I leapt to my feet, shutting my mouth to keep from crying out. Erik was standing beside me, wearing a half-mask the same color as his skin. It seemed to be of closely-woven fabric, but I didn't have time to examine it, as he wrapped his arm about me and started us away from where Raoul had gone. He didn't speak a word, and I followed him without protest. He pulled me along at a brisk pace, through crowds of people waiting for tickets, trains, or relatives. My feet were nearly dragging along the ground as I struggled to keep up with my fiancé. I glanced back to see if Raoul was following us. What a strange feeling it was, to wish I could see his face once more, then to be relieved that I did not!

We neared a sign that read Bordeaux. A train was already waiting, with glossy gray coaches, and a man in uniform nodded at Erik as we boarded. I had too many questions to bother with that, though I assumed he must have said that he was going to get his fiancée. That would explain why he had no luggage with him; he must have placed it onboard.

We headed to the back of the coach, into a room with two cushioned benches on either side and carpeted floor. There was a wide window inside as well. Our luggage was in the corner, and on top was my bird in its cage. It chirped twice in greeting.

"Figaro," I whispered, going over to him as Erik slid the door shut. I glanced out the window, to the people rushing to get to their trains, and I wished I was with them. As I reached through the bars of Figaro's cage to stroke him, he chirped and ruffled his blue feathers.

Erik and I still had not spoken a word to each other. He stared at me as I calmed myself with the bird, then I turned to him.

"You're here," he remarked, almost in disbelief.

"As I was told," I replied meekly.

"It was so quiet without you," he said, coming closer and extending his hand towards my cheek, "so cold and dark... I've never missed another person before-"

I blocked his hand with mine, "A-ask before you touch me."

He seemed puzzled. "You're soon to be my wife."

"You will ask me then as well."

"Does a husband have to ask his wife such things?" he asked, though I couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine.

"One who loves and respects her does."

He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Do you know how many times I have been rejected?"

He took a step towards me, and I stepped back in reaction. He continued his leisurely strides until I was cornered.

"I never had a kiss," he said, and I could feel the heat of his breath, "until you, never was touched with anything even reminiscent of tenderness..."

My heart leapt into my throat, as he was so close I feared he was going to force me to kiss him, here against a corner.

"T-that was why I kissed you," I told him.

He reached out to hold my chin, his gaze softening. My heart fluttered in my chest, but I did not draw away for fear his hand might land somewhere else instead. He was unpredictable, and I could not tell what he was feeling.

He said, "You don't feel anything for me but pity."

"That's not true," I replied.

"You kissed me because you pitied me-"

"I kissed you because I loved you, as a human being should love another human being. Regardless of what you've done, you deserve some basic human kindness and decency."

"Are we friends?" he asked quite suddenly.

"Friends?"

"We must be, of course. After all the time we spent together."

"I... Yes. We're friends."

"Marriages are based on friendship," he said softly to himself.

"They are," I agreed, but added, "and respect and trust. I almost see those as more important."

"Not fear, though. It keeps you from loving me as you might. Fear of what a man who looks like this might be capable of."

"You are capable of murder," I retorted, "and showed that with your actions."

"I don't want to discuss murders. They have no more significance in my life... The rest of my existence is going to be built around you. I have already devoted over a year to you and you alone. I only need you to overcome your fears and we can have a splendid marriage. We both know each other better than anyone else, are in awe of the music of the other... But if you are incapable of seeing past my appearance, I must mold your fear into something beautiful."

"I'm not clay to be molded," I replied as sharply as I could manage. "And I expect to be treated and respected as your equal in marriage, and if that does not happen, then yes, I will fear you and carve any love I have for you out of myself. Even you cannot turn fear into love."

He stared into my eyes, as if perusing their contents, before he released my face.

"You're right," he told me. "I can procure birds out of thin air, but I cannot make you love me."

"That's not... e-entirely true," I offered.

"How so?"

"It depends on how you treat me. Maybe you can't make me love you, but by being kind, at least I will like you. I liked you before, even when I was trapped. I did like you. I do like you."

"I've never been liked by someone," he told me. "But perhaps you're lying because you're afraid, and because you think I would hurt the only thing that matters to me anymore."

"You think I would lie to you about how I feel? I've overcome my fear of telling you my mind."

"Then tell me it directly. What are you thinking at this very moment?"

I took a breath. "I'm thinking about... everything that might happen, and how to prepare myself. I'm thinking of... the man I love, searching for me in desperation and thinking I am no more than a frightened little mouse..."

"You don't speak fondly of the man you love."

"Being your captive showed me that perhaps he is not as... perfect as I would have believed. You removed the veil from my eyes... and yet I would still take him over you in a heartbeat."

He took a step towards me.

"I will change your mind," he said coldly, making me shiver. "You even admit I am better than him in all ways but one."

"Yes. He does not kill people and laugh over their corpses."

"You want me to promise no more murders?" he hissed out, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me down to sit on the bench. "I have already as good as said no more, but now I promise it. The phantom is dead now anyway."

He released me, running a hand over his forehead. Then he adjusted his waistcoat.

I glanced out the window, then clapped a hand over my mouth at what I saw. Raoul was just outside, on the platform, surrounded by three police officers. He was looking around desperately as they asked him questions and took notes. His face had drained of color: even his hair appeared white rather than blonde. His features were taut with worry.

The police dispersed to search for me, and Raoul nearly shattered into a thousand pieces, but he took one deep breath, and followed them.

"Raoul," I whispered. "Poor Raoul-"

"Do not mention that name or refer to that person again," Erik said sharply.

"What will happen if I do?" I asked.

"I doubt we would want to find out... But don't cry," he insisted, as he must have noticed my eyes growing glassy. "Don't cry, there's no reason to."

"No reason? Would there be reason if you were the one on that platform, searching for me?"

"But I am not."

"Raoul is-"

"No mention of him!" he hissed. "Not his name, nor his title, nor any reference to him."

"Or what?" I demanded, my eyes overflowing. "Are you going to l-lock me in a cellar when we reach our destination? Frighten me into submission?"

"No," he shook his head with insistence, "no, my little Christine, I wouldn't do that even if you tried to murder me. How do you forget that I love you?"

"I feel very loved!" I sobbed out. "On a train, headed away from e-everything I know, and being handled like a doll, like I have no heart inside my chest or brain in my skull."

"You're tired," he said gently. "Your mind is running wild with nonsense from it. Go on, lie down-"

"You won't even apologize to me?"

"What for?"

I had no words. I buried my face in the seat cushion, trembling with sobs. He went to shut the curtain.

"You didn't sleep last night," he said, "did you?"

I swallowed, "I slept."

"Not by your eyes and demeanor you did... I'll get a blanket for you. Try to rest so you can think clearly. I'm the same man you knew beneath the opera house, and you seem to have forgotten that..."

I folded my hands below my head, still shaking from various emotions. A blanket was placed over me, and a song woven into my ears, making my vision sun-kissed and blurry. I felt something brush against my face before falling asleep.

When I woke, my eyelids heavy, the curtains were still drawn. Erik was reading a book on the bench across from me, quite engrossed, candlelight flickering over his odd features. The mask made it look like part of his face was marble. I shut my eyes so he wouldn't notice I had woken.

He whispered something to himself, then stood up and walked over to the window. I heard his footsteps. A ray of warm light came through, like that of a sunset. He exhaled, but not in a melancholy way. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

His footsteps came over to me. I opened my eyes to face him, finding him staring down at me with half of his lopsided mouth creeping upwards at the corner.

"Good morning," he said, his features soft around his strange new mask. "You're beautiful even when you sleep."

"I'm hungry," I replied.

He blinked twice. "Yes, of course. You missed lunch... I'll be right back- do not go outside the room."

I nodded. He exited and headed past the other doors.

I was glad of his new demeanor. My earlier confrontations had dried me up for conflict, and I was willing to be permissive for a little while now. As a wife, I was determined to preserve myself, mind and spirit, but for now, those were worn thin.

I exhaled as I went to look out the window. There was such striking difference between the rolling hills, cliffs, and fjords of Scandinavia to the French countryside. I had always seen Scandinavia as a bright land; even when coated in snow, it glittered like gold. France was more subdued, with dull colors, old weather-worn buildings, save in the spring when the flowers bloomed. It was not the land of fairytales, the land of my childhood. How strange that the very land I had crossed into had shown my descent into reality.

I expect everyone wishes to be a child again.

The world outside the window was pink in the glow of the sunset, and I could see sheep in a field, endless grapevines, countless churches atop hills. When I glanced up, I found the heavens pink and gold, with glowing clouds encircling the red, dipping orb. I had always found refuge in the vastness of the sky.

The door slid open behind me. I turned around to find Erik, quite pleased with himself, holding a tray for me of my missed lunch.

"Thank you," I told him, taking it from him and sitting down on the bench.

He gave a brief nod.

"W-when will we arrive?" I asked.

"Half an hour... Some sheep were on the tracks, and that caused our delay."

"Poor things-"

"None died," he told me swiftly. "The train had to stop to get them away."

"Oh, good... How long were we delayed?"

"An hour."

My eyes widened. "A-an hour? For sheep?"

"Haven't you been on a train before? No one understands the word 'time...'"

I continued eating. It was cold chicken and vegetables, but my stomach was collapsing with hunger, so I inhaled it.

"Do you have any requests," Erik asked me, "for tomorrow?"

"Is that the wedding, then?" I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

"Eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."

"And what requests?"

"If there are any gifts you would like, any little promises you want made. I'm happy to make them now, happy enough to be foolish."

I swallowed uneasily. "I-I have one promise I want made."

"What is it?"

"I... I'm going to be anxious all the while until we are married, and I would like to be calm after it, and relaxed... So I don't... that night, I... but I understand you have-"

"I know what you're trying to say," he told me icily. "Though I wonder why you still dance around the subject like you're as innocent as you were before. You've already behaved like a proper opera star, haven't you?"

"I didn't w-want to," I replied, wishing I had stayed silent. "I was frightened-"

"I believe you..." he said, bitter and caustic. "The first time you were frightened. And the second? The third?"

"O-only..." He would know if I was lying. I couldn't risk lying, "t-twice. Only twice."

"Only twice," he mocked. "Sweet, innocent little Christine indulged her gentleman friend twice after insisting she would never become a mistress, after flaunting her purity around the opera house like it was her dearest possession-"

"I never flaunted-"

"You know by now that I don't give a damn about your purity. But you will be my wife and..." he faltered, unable to hide the fact that he was desperate enough to beg, "In this year, whenever you choose, I only want to be with you once... I should ask for three times, more the other received, but I only want once. And I will let you choose when, save that it must be by the end of the year."

"Before the year is up?" I whispered.

"Before midnight on December 31st."

My glass of water tumbled from my hand, and he caught it, taking away my empty tray. I stared down at the floor, contemplating.

"I ask for very little," he told me. "And I will ask nothing more of you than this."

I kept my head down, deep in thought. Little. He thought he was asking little of me.

He sat down next to me.

"I missed you," he told me, as if trying to comfort me with his love. "I've never missed someone before, never even enjoyed someone's company for that long, nor even longer than a day, when I consider it... I missed your voice, the way you... ask me how I am, say good morning and goodnight... It's strange how I can miss something like that, even though it was the first time someone had ever said those words to me... I don't have to leave you ever again now, though. What a relief that is to know. Why, neither of us have to be alone ever again."

He waited for my reply. I gave none.

He cleared his throat, "How is your leg?"

"The same..." I replied.

"What do you mean? You can walk."

"I felt more free with it broken..."

He turned my face to his, sighing, "Christine-"

I pushed his hand away and wrapped my arms about myself. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him.

"Why are you acting this way?" he demanded. "You let me touch you beneath the opera house, and now you won't...? Is it because you wish I was-?"

The train squealed to a halt. I suddenly felt as if my brain was dissolving from my skull, and my head was floating up, up, up from the lack of weight. I was nauseated, too, and the world was spinning, spinning, like a little ballerina.

I hadn't said goodbye to Meg.

"I'll get the doctor, monsieur," came the soft voice of an unfamiliar man through the fog.

"No need," Erik's voice replied. "She will come to. She's been ill for some time now..."

I attempted to sit up, my eyelids still nearly shut, but Erik restrained me.

"You fainted," he said softly. "We're in Bordeaux now, on a bench outside the train."

I stared up at the sky. It was a cloudy gray. No more sunset.

"Are you certain there's no need for a doctor?" a man in uniform asked, the same voice as before.

"I'm fine," I replied frailly. "I-I forgot to bring my smelling salts."

Erik glanced down at me in surprise that I would aid him. The other man went away at this explanation, and Erik helped me to my feet.

"Take the bird," he told me, handing me the cage. "I have a brougham waiting."

It was a struggle just to move my legs. My shoes had turned to lead, my knees to iron, and I dragged them along towards my fate.

Be optimistic. A part of me pleaded. Maybe everything will turn out fine. He loves you at least.

I shuffled along towards the brougham. Erik helped me inside, onto the red-cushioned seat. He sat down beside me once our luggage had been loaded on.

"The house will suit you well," he told me.

I nodded, my tongue frozen.

"I had everything done in the way you like," he continued. "I know your tastes quite well by now."

I rested my head on his shoulder to make him be quiet. He inhaled sharply in surprise, then was silent as I had hoped.

My mind had cleared from before, and I recognized now that everything would not be so terrible. I would have all my necessities, after all. I wouldn't be cold or hungry, and I would be loved, in a way. It was better than nothing. A terrible life meant poverty, didn't it? Being destitute? But those days- the frozen Swedish winters warmed only by the heart of my father's violin- those had been the happiest of my life.

I couldn't help but doubt a greater happiness would come again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Is Christine right to be so pessimistic? I wonder what's going to happen once they're married... because I haven't decided 100% yet, haha. I had better get on that. It should get a bit lighter, though. A little bit.