NOTE: I don't think I made this clear, but she's in Erik's room now, not the other one. I put that in the last chapter but it was rather vague, sorry.

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What if he was right? What if I could never be happy? If I was with Raoul, I would be a Comtesse- assuming his family didn't disown him, which he had assured me wouldn't occur- and unable to pursue music, though I would have love. But if I was with Erik (it felt so strange to call him that, like calling Madame Giry by her first name), I would be kept in a house under whatever terms he set, but with his music to fill my miserable days.

Oh, how I wanted Raoul to confide in! It had been wonderful having someone to talk to freely about decisions and thoughts, even though sometimes he told rather than advised, but no one is perfect... No one is perfect...

It wasn't true what Erik was saying about him. Of course not, why would it be? Of course Erik would want me to doubt my love, hoping to turn it to his, as if that could ever come back to me... Oh, it couldn't be true! Of course not! Raoul loved me as much as I loved him, and he wouldn't leave me, or abandon me, not at all. Even if he was a vicomte, used to a certain lifestyle and privileges, even though he told me he had not indulged in that, promised me he had not... And he would never abandon me. He loved me!

Then why hadn't he come?

This thought settled in the back of my mind, and I had no way to rid myself of it, for the only two explanations were that he had and... died... or that he had not come to find me. Of course I preferred the latter, and I knew it must be the latter, for Erik would be overwhelmed with joy at his death, but...

I suddenly wished I was delirious again and didn't have to think. But I did, and was starting to feel quite overwhelmed with pity for my captor, now that my fear had subsided. It was horrible what he had been through, and I hadn't truly thought about how he must feel, having caused my leg to break, taken me down here away from the world, all because he couldn't bear to be alone. He had done this all because he couldn't bear to be alone and unloved anymore.

What had happened to make him this desperate? How many years of abuse had he gone through? Had he ever had moments of happiness or freedom, or had it all been horrible and cruel, twisting him into... this?

I did know about humanity. I knew that people could be cruel to an outcast, someone different than themselves, and someone far from pleasing to the eye... And I thought I had had a difficult time adjusting to French culture and being an outcast, when I was young and considered beautiful.

If only he would just tell me what had happened to him to cause him to become what he was. But he wasn't trying to be a cruel captor now, it seemed, not like before. He was taking care of me regardless of what I said to him, because... because he did love me. The poor man truly loved me.

He came back into the room in a few hours. At least, it felt like it, but I didn't have a watch. Upon entering, he seemed to twitch a little as he moved, like he was tense. He apologized to me for being gone so long and asked if I had a request for lunch.

"Some soup, please," I told him politely. "I don't mind what type."

"A broth?"

"Yes, that sounds nice."

"Do you want it now?"

"What time is it?"

"Eleven... Maybe I should buy you a watch-"

"Please do," I asked swiftly.

He blinked, his twitching ceasing, "Does it matter so much to you? Knowing the time?"

"Yes, please, I like to be able to know it whenever I like... but couldn't you just bring down the one from my dressing room? There's no point in buying a new one."

"I suppose not... if you want the other."

"Yes, thank you."

He seemed unsure of how to reply at my kinder tone, so he gave a half-nod in my general direction as he turned to leave. Then, after leaving the door ajar, he shut it, having remembered my preference.

He had remembered...

When he returned with a steaming bowl of soup on a tray, he found me examining the leather-bound book he had been reading before.

"You can't read Latin," he told me simply, plucking it out of my hands and placing it on the desk. "Here's your soup-"

"I was only curious." I replied, feeling hurt. "You didn't have to take it from me-"

"But you can't read it."

"Yes, but..." I sighed. "You could've asked."

"You didn't ask to look at it."

"I suppose..."

"Your soup is getting cold, Christine... You know, Christine, if you care, I love your name."

I blew on a spoonful of soup, "Oh?"

"I used to..." he laughed bitterly. "Say it a hundred times, as if that would make you appear. I love how it sounds the Swedish way better than the French, and I went back and forth between the two... Why am I telling you this? you don't care about that-"

"No, no, I... Erik, I-"

He stiffened at being called that.

"So that's not your name," I said miserably. "It's another lie to me?"

"It is my name... I've never been called it before, though."

"That doesn't... really make sense."

"I was given a name because I needed to be baptized as a baby," he told me, his lips twisting into a bitter smile, "to save my soul, though I doubt anyone truly thought I had one to save... But no one ever used it save myself, in my head. And of course, my- but that's not of importance."

I took another sip, and asked gently, "Do you like me calling you Erik?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Originally, though, it was pronounced the French way."

"But you said it the Swedish way before."

"I liked how you said it, so I made the decision to change the pronunciation. And why not? If no one can be bothered to say my name, I have all rights to choose its pronunciation as I please."

I took another few sips of soup, and he sat down at the desk, perfectly content to be with me and watch. It was unnerving having him there, but also comforting, in a strange way. Perhaps an unconscious part of me still thought of him as an angel.

"I thought about... about your offer," I said softly.

He stiffened considerably, seeming to be barely daring to hope, "And?"

"I realized I... don't think I can ever be entirely happy anywhere."

"You don't know that, but yes, at the moment it seems you cannot be happy anywhere."

"But you won't let me go even though I'm not."

"That's not entirely true," he told me, pensive.

"What?" I asked, sitting up further. "What do you mean?"

He rose. "Well, you're miserable here."

"Yes, but-"

"I had wanted you to fall in love with the music again. That's why I took you down here, truly, because you seemed to have forgotten everything that makes you live, and replaced it all with someone you believed you loved more. And then this occurred, and that plan was destroyed. So how can I alleviate your misery?..." He sighed, "I've made you an offer, now make me one."

"What?... Now?"

"You can have time to think. Find a way to content you that includes me... But finish your soup first, and then I have some errands to run."

"What?" I inquired.

"Oh, notes to deliver, things to buy." He glanced over at me, seeming hopeful. "Do you want anything?"

"My watch, please."

"Yes, I'll get that for you on the way back... But do you want me to buy you anything?"

"I... suppose..." What should I ask for? I didn't need anything, but he truly wanted to buy me a gift. "I'd like a shawl, I think."

"A shawl?" he asked in concern. "Is that nightgown not concealing enough for you?"

"No, it's fine, I... You asked me for what I wanted."

"I did. A shawl it is..." He was speaking gently now, like he was hopeful and happy. "What color?"

"Green or blue."

He nodded, "What shade?"

"I... I don't know, any shade."

"Any designs? Fabrics?"

"I don't really care."

"Very well, then you should be content with whatever I bring... Do you require anything before I leave?"

"How long will you be gone?"

"Hopefully only two hours, but likely longer... I hate having to leave you alone, but there are necessary things to be done today so that I don't have to leave at all for another two days... What do you need before I go?"

I set aside my soup, trying to restrain the blush creeping into my cheeks, "Could you help me to the bathroom, please?"

It was terribly embarrassing to have to ask him to carry me, and though I was able to do it alone once set down, I feared I would fall or something and... Oh, my face was burning at the mere thought!

Once this tediousness was finished with a surprising amount of modesty, he placed me back in the bed, propping up my leg, making sure I was comfortable, then he left.

I shifted myself down onto my back, not exactly tired, but wishing for sleep all the same.

When he returned, I decided I would ask to sing with him, both from my own desire for it and the fact that he would be elated. Perhaps one day I could explain to him that I owned my voice and not him, but he had inspired it, so I wanted to offer it freely. I wanted to offer it as much as he wanted, for it was all he had of someone else, it seemed, but I just didn't want him to take it. He should know that he couldn't just yell, "Sing!" and have me obey like a wound-up music box.

So I waited, and being on my back, my eyelids grew heavy and my thoughts started to blend together until they were indistinguishable, and I fell asleep.

"Christine?" A voice called.

I sat upright groggily.

"Christine?" It called again.

"Who's there?" I replied.

"Christine!" Raoul cried, rushing into the room.

"Raoul! Oh, is it you? Really you?"

"We have to go before he finds us!" he told me, pulling me to my feet.

For a moment, I was startled, as if something wasn't quite right. But then he started to run through the endless maze of tunnels underground with me, clinging to my hand.

I realized we must be close to the pit I had fallen into, so I pulled him back moments before he fell over the edge.

"How did you know that was there?" he asked.

"I fell into it a week or so ago." I replied, staring down into the black abyss.

"Fell in? And you didn't break any bones?"

"I was very fortunate, I suppose."

We both cried out as the room was surrounded by flames, great tongues of them, orange and gold, dancing about us. And above the roar of them came a hideous laugh that I had heard before.

"You thought you could escape, my songbird?" Erik said with another laugh that pounded in my head. "My lark?"

The fire engulfed Raoul as another hideous cackle resounded through the cavern, and he screamed so hideously that I was jolted awake, panting.

"Christine?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice as he stepped inside the room, a white parcel in his arms. The unmasked side of his face pulled tight in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," I managed.

"You're breathing hard... Did you fall asleep?"

"I had a nightmare."

There was no use in lying.

"It ought to be expected," he said softly, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. "I'll make you a special tea next time, if you want. Sometimes that helps... You shouldn't be having nightmares, I won't allow it."

"You can't control that... but thank you," I replied.

He, again, gave a slight nod at this, and handed the parcel to me.

"Did you remember my watch?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, here," he replied, taking it from his pocket and winding it. "It's nearly two."

He set it on the nightstand. I unwrapped the white paper covering the shawl he had bought me, a little trepidatious, and stared at the silk fabric for a moment. How lovely it was! And it seemed no more than water underneath my hands, sea green with white oriental flowers like foam...

"I didn't..." I said softly, admiring it with a bit of awe. "I didn't mean you had to buy me... something so nice, I thought... something simple, like cotton, or...

"Do you not like it?" he asked, his wounded tone betraying the stoic manner he tried to keep.

"It's so beautiful..."

"It's for you to wear, not just look at."

"I know... Thank you."

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve for a moment to better secure it in his jacket, then realized his nervous tick and ceased.

"I have something else for you, too," he told me.

"What?"

"Do you like sweets?"

"I suppose, when I can afford them."

"Good... Good. One moment."

He left, the door swinging almost shut in his wake. I wrapped the shawl about myself, melancholy, and examined the intricate details. How much had he spent on me? Or perhaps it was more out of having money and nothing to do with it, and he wanted to earn my love, so, of course, gifts.

It didn't feel right... But it made him happy, so it ought to be.

He nudged the door open, a short tan box in his hands with a pretty white bow on the top. I knew what they were before he had even placed it in my lap.

"Chocolates," I whispered, a little in awe as I uncovered the lovely assortment of dark brown mounds and clusters, sprinkled and glazed with white, or sparkling with salt, all crowded together.

I stared down at them for a moment more, then gently shut the box.

"You don't need to have so much self-control down here," he told me, almost teasing. "Surely you'll have one?"

"Not now..."

"Come now, you must want one-"

"I don't want-"

"Just one-"

"I don't want any!"

There was a tense moment of silence, and I stared down at the blanket, tightening it around my fingertips.

"Well, what do you want, then, if not gifts?" he asked dejectedly.

"No, I like them, I just... I don't know, I only... I only want..." I inhaled, "to be free."

"Free," he repeated, mocking the word. "What is freedom anyway, what do you want of freedom?"

I strained the shawl about my shoulders.

"Will you not say?" he asked.

I kept my eyes averted.

"Then you don't know what freedom is," he said, standing up. "Of course not, and you think it's some magical, wonderful thing that will fix you and make you whole, like those daft revolutionaries that kept popping up always say. It does none of that. Freedom is loneliness. When free, no one inquires of you, no one depends upon you, you're alone with your freedom to use as you please... But you've never been free, so I don't expect you to understand the word. Not at any fault of yours, only your upbringing. Being dependent upon a father all your life, then having him be torn away from you, that made you dependent. You've clung to people all your life: your father, Madame Giry, her daughter, me... Do you want to be rid of us? For with us, you are not free, but not alone."

"I can be free with others."

"You should be dependent. I could care for you, I could, very well, like I will for these next three months, and the rest after... Though I'm not one for social constructs, is it not pleasant to imagine being taken care of and adored? I still cannot see why that doesn't appeal to you."

"Because I won't be able to choose anything."

"How do you know that?... And what do you want to choose? To be poor and unloved?"

"Just to choose."

"You seem to think of marriage as such a constraining thing. How strange it is that you sought it so..."

"That would have been an equal marriage."

He laughed, "Equal? So that's what you want? To be a man, free to do as you please?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to go home!" I cried. "Why do you toy with me so? I can't stand it! Please stop, please, I'll go mad if you keep doing this... I-I'm going mad, I think... q-quite mad..."

His lips parted, and his voice came out soft, "Christine, my dear, I'm not toying with you. You're perfectly sane."

"I want to go home..." I whimpered. "I know I can't, but I just want to go h-home."

He left the room, shutting the door harshly as he left. I stared at it in bewilderment, fearful I had angered him.

Then I heard the faint sound of ragged breaths and tears. He was crying. I had never been able to stand the sound of a man crying. It was the most pitiful noise besides that of an infant, and perhaps women have some maternal instinct in them to quiet tears, and that was why it pained me so. I could almost feel it in my heart, tugging painfully.

"Erik?" I called. "Erik, come back, please."

His sobs subsided, and after a moment, he returned, seeming completely collected.

"I've accepted your offer," I told him, unsure of myself. "I-if you keep a promise to me."

"W-what promise?" he asked, bewildered.

"If you can love me properly for these three months, show me that I'll be safe with you, entirely safe and loved, then I'll marry you."

His malformed lips parted in confusion, "Are you lying to me?"

"No. No, I promise I'm not."

"How do I know?" he questioned, his voice sounding rather choked.

"Because even if I am, you could still force me into marriage regardless."

He forgot himself entirely, and he kneeled down beside the bed, staring up at me, "Christine... Oh, Christine, I'll be perfect to you, I promise, I promise what you asked for, all I've only ever wanted to love you, j-just love you. I was upset at you before, but no more of that, no more, I promise..."

He started to cry into the bedsheets, and I extended a quaking hand to his hair. I actually believed him.

"And I'll help you..." I offered, removing my hand. "B-but you promise to respect me leaving, if you hurt me again?"

"I'll never hurt you, I've never meant to, but... I promise, Christine, my angel, I promise. I love you." He gave a sob. "I love you..."

Even if he still planned to take me away regardless, now I had secured that he would at least try to be kind and loving. And perhaps he only needed the opportunity. His emotions were not those of a heartless murderer, but an unloved man.

But how could I forgive? How could I forget? And now I was dependent upon him harming me so I could go back to Raoul!

I would never return to Raoul now. I had secured that fate. But perhaps it was better this way. His social standing would have fractured the moment he had said, "I do," and now he would retain his pride. And there were plenty of women for him to court besides me... plenty of lovely women with far more money than I ever had... with pearls about their necks and diamonds on their fingers...

Raoul...

I either done something extremely intelligent or incredibly stupid, but either way, I had to accept that Raoul was gone from me forever.