Longest chapter yet in this fic! Also, I just updated Captive in a Sanctuary, so check it out if you didn't see it updated (I say that because there are no new reviews yet, so maybe something went wrong with notifications).

I think I should add a slight trigger warning for this chapter, too, even if it's probably obvious.

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Erik took us to a quiet little café near the edge of town. It was nearly three in the afternoon now, so those who occupied tables had long since finished their meals and were sipping wine with their companions.

I was curious to see how Erik interacted with other people. Would he maintain a façade? Be condescending and impolite? Or perhaps mimic perfectly what he had seen others do?

We sat down at a table outside, under a white umbrella. There was no wind, so even though it was cool, it was pleasant to sit there.

"What would you like?" Erik asked me, looking at the menu.

The words swam in my vision. There was a dull throbbing in my forehead, like the beginnings of an awful headache.

"You like seafood, don't you?" he offered.

"I do," I replied.

"What about mussels?"

"Are they in season?"

"It's the end of it, but I'm certain they have some."

"It might be expensive, though."

He chuckled, "We're not living on a chorus girl's wages at the moment, my dear. You can have foie gras everyday for all I care."

"Oh, no." I shuddered in disgust at the thought. "I'm just not that hungry is all... Do you like mussels, though?"

"I do."

"Do you want to share them with me?"

He stared at me in complete silence for a moment, then he said softly, "Share?"

I nodded. "I don't want to waste them is all."

He stared down at his lap in disbelief, then he brightened as his eyes met mine. "We can share them, then..." His features softened around his mask at the thought. "What would you like to drink, my dear?"

"Just water."

"I'm sure they have a decent selection of wines. You should try some Bordeaux."

"I had too much champagne earlier... My head is starting to hurt from it."

"Oh..." His face fell. "But it made you laugh so. I haven't heard you laugh like that since..."

"It's alright," I told him, placing my napkin in my lap as we were brought some baguette and cheese. "I wanted to laugh, too."

Erik ordered our food and a glass of wine for himself. He wasn't exactly rude, but he didn't waste words on the server, who was just as curt in return. There was nothing that out of the ordinary about the interaction, however, certainly nothing to raise attention to us.

I nibbled on a piece of baguette. My gaze grew unfocused and my thoughts cloudy.

"Don't you want some cheese?" Erik asked. "I thought you liked brie."

"I'm not that hungry," I replied. "And cheese doesn't agree with me today."

"You seem tired."

I nodded.

"I thought you took a nap."

"It's not a tiredness that goes away with sleep," I said softly.

"You've exhausted yourself with worrying," he explained to me, as if I didn't know. "And worst of all, worrying about nothing. You shouldn't allow yourself to do so anymore today. You need to read a book when we get home, or something of the sort, to distract yourself."

I nodded, my mind and gaze drifting again. He did not pull me back with conversation. He sipped his wine and ate the bread and cheese, appearing quite happy to simply be there with me, to be eating lunch with his wife.

I had wondered why he would take me out in public so soon, but now I realized I couldn't escape even in full view of everyone. No one here would likely know who Christine Daaé was, and if I did start raving, Erik could pass me off as excitable, or they could think me a bit mad. He was also my husband, and no one could inquire about me over whatever he told them. They would take his word over mine instantly. There was no trust required for me at all, really, even though I had promised not to speak to anyone else. That though, I feared, was more an act of possession than to protect our alias. He had always wanted my voice all to himself.

The mussels were brought out to us rather quickly, likely because we were the only ones eating at that hour. I thanked the server, as I knew Erik wouldn't and I had decided politeness was more important than his advisement. I feigned that I hadn't meant to do so, but he didn't seem to care. The idea of sharing food had brought back the same happiness as earlier. A quiet smile hid behind his features at us having lunch together like a proper married couple.

I was relieved when he finished and we could go home. My eyelids had grown heavy and my head throbbed worse than ever.

"Do you own this brougham?" I asked as we got into the same one as earlier.

"There are some available for those who live in our neighborhood," he explained. "I pay for services, and we happened to have the same one three times."

"Oh..."

"Do you want to rest?" he asked. "How is your head?"

"It's fine," I lied. "Just make me something for it when we get home, please."

"You don't need to say 'please,' as if I wouldn't otherwise."

"That's not what the 'please' was for," I sighed, feeling too tired to explain this yet again. "It was just polite. I know you wouldn't let me have a headache."

"I thought... Never mind," he said, waving away his words.

I shut my eyes, and I found I didn't want to open them again.

"You can lie down," he offered.

"There's not enough room," I replied.

"Place your head on my knee, then."

I hesitated for a moment, but I didn't see any issue with it. I had done the same earlier, though I might not have without the champagne to increase my trust. Now, however, I was fully aware as I set my head on his knee. A spark ran through him that I had actually done so, and I glanced to his hand and found it quivering as it reached out for me.

"Don't touch me, please," I asked.

His hand retreated back to his side. My rest was undisturbed.

When we stopped outside the house, he reached down as if to carry me, thinking I must be asleep. I shot upright, and he removed his hands.

"You weren't asleep," he said softly.

"I just needed rest," I replied. "L-lots of rest."

He nodded. "Let's go inside."

I followed him into the living room, and he gestured for me to sit on the divan. It was striped: cream-white and coral.

"I'll get something for your headache," he offered.

I spread myself out on the cushions. He turned back to look at me from the doorway, and a certain light I had never seen before came into his features. It soothed me to see a genuine expression from him.

"I've pictured you there so many times," he whispered, almost to himself. "I've even drawn you, lying just like that, with a book, or nothing at all, and content. But in a much finer dress, with pearls in your ears and a pendant around your neck..." Then he said directly to me, "I'll get you some tea with your medicine."

"Thank you," I replied.

I glanced to my side. The chess board caught my interest. The pieces were glossy and new. Maybe once I had taken some medicine I would be well enough to play it with him. I wanted to content him with simple joys so that he wouldn't press for more.

He wasn't behaving so terrible at all, really. It could be an act of manipulation, this gentle demeanor and quiet happiness, but... I didn't think even he could think of doing such a thing today. He was childishly happy. All he had ever wanted seemed to have come true.

He brought me a cup of tea and the tonic for my headache. I hoped he might let me rest alone until I felt better, but he went to grab a book from the shelf and sat down in an armchair across from me. I downed the tonic and sipped my tea. It had a hint of lemon.

When my headache started to fade, I went to get a book. I glanced over at Erik and found that he had long since set his book aside. He was looking at me, his hands clasping as if they couldn't find a comfortable position, but he didn't seem to be thinking of anything important.

I procured a novel, then resumed my place. Erik began walking in and out of the room, restless. Sometimes he would disappear for a little while, before coming back in to sit down. He brought in a half-filled glass of wine for himself, but didn't take a sip.

"Are you alright?" I asked, after I had finished a few chapters.

"Why do you ask?" he replied.

"You seem restless."

He paused for a moment. "Yes. I am."

"Why?"

"Have you ever pictured something in your head, a scene, with every detail and every sound created?"

"More often than I should..."

"Then there is your answer... I'll get you some more tea-"

"Erik," I hesitated, "dear, we'll settle in. You and I both."

He stared at me for a moment, then his features softened. "We will, won't we? I'll get your tea."

I exhaled. His odd manner at the moment was likely because he was shocked that everything had come into place how he wanted. It would take him some time to adapt to this sort of life, though... But what if he didn't? What if he couldn't help but kill again, regardless of any promises made?

He returned with another cup of tea for me. I found my eyelids growing heavy at the first sip, likely from the warmth of it and the fire. After another couple of sips, I set my tea aside and curled up to fall asleep.

...

When I woke, I was alone. There was a white knitted blanket over me. The fire before me had died down, but it still emitted warmth and up from the embers rose muted flames.

I stretched out my arms above my head, then pointed my toes and sighed. I sat up rather than rising from my comfortable place. It was warm where I was, safe. How could I feel so secure?

Erik's footsteps echoed down the stairs. He was humming a melody I did not recognize, then adding a few words under his breath to the tune. Our eyes met through the doorway, and he smiled at me in his strange way, like the flickering of a candle. Only half of his face showed an expression; the other remained hard and cold.

I wished he would remove that mask and wear the white one, or even none at all. It was strange that I didn't know which I preferred.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked me.

"Quite well," I replied.

He looked me up and down, then said, quite simply, "I love you."

I blinked. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve.

"It's such a strange thing," he said softly, almost to himself, "that phrase. Three words can carry more worth than a thousand, more joy within them, and more pain... Don't you find it odd that people love when it hurts them so much?"

"Does it hurt you to love me?"

"It did hurt, hiding behind a glass, able to see but not to touch, not to feel... to hide behind an imaginary figure... And then," he continued, his voice growing caustic, "when you cursed my name on the rooftop, shunned the very man who had given you everything you held dear. You betrayed me in every way, giving me nothing for giving you everything... No one would have cared about you without me. You know that. I was the first person to see your potential. Without me, your voice would have been locked up in your broken heart, withering away like your spirit... I saw you before all of them. They were deaf to your potential, blind even to your beauty. But how we mocked them, didn't we?" he said, almost chuckling to himself. "I made them envious of you at last. You are more than they could ever hope to be, in every way... But... in retrospect, I wish I had kept you hidden. No one else appreciates you as I do, not even after your triumph."

"No..." I admitted. "For my talents, they do not, but-"

"And no one can love you as I do. I will never betray you, never leave you, never raise a hand against you-"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I added miserably. "I would rather you had no promise to break rather than breaking one."

"I never hurt you beneath the opera house!" he insisted, horrified by the suggestion. "Not once."

"Not with your hands," I whispered.

He ignored me. "You'll love me eventually, in some way. Two people live together long enough, it's only a matter of time until they either kill each other or fall in love."

"You don't think two people can simply like each other?"

"For a time, but people are such volatile creatures: hot-or-cold, not lukewarm. They want a side to choose."

"Eventually, maybe..." I looked at his mask. "Could you not wear that?"

"You prefer the white one?"

"That's not exactly what I-"

"I'll go get it," he said, heading upstairs as he spoke.

I buried my head in my folded arms and sighed. His footsteps came back downstairs quickly. When he found me melancholy and pensive, the light in him from earlier dimmed. He reached out to touch my shoulder, barely grazing it.

"Why are you upset now, my dear?" he asked, his white mask gleaming. "I did as you asked, didn't I?"

I glanced up at him and managed to brighten myself up a bit. He gingerly patted my head.

"Do you want to see some magic tricks, my darling?" he offered. "To make you laugh? Those will cheer you up, one moment."

He went off into the kitchen. I glanced over at the clock to find that it was six in the evening.

I wanted to be happy here. I could be, that I was certain of, should everything fall into place. If Erik was respectful of me, and I grew fond of him again, the possibility remained. But to live with a man who had kidnapped me and whose hands were dripping blood, and to try to give him what he wanted... It was a moral dilemma. Does a murderer deserve love if he has never known it? And what form of love?

He came back into the room, which was basked in the rosy glow of sunset. One of his hands was clasped shut.

"Is it a card trick?" I whispered.

"No," he replied, then he added hastily, "unless you want it to be."

I shook my head. "I don't care."

"Good... I have performed this trick for royalty, you know, but you are a far finer audience."

I couldn't smile, but I attempted anew to brighten myself up some more. He took a cloudy white marble from his pocket and set it in the palm of my hand.

"Keep it enclosed in your hand," he said, "so that neither I nor you can see it."

I did so, then I glanced down at my closed fist, waiting for an instruction or something to occur.

"Now look," he said, prying open my hand.

I was too used to his tricks now to gasp, but I could feel my eyes widening. The marble had turned purple! The marble which I had felt in my hand, held there, had been switched with another without my notice!

"That's incredible," I whispered. "H-how did you, without me knowing?"

"How did I what?"

"Oh," I sighed. "Well, what else can it do? Can I request colors?"

"Certainly. Shut your hand and think of one, but don't say it aloud or the magic won't work."

I smiled weakly. "Alright, then... I'm thinking of one."

"Don't tell me. Just open and close your hand as you please."

"Erik, you can't be that good-"

"I certainly can," he insisted, almost irritated by my remark. "I've trained for years and performed for the most esteemed imbeciles in the world, and they helped me prepare for your requests and curiosity, questions they never thought to ask... Now go on, open your hand again, see if the magic worked."

I did so, and found it to now be dark blue, like the ocean. I had thought of that to try and fool him by using a specific shade, but of course, my attempt had failed.

"There's no way on earth," I whispered. "How many marbles do you have in your pockets?"

"None. There's only the one in your hand."

"But how can you read my mind?"

"Through your lovely eyes," he replied. "They're so profound... Go on, think of another color."

"What if I open my hand and close it very quickly?"

He shrugged, "Let's see what happens."

I did so, ten times, and it turned into a mix of colors: a rainbow. I shook my head in disbelief.

"It almost scares me," I told him, "that you can do such things."

"Fear can be exhilarating."

"It can..."

"Better to have a little fear than none at all."

"I-I don't know about that."

He sat down at the edge of the divan. I stiffened.

"I love you," he told me, shifting towards me.

My pulse quickened with fright, and I shied away from him, drawing my blanket tighter about me.

"You're wonderful," he whispered. "Everything about you is wonderful..." Then he glanced down at my hand, and reached out. "I do need my marble back, unless you are fond of it?"

I returned it to him. Upon removing the marble, he placed both of his hands on mine, savoring my touch as he caressed them. At first I didn't mind it, as the action seemed innocent enough. Then I realized I was cornered against the back of the divan should he choose me to be. My pulse grew heavy in my veins. He started kissing my hands, gently and thoughtfully, his own trembling as he did so.

I stood up hastily, holding the blanket to my chest with one hand.

"Let's play chess, I offered. "A-and maybe after dinner, we can play music-"

"Why did you stand up?" he asked in a hurt tone that boded disaster.

I faltered. "I-I thought-"

"Am I unworthy of your hand?"

"No, of course not-"

"Any other pair of newlyweds would be entwined together by now and I simply want to touch your hand!" he cried, startling me into walking backwards as he railed with wounded fervor. "I should demand much more of you! Considering what you've already done- outside of marriage, mind you! And you won't give me anything that you gave him. But he isn't your husband! I am. I deserve everything you gave him and more. Why, I should be furious with you! Any man in his right mind would punish you in some manner for such a betrayal! But no, no, I give you jewels and take you out to lunch, let you rest, soothe your headache. But why should I, when you give me hardly anything in return? So if I want to touch your hand, it is mine to touch! You are my wife!"

I nearly fell over as I stepped back into a little table. The objects resting on it quivered, and I heard one topple over as I winced.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded. "I was frightened-!"

He pushed me down onto the carpet by my shoulder. For a moment, I was too shocked to scream, and my mouth was slack and dumb with confusion. But that was only an instant, as soon I was kicking and shrieking as he held me on the floor, almost rolling around with me. His hands were in my skirts, pulling and tugging. I tried to shake him off, but he hardly noticed.

"Stay still!" he cried, starting to roll me back and forth with his hands.

I glanced over at him, bewildered, thinking, strangely enough, that this was an odd way to go about violating someone. He finally managed to tear off my skirt, the top fabric of it, and by that time I could do little more than flail. My mind was ruined from fear.

That was when I smelled the smoke. That was when I glanced at what he had torn off me, and found the blue fabric burned black. I looked at the table I had backed into. There was a candle upon it, broken into two pieces, the wick holding them together by a thread and the flame now extinguished. Evidently I had caught fire.

He had been trying to put it out.

He released me, breathing heavily from fright. "Are you alright? No burns?"

I was silent for a moment, stunned by my realization. Then I started bawling into him. My knees were too weak with fear for me to stand. I grabbed the lapel of his jacket and clung to him, flooded with relief and the aftershocks of fear.

"I need to check you for burns," he whispered, unaware of how to react to me. "I doubt you can tell yourself, the state you're in... My dear?"

I continued sobbing. He placed an arm beneath me and one around my waist.

"You're out of sorts," he told me as he picked me up. "Let's get you dressed in something else."

He brought me up to my room and set me down on the bed. I let him look at my leg where I might have been burned.

"Your stocking isn't singed," he informed me, "so I doubt you are... You know I wouldn't let you be hurt, my dear. Why did you panic so much?"

I shook my head. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know what, my love?"

"What was happening."

"So that was why you were so distraught," he whispered. "You know I would never harm you, though."

"But you do it to everyone else."

"They don't matter," he said, as if that were a perfect answer. "No one else matters but you, because they don't care about me, and neither do they care about you... They only cared when they heard you sing."

"You only cared then."

"For a time..." he replied, pensive. "But when you spoke to me, without song, your voice was so soft, and even though you don't have it when you sing, your little accent was the sweetest thing. You still have one sometimes with certain words..."

"I should change," I told him.

"Change? Why should you change? I love you how you are-"

"No, no, change clothes." I gestured to my dresser.

"Oh... of course. Just into your nightgown so that you're comfortable... I'll start making dinner."

He shut the door behind him as he left.

I was still unsteady from earlier. My legs trembled when I stood, and my stomach was cold and restless. I put on a slip and then my nightgown, taking care to fasten all the buttons to the top. Even though, logically, that didn't mean I was any safer, I relaxed from it.

When I came into the kitchen, the pan on the stove was sizzling. There was a browned pink fish in the center.

"Are we having salmon?" I asked.

"Isn't that your favorite?" he replied, adding a sprig of rosemary.

"I like it very much. I'm so hungry from earlier."

"Good."

"I'll set the table," I told him, starting to open cabinets to see where everything was.

He turned back to the fish. I found plates and napkins first, then I looked for silverware. The first drawer I tried to open wouldn't move.

"Erik?" I asked. "Why is this locked?"

He glanced at it. "It must be stuck is all... The silverware is in the one next to it."

"Stuck? But what's in it?"

"Why does that matter?"

"I'm not asking why it matters, I simply want to know if I should try to get it open."

"No. It's not of importance... Go sit and wait for me."

He turned back to the sizzling pan. I finished setting the table and sat down at the opposite side as Erik would be. The table was twice as long as it was wide, like we would be entertaining company at some point, which was ludicrous.

He came out with a plate of potatoes and vegetables, then the fish, and sliced bread. He stared at our seating arrangement for a moment.

"Why are you so far away?" he asked. "Surely married persons don't sit so distant from one another? Move your place next to mine."

I hesitated only a moment before doing so. I simply didn't want to be where he could touch me.

"Do you want potatoes?" he asked as he took my plate.

"Yes, please," I replied.

I was quite used to him getting food for me like a child. He handed me my plate, then proceeded to fill his as I said a silent grace.

We ate in silence for a time. I refilled my plate in that interval, as the lack of food earlier had made me ravenous. As I took a sip of wine, I hiccuped.

Erik chuckled, "Don't eat so fast... I'll get you some water."

When we were finished, he told me to go pick out some pieces for us to play. There was a whole bookshelf full near the piano, organized by the composers' names. The middle was almost exclusively Mozart, though there was a Meyerbeer or two among them. Erik thought himself above all of them or an equal, and I... couldn't possibly disagree.

"Have you ever written any pieces for me?" I asked.

He came into the room, drying his hands with a cloth. "I aspire to, and I do have a draft, but it is unpolished. Just pick one from the shelf."

"I can't decide."

"Well, do you want a challenge?"

"No."

"A duet?"

"Yes, I think so."

"A sad or joyful tone?"

"Somewhere in between."

"Then I have your piece."

...

I went to bed early. I had decided to sneak downstairs to sleep rather than do so where I was more vulnerable. It was mostly due to the fact that he knew I had been with Raoul that made me so fearful. He could become restless at night, think on that, and if he became infuriated enough, I had no doubt he wouldn't hesitate to break his promise. It was more likely that he would rationale his actions by merely "convincing" me, but I didn't want to know what that might entail.

Logic slips at night. Every creak of the house from wind outside, or the scuffling of some small creature, made my heart burst with fear. The odds of Erik entering my room grew steadily in my mind, and any security I had felt earlier melted away. It would be so easy for him to come in and lock the door behind him. My mind ran wild with scenarios, ones I tried to escape from, but I could never escape from him.

Eventually, I heard him coming upstairs. My body trembled uncontrollably, like my bed was a block of ice. His footsteps ceased outside my door, which he began to push open.

I shut my eyes so he would think me asleep. I couldn't calm my shaking, but I hoped he wouldn't see it.

He came over to the side of the bed that I wasn't occupying. I felt the weight shift, but the springs hardly creaked. I feared my heart might be going fast enough to kill me.

He lied down beside me, on top of the blankets. He simply lied there. I wondered what he was doing, as my mind couldn't comprehend anything more than my horrifying imaginings. But no, none of those were occurring. He lied there, beside me, on his back. I could hear his breaths. They were ragged, like he was holding back tears.

That was all he did for what felt like hours, but it must have been less than ten minutes when he stood up from beside me. He came over to where I lay, and I knew he was staring down at me. I could feel his gaze even with my eyes closed.

"I love you," he whispered.

And that was all.