Christine looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head slightly to see the earring better.
Her hair was in a somewhat loosely braided bun, some strategically placed strands of hair left to hang. Paired with the deep boat neck dress she was wearing; the effect was quite striking. She looked elegant. She hated the description of the cliche swan-like neck but that's very much what the effect was on her. The diamond earring, not huge but not particularly subtle either, seemed to compliment both her pale skin and the deep navy dress but the hairstylist had been right.
Her neck looked bare.
She'd suggested a necklace, something, anything to break up the sheer amount of skin on show but Christine had politely declined. She didn't want to wear a necklace any more than she wanted to go to the party. The dress, the shoes, the hair. It was all too much to begin with, it always was. She felt suffocated. A necklace was the last thing she wanted on top of everything else. Being responsible for the makeup, the woman hadn't had anything on hand to insist upon. Nothing for Christine to choose from, nothing to be placed upon her neck in a demonstration but then left to hang.
Christine had said no and so no it was.
She had said no to yet another show of wealth.
The hairstylist whose hourly rate was almost triple her weekly shopping budget.
The makeup artist whose products, brushes and expertise ran at a cost higher than she had ever spent on herself.
The dress that cost more than her monthly rent.
The earrings that cost more than the price to purchase her old little apartment outright.
She didn't want more.
Everyone had made sure she was looking her best and she had been patient and graceful, grateful even, but being a blank canvas was wearing thin.
Free to choose her own clothes but only from the selection laid out by the stylist. Free to choose an eyeshadow but only from a carefully curated palette from the makeup artist.
Free to make her own choices but not really.
Her victory over the necklace hadn't been just about the obscene opulence but about the choice.
She never had a chance to make her own decisions, to say yes or no freely.
She had rejected the suggestion of a necklace and the makeup artist had been forced to respect it.
Christine slid the second earring in and pushed herself away from the vanity.
There was nothing else to do.
She'd been styled, dressed and made up by the crème-de-la-crème of industry experts. She had been primped, prodded, scrubbed and cleaned by a team of masseuses, nail artists and skin technicians. Her dinner had been carefully curated to make sure she wouldn't be hungry but could still enjoy the canapés throughout the night. It had been served to her neatly plated; her drinks had been poured. Her room had been set to the perfect temperature, so she could get ready without feeling a chill as she changed her clothes. She had been spritzed with perfume, had her heels lined with comfortable gel pads.
She'd even stepped into stockings held open by a stylist, had her heels slipped onto her feet.
Everything she could possibly have needed had been taken care of.
She had been taken care of.
Even her toilet had an automatic flush and a bidet to clean for her.
Her freedom had been taken away in more ways than she ever could have imagined possible.
Saying no to the necklace and there being no necklace on her was unthinkable.
She was mildly stunned, pleased by the victory.
She walked towards the window, seeing herself reflected in the thick glass panes.
The soft glow from the lights in her room stopped her from seeing the view outside but she knew it well. Lush grass, thick hedges styled perfectly, rose trees and lemon trees, ponds and water features. The ground was expansive, huge and filled with things to entertain. A croquet court, tennis court, squash court, basketball court, small sheds, summer cottages, a lap pool, a pool for fun, vegetable patches. Nothing ugly or old, nothing unmaintained. Nothing she could enjoy without an escort with keen eyes and fast reflexes but nothing she had seen him enjoy, either. It was too much for just two people and his staff were never permitted to use it.
Just like her, the grounds and house were a display of his success and wealth.
She sighed.
She looked so pretty.
Like a true prize, a real trophy.
She fitted in perfectly.
Her fingers grazed the latch of the windows, knowing it would never open for her.
Those windows had never been opened; she'd never felt the breeze rush in through them.
She danced her fingers over the panes themselves, unable to see even a hint of a crack or whisper of damage.
They were impenetrable, unbreakable.
Much like him.
She looked down at the floor, not wanting to remember how she'd come to find out just how secure they were nor how unmovable he could be.
"Christine?"
She jumped a little, having been lost in her thoughts.
Glancing upwards at the window, she saw him reflected behind her, far back at the now open door. There were smudges across the panes from the oils on her fingers but she knew they would be polished away as soon as she was out of the room she couldn't really call her own.
He was in a suit, equally as fine as her dress, and also styled to perfection. He looked far more casual than she but effort - a great deal of it - went into looking so perfectly relaxed.
But beyond the clothes and the hair…there was his face.
His mask.
It was secured, the crisp material white and bright. It stood out painfully, more than it ever had done.
Now he displayed it.
He no longer felt shame about it.
His mask was his armor, his symbol.
Before, in a life that felt like it had happened a million years ago, his mask had been his shield. He would walk with strength and pride but always with a dip of his head, a tilt of his neck, as if he were fighting an internal battle: wanting to be seen but afraid to be seen, too. Back then, he had hidden away from the world, afraid and ashamed, hurting. Hating. A genius, too great for the world around him but now?
Now he was a genius, brutal and ruthless and cunning, unashamed and unafraid, still hating but with the means to punish.
Now he relished the attention his mask brought him; he relished the fear in the eyes of those who saw it.
He thrived in knowing that he had won. He still wore the mask he used to hide in but he was hiding no longer.
He was the victor.
He was the one who demanded respect.
Respect borne out of fear was still respect and he was content.
"You look beautiful"
"Thank you" she murmured, used to his compliments, knowing how it was better to engage with him despite how empty she felt inside.
"Though I daresay something is missing"
She winced, catching herself.
Of course.
"A necklace?"
"Ah, I see she voiced her opinion on the matter to you?"
"And when I said no, she went to you" Christine murmured with a shake of her head, looking back out of the window.
If she focused hard enough, she could make out the outline of one of the lemon trees.
She had said no and what had happened? The woman had run to him, to complain of her noncompliance. Christine chose for herself; she made her own decision. How terrible, how very terrible.
She heard the click of the door and seeing as how she hadn't heard him when he'd first opened it, she had to assume it was intentional.
He was letting her know they were truly alone.
It didn't matter to her though.
Wherever he was, his staff, his lackeys made themselves scarce until he had need for them. The door could have been wide open and whatever he had to say to her would still be private.
"Why the face, my love? She simply wants you to look your best" Erik said, leaning elegantly on the large and heavy table near the door, "she's caring for you"
"Yes, like she would a doll or a toddler. A warden with her prisoner"
"No. Like she would a young, delicate woman attending a party with conniving, cunning women who look at her as if she were prey that could be replaced"
Christine understood what he was saying, though she chose to ignore his somewhat chastising delivery.
It was the same at every party and every event. Erik held money and power and there was always, always a woman or women - often it was the plural - who seemed intent on seducing him, hoping for a share of his riches, hoping to benefit from his success and live a supposed easy life of luxury. They looked at her as if she was a bug to be smushed but more than that, more insulting than that, they looked at her as if she didn't compare to them. They oozed confidence and glamour, they were made for a world of fine glassware and expensive champagne, caviar and schmoozing and Christine, with her disinterest and sad, doe eyes certainly did not fit in it.
She didn't want to.
At the start it hurt her, though she hated to admit it to herself. She hated Erik, she hated the new world he'd carved for himself and dragged her in to and she loathed herself for feeling stung by the women and their smirks, their attempts to flirt with them in front of her. She hated that he only ever had eyes for her despite it all and she hated that she never strayed from his side, too nervous to face those smirks alone.
Over time, however, those stinging, confusing feelings faded.
The hatred turned a numb, cool disinterest. The nervousness and fear turned to ambivalence.
The women would never outright insult her, they would barely toe the line. He was frightening, after all. They had to be subtle about it and she found that easy to ignore.
Now, she bore it all with hardly a care. She could wander those long, dull parties alone, navigating the crowds with ease.
Alone.
She would leave his side, ignore his piercing gaze on her as she moved away.
"They can replace me. They're welcome to swap"
She didn't bother to look at his reflection to see his reaction.
"You have everything you could ever want, Christine" he stated, "what more can I do?"
"Do?"
"To win your heart"
"You have my life, Erik. You choose when I eat, where I eat, what I eat, who I eat with, where I sit, what utensils I can use. You choose where I can go, where I can't. You choose the books in the library, the channels on the television, you choose my bedtime, the temperature of my bath water-"
"-chefs, housekeepers, staff, security, a dedicated librarian, a doctor. I choose nothing, Christine. If you don't like a menu, talk to the chef. If you dislike the color napkin the maid selected, ask for another one. If a book isn't on the shelves, ask the librarian for it. If you don't like the temperature of your bath, change the setting on the damn panel. Don't presume I'm-"
"-I don't have access to the panel" she told him coolly, unwilling to let him label her as spoiled. That wasn't what it was about, "I can't open my own door outside of set hours, I've never opened a window. I can't even groom myself. If I need to shave my armpits, I have to request the esthetician. You can say that others are making decisions for me, you can cite your chefs or your maids but you're the one they're answering to. You control everything. You have my entire life, Erik. You've had my body. Everything about me is yours. My heart is the only thing you can't take and dictate and control" she turned to look at him, "and that's why you will never 'win' it"
"So, your cage is too gilded?" he sneered, jaw twitching as he ignored her final statement.
What was the point?
He would never understand.
He'd had her heart.
Before, it had been his.
A musical genius, tortured by the world, punished for his appearance. Kind, gentle. Loving. Soft and delicate. Vulnerable. Physically strong, intelligent beyond belief, talented beyond belief, too. But honest. Real. Ruthless and cold but human. Acting in defense, wanting a normal life. A bride, a home. Someone to share his passions, someone to live in peace with. His face was deformed but his soul - his soul was pure.
And then, it wasn't.
He'd found power. He'd found money. Wealth. Success.
No longer acting in defense, always on the attack, always thinking about the offence.
A step ahead of everyone.
Ruthless and cold and very much inhuman.
No life mattered to him; he had no vulnerability to be found.
He had become the monster everyone assumed he was.
Christine looked up at him.
"Sure" she said with a shake of her head, the disappointment clear in her eyes, "my cage is too gilded"
He strode towards her and she held her ground, looking up at him impassively.
He towered over her before but now that his muscles had strengthened, now that he had grown physically stronger, he encompassed her. Wide and tall, shoulders never slouched, back never hunched. Now his physical strength matched his sharp mental skills. He was every inch the predator.
"I can rectify that" he threatened her lowly.
She nodded.
"Yes. You can"
He could move her to a plain room. He could move her to a small one. He could take away her bathroom with the soaking tub that had a ledge in it, it sloped so deep. The beauticians, the silk dresses, the chef. The library, the carefully curated television. He could take it all away. What did it matter to her? She had lived her life in second hand clothes and spent her time taking quick, cold showers, eating lukewarm instant ramen. She was an orphan; she didn't grow up in the lap of luxury and she didn't need it now. She had been happy then, at least. Poor but happy. She'd had her own life and freedom to make her own choices. Her future had seemed bright.
She'd had Erik, too.
Her Erik.
Now all she had was this man.
This shell of a person.
He seemed to realize that his threat meant nothing to her.
He could live without it all, just the same as she.
"I will have your heart, Christine" he growled, hand slamming on the thick pane of glass beside her head, "along with everything else"
He had never hit her, never hurt her, not even accidentally. He'd never left a bruise after gripping her tightly but she could see his resolve slipping.
She was frustrating him.
She reached up and pulled the mask free from his face.
Perfect skin met her eyes, cutting cheekbones, full, pert lips.
A God, chiseled from marble.
Perfection.
The best surgeons in the world had tended to him and they had earned every single bit of their money.
"Erik had my heart" she told him, handing the mask to him.
"I am Erik"
"No" she told him with a shake of her head, "you're Mr Destler"
"Erik Destler"
"My Erik..." she trailed off, feeling her throat catch for a moment, "my Erik was a good man"
"Your Erik killed countless of people. The only difference between us is that he was a monster whereas I am a man"
She shook her head again.
She didn't doubt it that Erik had killed back then but she knew he'd done it to survive. He'd killed to defend his home, his haven. He'd killed to defend himself. It was different. He was trapped in a hard life and he fought and survived with strength and dignity. This man? This person in front of her? He didn't know the meaning of the word and she didn't know him. He was no longer trapped; he was living a life many dreamed of. Instead of enjoying that new found life, he was forever on the offence, hunting, killing, commanding his army of men.
She didn't recognize him.
"He had to" she murmured sadly, "you...you kill, you have men who kill for you, all for power. You spent so long as the victim-"
"-yes, Christine. Need I remind you of how I suffered? I was the victim, the perpetual victim and I changed that. Do you need to relive it, to remember-"
"-no" she told him frankly, seeing his jaw twitch, the tense muscles of his neck as he contained his rage, "I remember it. I know that you suffered and that you inflicted suffering on others. You had to, to survive...but you weren't a monster. Back then, you were a man"
"-yes, now I'm a monster" he sneered, "how very bright of you, my dear. Now that I am handsome, I am the monster. Quite an ironic reversal but your words are cheap. I was a monster then. I repulsed you. You liked me well enough; you liked my tutelage but my face disgusted you. You proved it to me, you chose him. That De Chagny-"
"-I had chosen Erik" she stated, watching his lip curl.
She felt a tightness in her chest, tension in the air.
She was treading on thin ice.
"How easy it is, to say that now"
She looked down at the mask still in her hands, the one he refused to take from her.
"It's true. I left to tell Raoul-"
She didn't miss the way his body moved, tensed.
Like a snake ready to attack.
"-that I was interested only in his friendship. I was young. Nervous. I had never dated; I had never even been with a man and I had two vying for my attention. I was shy, who wouldn't be? But I had chosen. Who knows where we would have ended, if we would have even begun but I did choose Erik-"
"-don't speak as if Erik does not exist. I am Erik" he spat.
She fell silent.
"No. You are Mr Destler"
"You're testing my patience, Christine"
"No" she said with a shake of her head, "I'm just wasting your time"
He would never change.
He had her.
Even if she hadn't given him her heart, he had her and that was enough.
He snatched the mask from her hands, finally, and slipped it back on his face.
It was his signature, after all.
His symbol.
"Yes. You are" he said curtly, taking a step back and holding his hand out towards the door.
She followed his silent order and walked towards it, slowly and demurely due to her perfectly styled dress and heels. His hand rested on her lower back and while she tensed for a moment, she found herself accepting his touch. He wouldn't allow her to resist him and she didn't want to be forced to be on his arm all night. He would do it, to punish her. Hold her to him, run his fingers over her arm, keep her close.
Play pretend for all to see and watch.
He leaned forward slightly and opened the door.
She slipped through it, his body almost brushing against hers as they walked down the long and empty corridor.
There was no faint chatter, no orchestral music off in the distance.
His guests, his party was in a different wing of the estate.
Taking a breath, trying to push her feelings of sadness, regret and emptiness aside, Christine found it oddly easy to steel herself.
He was too far gone to understand that he'd had her heart, that he'd broken it the same time he'd broken himself but something strengthened her resolve.
Her neck was still bare.
She had said no and her neck was still bare.
A small victory but unprecedented for her.
She had chosen.
For the first time since he had taken her, forced her into the world he had created...she had made a choice.
She was the victor.
For once.
Corridors twisted and the walked in silence. Not uncomfortable but not pleasant, either.
"I'm a patient man, Christine. You know that"
She didn't respond. What did he expect her to say?
Faintly the sound of music began to float through the air.
"You claim that I had your heart, that despite my appearance you had chosen me"
The scorn in his voice was clear.
He didn't believe her.
She slowed, the wide-open room they found themselves in leading to a large entrance.
He was so sure that she had left him to pledge her love and loyalty to poor Raoul but that wasn't the case. He was a friend to her, nothing more. It was impossible to make him believe it, though. In his mind she had abandoned him, left in the arms of his rival.
Trying to make him understand otherwise was just fighting a losing battle and tonight, tonight she had won one.
She would cling to that.
She paused before the doors, knowing that a butler was going to open them, that they would make their entrance together.
Out of habit, she smoothed her dress.
She felt his hand leave her back, saw him straighten his tie.
Christine glanced down at herself, pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear as he shifted behind her.
Any moment now, the doors would open and all eyes would be on them.
On her.
Envy.
Longing.
Jealousy.
Desire.
But tonight, she had won. Tonight, she could face them.
She could-
Christine froze, her breath catching as cold and heavy jewels met her skin, settling against her décolleté.
A necklace.
"I always win, Christine. You say that I won your heart once before, that you had chosen me. Well, I have chosen you now and your heart is already mine. You said so yourself. You gave it away to me once and so I still own it. You are mine. I feel no remorse for you freely gave it. You may resent your cage, you may resent me but you live to serve me, my wants and my wishes" his fingers danced against the base of her neck as he secured the necklace, "you can protest that I have changed but I assure you, all that has changed is my face. I am Erik. I am your Erik"
The necklace was secured.
His hand brushed down her neck, her back.
His fingers grazed her lower back, threatening to go lower, before curling once, his hand again returning to its previous spot.
The doors opened.
"Shall we?"
Numb, barely even able to breathe, he escorted her into the throng of people.
She followed his lead.