A/N: I know, I know, I know! It took me FOREVER to update. I am SOOOO sorry! Lots of things have been going on in my life, and it's just now starting to settle down a little. To top it all off, mid-terms are coming up next week for me. So, I beg your forgiveness. Beg! -begs- SEE! Am I forgiven? Do you all hate me now? -pouts- Okay, I know this chapter is really short. I've actually been working on it on and off for quite a while. I started it about a week after my last update (So, yeah. This chapter took me forever to write, despite its length.). I hope it's satisfactory. Next chapter will be more on what Celine is up to in the Phantom's lair. It will more than likely be based just around them, so expect a lot of fluff/conflict/confusion. Happy?

Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to RubyMoon2

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

(And thanks for pushing me to continue.)

14

Breakdown

Like a tangible spirit descending on the small, frightened girl, darkness enveloped little Celine in it's chilling embrace. Nothing was heard, except for her ragged breathing. Nothing was seen, except for the small glint of a white porcelein mask. Her throat was dry and covered in purple bruises; sore from the merciless strip of catgut coiled dangerously around the ghost's hand.

"Follow me." His voice reverberated around the enclosed passageway, causing the girl the jump with fright.

"I-I can't s-see..."

A large, warm hand gripped her shoulder firmly, pulling the ballerina along the coorider as a small gasp escaped her lips at the contact.

"M-monsieur..."

"Hush," he interrupted, pulling her in several different directions. The passages hidden inside the Opera House seemed to wind in meaningless circles. These circles caused the little girl the grow dizzy, in turn causing her to clutch onto the Phantom's hand in desperation. When she finally gave up on trying to memorize her way for chance of an escape, Celine succumbed to the wonderful bliss of ignorance. After what seemed like hours, a faint hazy glow could be seen in the distance.

Stepping into the light, the girl gasped.

Before her stood several book cases reaching nearly to the top of the cavern. Volume upon volume of various books lined these shelves, a statement of the wealth of knowledge this Phantom had. Walking through the room, she noticed titles of poetry, geography, mathmatics, and many foreign languages. It boggled her mind, causing the ballerina to gaze up at her captor in shock.

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound, and motioned towards a pair of lounge chairs set before a fireplace.

"Sit," he commanded softly, though it was still an order.

Obediantely, Celine sat, her tiny hands folded together atop her lap. Crouching down before the fire, the Opera Ghost lit the large pieces of dried wood and stoked them to a healthy flame. Straightening back up, he stalked over towards the unoccupied seat and gracefully sank into the plush chair.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

Well, he had a girl now. Willingly, or as willing as one could be for him. Sure, he had to threaten her friends, but she would still lay with him. It was what he wanted, right? Pleasure?

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He couldn't do it!

Of course you can, said that annoying voice in the back of his head. Just force yourself on her.

I am no rapist!

No? What is that small crime to murder...kidnapping?

It's different...This is different.

Really? How so? She's here, now. Take her while you can. Keep her until you get sick of her. Then dispose of her, like you would any other stranger.

Inwardly, the Phantom blanched. Dispose of her? Dispose! But...this wasn't what he wanted! He wanted love, acceptance!

He nearly slapped himself at his idiocy. Kidnapping? He kidnapped this poor child, expecting her to love him.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Returning her would only add to his troubles. What would she...they...say?

Then how was he supposed to solve this problem!

Seduce her!

Get her to love him?

He paused. Love, an emotion unknown to him. His mother...wicked, deceitful, beautiful woman that she was, never had the courage to care for him in such a way. The closest thing to a gift he had gotten from her was a mask. The only contact she allowed was when a whip or board beat his hide.

So then, what exactly was love? It could mean the intiment moments between a man and a woman. Of course, it could also mean something else. He had seen the looks in couples' eyes as they filed into his theatre; glancing at each other, blushing when they made eye contact, smiling genuinly with the mere brush of hands.

That was what he wanted.

A love of the most exquisite kind. The type of caring where the mere company of the other was enough to fulfill one's life. When the feelings and emotions one has for their love is enough to make one cry. But not tears of sorrow, as he had always known them to be. Not the salty trails of pain, when that bitter, disgusting taste fills your mouth, threatening to make you wretch. But tears of joy. Of complete and utter happiness; a taste so sweet he would kill to indulge in it just once.

Steepling his fingers across his brow, the Phantom sighed silently. Yet still, his musings did nothing to solve his problem. What was he to do with the girl?

The sound of shifting fabric came to his ears, followed by a nearly incoherant sigh. It was a strangled noise, as if the source of such misery were holding back their sobs. He glanced up, beautiful golden eyes staring straight back into the gaze of the little ballerina. They hold so much fear, he noted absently. And so much...sorrow.

Sorrow. Fear. Pain and lonliness and bitter regret. Things he could connect with; things he could understand.

"You are...afraid." It was more of a statement then a question.

She mumbled something in reply, which the Opera Ghost took for a 'yes'.

Lifting up from his chair, the Phantom walked slowly over towards the girl, his body towering high above hers like some dark, looming shadow. "Do not be."

Celine just stared at him with her large doe eyes. Do not be afraid? How could he say such a thing! She had been kidnapped! Taken away from everything she had ever known. Her friend's lives depended on her cooperation with this Opera Ghost!

His words were so...final. Spoken in that melodious vioce of his. Beautiful, yet haunting. She wanted to feel comfort, she truly did, but that seemed almost impossible. Celine was afraid. She was, quite simply, terrified of the mysterious ghost hovering mere feet from her seat.

And yet, he seemed so gentle. But he was a monstrous beast. Ugly, murderous, cruel. At least, that's what the stories said...

They were true, weren't they? Sorelli wouldn't lie, would she?

The little ballerina would have shaken her head in confusion, had the Phantom not been staring at her so intently.

His eerie amber gaze locked onto her dark brown eyes. They were so cold at first...like ice in a fire of anger. But something else was there, the further down she looked. It was...sympathy. Pain...sorrow...

...Hope...

The last emotion unnerved her the most. She turned her eyes away, focusing instead on the plush arm of her chair. Thinking she heard a sigh, Celine looked up, only to find herself staring at the Ghost's back. Strong muscles were barely hidden from his form-fitting suit of the darkest ebony.

Funny...she had not noticed him taking off his cloak.

"What do you want with me?" It was the first time in what seemed like ages her tiny voice didn't waver. Fleetingly, she was proud of the accomplishment.

"I thought I had made that clear." His voice was harsher than before, an edge of danger tinting his words.

"N-no..." Her stumble was back. "W-what...w-why did you b-bring m-me here..." His actions were so strange. One moment, he was threatening her life and her innocence. The next, he is acting like a regular gentlemanly host; offering her a seat, asking after her well-being.

"Do not ask foolish questions, child!" He snapped, swirling around to face her in the process.

The motion startled the little ballerina deeper into the softness of the chair. At the moment, she just prayed that seat would eat her whole. "I-I-I..."

"Stop stuttering!"

Silence.

Tears filled Celine's eyes, spilling over and wetting her cheeks. Her body wracked with sobs as she turned her pale face away from the Phantom's dark eyes. Yet still she could feel his gaze burning into her skin. Salt water filled her mouth, choking her throat which, in turn, caused her cries to push out more forcefully.

She couldn't hear him, but she could feel his body heat closing in on her; smell the foreign yet tasteful scent of strange spices that permeated his presence; see the strong, sinewy muscles of his arms come around her form; feel the brush of cold, bony fingers against her cheek.

Celine wanted to relax. Every part of her being was yelling at her to calm down. She couldn't help the racing of her heart, the sound of water rushing through her ears, the flushed look that came to her face.

"Do not cry."

There it was. His voice was dripping honey once again. Oh how she loved the sound of his soothing words! Each syllable, each vowel, each rise of a word sounded like carefully practiced music.

She couldn't help her next reaction.

Celine melted into his arms.

He hugged her to him, then. Gravity seemed to do the rest as they sank to the floor together. The Phantom cradled the girl against his chest, her tiny, muscular legs tucked into his lap. His arms felt awkard around her waist, but he held them there, nonetheless. Long, thin fingers stroked her hair and her back.

Hands of a musician.

Hands of a murderer.

...And now, hands of a comforter.

As Celine's sobs died down, she found herself still leaning up against the Opera Ghost. He had kidnapped her, and now she was satisfied being held in his arms! How delusional could she get? She needed comfort, though. From someone! She couldn't just be alone in her pain, it would drive her mad!

Despite the argument bewteen her head and her heart, Celine's body decided the battle for her. She was tired, barely able to lift an arm from all the excitement on top of grueling practice in the corps earlier that day. Her stomach growled angrily, reminding her that she had yet to have breakfast.

"Hungry?" asked the Phantom, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. It was the first time Celine had ever heard such an emotion comeing from him. It encouraged her.

Encouraged her enough to ask a question.

"What is your name?"

He had been lifting up from the ground, pulling her along, when she asked it. The words stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment, hands still resting atop the girl's waist.

But the time only lasted a moment. The Opera Ghost released the little ballerina and turned his back on her.

"I'll get you something to eat."

And then he walked off.