Attention, guys! This took long, but I'm leaving for a month on Sunday, to England, so I don't know how much I'll be able to write. Anyway, I think you will like this little chapter. It was the best I could come up with, anyway. Love it or hate it, but definitely review it!

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Chapter 6

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Each day progressed in the same way, never changing. Christine completed her duties at the de Chagny estate, then hurried straight to the church, prayed for a while and left in the company of her captor. She spoke less and seemed to lose some of her regained cheerfulness, as Marguerite warily spotted after a few days. And it was true – Christine was now almost always calm and quiet, though not in the way she had been previously. No, she wasn't afraid… simply highly aware of the fact that she could break free of this horror, if she attempted to, but she still submitted to it, for reasons only heaven above knew.

She avoided all questions about her new mood, leaving Marguerite worried and prodding, without success. They had become friends during the months together and the brunette was astonished to see this sudden change. She suspected it had something to do with the Vicomte de Chagny – it had been suspicious when he had asked her for Christine's whereabouts. And truly, Christine did seem to be putting all of her energy into avoiding the young Vicomte, never staying in the room when he arrived.

The estate, meanwhile, was in full battle-readiness, as Marguerite called it, because the ball that was supposed to be the moment when the future Vicomtess would be picked was less than a week away. Guests from all over the country – and the surrounding countries as well – were pouring into Paris, to stay at the guest rooms of the estate. The maids were as overworked as ever and Marguerite kept reminding Suzette that she was also a servant, thus she also had to work.

It had been almost two weeks since the terrible revelation in the chapel and Christine found herself feeling something other than simply fear and tinges of anger. She kept envisioning the life her captor must have – must – lead simply because of what he looks like. Not that she for a moment believed that he wasn't able to handle himself. Even she had heard the whispered, hushed tales of a shade moving through the nightly city, slippery like vapor and frightening like the darkness.

The day before the ball, Christine finished her tasks at the now standard hour, said her goodbyes to Marguerite and headed towards the church, as she usually did. She had subconsciously learned to be precise about these things, just as she had learned to listen to Erik's words of love and hold back her tears, unable to say that she was sorry… but she wasn't able to love him, despite the wonders he had shown her. He had begun teaching her how to read and write. She wasn't a prodigy, but she was picking up things pretty fast. Soon, she was able to write her name with a shaky hand and draw a few simple sketches. However, she noticed that his writing wasn't much better than hers, for some reason. But everything else he could do, he did perfectly.

He had given her a picture of her, perfectly clean and fashionably clothed. Had she been able to see that she wasn't such a street urchin anymore, she would have believed that the girl on the paper was her. She thought that it was too beautiful to be her, but as a drawing of a stranger, it was wonderful. Never did he ask anything for teaching her or showing her these things – simply her company. And that she wasn't able to deny him. The Christian in her, while acutely aware and afraid that he must have sinned tremendously to be punished so, was beginning to believe that perhaps he was upon the path to atonement and that he was, somewhere deep down inside, as human as she was.

The moment she entered the church, she felt his gaze upon her. Automatically, she searched for him and found him at once, a towering figure in black clothing and a similar cape concealing his face, upon which he now wore a black mask, so that it wouldn't clash with the rest of the clothing. She approached him, not fearlessly, but confident that she was safe while with him.

Here I am. She thought. She didn't need to say that. Though his face was concealed, his strange eyes shone from beneath the hood… with strange warmth. The dark figure extended his hand and she took it without any protests, allowing him to lead her away from the house of God, back to the unused chapel where they found solace so often recently. She never found out where he took up residence while in this city.

It was a clear night, but the stars were out of sight the moment they entered the windowless chapel. With anyone else, Christine would have been mortified. But as Erik released her hand and lit a few candles, she closed the door behind them herself. His eyes found her again and Christine forced a small smile. She needed a few minutes to get used to him again… then it would be no problem at all.

"I have a gift for you today." Erik said softly lowering the hood of his cloak, revealing almost nothing save his black hair. "I think you will like it and it should fit you." Christine didn't understand until he produced a bundle of clothes and handed it to her, never touching her hands. This timidity had been strange at first, but then she understood that it was not out of resentment or respect, but out of fear that she would wince or show her resentment somehow.

Someone had taught him not to expect anything but resentment and disgust from others… and while she showed none since the night she saw his face – or tried hard not to – he didn't want to or couldn't drop this guard. It made her pity him even more.

Unwrapping the bundle, Christine gasped. It was a dress… a wonderful dress, certainly more beautiful than any of the ladies in the house wore and quite easily far more expensive. It was black with silver embroidery, making it seem like a star-covered sky. The dress was complete with a fan and a necklace of what seemed to be diamonds. The color might have suggested a mourning period, but overall, the dress was clearly meant for celebrations, not sadness.

"You like it." It wasn't a question and Christine clearly heard his smile in his voice. "I am glad. It's yours. But I don't think you should take it back to that estate you live in. If you wouldn't mind, I will keep it for now and you will wear it later on, for the de Chagny ball."

"The-the ball?" Christine asked, her heart racing, "You intend to go there? How…?"

"Dearest Christine, obtaining an invitation is easy, especially since so many people are coming. No one has to know that there is no such person as a Marquis Lefévre."

"Is that your name?" Christine asked, curious.

But Erik shook his head. "No. it was the name of one of the Christian captives in Persia I had to interrogate for the shah. A pleasing man, but old. I suppose I liked him in a way." Christine had heard him talking about Persia, but never about captives or shahs or anything about interrogating. However, Erik didn't seem keen to continue the conversation. "You seem sadder recently and I know that you will like a ball."

"And who will I be? Everyone will recognize me."

"Not with this." Erik said, producing a black veil and a matching mask decorated with silver. He handed it to her, taking the dress off her hands. "You will be the Marquise, of course. If you will oblige and come, that it." He added quietly.

Christine examined the gifts. They were far too wonderful for a plain girl like her, it seemed. Too beautiful. She had never held such beautiful – and expensive things – before. She looked up at Erik, who was still watching her intensely. "Why… why are you doing this for me?"

"I love you, Christine. Only you." he repeated softly, "I enjoy your company and I promised you that you will be happy. Are you happy now, Christine? Now that you have these things… do you feel happiness?"

She wasn't quite certain what to reply, so she simply nodded. Happiness had been scarce in her life, she was almost scared to define it. But this seemed to be happiness, the feeling that had burst up in her heart. A part of her – the feminine part – was growing satisfied. But something within her was still wary, not least of all because he had asked her to come with him as his wife.

"What could I give you in return?" Christine asked, still a bit scared. If he would simply tell her what he wanted from her! Things would be much easier with this little certainty, this small piece of information.

"Your company is sufficient for now, Christine." Erik said, pausing for a moment, then relieving her of the other things as well. They seemed to vanish from his hands, but Christine knew it wasn't so. It was a matter of seeing and not seeing things, as Erik had taught her about magic. "I intended to leave the city behind, but not when I have found such a wonderful reason to stay. Only if…" Christine looked up, "If you would… like to come with me." He said uncertainly, "You wouldn't have to work ever again, not as a servant, or wear those plain and austere clothes any longer. We could buy ourselves a house and live in peace! I swear you would be the happiest woman on earth, Christine, wearing only silk each day!" she wasn't able to back away and before she was able to even protest, he was, once more, down on his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. "You tremble… but you needn´t, Christine! You needn´t fear me, I would never, ever risk hurting you. You would be happy forever, Christine, you would have all you wish!"

"Go… and where would we go?" her voice was almost inaudible.

"Wherever you would wish!" Erik cried, "Anywhere in the world would be our home, I can promise you that! Never again would you need to fear anyone or anything."

Yes, Christine thought. That was true. She wasn't afraid when with Erik. Somehow, viewing the offer from another point of view, she began to see the pluses. There were dangers in the world she wasn't ready for… and she knew well that no one but another beggar like her would ever considering marrying her. And what then? She would bear a few children… and then have to bear drunken beatings, perhaps. And with this man, who had protected her for so long, another path seemed to be offering itself to her. Granted, she was terrified of his face. Indeed, she thought that he was repulsive when it came to that…. But without seeing the face, she had never thought him hideous. Rather, there was some kind of strange grace around him, making him not the evil of the crude kind, but a sublime, efficient and elegant evil, a true devil, cunning and graceful, hiding the one terrible secret he had.

After all, what was wrong with this man, save for his face?

The Lord teaches us to forgive sinners… her prejudice must have been great, she knew… and why not accept a lesser evil, when she could be safe and happy?

Lies… a voice in the back of her mind said.

Lies, selfish lies… you want to be safe, you care nothing for him, nothing for his happiness. You will be a wretched, damned creature if you give him your hand in marriage, willingly, and then refuse him the right matrimony gives him – to call you his wife and take you for his own. You will quiver, but not with passion. You will turn away and hurt him and strike where it hurts the most. You will betray him.

But she couldn't admit to herself how true the words were. She wanted… needed… safety. And she couldn't spend her whole life as a chambermaid, that existence gave her no fulfillment. And, as the wife of Erik, she would forget the matter of Raoul de Chagny and her foolish dreams about the two of them, about him, about the moment he had approached her in the church and her heart had begun to race…

"Erik…" she whispered, her throat very dry, even more so when he looked up at her with the childlike immense hope that she couldn't bear to crush. And while her mind cried that it would be a mercy to allow him to know the truth, to know that her heart was breaking due to her pity and that she didn't know what she was supposed to do, her breaking heart made the decision it thought held more compassion.

"I will marry you."