I hope that everyone had a very happy Christmas! I'm afraid my vacation turned into staving off a cold, but I got to still be with family (who were also sick) and we had a merry time regardless.

I'd like to make a quick apology to Everyonedeserveslove for not getting a snippet to you. I'm terribly sorry and I'm very grateful for your faithful reviews, and you shall certainly get one this time!

Anyway, enough of that. Onward!

XVII

When Erik mentioned a library, she had expected a room containing a few bookshelves. Instead, when he led her to a previously locked door and opened it, she was startled by the expanse of bookcases, all neatly lined with leather bound tomes that to her eye belonged in a museum.

Or maybe one of those English manor houses.

Or the castle she had so poorly drawn.

He looked amused as she gasped when the room was fully illuminated. What little wall space was not covered in books was paneled in deep mahogany—lending a rich and masculine feel to the space.

It was beautiful, smelling of worn and much loved books and leather and perhaps a hint of smoke from the fireplace.

He pointed to a space beside the door, as he had done with each of the other rooms they had entered. "The lights are controlled here. If you would prefer a different temperature in the rooms, you may inform me and I shall make the necessary adjustments. I would also ask that you not attempt to build a fire on your own—the flues can be rather temperamental and I'll not have you straining yourself."

Christine laughed softly, walking further into the room to inspect the many spines. "That's probably wise. I've never built a fire and I'd be liable to burn the place down if I tried."

She had meant it as a joke, but he inhaled sharply and his eyes narrowed.

She shook her head, remembering his previous caution about not doing anything foolish. What kind of life had he lived where suicide and arson were viable options?

"I didn't mean anything by it, Erik. I would never intentionally burn your house down."

At least, she had great difficulty conjuring a circumstance that would prompt her to do something so drastic—and the entire subject was unpleasant and she preferred not to think about it anymore.

Erik did not seem wholly convinced, as he continued to watch her suspiciously.

She sighed. "I've already agreed to let you handle the fires. You're welcome to take the matches away if it makes you feel better."

Anything to make him stop looking at her like that.

He hummed noncommittally, and she was fairly certain he would do precisely as she had suggested.

Apparently trust needed to grow on both sides—although it seemed a silly and foreign thing not to be trusted in someone's home.

For instance, he had not trusted her within anything sharp in the kitchen, even going so far as to keep all manner of knives upon the highest shelf of the cupboard. It was rather ridiculous to her as his ingenuity dictated that he could simply have produced a lock she was incapable of picking, but she had merely rolled her eyes and watched him as he worked.

There was no denying that there was something graceful in his movements. Whatever genetic—or environmental?—mutation that had caused his face to appear as it did, it obviously compensated with providing him an elegance in movement that would have put any fine lady or prima ballerina to shame.

But somehow she doubted that he found it a worthy exchange.

And the way he handled the knives as he sliced thick pieces of ham off the spiral—it was with well practiced movements. There was a respect he gave to the blade, as he made each delicate cut, and it frightened her.

Either he was a master chef or he used such skills for other purposes.

So instead of watching anymore she had poured herself a glass of milk, and tried to be thankful for the simple sandwich and fruit he placed before her in the dining room, and tried not think about his other occupations.

She ate in complete silence, and due to her hunger and lack of desire for conversation, the meal did not last long at all.

And so after she had finished, and he had revealed the location of the dishwasher—one that hid away behind a cupboard door so thoroughly that she wondered how she would find anything without his help—their tour had begun anew.

"You fear the dark?" he finally asked, as he made sure she knew precisely where to touch the wood panel in order to produce light.

The knot she felt in her stomach whenever she thought about it gave a painful twist, and she tried to dismiss his question with a lighthearted lilt to her voice. "Doesn't everyone? Never know what's lurking and ready to pounce."

But Erik shook his head slowly. "Not at all. Light is worthy of fear. It is harsh, it quite literally burns the flesh without adequate protection, and it exposes entirely too much."

She stopped her careful memorization of the paneling and turned to him, noticing the downturn of his too-thin lips. "I imagine that would be a very terrifying thing for you, if people have been cruel."

He rolled his eyes. "People are always cruel, even you are aware of that."

Her brow furrowed. "I am?"

She knew they could be unpleasant—at times downright mean. One couldn't look through a newspaper without becoming highly aware of the depravity of the human race, but that didn't mean she had any personal experience of sheer maliciousness.

"Someone killed Poligny. Perhaps when the trial is over, you shall finally know who."

This time she turned around to fully face him. "What is this trial? What do you intend to do?"

He tsked and waggled his long finger condescendingly. "You will know everything soon enough. I should hate to spoil the surprise."

Christine had never liked surprises, not even when she was little. She would much prefer to know, to share in the secret with anticipation.

Only, she was fairly certain she would just think of his plan with dread.

But still, she would let him have this secret, as long as he answered more of her questions.

She crossed her arms, and tried to appear as firm as possible. "I have more questions, you know. About this house, about… us."

His eyes brightened at her reference to their apparent relationship, as she suspected they would. "Certainly. Shall we retire to the living room? Then we can be more comfortable for… talking."

She felt a little deceitful as she obediently followed him back into the living room. There was only an us insofar as she was his captive and he the abductor. But from the way he would cast a look over his shoulder every few steps and smile at her tentatively, clearly he believed there was something more.

And what made everything so much worse was knowing that if he had waited, had talked to her properly and asked to see her again, things might have progressed as he wanted them to. Well, at the very least she would have pondered the idea.

Erik reached the seating area first, but waited patiently for her to approach before gesturing to her options. "Ladies first," he offered, his eyes never leaving her.

She nodded obligingly before choosing a seat on the sofa, thinking he would be more comfortable in his own chair—then promptly chastised herself yet again for worrying about manners at a time like this.

He did take the chair, leaning forward slightly with that pleased glimmer still in his eyes. "What else would you care to know?"

She cleared her throat awkwardly and briefly wondered why he winced before she posed her next query. Yet when she spoke, it came out more as a statement than a question. "There aren't any windows."

He smiled. "Very observant of you. Yes, my home is quite lacking in that particular feature."

Before she could press further, Boo appeared and sat down at her feet, blinking woefully at his forgotten state before she picked him up. "Oh, come here, my little lump. Not enough attention today?"

He merely purred in response, finally deciding her lap and skirt would make an acceptable nest for the time being.

She couldn't help but smile as she stroked him gently. "Thank you," she murmured to Erik, even though she kept her gaze on the newly contented Boo. "For bringing him to me. I can't… the rest of it was very wrong, but I can't be sorry about this."

Erik was quiet for a long while, but she waited, wanting him to be the one to break the silence.

"You… are most welcome," came his stuttered reply, and she smiled despite herself at how uncomfortable he sounded.

Eventually, however, she decided to take pity on him and she changed the subject. "You said you don't like the light—that it burns. Is that a part of your condition?"

She had meant it as a genuine enquiry about his health and the curious result of his deformity, but from the way he immediately stiffened, she realized she had spoken wrongly.

"I'm sorry," she hurried to placate, but stopped short at his derisive laugh.

"I am certain you are," he responded grimly, leaning back in his chair. "Not many have had the courage to question my condition as you call it."

The way he looked at her, the searching eyes with cool calculation made her shiver.

She swallowed, and whatever courage as he had so mockingly called it rapidly disappeared—even more so as Boo abandoned her to investigate another part of the house.

"If you don't want to talk about it…"

"Ah yes, but even if I do not, you will still wonder. You will remember. For nothing I can do will expunge that I am hideous and wholly unworthy of your smiles."

He said this so sincerely, and all she could do was gape at him.

"That isn't true!"

His head tilted slightly to the side. "Isn't it?"

"No! I…"she stopped, trying to find something that would adequately express her position. Her eyes flickered to the spot on the wall, the little insignificant change in texture that would illuminate the room whenever she had need of it.

And she hoped it would be enough.

"The dark frightens me because I don't know what's there. My imagination runs wild and there are all sorts of spiders and things lurking without me knowing. So… I am glad I know what you really look like. Not because I think you're scary," she hastened to explain at his frown, "but because if I lived down here with a man in a mask, with someone I didn't know anything about… I don't know how I would feel anything but fear."

She offered a hesitant smile. "Does that make any sense to you at all?"

"I… suppose," he said thoughtfully, his lips still curled into that same frown. "But there is a difference. What if the light only shows that your darkest imaginings were real? That the monster you fear you are is indeed reflected in the looking glass?"

"Oh Erik," she sighed, not at all certain how she could help him. This went far beyond what mere compassion or understanding could fix—and she felt completely unprepared for what it might require.

He waved his hand dismissively. "To answer your previous enquiry, I was referring to the very nature of sunlight, and how it causes all people's skin to burn with prolonged exposure. Light does have a tendency to irritate my eyes, but I'm sure that could also be said of you."

She was grateful for his forthrightness, afraid that if he left her to provide more topics of conversation, it would only lead to the furtherance of his darkening mood. "I suppose. Papa always said bright lights were the bane of pale eyes."

Erik inclined his head in a semblance of a nod. "Then you understand."

Christine didn't feel the need to point out that his eyes were beyond the soft blue of her own coloring. His did not seem to have any pigment at all, except for when she had first awoken here, when they seemed to shine like golden orbs in the darkness…

She shook away the panic that clutched at her whenever she thought of that entire scene.

Had it truly only been that morning?

Except she had no way of knowing how long this day had lasted. She'd had two meals and did not feel tired, but she wondered if that had more to do with her long and drugged sleep than a reliable signifier if days had come and gone.

"You didn't explain about the windows," she reminded him as gently as she could.

He grimaced. "You were being sincere? That you fear something less the more you know of it?"

His tone worried her, but still she believed that to be the case. Her imagination was a vivid thing bred from too many fairy stories when she was young and all too harsh realities when she was older.

"Yes," she confirmed, and prayed that it was true.

"Very well. We are underground. Quite far, actually, with many traps and dark passages on the way to the world above. Which is why," he added almost casually, "it would be unwise for you to attempt any escape. I should so hate to come too late to your rescue."

Christine blanched.

Perhaps it was better not to know after all.

This time when he smiled there was something triumphant in it. "Ah, ah, ah! You said you would prefer to know! You cannot now punish Erik for revealing it to you."

But even with his bravado, the sardonic chastisement, still he watched her carefully—as if bracing himself for her reaction.

Christine took a deep breath and tried unsuccessfully to force down the sudden rush of claustrophobia.

They were underground? He had built his home there? Where the ground could shift and whatever methods to reach the surface were cut off and the oxygen slowly dissipated with every breath you took…

The air felt terribly thin, and she tried to take a breath. "I… can we…" But her lungs were thick and uncooperative, as if something was compressing and tightening until some kind of choked gasping sound was all she could produce.

Gone was any semblance of Erik's scorn as he lurched forward, falling to his knees before her as he gripped her face tightly between his hands. "Christine!" His eyes searched hers frantically before he took a measured breath of his own, this time his voice calm and firm. "Christine, you are perfectly safe. There is no need to panic. Take a normal breath and release it slowly. You are safe, nothing shall harm you here."

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't get the image of them being trapped here out of her mind. "But… but…"

"Hush," he soothed, his voice shifting yet again. This time it was soft and melodious—or was it merely the rushing in her head that made it seem so?—and she found herself getting lost in his eyes as the voice surrounded her.

"Breathe, Christine. All shall be well. You must believe your Erik. His home is safe and warm, and there is no need to worry. You are suffering from an attack of anxiety. Your heart rate is racing and your breathing is shortened. But this is not necessary, Christine," he reminded her soothingly, his leather clad thumbs gently running over her cheekbones. "For nothing terrible will happen. Not while you are with me."

She didn't know why, but while her mind grew numb her body began to obey. Her pulse began to slow, her breath quieted, and soon she simply felt incredibly tired.

And as her body sagged and her sobs began, Erik was there to catch her, supporting and oh so tentative as he awkwardly patted her back and offered soothing words as her forehead rested against his chest.

"I am very sorry, Christine," he murmured. "I should not have been so callous in how I told you. I understand that the location of my home can be rather disconcerting."

She pulled away, her head feeling muddled as she stared at him. And while she was certainly not tired before, all she wanted now was to climb into that comfortable bed and sleep for ages. "How can you stand it? You're closed in! There could be a cave in at any moment and…" remnants of her panic from before blossomed anew racing and he must have noticed for he shook his head firmly to stop her flow of words.

"You will only upset yourself further if you continue to think of it. And I assure you, the structural integrity of my home is not in question. If… when the time comes for us to return above, I promise you, there will be no danger for you. While the walk might seem tedious due to the incline, there is nothing overly unpleasant. If I was there to guide you," he added seriously.

She had already determined that plotting her own escape would be fruitless, but knowing where they truly were—now more than ever she realized that the only way she would leave this place was with Erik's blessing.

"Can… can I see?"

He blinked. "See what?"

She took a shuddering breath, glancing briefly landing on the bookcase that had opened earlier and granted him entrance. "Can I see that it's safe?"

His lips thinned and he stood, her neck arching painfully in order to maintain eye contact with him. "You wish to go outside?"

She did. Earnestly and fervently she did. Where there was sky and stars and night air that made her cheeks ache against the cold.

"Please."

He eyed her skeptically. "You do not appear at all well. Now is not the time for such journeys. Besides," he reasoned, "you are liable to see the tunnels and have yet another attack, and I do not think your body could handle such strain twice in one day."

His eyes softened and he seemed truly repentant for a moment. "I did not know that you were claustrophobic. I apologize for my ignorance."

Christine smiled wanly and fiddled with her skirt. "I didn't really realize it myself. I knew I didn't like the dark but…" she shrugged, not wanting to remind herself of the dizzying sensation of feeling the walls close in about her.

Erik frowned. "Perhaps not all the way outside. But maybe…" he sighed. "You will require shoes, unless you would prefer I carry you."

She brightened at that, but tried not to allow her hopes to rise too high. He had said they would not go outside, but the prospect of even leaving the confines of this part of the house… it excited her, probably more than it should.

"I'll be right back!"

She had meant to rush off to the wardrobe in search of shoes, but as soon as she stood, albeit too quickly, she had to grab hold of Erik's arm to steady herself as her head protested her sudden movement.

His frown deepened. "Maybe you should rest."

After she had regained her bearings, she patted his arm gently, and did not miss the way he watched the action—as if it was something foreign and strange.

It made her hurt a little inside to think that a simple gesture could be so unknown to him.

"I will rest, just… after."

It was only as she was tugging on a pair of boots—also in her proper size—that she realized she should probably be nervous about whatever was to come. She had been so certain that knowing was preferably to the unknown, yet now as she carefully kept her eyes away from the beautifully papered walls, she recognized that she had been dreadfully mistaken.

But the prospect of going out, no matter if they did not reach the—she breathed deeply—surface—still excited her, so she bravely returned to the living room after also donning a wool coat.

Erik was wearing a coat of his own, but he left the hat upon the hook. He looked distinctly uneasy, but at her appearance he sighed and offered his arm.

"At even a hint of distress I am bringing you back."

She wrapped her hand about his arm with only the slightest hesitation. He had offered the crook of his arm to her that morning when she awoke, and at the time she had thought it a curious necessity based on medical need.

But this time it seemed a forgotten remnant of days past, where a gentleman would escort a lady as he wooed her.

She was both touched and wary of it.

Erik did not instruct her on how to open the bookcase, but now that she knew how to operate to the lights, she decided that what had seemed a magic trick must be based on some kind of reasonable system.

One he apparently was not yet willing to share with her.

Christine didn't know what she expected. Perhaps some tunnel of hardly pressed dirt, which they would struggle to scale in an effort to escape the strange home he had built.

But she realized now that she should have known better. Erik with all his fine fabrics and pristine furniture would never stoop so low as to have to crawl through the muck in order to reach aboveground.

Erik leaned toward something and suddenly the pitch blackness of the cavern was filled with pinpoints of light.

She could not determine the source, a glow simply illuminating the vaulted ceilings and water that filled the space. They were standing on a strip of shore, a boat tethered to post.

"What… where are we?"

Erik knelt and picked up a lantern, and she watched with some amusement as he lit it with a flourish, no sign of a match or lighter that she could see.

There was something charming about his careful use of technologies. He preferred it hidden. A useful thing, but not something to be flaunted. The lantern was filled with kerosene that she heard gently sloshing as Erik lifted it high, and she took in the heavy stones and softly lapping waters with wonder.

"As you can see, things are well situated here. We are hardly buried alive."

Christine swallowed, pushing down the mental image he created. "I can see that."

She turned and looked at the wall behind them, the one that she knew held warm fires and a kitten who likely wondered where his human friends had disappeared to.

But if she hadn't known, been absolutely certain that they had come from there, she could have stared at the stones for ages and never found the entrance.

And recognition settled over her, unexpected and chilling.

"We're underneath the opera house, aren't we? Where they found you before."

And Erik's smirk seemed all the more disturbing cast in shadows from the lanterns.

"Very good, Christine. We are indeed. Only this time," he noted, his eyes shining eerily, the golden glow making her take an involuntary step backward. "We are going to keep to the part they did not violate with their trespassing. No one will interrupt us here. Not unless Erik allows it."

And as Christine looked over the expanse of water and stone, she fully believed him.

Sooo… it appears our lovely Christine can't keep it together all the time. I don't know about all of you, but I do not do very well in enclosed spaces, and I'd imagine being informed that you're in a hole in the ground… with no idea when you'll get to go above again in future… yeeaaahh… But how do you think Erik handled it? Should he have made the attempt to take her to the above, or was giving her a little tour sufficient?