During her time at the Opéra, Christine had collected countless memories of the young ballerinas gossiping about marital fantasies. Huddled in one corner, the nonsensical girls chattered on throughout the evenings before they returned home, giggling about their futures and what untold joys and riches lay in store for them. Their hushed whispers had carried flickers of hope and excitement through the shaded halls, and Christine often listened to them through closed doors. Now, she only shook her head and even laughed at herself about how delusional they had been and, more importantly, how delusional she had allowed them to make her. They had spoken of true love, of knights in shining armour, who would one day carry them off into the sunset. A picture book ending—and Christine had believed them. How silly it all seems now, she thought. How could they have filled their heads with such talk of love when they had not yet experienced it for themselves?

Even on today, her wedding day, Christine was not sure what love was. She thought she knew of its promises when Raoul had entered her life again, but that all changed when Erik had declared his love for her. From then onwards, the two men who had wanted her love so ardently had torn her heart in two. Her mind wrenched her away from the darkness and into Raoul's arms, while her soul led her away from daylight and into Erik's domain. Yet, this was not what Christine had dreamt her wedding day to be like.

When Erik had finally emerged from his bedchamber, he was dressed in an all black ensemble. He was perhaps the most morbid bridegroom Christine had ever seen, for he looked more like an undertaker. Pensively, she thought not of herself as his living bride, but of his undead bride.

Once he had adjusted his gloves, he looked up at her expectantly, his eyes softening as he saw her, still dressed in the wedding gown, and asked if she was ready. She gulped and looked down at her veil, now twisted and scrunched within her fingers. No, she was not ready, but a promise had been made. Her eyes remained on the beautiful fabric in her grasp for a few seconds more before she put on her bravest, most convincing smile and looked up at her intended. Pride surged through him as he extended a hand towards her and Christine's smile faltered as she walked towards him.

Knowing that one word against this arrangement would end in hatred, she remained quiet. Yet, it made her tremble to her very core to think that Erik would not wait before wanting to claim her as his own. It had only been a week or so since she had agreed to marry him, but she had not thought about the conditions it would bring, and yet not one word of protest escaped her. In fact, no words at all seemed to be able to make their way to her lips. Disgruntled, she slipped her hand into Erik's and allowed him to lead her to their future.

Rigidly, Christine was led through unfamiliar and disconsolate corridors. The only light came from a lantern ahead of her and she often tripped over her own feet in the darkness—it was the only time she was thankful for Erik's guiding hand. After what seemed like a lifetime of unfortunate stumbles, they finally arrived at a worn door. Christine held her breath as she saw sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the wood. She stared at the bright rays as Erik released her hand and began to unlock the bolt. As soon as he had swung the door open, the glow of the evening sun, both vibrant and warm, spread across eager and wanting skin. The strain behind her eyes, however, bothered her immensely. She had spent too long underground.

After her vision had adjusted itself to the light, she took in her surroundings and saw that they were standing in a clearing amongst very large and towering trees. The bottom of the veil dragged along the mossy floor as she stepped out of the hallway, smiling once more at the first joining of boots and soft earth. Erik watched as she gazed around her, taking delight in her childlike glee.

Having been so used to the cobbled streets of the city, Christine had almost forgotten what it was to be one with the uneven, but organic flow of nature. The ground was stacked with greenery, accompanied with deep browns and oranges. The air was thick and scented, and there was a layer of thin mist that covered the hem of her gown and stopped her from seeing the ground below. It is a clearing fit for creatures of magic, she thought, half expecting to hear the light flutter of a faerie's wings beat at her ear.

"Where are we?" she asked as she walked farther into the woods with Erik trailing a slow path behind.

"That is irrelevant," he told her, strolling deeper into the trees, and Christine stared after him, wondering what he was planning. "Now," he continued, not stopping, "I shall be gone for several minutes to acquire our transportation." He turned to her, a wary glint behind the mask. "I want you to stay in this exact spot until my return."

Raising an eyebrow at his apparent trust, Christine took a step toward him. "How can you be sure that I will not run?"

"Where is there to run to? You have no idea where you are and I think you are not stupid enough to try to find your way back through there," he said, pointing at the door they had just come through. He was satisfied to see her drop her gaze to the ground in silence, obviously having accepted his reasoning. "I will be back shortly."

When Christine looked up to see him vanished, her fingers reached up to nervously fiddle with her hair as she bit her lip and contemplated his words. No, she was not stupid enough to turn back and run, but these winding paths and sheltering branches were becoming more tempting with each passing second. But as she stared into the trees, her mind began to lead her down a dark and haunting route. If she were to run, what strange things would be lurking out there at every turn? She had heard tell of unpleasant stories, of unfortunate victims in wooded areas, but she had never paid them too much heed...

A snap echoed behind her and she spun around quickly, the veil slipping from sweaty fingers and her eyes a frantic series of motions. She could not see anything out of the ordinary, but nor could she see anything that could have been responsible for making the noise. Nervously, she picked up the veil, pressing it to her body as if it were an impenetrable shield, and waited.

The minutes continued to slip by and Erik had not yet returned. She had stepped back to linger within the threshold of the passageway, finding herself reluctantly seeking the comfort the darkness provided. And although she heard no more sudden noises, she would have sworn that the wind carried with it a soft moan, floating around her like the lament of a lost soul, a desperate cry, an eternal call.

But she of all people should have known that spirits did not exist.

Her worries vanished soon afterwards for out of the distance came Erik... with a rather large creature in tail. As he neared, she saw that a black stallion trotted along the mossy path beside him, its strong legs gliding effortlessly through the thicket and its mane billowing in the light breeze. Christine was at a loss for words, instantly inquisitive as to how he had acquired the fine specimen. She eyed Erik suspiciously, thinking he might have stolen it from a carriage of a nobleman and she tactlessly asked him as much.

"Your doubt wounds my pride," he scoffed, not making her accusation any less valid in her mind. He brushed long fingers through the short hair of the horse's coat and Christine watched, fascinated, as it responded quite positively to his touch, shaking its head and nudging his arm. Had she ever seen anything so receptive and so welcoming to Erik before? "This is Caesar," he informed her. "He is mine."

"Yours? He.. is beautiful," she admitted, though a little scrupulously, stepping closer to the odd pair. "Caesar. It is an unusual name for a horse."

"It suits him well." When she raised an eyebrow, he smirked and focused on fixing the ageing saddle before placing the veil carefully into the side satchel. "Caesar is an Imperial title, as you know. It belongs to a figure of great power and importance. Now, look at him," he said, admiring the magnificence creature. "Would you not agree that he holds power in both body and mind?"

Before Christine was given the chance to reply, however, her feet were swept off the ground and she suddenly fell backwards into Erik's arms. She let out a tiny shriek and had no other choice but to cling onto his neck for dear life. Her glares were met by an apologetic grimace before he lifted her onto the saddle. Having underestimated the height of the horse, Christine quickly gripped the reins and stared at her dangling legs, which now seemed terribly far from the ground. After a stiff gulp ran down her throat, she felt Erik mount himself up behind her and gently pull the reins out of her hands. With a quick motion of his feet in the stirrups, they began their journey.

Christine shut her eyes tightly, blocking out everything except the clicking of hooves against ground, and attempted to not draw attention to the way her back was pressed against her companion's chest. Erik, on the other hand, took great pain in keeping his breathing level at such an alarming proximity. Never had she been this close to him, for this long before, and he savoured every accidental nudge of her elbow and the strands of hair that flew up against the wind and tickled his bare chin.

He kept to the shadows in the already dimming light as they galloped to their destination. The mist had followed them into the more rural areas, it had seemed, and Erik soon noticed his beloved shiver under the damp air.

"Are you all right?" he asked, worrying what the cold would do to her health and voice. "If you have a chill then you may use the cloak I have brought. Is that what you wish?"

Had she not been in this unwanted predicament, she would have been tempted to smile at his kindness. "No. No, thank you," she murmured, rubbing her hands together nervously as they rode through darkened streets and unrelenting mist. "How much farther is it?"

"A couple of miles," he replied quietly after a short pause. His breath landed on her skin and he did not miss the small hairs which stood up on the back of her neck.

"Erik, I... I..." How was she to tell him to turn back without unleashing his unspeakable anger? But oh, she would do anything to prolong the cursed inevitable. "Erik, I feel a little light headed. Would you mind stopping for a little while? All this jostling is making me sick to my stomach. I-I fear I may faint."

Being so close to their destination, Erik could not help but hold a suspicion to her claims. But, if her words surfaced to be true and she fainted in his arms then he would never forgive himself for failing to attend to her needs properly. "Very well," he said, pulling on the reins sharply and guiding Caesar into a barren alley. "But only for a few minutes."

Christine did not comment on his insistent punctuality and instead dismounted, focusing on breathing deeply whilst leaning against the hard wall. The nip in the air that she had despised moments before was now a welcome change. Within clenched fists, her heavy pulse trembled and from their concealment in the shadows, she began to glance around her. "Where exactly are we now?"

"The Rue Saint-Honoré, I believe."

A pause, and then, "My guardian lives on this street," she whispered, but Erik just stared at her indifferently.

"Why are you being pragmatic?"

Christine shrugged absent-mindedly and continued, "I have not seen her in such a long time," and there was a slight possibility, however small that may have been, that the woman would be able to help her. "I would also like her blessing before we are wed," she lied.

Erik's black eyes flickered to focus on the wet pavement. "I would prefer not to—"

"Please," she begged of him. "I care deeply about having her consent."

"Christine, I said that I have already..." His brow creased behind the mask as he thought over all his false documentation. It was all they needed, but as he studied her hopeful face he felt his will weakening. He could not deny her this. "Very well."

She grinned widely in appreciation before starting to wander off in the direction of the house.

"Wait."

Fearful, Christine froze, thinking he may have changed his mind. But a moment later, a cloak was being wrapped around her shoulders. Relaxing into its warmth, she murmured her gratitude before cheerily walking again. She resisted the urge to look back, for, though she heard nothing, she knew that she did not travel alone.

It did not take long for her to find the familiarity of her guardian's door and she raised her hand up with a small smile playing on her lips, only hesitating as Erik's voice reached her ear. "You seem awfully well for someone who stated that they were going to faint."

Deciding to ignore his words, even as her entire body tensed under them, she knocked on the door lightly. There was no answer. She knocked again and again until the door suddenly creaked open. A small, skinny girl, no older than fourteen, stood in the door way. She cowered behind the frame but her eyes lit up when she saw the woman standing before her.

Through her petite lips she whispered, "Mademoiselle Christine!"

"Simone!" she exclaimed, happily crouching down to the girl's eye level. "Oh, come here, let me see you." Christine beckoned her closer and was immediately met by eager little arms wrapping themselves around her neck.

Simone giggled. "Mademoiselle Christine, it is so good to see you again! But why have you come here at this hour? And alone!"

Christine frowned and pulled back so that she could look into the girl's concerned eyes. When she turned around, she was met with nothing, not even a shadow of a man on the street around them. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to Simone. "Where is your mother, dear?"

"At home. She... she is ill. I am taking care of her as well as resuming my duties here along with Madame Dumas." She forced a smile to her lips. "Oh, but we must get you inside, Mademoiselle. You will freeze out here." Her little fingers wrapped around Christine's wrist as she dragged her inside, shutting the door quietly behind them.

A wave of relief washed over Christine as she was greeted by the roaring warmth of a fire in the next room and the overwhelming aroma of perfume. "How is Mamma?"

"Hon är väl." Christine smiled proudly at the sound of her native language on the girl's tongue. It had been too long since she had spoken it herself, let alone heard it. Simone then clasped her hands innocently in front of her, pleased with the woman's radiant smile. "I still remember some of what you taught me." Christine grinned once again at the girl's wonderful memory and at how pleased she was that she was so articulate.

"That is good to hear, Simone. You are a very clever girl. Now, run along, I can see myself to Mamma... speaking of which, where is she?"

"Upstairs, first door on the left. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask," she said before scuttling away towards the kitchen, where the booming voice of Madame Dumas sounded upon her entrance.

Christine did not waste any time before hurrying up the stairs. It was strange being back here and when she had reached the door which separated her from her guardian, she paused, preparing herself for the tearful reunion she knew she would face. From within, she could hear the quiet turning of a page and an occasional sigh. Longing to linger and listen to these sounds a while longer, she closed her eyes and leaned against the frame, only noticing too late that her shifted weight had caused the floor beneath her to groan.

"Is that you, Simone?"

The tender voice brought a warmth to Christine's heart. "No," she said, pushing the door open and looking upon her surrogate mother with utter adoration. "It's me, Mamma."

"Christine?" she whispered, her pale eyes shining at the sight of her lovely one. "Oh, Christine, dear! Come in, come in!"

Rushing over to her, Christine collapsed into her comforting embrace, a broken but joyful sob on her lips. How she had missed her! It had only been several weeks since they had last parted, but each day had felt like an eternity to Christine.

Pulling back, Mamma Valérius reluctantly gestured for her ward to step back, a shaky smile spreading on her face. "Turn, dear, let me see you properly."

Indulging her, Christine turned slowly, feeling like a primed mannequin on display, but she kept her cloak tightly wrapped around her, lest the wedding gown be seen. She need not have worried though, for Mamma Valérius saw nothing but her darling girl there before her.

"You look healthy, dear, but thin," she observed, noting gaunt cheeks and wrists before folding her hands in her lap, the book now forgotten. "Is your fiancé not feeding you?"

A chill ran through her and Christine felt her fingers twist into the material of the cloak ever so slightly. "Raoul... Um, the Vicomte is not my fiancé anymore."

A horrifying look of confusion and suspicion washed over the old woman's tired face. "What on earth are you talking about? Of course you are engaged to him. Why, only days ago I was speaking with him."

"You were?" Christine cried, dropping to her knees in front of her. "What did he say? How is he? Is he well?"

"Calm yourself, child," Mamma Valérius chided. "And for Heaven's sake, stand up. Really, you act as though you have not seen him in months."

A tremor of relief jolted through Christine's body. It seemed that her guardian was unaware of their situation, but soon she thought of Raoul and why he had not mentioned certain recent events to her. "Where did you speak to him?"

"Here, of course. Not at the Opéra, if that is what you were insinuating," she added. "I apologise that I have not been able to attend your performances lately. It would seem that I need assistance just to journey down a flight of stairs now! Servants are one thing, but I draw the line at having strangers in my home." She chuckled but Christine clutched at her hand anyway, comforting her, answering her silent plea. "I do not suppose that really matters now seeing as you are retiring. Such a pity it is, and at such a young age too."

"Retirement..." she echoed vacantly.

"Yes, that woman... oh, what is her name? She has a stern look about her, beady eyes, middle-aged—"

"Madame Giry?"

"Giry, yes, that is the one. Madame Giry had informed me the other day that you were taking a rest period so that you can recover from all this ghost business, and that your eventual marriage to the Vicomte will lead to your retirement from the stage. I would have inquired after you were if not for his visit. He stated that you are fine, but he seemed uneasy when he spoke of you. Perhaps that is why he never mentioned..." Her eyes shot back to Christine. "Why are you not engaged to him?"

"I... I am engaged to someone else."

"You may be away from the hustle of the stage, dear, but you have certainly kept yourself busy." A horrendous blush burned Christine's cheeks at her guardian's implications. "Who is he?" she asked, her inquisitive mind now outweighing her annoyance. "Do I know him? Is he of a good background? Is he able to support you, or is that why the young Vicomte did not wish to mention him? And why, pray, does he think it is acceptable not to speak to me about this? Really," she chided. "There is a proper way of doing things."

"Our engagement has not been formally announced, Mamma," Christine said gently as she watched the old woman's eyes widen. "It has happened all rather suddenly."

"You are not eloping, I hope? Heaven forbid!"

"No, Mamma!" Christine protested, thinking how she could explain such a thing to her. She could not very well tell her that she was betrothed to a ghost. She would think her mad! "My fiancé, he is... a musician." At least that was not a lie. "A genius, in fact. He is a composer and an architect and... Oh, believe me when I say that I know our engagement is sudden, but I-I have to marry him."

"Why, dear?" Concern flooded the woman's frail body.

"Because I..." Christine could feel hot tears stinging her eyes and she drooped her head forward onto her guardian's lap. "Because I have to marry him. There is no other way to explain this, Mamma. I made a promise. Do not ask me questions and please—" Christine looked up at her in desperation, her grip on those wrinkled hands tightening to a point where they were slowly turning white, "—please, for Raoul's sake, do not tell him of my visit here, nor of my engagement. It is for his safety."

Producing a handkerchief with hand stitched initials from her sleeve, Mamma Valérius slipped her fingers under Christine's chin, carefully raising the girl's head to look at her. "What do you mean it is for his safety?" She waited patiently for a reply, delicately wiping away her ward's tears with a motherly touch that Christine did not realise she had missed.

"They do not get along," she explained simply. "It is best that they do not ever come into contact with one another."

"Do you love him?" her guardian asked, seeking to redirect the conversation slightly.

"Who?"

At this, she smiled. "Your fiancé, dear."

"No," Christine murmured, still conflicted over what exactly it was that she felt for Erik. "I am scared, Mamma, but I still care for Raoul and I miss him terribly and I fear that I cannot fully move on when he is still in my heart. I will try to move on, truly I will. But, please. Please, promise me that you will not tell Raoul anything."

Mamma Valérius frowned at Christine's erratic behaviour but agreed. "I am certain that in time you will grow to care for your fiancé." Her words were laced in elderly confidence and Christine wondered if such a certainty were truly possible. "But why do you cry at the very mention of him?" Sensing a reluctance to speak, she then whispered, "I have done nothing but care for you these past years and you know you can always confide in me."

Her persuasion swayed her and Christine spoke very quietly, paranoia setting in as her eyes darted towards the window and door. "I am so very afraid for his soul, Mamma. He has done things—bad things—and I am afraid that his soul may be lost forever." Erik's belief in her, that her love alone would be enough to redeem him frightened her terribly. His expectation of her—it was too great, far too great—and she could not live up to it.

Mamma Valérius gently began pushing her away and Christine was appalled when she saw that she was attempting to stand up. Worried for her lack of support, Christine's hands quickly travelled to her elbows only to be waved off by a flick of her hand. Shadowing her every move, Christine watched carefully as she hobbled over to the dresser on the other side of the room. Her eyes roamed the messy dresser until she saw what Mamma Valérius was reaching for. She continued to follow the object with speculative eyes as it was brought to the old woman's lips before being placed into her own hands.

A beaded necklace with a wooden cross lay in Christine's palms. Staring down at the object, she ran her thumb over the surface as she heard her guardian's revelation.

"This belonged to your mother."

"My mother?" Taking half a step away from her guardian, she frowned. "You kept this from me?"

"No, dear. Your father informed me that she wanted it to be a wedding gift, but I never found it to be the right time. After hearing what you told me, I know now is the right time. I give this to you as a reminder of your mother and of God." She leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her ward's forehead. "I wish you the very best, child."

After this exchange, Christine hurried a goodbye and swore that she would do her utmost to visit again, her want to escape having strangely diminished with her growing weariness. She clutched her cross to her chest as she began to leave, only stopping to gather some spare pieces of clothing and special trinkets from her old room into a small suitcase. Lifting the cross up to her face, she kissed and stroked it lovingly, thinking of her mother and suddenly feeling stronger in its presence. Carefully wrapping the cross up in a shawl, she placed it in the case and closed the lid. It was not something she wished for Erik to ever see.

As soon as the front door had closed behind her, a burst of cold air hit Christine's face.

"You know," she flinched at the abrupt sound of Erik's voice in the darkness, "it makes me pity myself even more."

Dragging the suitcase with a grimace on her face, Christine resisted the urge to look for him and chastise the utterance which screamed of self-loathing. "What are you talking about?"

"Your conversation in there about me. What else?" She froze at the realisation that he had heard every word she had said. Anger flared up within her at his disregard for her privacy, but she could do nothing but stare at the pavement beneath her feet. "I always knew my love was unrequited and now after hearing you speak about the boy in such a manner, what glimmer of hope is there that you could possible love me?"

They had reached Caesar by now and Christine did not have time to say a single thing before Erik had lifted her onto the saddle. His focus fell to the suitcase and, chivalrously, he extended a hand towards it, wishing to secure it, but Christine did not move. She only stared at him in his acceptance of defeat with a pained heart.

"Erik, I am sorry." It was all she could say.

"Do not try to explain anything to me," he said before giving up on her relinquishing the case, mounting the horse himself and setting it into a trot. "I would do anything for you, Christine. Anything. I would and will do anything to make you mine... And that is why we shall not wed."

In her restrictive hold, Christine attempted to turn her head to face him. "You will not force me?"

"I will not force you," he confirmed and relief filled her tired body. His hands tightened around the reins, gloomily receptive of his fate and of his beloved's reluctance. "I have already been given the unthinkable gift of your consent to be my wife, but I know that the act itself is not feasible. I know now that I will take no wife," he whispered into the hood of the cloak, the material muffling his pained tone. "Your companionship is more than sufficient."

But I know it is not enough, she thought achingly as Caesar's hooves carried them back at a maddening pace.

When they arrived underground, Christine gave Erik a brief smile before heading to her bedchamber with her suitcase. She had barely taken two steps in the opposite direction when he had suddenly reached out and caught hold of her hand—another desperate act of reassurance. But upon noticing a shiver run through her, he immediately released that hand and strode down the corridor to his own bedchamber, slamming the door behind him and wishing nothing else than to shut the world out.