A/N - A very long chapter. I hope you do not mind. There are a few questions in this chapter, but it's rather intentional. If something doesn't make sense, it will in the next chapter or two.

Also, PLEASE read "The Destiny of Souls Entwined". It's a marvelous story and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Three cheers for LoveMe1010, too. My beta rocks!

Annabel was flustered and tired, but she could not relent. Not when it was obvious that something quite important was amiss!

"You do not understand," she explained tiredly for the fourth time. "He would not miss an engagement such as this. The grounds have been searched and he is not here. Something is wrong!"

The poor man sent to tend to the agitated diva wrung his hands, ran his fingers back through his thinning hair, and then straightened his jacket.

"Mademoiselle," he began cautiously. How could he explain to the visiting singer that the managers had little concern for a mere set boy, or that they had cast their lot in the crowd that figured he had run off with a harlot.

Annabel could sense his frustration and see that pursuing her search any further in this vein was futile. Instead of allowing him to finish she simply waved her hand to dismiss him. The man seemed more than eager to obey and was out the door in a breath.

"Oh, Erik..." she mused aloud. "Where have you run off to?"

For years I had to endure unthinkable brutalities at the hands of men and women alike. The gypsies are a disgusting people. The very camps they survive in are littered with filth and they do not seem to care. Quite the contrary, it is as though their very souls are blackened and only darkness, decay, and filth will sustain them. The same is true of their pleasures. I could see through the bars of my cage the women as they danced around the fire. There was nothing truly sensual or lovely about their movements. It was a raw and primal dance, the urge to copulate that drove each twirl or undulation. You can read it in the eyes of the men as they watch their women dance. As a child I did not realize then that those women, who seemed so free, were little better than I. I, the devil's child, lived in a cage made of steel. Theirs were cages of silk. My duties were to frighten and horrify the onlooker for a coin, and then to remain mute and out of the way. Their duties were to please the barbaric men who commanded them in every way demanded of them.

If I was shown any mercy during my time with the gypsies, it was only that my purity was not violated. I was only a child, but I had seen them abuse girls younger than I. I suppose that my horrible face is what kept them away. Or perhaps they thought that I was indeed a child of Lucifer himself, and feared what the consequences may be if they attempt to lay with me. I will never be sure.

I do know, however, that no matter how many bleak and dreary days I survive on this earth I will never forget the lessons I learned there. No one is worthy of trust. Any attempt to seek compassion only results in pain. I have scars still to validate that point. The world is cruel and evil, under a guise of civility and etiquette. Everything is hopeless and endless.

It is with such knowledge that I sleep, now, undoubtedly to dream again of the cruel days I have spent in one sort of prison or another. Even now, alone, I am imprisoned. Worse than before, perhaps, because it is my own mind and spirit that torture me now. I can only think of what horrors I know, and of the illusion of happiness and love that has always evaded me. What would it be like to know a man? To feel his immense strength beside me as we lay in bed, and to never fear that strength. To find it in only protection instead of the threat of more pain? What would a lovers' breath feel like upon my cheek? Not my distorted one, no. I would not even ask that of a man. I would wear a mask forever and we could pretend that I was as perfect as the vain little peacocks that strut about in the world above.

What does love feel like? Of this I can be certain; I will never know.

Christine

Although each page was engrossing and horrible, Erik was forced to stop and carefully return the book to it's original home. Once he was certain she would not be able to tell he had moved it, he chose a much more mundane novel off of the shelves and returned to his seat. His vision was bleary and his eyes ached. He had been reading for what seemed to be hours. He had finished one entire volume and was nearly a quarter of the way through the next. His mind had been taken on a journey through the mind of his captor. He had seen the cruel circumstances under which she was born, the way her family had despised her and mistreated her. The story continued to unfold before his eyes, of how she had managed to survive as a filthy street urchin for several years before a inebriated man had stumbled upon her. Recognizing the value in her horrible face, he had dragged her starving form off to the gypsy camp that was in town. He had sold his new find for a meager sum, and her new life had begun. She was forced to travel as a sideshow with the band of gypsies for years. Eventually she had murdered her master and escaped, with the help of a woman named Bridgette. Surviving in the bowels of the old opera house, she had grown stronger and wiser over time. Eventually she had traveled the world, performing sordid duties for different world leaders until at last she had returned to Paris. At the same time a new opera house had been commissioned, and her architectural genius had played a large role in the construction of the new structure. Erik could only guess that it was during this time that she had hollowed out the cavernous home he was now prisoner in.

She was a genius. A composer, singer, scientist, architect, designer, mathmetician, philosopher, and many other things. Erik could not help but be awed by the sheer volume of works he had discovered to be hers upon the shelves. Apart from the journals, three in all, he had discovered that two entire shelves were filled with her own works. A variety of subjects, from literature to medicine, were the focus of her writings.

The story of her life had slowed upon the pages near his stopping point. Everything up until the completion of the new opera house was recorded, and from then her thoughts seemed to wander. They were more sporadic, seeming to touch upon random times in her life in less of an order. Erik felt as though he knew her mind now, through the hastily scribbled letters, and he could sense her growing boredom in each paragraph. She was like an animal trapped in a gilded cage.

"Perhaps I am a diversion," he muttered to himself, even as he stood to stretch his tight muscles. The fire was dying once again and he felt hunger stir within his stomach. How long would his hostess be absent?

"A diversion from what, Monsieur?" A silky voice replied, and he turned quickly at the sound. Immediately he felt flush, wondering how long she had been there. Had she observed him reading through her private thoughts without a care?

"Christine?" He called out somewhat meekly, attempting to disguise the guilt in his voice.

"Can you not see, my good man, how very exciting existence is in this place?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice and Erik found it very unappealing. It made him bristle and feel fearful. Still his gaze searched the darkened corners for her form, as her voice seemed to resonate from all of the walls.

"Christine, please.." he called again, though his tone sounded almost scolding. "Do not toy with me."

As if in answer to his plea he felt a small hand upon his shoulder. Instinctively he turned quickly and grasped it. A smirk seemed to play upon her lips, but other than that her porcelain features seemed expressionless. Erik stared down at her, waiting for her to retreat. A dangerous woman, indeed, he felt as though his best approach would be to maintain a strength of his own. To show no cowardice or fear.

As if sensing his very thoughts, Christine lifted her chin defiantly and took another step closer. He still cradled her small hand within his and the new proximity caused it to nearly rest against his chest. He was suddenly reminded of the chill of her flesh, now strangely absent. Instead it was a warm palm pressed against his own, and warm breath he could almost feel expelled against his cheek as she stood so close to him.

The poor, pitiful, loveless woman who was truly so very pretty. What could lay under the mask to cause the entire world to shun her? Erik's gaze diverted for but a moment to examine the odd adornment. Through the hole created for her eye he could see that her eye was indeed misshapen, not at all in symmetry with the other. On an impulse he could not explain, he longed to earn her trust and to wipe away all of the horrible memories he knew haunted her. His free hand lifted of it's own accord. It found easy rest against her bare cheek. His thumb traced over the line of her cheekbone, and the pleasure she found at such a simple caress nearly caused his heart to shatter. It was evident within her gaze, such a pained expression of joy. That searing gaze seemed more misty than usual.

"Christine," he sighed, his voice heavy with melancholy and pity.

The sound of his voice shattered the facade. Quickly she stumbled back from him as though burned, and the softness he had seen within her eyes was gone. Before him stood the threatening woman who held him captive. On her face was an expression of anger and disbelief.

"You mock me, Monsieur?" She seethed, fingers curling into fists.

"Whatever for, Mademoiselle?" He retorted, playing her game with ease. This only seemed to infuriate her more, and so Erik stomped off toward the fire, hastily throwing another dried log onto it.

"It is you who toy with me, dear Erik. Do you not recall that your angel knows all, and sees all?"

Erik scoffed, standing again.

"Do you not recall that my angel was all a myth, the attempts of a rejected woman to force some sort of affection from a naive and stupid man?"

As soon as the words left his lips Erik realized he had gone too far. Shock flashed in Christine's face, before her features quickly settled into a grim line. The only emotion he could find in her was to be found in her eyes. Whether she willed it or not, those were easily read and Erik could sense the pain his words had inflicted, and the anger he had roused.

"Christine..." he spoke softly, as one would to a frightened animal.

Christine simply held up her hand to stop him, and then swept from the room. After only a moment of hesitation, Erik followed her. She had retreated to the kitchen and was busily preparing a simple meal.

Erik stood in the doorway watching her. How odd it seemed to observe this woman, obviously at least slightly off, performing such domestic tasks. From behind she looked like any other lovely woman. There was a healthy sheen to her hair, and her waist narrowed beautifully in the gown she had chosen.

The illusion drew him in, made it easier to apologize for his blunder. Erik walked towards her. It was obvious that her feminine shoulders stiffened as he approached, but he did not relent.

"Christine," he murmured lightly - lifting a hand to rest upon the swell of her shoulder without thought. It was only as his hand brushed against her bare flesh that he realized his mistake. A spark that could only be likened to an electric current shot through his fingertips and up his arm. It affected Christine apparently as well, as she turned quickly to peer up at him over her shoulder, eyes widened. Once the initial shock had run it's course Erik could only feel a burning warmth beneath his hand, and a desire stirring in his body. He recoiled in shock. Not even his precious Emma had affected him so profoundly, and it was unsettling to say the least.

Both stood simply staring at the other for a long moment, sharing the secret surprise that the simple touch had caused. Christine licked at her lips, what Erik would later come to realize was a nervous gesture she had, and Erik found himself curious as to what those same lips would taste like.

Shaking his head in frustration, he tore his gaze away from the hypnotic swirl of her own.

"I am sorry," he stated meekly. The power of the attraction he had felt had mellowed all other emotions.

"Do not apologize, you speak the truth do you not?" Christine, however, seemed to have emotion in store and so frustration and anger was still evident in her tone. Self-loathing, perhaps.

"It was unfair of me. You've endured enough for one lifetime, have you not?"

Again Erik did not realize his mistake until the moment of choice had passed and he could no sooner revoke his words than to pluck a star from the heavens.

Christine turned on him, still clutching the knife she had used for slicing bread protectively in her fist. She seemed unaware of that fact, however, as she did not brandish it as a weapon. Instead it simply waved about in the air with her gestures.

"And how would you know anything about the things I have suffered or endured? You assume I am an emotional invalid because I stalk about in the shadows of an opera house and manipulate men? For the sake of your conscience, dear Erik..."

Christine's voice escalated with each word and Erik knew he must diffuse her, or at least detract her from her current anger. As it was she was approaching him, forcing him to step backwards blindly to miss the waving of the blade.

"Christine, the knife.."

".. You are the first and only person I have ever deceived such. Furthermore, it was your own foolish sorrow that caused me to speak to you. It was unintentional that I ever overheard your useless prayers, but once I did I was moved with compassion for your sorrow. Yes, the great demon who has known nothing but horror found compassion!"

Erik could see within her gaze that she was gone. A world of emotion and anger had swallowed all good judgement and mere words would never shake her. Erik believed he could overpower her easily enough, physically at least. He feared the fury he would find as a result of such action, however. If he were to survive any length of time in this place he would surely have to eat, and the angry woman before him had already drugged him at least once.

"You know nothing of the life I have had to live. With your perfect face and charm I am certain you've had nothing but ease in your life, with exception only of the passing of your wife."

"Christine!"

Erik was angry now, the same glint reflected in his own eyes. She, of all people, had no right to speak of Emma in any way, much less to belittle her loss. In the same breath, however, thoughts of all that he had read came flooding back to Erik and he realized that it did pale in comparison to all that Christine had experienced. He had been loved by many people in his life, and fiercely so by his wife. He had lost in the end, but for a season he had known that love. Christine had never been shown affection.

Now, however, she railed about like a woman gone mad all the while waving a kitchen knife in the air. Erik had retreated until his back met the wall, and was forced to act.

"Do not pretend to understand me, Erik. That has proven to be an impossible act. Why would you defy the odds?"

In a single gesture Erik reached out quickly to subdue the arm that held the weapon. His fingers found purchase about her too-slim wrist in an attempt to immobilize it. Something within Christine snapped, however. Her eyes glazed over and she had a feral look about her. She began to thrash wildly against the confines he had placed her in, and he could only wonder if she was remembering events from her past.

"Shhh, Christine. It's me, Erik..."

The words fell on deaf ears, and within a moment Christine had surprised him with her strength. Managing to free herself, she did hold the knife as a weapon now - positioning it threateningly toward him. She was going to kill him.

She shook her head back and forth repeatedly, and no matter what Erik attempted to say she did not respond. Erik attempted to slide the length of the wall to escape her, but this effort only seemed to spook her and she lunged in his direction.

Forcing a yell, he attempted again to bring her from her mind. Meanwhile his hands darted out again in an attempt to grapple the knife from her grasp. In defense Christine swung the weapon at him, and it sliced along his shoulder. He cried out at the sharp pain, blood quickly staining his shirt. Even this did not bring Christine out of her stupor. If anything, it only exasperated the situation. She was now staring at the blood, nostrils flaring.

In his last effort to disarm her, Erik hunched over and charged her. His shoulder contacted her stomach harshly, knocking the wind from her lungs. They both tumbled onto the floor, and a well-placed blow to her hand caused the knife to fall from Christines' fingers. Out of reflex she began to grapple for it, but Erik positioned his weight atop her so that she could not move. Chest to chest, his hips grinding in almost unbearable weight atop her own.

The odd position left them at eye level, Christine panting for breath beneath him. Without thought Erik suddenly lowered his mouth and captured her lips in a kiss. It was awkward, to say the least, with the mask in place. Neither seemed to notice, however, as all of the demons which tormented Christine seemed to still at the touch of his lips. Her gaze cleared and he could see her again, just before they both allowed their eyes to close. What began as a gentle caress of lips soon escalated, Erik entreating her to open further with a flicker of his tongue. She permitted such, and soon they were entangled in a breathless and passionate embrace. It was not until Erik released her hands and lifted his fingers to stroke her face that either pulled away.