"Playing is boring!" she sighed, sitting across from him on the floor.

"What else would you suggest?" he asked. "I thought you wanted me to teach you how to play?"

"I did…. Then they made it awful!"

He chuckled slightly,

"They make everything I like awful! That way, I'll stop liking it and go back to doing what they want me to do."

"Perhaps a story? To make you feel better?" he suggested. "I believe there are a few tales buried in here somewhere…."

"Do you ever make up stories?"

"...why do you ask?"

"Well…. I've already heard all of those stories in there...and I was wondering if-if you ever came up with your own stories-if I could hear one of yours? Just for a change, tonight?"

"I don't-I don't have any stories," he muttered.

"Oh. Do you have a favorite story, then?"

"Yes. Somewhere in here." He turned to the boxes and started searching, making a mental note to himself to think of a story for her. Yet what story would be able to please an angel such as herself?

"You wanted to see me, maman?" she asked, coming down the stairs.

"Yes. Adellade: this is monsieur de Chagny."

"Hello," she greeted, doing her best to give a manageable curtsy for a seven year old.

"She is certainly a pretty thing," he muttered, eyeing her. "These are my sons: Philippe and Raoul."

"Why don't you and your new friends go outside and play?" her mother suggested. "Go on, now."

"Yes, maman." She nodded and led them outside to the garden.

"This is your garden?" Philippe asked, eyeing the place. "It is rather small, wouldn't you agree, brother? Especially compared to ours!"

"I like it." Raoul-the younger of the two-gave her a smile.

"And what is this?" Philippe asked, pointing to a group of stones and flowers next to the base of a tree.

"Christine's home," she explained. "Only she can't live there yet because it's not finished, so she lives with my friend Erik. He promised to watch her for me while I finish this."

"And who is this Christine?" Philippe challenged.

"A doll I made."

"You hear that, brother? Aren't you a bit old to be playing with dolls?"

"I don't think so!" Raoul called out.

"And then who is this Erik of yours? Is he a doll as well?"

"No, he's my friend."

"And where does he live? Is there a rock or someplace out in the garden as well?"

"The attic," she whispered.

Philippe turned back into the house. "Then it is very rude of you to not introduce me to this 'friend' of yours when he supposedly lives under your own roof!"

"No!" she ran out in front of them. "Maman said that we're not supposed to go up in the attic!"

"Then you expect us to believe that this 'friend' of yours exists? Just like a doll named Christine?"

"Why can't we just stay out here?" Raoul asked. "We can still play, Philippe!"

"No! I am going up there whether you want to or not!" He turned and walked into the house. She followed in after him, heading up the stairs.

"Ha!" he laughed. "It's locked! What kind of a 'friend' locks himself up in a silly old attic anyways?"

"He could be shy," Raoul pointed out, coming up behind them.

"What are you three doing?" Madeline asked, coming up behind them, hands on her hips.

"This one thought that she had a 'friend' up in the attic!" Philippe taunted. "Called him Erik and everything!"

"It-it was only pretend, maman," she lied. "I didn't really go into the attic."

"And now she's a little liar!" Philippe made his way past them. "Fine! Come on, brother! It's time we left this silly little girl and her 'friends'!"

"Bye," Raoul whispered, being dragged along behind his brother.

"It was just-I was just pretending, maman," she whispered. "I didn't go into the attic! Not really! I promise!"

"Then it would seem I have to take measures into my own hands." She slipped her hand into her dress and produced a key, inserting it into the lock.

Adellade bit her lip, worried for Erik….

The door opened and she dragged her into the room with her. She glanced down at the floor as she saw Erik shoot to his feet as they entered.

"Ah! So this is your little friend, is it?" she demanded. "Answer me!"

"Yes, maman," she whispered.

"Where is it?" her mother demanded, turning to Erik. "The key you use to make your escapes! Where is it?"

"I've never left this room," he pointed out. "Erik has been good and has not disobeyed you. He has not left this room."

"Liar!" she spat. "Do you expect me to believe that she has a key of her own?" She turned to Adellade. "Well, do you?"

She shook her head no.

"Please don't hurt her!" Erik spoke up. "I was the one who let her in! Here!" He ran over to the cot and produced a small piece of bent wire. "This is what I used. Please don't hurt her!"

She snatched the wire from his hand, releasing Adellade who then ran over to him, moving to shield herself.

"Get away from him!" she screeched.

"Why?" she argued. "He's never done anything to hurt me!"

"Please," he whispered, looking at her.

"No! He's my friend and I'm staying with him!"

"Ha! You think you can stay here with him when you don't know a thing about this-about this creature?" She reached over to her and snatched her away.

"No! You're wrong! I do know about him! His name is Erik and he's my friend! He reads me books and tells me stories!"

"Fine! You want to know him?" She walked over to Erik and grabbed him, ripping his mask off and tossing it to her. "Look at him! Look at what this thing is!"

She swallowed and looked him over, taking a few steps back before running to her room and closing the door.

"You didn't have to do that!" he argued. "You didn't have to scare her like that!"

"If it keeps her away from you, then it is worth it!"

She left, slamming the door behind her. He sighed and walked over to pick his mask up, putting it back on.

The one friend he might've had, and she ruined that. Took it away from him.

His hands balled into fists at his sides and he screamed, shoving the boxes over, toppling the books within onto the floor with a loud and satisfying crash. He knelt on the floor, hitting the boards with his hands.

Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He followed it, seeing the doll amongst the books. He cautiously freed it from the book, tossing the heavy volume aside. He took her in his hands, holding her gingerly, straightening her hair and dress that had gotten messed up when he had stashed her away someplace to avoid detection.

At least I have you, he thought to her. Christine. I still have you.