No matter how fast Ang ran, how many corners she turned, they were always right behind her. Impossibly long arms reached for her and fingers like talons ripped at her shirt and her arms, tearing into her skin as easily as a razor through cheap cotton. Hot pain blossomed in her back and she cried out, her knees buckling as burning agony shot through her. On hands and knees, she whimpered futile pleas for mercy as her skin sizzled. Tears streamed down her face while a menacing voice echoed through her head. "You're a naughty girl. Naughty girls get punished. You knew the rules."

Ang's entire body jerked awake, a scream tearing from her throat as her body surged forward, sending her plowing into a solid chest and waiting arms.

"Uh... Erm... Tranquillez-vous... Vous êtes en securité ici." The person she'd flung herself against held still as a statue, even as she clung unabashedly to him. She had no idea what words were spoken, but they were comforting. Panting for breath, she tried to focus her thoughts in an attempt to avoid a full panic attack. Practice your threes; see, hear, move.

"You are safe here, I assure you," the voice continued, now in English, low, gentle, soothing. Almost hypnotic. "No one can find their way. This I promise."

The voice distracted her and she hesitantly lifted her head, slowly loosening the death grip she had upon his torso. Fearful, almost shy eyes rose to his face, and upon seeing the masked persona, her brows furrowed, lower lip trembling and eyes welling with tears as emotions threatened to overtake her. It wasn't a dream. Damn it, it was real!

"I… understand the mask can be… unsettling," he offered slowly. "But no harm will come to you here."

Ang sucked in what was meant to be a calming breath as her hand subconsciously fluttered about her throat, and her frame trembled. Her gaze warily darted this way and that; her captor-turned-rescuer noticed.

"You are looking for something?" he queried.

Shaking her head once, she groaned at the throbbing it caused and her body went limp as the room spun and her stomach lurched. Gloved hands were quick to catch her and ease her back against the pillows. "You have quite an injury to your head. I consulted my books and deduced you may be concussed."

Concussed? "What? Umm, h-how?" she managed to croak despite her parched throat.

"When I brought you back, I found you had a large wound on the left side of your head. I have cleaned it, but you must stay still and rest for several days, I think." Once he was certain she would stay put, he rose from his place on the bed's edge and clasped his hands behind his back. "May I bring you something? Some hot tea? Or soup?"

Her eyes fluttered in rapid succession. "You are Erik, right?" came another hoarse question.

"Oui, mademoiselle," he answered slowly.

"You w-won't hurt me?"

An emotion flashed across his eyes before he bowed his head, hiding the expression from her view. "I vow it. On my music, I swear that I–" He cleared his throat and slowly finished, "I will not hurt you." His usually smooth voice sounded tight, choked almost.

In desperate need of something to drink, she nodded. "Some tea would be awesome, thanks."

He lifted his face to stare at her, tipped his head to the side in bewilderment, looking comically like a puppet before he turned and left her where she was.

His words drifted back to her. He swore upon his music. That was a serious vow, given who he was, but could she trust him? Would his anger get the better of him again? Not that it really mattered. If what he said about her condition was true, it would be at least a week, likely more, before she could be up and about. She pushed herself away from the pillows again, very slowly this time, and swung her legs over the bed. Feet were placed to the floor and she stood up... only to waver off balance and fall back onto the bed. Looking down in confusion, her eyes widened at what they saw: she was missing a foot! Half her leg, in fact!

Alarm surged to the surface and she looked furiously this way and that for her prosthetic. Had he taken it? Was it to keep her from running away again!? Smart man. Bastard, but smart man. How was she going to get home, get anywhere, with only one leg?

She embraced me! By her choice, she embraced me! Granted, in her addled state she likely had no firm grasp of anything, but still, her arms had willingly circled him, however briefly, and that fact was cradled preciously to his heart. Not to mention she looked full into his masked face and, just like the first few times, she hadn't recoiled or even appeared surprised. Erik recalled the first conversation they'd shared, when she'd said she knew him. It was impossible, of course, but nonetheless, she wasn't afraid of him.

She attacked you, ran from you, his darker side countered ruefully.

He banished the thought and finished preparing the tea. He had a guest, and he pledged to treat her far better than he had the first time around. She was injured, and she needed help.

She needs you.

No living creature had ever needed him before, and the epiphany stilled his movements. This woman is at my mercy.

Erik returned, a steaming teacup settled upon its matching saucer balanced between his hands. His steps slowed as he regarded her cautiously.

Her eyes burned bright with fury. "What have you done!?"

He halted, shoulders back in offense at her accusation. "Mademoiselle?"

Ang glared. "Don't play that innocent game with me! Where the hell did you put my prosthetic?" she demanded angrily, her gaze darting from one corner of the room to the other.

It took a moment before he moved again, and his steps carried him to her side where he set the teacup and saucer down on the small bed stand table. "I do not know of this pro-test-tique for which you search. You suffered a blow to your head; I think you might be confused."

"I'm not confused about part of my body missing," she snapped. Her breathing came faster and the room set to spinning again. A hand came up and cupped her forehead as she bowed forward with a moan.

She felt the mattress shift and knew he was near, though physical contact was never made; she longed for it and feared it all at the same time. "I feel sick," Ang muttered, swaying where she sat.

His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Would you like a sip of tea?" He paused, weighing options. "I could help you if you feel you need it."

"Nuh-uh," she protested. She slowly crumpled onto her side against the pillows, her face close to the edge of the bed in case she threw up; the way her stomach was rolling it was a very real possibility.

Erik watched her, fascinated, at a loss as to how to behave. The woman was miserable, that much was clear, but what did one do to alleviate said misery? He had never been in a position such as this before. "What can I do, mademoiselle?"

"My head hurts; I don't suppose you have an aspirin," she mumbled against the pillow. The lack of response told her she had perplexed him, again. "Something for pain?"

Erik considered a moment before standing to his feet and leaving her without a word. Her ire was misplaced and Ang knew it; she couldn't rightly be angry with him. From what she pieced together so far, he'd saved her, and he hadn't put her back in that cage when he brought her down again. It might be short lived, but for the moment, she was dependent upon his generosity and hospitality.

She must had drifted off; the soft tink of metal against porcelain brought her from her daze. Cracking her eyes open revealed the man standing over the bedside table, stirring something into the tea. Worry crept into the forefront and she quailed. "What are you putting in that?"

"Valerian root," he answered. "And honey, to counter the bitterness. I am not a... uh... pharmacien, but perhaps this will help ease your discomfort." Ang shifted a bit further away from the bed's edge, from him. He turned to face her, frowning a little as he regarded her honestly. "You do not trust me?"

Ang chewed on her lower lip and glanced away.

Erik bit back a growl, everything in him wanting to forcibly pour the drink down her unwilling throat. But she didn't need his temper; anger would fix nothing. "I will not force you to drink; it is available should you wish it," he grumbled before, turning on a heel and striding from the chamber. The door banged shut, but as she strained her ears, she perceived that he left it unlocked. A show of faith, perhaps. And really, with one leg and a concussion, how far would she even get?

Steeling herself, she squirmed up against the pillows and slowly raised herself to sitting, waiting several moments before attempting movement again. No vomit, no migraine-pounding in her head; good signs. Ang reached and took careful hold of the teacup, leaving the saucer where it sat, and took a long drink. It was bitter, as he'd foretold, but the honey made it bearable, and she drank it down. The heat felt delicious on her throat.

As she snuggled deeper beneath the blanket and the valerian took effect, she let her thoughts wonder of the impossibility that was her new reality. How had she fallen into a book? She supposed it was possible that she'd fallen into the story of her script, but if that was so, there were some glaring details missing.

An equally terrifying thought struck her then, and her eyes snapped open. What if it wasn't a story at all, and she had somehow fallen through time – and space – and landed sometime in history. Was that even possible?! To literally defy logic and science and simply fall through some sort of hole in the fabric of time? Everyone assumed the Phantom novel was a work of fiction, but what if it had been real, events that had actually happened and people that had really existed?

And what if she was right in the middle of it?