Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or Elisabeth.

A/N: Please R&R!

Chapter Seventeen

Nothing, Nothing, Nothing at All

Splash! A speeding carriage splattered Christine's cloak with mud

"And this is how I'm going to appear at the de Chagny mansion?" she mused aloud. Ripping the cloak off her shoulders, despite the chill in the air, and continued down the street.

The de Chagny mansion's façade loomed over her. Although Dacio was dead and Raoul had gone away, Madame Mignon Sommer still lived there with her family and Dacio's widowed husband and children (Mignon's husband had died a few years ago). The family had become the focus of gossip and urban legends. These yarns ranged from the mundane to the outrageous. Some said that Mignon, who hadn't really been seen in public since her sister's death, had gone mad and practiced the black arts. Christine scoffed. Such rumors weren't to be trusted.

Christine rung the little bell, and she was met by a haggard, old maid.

"What do you want?" the maid asked nervously.

"I would like to speak with Monsieur Jetter and Madame Sommer," Christine replied with a dignified air.

"You want to see Madame Sommer?" The maid formed the sign of the cross across her chest. "God bless you. Come in."

"What? Is something wrong with Madame Sommer?" The maid just formed the sign of the cross again and headed up the staircase. Christine presumed that she was to follow her.

As Christine surveyed her surroundings, she was surprised at how depressing the mansion seemed. The rooms and corridors were, of course, in impeccable condition, as a noble family is expected to keep their dwelling, but an air of sadness, anger, and possibly even fear lingered about. Most of the lights in the house were out. The light radiating from the chandelier in the grand foyer lighted the way almost entirely, for the curtains were drawn on all the windows. It seemed like night inside the mansion. Of course, one could only attribute this general gloom to Dacio's recent death. It was only logical.

Finally, they reached Raoul's former study. Pretty much all was just as it had been left when Christine and Raoul had flown away to Sweden: on the upper right corner of the intricately carved mahogany desk sat a stack of papers, the blotter still rested in the center area of desk's workspace, nearest to the imposing leather chair, the bookshelves that lined the walls were well stocked, and everything was meticulously organized. Pretty much all was the same, only now Monsieur Jetter sat behind the desk.

The maid murmured, as they crossed the threshold, "Monsieur."

Jetter's head snapped up, revealing a wan, tired face that had just paled. "Marie, why is she here?" he asked with the same nervousness that the maid had greeted Christine.

"Madam wishes to speak with you and Madame Sommer."

"Mademoiselle," Jetter said to Christine, "it might be best if you simply talk to me and not my sister-in-law."

"That will be fine with me."

"Then, please, have a seat." Christine daintily sat in the chair opposite Jetter. "What is it you'd like to talk to me about?"

"My son, Vladen de Chagny."

"Mademoiselle, I believe that you have been told many times that you have no custody on your son."

"I just wish to know where Raoul has taken him." Jetter's nervousness was rapidly melting away and being replaced by anger.

"That is none of your concern, Mademoiselle, and you should do as my esteemed late wife told you and stay out of the de Chagny family!"

A screech resounded through the mansion. Jetter's face paled, and so did Marie's. The screech came again, this time it seemed closer.

"I will kill that wretched enchantress!" Mignon burst into the room, panting, and her eyes were a bloodshot red. Her gaze fixed itself on Christine, staring her down with a frightening intensity. For a few moments, Mignon simply stood in threshold, like a lifeless, startling doll. Then, without warning, she lunged into Christine and started scratching at her, uttering horrible vows of revenge at her. Christine pried Mignon's fingers off her flesh and ran out of the room, but Mignon followed her, intent on finishing Christine off. She pursued Christine all over the mansion, until all of a sudden she dropped to the floor. Christine cautiously tiptoed up to her and checked for a pulse. Mignon was still alive, though currently unconscious. Gripping her cloak tightly around her, she ran toward the door, but stopped suddenly and looked at Mignon's crumbled figure. A poem came to her mind dealing with madness, one that no one ever really knew who wrote. It was in a collection of short poems and sonnets by someone who called herself merely "Sissi".

I wish I were like you,
A straightjacket placed in a corset.
One constricts only your body,
One shackles my soul.
I have struggled and defied all and what have I attained?
Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

Then the only explanation was the madness
And the only escape was the collapse.
The abyss tempted me.
I want to let myself fall.
Why do I shudder before the leap?
If I were not damned to be Elisabeth,
if I were Titania.
I would laugh when they say, "She is crazy".
I stand on the rope and the fear makes me sick,
Then I look below and I see
Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

I grope further and with a searching step am always
afraid of nothing, nothing, nothing at all.
Probably only the madness makes one free.
Surely the madness stained my courage.
So I act strong and do what I do, otherwise
this life was nothing more than deception, error, fraud.
Other than nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

A sharp pang hit Christine's heart, and she felt as though the poem described her life more than Mignon's. What had her life been for anyway? At one time, a time that now seemed so far away, she had been happy. Then a certain voice had stepped in and turned her life upside down. She'd thought then that she had been on the brink of madness the first time she heard that voice. Unfortunately, she was proved to be quite sane. All of sudden, she was swept up into a dangerous game, one that naturally, she couldn't win. Once all the truths had been revealed, she'd wished to go away, go away to a place where she could perhaps have the best of worlds that she was living in- a world of passion and a world of security, and not have to worry about either world getting jealous. And now, she'd chosen the world of security, left the world of passion in the dust, and then left the world of security to rot, too. All she loved was taken away from her. Maybe a sort of madness would make her feel better. After all, her life contained nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

A/N: Okay, first of all, Empress Elisabeth (nicknamed "Sissi") did not write the poem featured here. These are actually the lyrics to "Nichts, nichts, gar nichts" (Nothing, nothing, nothing at all) from "Elisabeth". Michael Kunze wrote them. Elisabeth was, though, known to be fond of writing poems.

Wishing you all a happy holiday season,

x-forbiddenrose-x