Erik. You would never do what Erik has done, the atrocities these hands have committed,"

Christine winced, hating the nausea that swirled in her stomach at the thought of Erik causing more harm with those hands.

"Papa told me once that God gives Grace to those who repent," she whispered, coming up to the windows, staring out of them with her fingers curling around the curtain's edge, "I don't think I ever truly stopped believing that. As much as I wanted to," she gave a bitter half-laugh, "He always told me that God would forgive you. I used to think it was just a get-out clause if you wanted it hard enough. Maybe…Maybe there is a God, maybe there's not, but I believe in hope. Forgiveness," she raised her eyes to Erik's ones and saw the curiosity in there. The good that could be saved.

"Forgiveness isn't easy. And it has a few steps: acceptance and self-love. Once you conquered those, then well, forgiveness isn't too far off," she shrugged, "It's a life-long thing, forgiveness. It has 'give' in the middle of it. You keep giving it, every minute you are awake and every evening you go to sleep,"

Christine shook her head, "What I'm trying to say is that maybe what you need, Erik, is to forgive yourself, then you can move on from whatever is holding you back,"

"What if what is holding me back is not having yours?" Erik murmured, turning away slightly as if to starve off a blow.

And it felt like a blow to her. How could she forgive him? After everything, his maniacal reign on her life without her say-so, his tormented laughter as Joe fell from the rafters, his inescapable unpredictable temper that terrified her out her wits?

And she was just – just meant to drop that? To say it didn't matter? To say she could move past it?

But would it make Erik a better person to know that she did?

Sighing, Christine hugged herself with her arms, "I don't know if I could do that, Erik,"

"Can we not start over?" his voice sounded like a child then, so much so that her heart ached. He didn't know any better, did he?

"It would make our lives much easier, Christine," he murmured, voice small and desperately pleading, "If you could just pretend. Just for the rest of our trip here, try for me. For yourself,"

She could feel his magic, his dreams weaving in a way that made things feasible. A reality that was full of endless possibilities. Forget hate, forget right and wrong, forget all the hurts that had been committed. Pretend.

And God, Christine wanted uncomplicated. Wanted free, wanted happy, wanted bliss at the touch of his fingertips on the piano, to feel how his music was ever-present and safe. She wanted a home and refuge that didn't threaten to slip from beneath her.

But the illusion would shatter at some point. Wouldn't it?

"But how?" she voiced.

Two lithe fingers threaded through the air, caressing a curl that rested on her shoulder, and Erik breathed a shuddering sigh, "You know how, my dear," his touch left her hair, fingers twitching regretfully, "Give in to me Christine, leave behind the world that made you worry and stress, if for but a moment you believe it, then it will become your reality,"

Gritting her teeth, the sight of Mama Valerious' face flashed into her mind, tear streaked and broken from the loss of the shop. She would know the guilt that resided on her chest would only grow if she gave in.

The guilt would grow if she gave up on the mother she had left behind. The one that had taken her in while desperate for a haven, the soft-fingered hands that had given her brownies and chocolate chip cookies, the watery blue eyes that held such kindness and arms that had held her to her bony chest, giving her support on following her dreams.

Helplessly, Christine stared up at Erik, for the second time that day feeling tears gather in her eyes.

"I can't – I can't abandon all I know, all I love, just for a dream. I won't sell out Mama V, or Meg or Mary-Anne for something that I can't trust. I won't abandon them," Christine said firmly, not mentioning Raoul for fear of provoking the volatile light in Erik's eyes.

The weight of Erik's displeasure was unbearable – no it was worse than that! Intolerable. God, what had she done? What had she done? No. She wouldn't live with his coldness again; she couldn't bear the loneliness again. She needed him.

Christine hardly realised she was moving until her knees hit the carpet with a thud, pain searing through her kneecaps, tears blurring her vision.

"Just give me a little more time, please," she whispered to his shoes, past humiliation, past reverence, past pride.

I'm sorry.

A cool touch on her chin lifted her head and with a movement of air, Erik was kneeling with her, hunching so that his blue orbs could gaze at hers.

I like him better with amber eyes.

"You would have all the time in the world, my dear, if I could wield such a thing," it seemed wrong to see those lips moving, yet not truly moving. Not his true lips. It was all a fake.

All a dream. Was this his dream? Was this face he wore, this mask, an idealised version of himself?

Couldn't she dream too? That was what he said she could do.

Clenching her jaw, she twisted her head away from his hand, unable to stand the sight of him, emotions too raw, her world too imbalanced.

"Do not shun me, Christine," his voice laced the air with a whisper.

"If I don't, then I'd…I'd just give up,"

I'd fall into you without complaint. Without resolve to leave. I'd fall into your dream and I'll never find a mirror to escape wonderland again.

"Come here, Christine," Erik's silver voice murmured, "Or merely let me look upon you with love, but do not shun me,"

"But what if I can't!" Christine exclaimed, hands reaching out and gripping onto bony shoulders even through layers of fabric, "But what if every time I try, I try and think about the things I'd leave behind, and I don't want to anymore,"

The words echoed in the stunned silence it left behind.

I don't want to anymore.

Every time she looked around beauty confronted her. An insane sort of beauty, one she had tried so hard to keep finding scary, repulsive, ugly. In order to keep trying to find an exit, she had to want to keep running and hiding. But the King had found her at every corner, every exit and brought her back to his palace, placed her before his rose gardens and maze-filled domain, telling her to look, to see.

To look beyond the obvious, to read between the lines. To see the magic that wove the fabrics of the grass together, the music that threaded through the sky and the clouds which lead to his own heart.

And finally, finally, Christine had been showed the good, the hope for his soul, proof that it lived in the form of Clarice, Stefan, Mathew, the ever-loyal subjects that seemed to be there more than the pay check at the end of each month.

And she was to be his Queen.

"I don't want to anymore," Christine repeated, the words sounding unfamiliar on her tongue.

I don't want to fight. I don't want to feel lost anymore.

I just want to feel his arms around me to know that I'm home. That I'm safe. That I'm happy.

That I'm loved, by someone.

I don't want to anymore!

Her hands slip from his shoulders and she could feel her resolve crumbling, every moment coming nearer and nearer to an avalanche. How long had she wanted to curl up and know that Erik would be there to catch her fall? That it would be his hands to stroke her hair as she fell asleep, his voice to cradle her heart like a lullaby. How long? How long had it been? The subconscious: knowing that even through terror, he had been the one at last that made her soul feel connected – to dream a dream of perfect harmony in a way she could never possibly imagine. That such an intrinsic connection would come to pass one way or another.

And that avalanche began when he opened his arms, trembling like a leaf that wished to protect her from the storm, but not knowing how and she wanted to comfort that fear, comfort him. To ease his aching soul that she felt from a mile away, help him heal, to help him love in the real way.

Without warning, Christine pushed closer, pressing her face against his chest. There was a shudder from her harbour when she wrapped her arms around him, clinging on as tightly as she could.

"Oh Christine,"

Her heart constricted painfully and arms squeezed him in reply, biting her lip to stop the most heartfelt sobs from leaping from her lips.

I see good in you and I want you to be happy.

And that's not bad.

Clarice speaks! Yay! :D Whoop whoop! (realising that she'd already spoken before) uh – I mean she now speaks *to* Christine – yay! I think Clarice is a very unique character; someone who needed to be written but didn't necessarily stand out. I feel sorry for her, really. Her story is…awful. It was hard to write such a deplorable occurrence happening in such a young soul's life. But it does happen to females and that's why one has to be careful. Protect yourself please :)

Also, love how Christine's thought of a crisis is too much shopping. Man, I'd love to have that issue rather than 'what I should have for breakfast that isn't too time consuming?'.

But…Whaddya think of the ending of that chapter? ;P Unexpected?

Thank you to my reviewers: Laurenvbellado, HoursOfMazenderan, GothicLolitaxo, Qtkittee and KyloRen'sgirl213 – you all made such lovely and inspiring comments that I want to give you a hug! :D Thank you for such wonderful support, you really do make my day and I hope I've rewarded you a little ;P.

Merci to all,

Enigma :)

P.S Happy June!