A/N: Thank you to all of you for your encouragement and reviews – and a special shout-out of thanks to LauraCormack for the idea she gave me in her review, to bring a mention of a certain wee bit of mythology into the mix… ;) And now…


XXVI

A second time Christine woke in a bed unfamiliar, pleasantly drowsy, naked and alone, with the flicker of distant light from a wall sconce to give her reassurance.

She smiled at his thoughtfulness, relieved that on their second night together in union the old fear had not come as strong, her inadvertent and anxious reactions to the darkness brief and seldom. In their darkness, Erik taught her there was only pleasure to be found. Their darkness he taught her to embrace because he controlled it, and she trusted him.

One day, she hoped that he would allow some form of light to enter their small darkness, even if only a dim luminosity. She wanted to see what her hands and body had been given permission to know... to see beyond the mask he had yet to remove.

She felt a little like Psyche to the god, Eros, who falsely called himself a beast and never allowed his wife to see his face or form, only making love to her in complete darkness. Of course, she would not be as foolish as Psyche to come upon her husband unaware and unveil his face to the light she carried, but Christine hoped one day Erik might allow her to see him… to see all of him… she did not think she would be entirely satisfied until she could.

Until then she would share in his darkness, to be held and touched and adored.

Loved…?

The whisper of thought caused her heart to skip a beat.

No. She knew well from sobering tales of experience spread among the chorus that just because a man lay with a woman did not mean he loved her.

Erik had never intimated such a thing. They had barely been given time to know each other for that emotion to blossom and grow, and yet… she felt she had known him since the beginning of time, and in a sense she had, since he composed many of her earliest memories. As a little girl, she had keenly sought after and adored his voice, entrusting him with her reflections and dreams. As a woman she needed him, all of him, to make her feel complete. A truth she had not realized until they were wed, never having known there was emptiness in her soul until he filled it – with his music, with his touch, with his very being. And in turn, she gave him her warmth, as she had both nights they had lain as close as two people could become… her warmth his body had again taken unto itself, his flesh becoming heated, if only for a time…

A gentle scratch sounded against the outside of her door.

Christine curiously shifted to sit up when nothing more followed and clutched the covers to her breasts. "Yes? Is anyone there?"

The door opened and Mihaela entered the room with a basin and pitcher she set on the washstand. "Good day, Mistress. I thought to inquire if you need anything from me?"

Christine wished she could control the heated blush at the young servant seeing her in such a disheveled state, and with her undergarments in scattered disarray on the floor where Erik had tossed them in his impatience to have her unclothed beneath him.

"Why did you scratch at the door?" she asked quickly, hoping if she ignored the scene, the maid would too.

Mihaela giggled. "If you were asleep you would not hear and I would not wake you, as with a knock. But if you were awake, you could tell me to enter so that I might serve you."

Christine smiled at such consideration and nodded. "How very wise. I approve the idea."

The girl seemed pleased. "The master brought me to the castle to cook for you and to clean. But I have been trained in other things as well. I can help with any lady's aids you might need. I am skilled with styling hair, if you should wish it."

She wondered what a wild tangle her hair must be in for the girl to bring up the topic.

"Thank you, Mihaela. I shall remember that for future. Right now, I think I should like breakfast."

"Would you not prefer luncheon?"

"Luncheon!"

How long had she slept?

"Yes, mistress. It's gone two and a half hours past noon," the girl added, as if hearing her thoughts.

"Two-thirty - in the afternoon…?" Christine shook her head in astonishment. Even when working at the opera, where performances ran late, she had never awakened more than a few hours after dawn. With morning rehearsal and Madame Giry's strict adherence to schedule, the corps de ballet had not been given the luxury to lounge about in their beds.

"I think then, yes, luncheon would be best. Thank you."

Once Mihaela left, Christine hurried to collect her clothing from the floor, wash and dress, also putting her hair into a semblance of order. Over an hour later, once she finished a light repast of sliced honeyed apples with thin bread twists and cheese, Erik unsurprisingly absent for the meal, she decided to further investigate undiscovered chambers of the castle.

Finding herself back at the corridor where Gregor had come upon her almost three weeks ago, she tried the handle of the door that was locked before – to find it responsive to her touch.

Curious, she looked into a dark windowless chamber, with the shapes of what looked like barrels sitting on widely-spaced shelves. She shivered at the extreme chill of the room, as if a crevice in the stone wall existed to let in the frozen outside air, but decided without light to guide the way not to pursue further. She could easily retrieve a torch or candelabra, but the chamber did not seem to hold anything worthy of interest. She closed its door and bypassed the storage room to try the third door, finding it locked.

Deciding to take her investigation to another wing of the castle, Christine moved toward the bottom left of the staircase, as opposed to the right that led to the throne room, his library, and the music room. A long corridor took her to another massive chamber, what appeared to be a banquet hall, from the several long tables and gargantuan iron chandelier hanging from a beamed ceiling above. Through the opposite doorway, she found herself in another chamber, huge and empty of furnishings with a wooden floor thickly coated in dust - perhaps intended for a ballroom.

Why did a man who shunned society and all its trappings possess rooms meant to hold hundreds of people? Why had he chosen a castle with its multitude of bedchambers to become his home…? And yet, with its location deep and secluded in the midst of a forest, she supposed the place ideal for him.

Christine passed more rooms, a glance inside their doors showing them to be smaller and used for storage, before she entered a wide room with minimal furnishings and an open doorway that led to a long annex and another part of the castle. She hesitated, noting that the corridor and the chamber to which it led lay in darkness at one end, as if seldom used, and she retrieved a flaming torch from the corridor near the banquet room, curious to see what was on the other side.

To her shock, at the corridor's end stood a huge tower room that contained several white marble statues, holy in appearance. Stained glass in no particular design filled two opposite windows, the glass too opaque to allow any true daylight to stream into the tower, only enough to cause the bold colors of the panes on the western side to glow with vibrancy. Six black, wrought-iron stands of candelabra were placed along the front, and three short benches stood before a small covered altar.

A chapel! And she remembered his words on their wedding day that the castle contained one.

Pleased with her discovery, Christine set the torch into a holder on the wall and took a seat on the front bench, seeing no floor cushion on which to kneel. It had been so long since she last prayed inside a chapel, not since the Opera House, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts.

There was a soft stillness, a sweet peace found in this quiet tower, and she folded her hands and bowed her head in silent petition to the Almighty for their safety, apprehensive about the unknown nemesis that wished to do them harm.

xXx

Not long after Christine returned to the main chambers, Anton found her in the throne room standing before the fire with her hands held out to its warmth, chilled after her lengthy excursion through the seldom-used chambers of the castle.

"My lady, you have a visitor." His words were polite, but by his somber expression he disapproved the idea.

"A visitor?" she asked in confusion. "Who?"

"He says he is your cousin, the Vicomte de Chagny."

Raoul! Eager to see him now that she had become lady of Castle Dragan and anxious for the same reason, she wondered where to receive him. This room felt much too intimidating, with its solitary throne-like chair before the equally lofty hearth… while the music chamber contained two chairs in front of an average-sized hearth that was also lit, the room adequately warm.

"Please bring him to the music room. I will meet with him there."

"As you wish." Anton frowned and left.

Christine moved into the adjacent chamber, knowing Erik wouldn't be present, having first gone there upon her return from the chapel tower. Avoiding the set of cozily grouped chairs, she went to stand in front of the low fire and wrung her hands together in her skirts, uncertain why she felt so ill at ease with the unforeseen visit. Perhaps Anton's sour mood was contagious, or more likely, perhaps because this, more than any of the others, felt like Erik's room. Even though he was absent, she worried he might think her use of it an intrusion. Feeling the stones of his ring against her fingertips, she held to it, finding a measure of confidence in the act.

Hearing a step in the entryway, Christine turned in welcome, the smile freezing on her face at the anguished look on her cousin's features. He seemed frustrated and weary, his usually pristine appearance disheveled, his cravat askew, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. He appeared as if he'd ridden pell-mell on his charger to reach the castle.

She stepped toward him as he strode into the chamber, clutching his hands that he held outstretched to her in anxious greeting. "What is it? What's the matter?" And she remembered. "Your grandmother."

"She left this world in peace," he said quietly.

"Oh, Raoul. I am sorry for your loss."

"My loss…" He huffed a laugh that grated hoarsely. "You speak to me of loss." He shook his head. "I could not believe the news when Uncle told me upon my arrival to Montmarte - and rode here at once to witness it for myself, hoping it wasn't true... What have you done, Christine?"

"What have I done?" She pulled her hands from his. "I am not sure I follow -"

"You married him? Why - why did you do it?"

She struggled to remain calm and stable in the tide of his desolate accusation. "I had little choice in the matter. But then, I suppose our great uncle didn't tell you that, did he? His plan was to deliver me to Lord Lomax like some sort of bridal sacrifice. Erik intervened and extended to me a better offer."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

Grudgingly, she told him all of what transpired that day, within these walls, the day of her wedding. As she spoke, she looked toward the corner of the room where Erik had issued his conditional proposal. She vowed to be loyal only to him, and with that memory, she did not share with Raoul the reservations she had struggled with upon entering into such a life-altering decision.

"You can seek annulment," he decided once she told him of the wedding conducted at the bedside of the convalescent priest. "Say you were coerced."

She regarded him in surprise. "I have no intention of doing any such thing. It would be a lie. Besides, annulment can no longer be sought."

He blanched as her face warmed with her quiet words, her meaning clear by her blush alone.

"You gave yourself to him?"

"He is my husband."

"But you gave me no chance! Damn it, Christine – you don't belong in this accursed castle, not with him…" Once more he shoved a hand through his hair and took a few steps away before turning to her again, a light of desperation in his eyes. "Listen to me, all is not lost. Philip has agreed to speak to our uncle and work out an arrangement. We can still seek dissolution, and in time, I can take you as my wife."

"Your wife?" she blinked in stunned disbelief. "I have no idea what sort of 'arrangement' you and your brother have set upon, but I never agreed to any kind of arrangement between us. What did I do or say to make you think I would?"

"Don't you see, Christine…?" He held out his hands, imploring. "We are perfectly matched, you and I. Both of us slayers, the few remaining of our kind, and with a duty to perform. It is our destiny. And once we marry, I swear I could make you happy. Surely you must know how I feel toward you –"

"Raoul – enough…please."

She spoke softly, hoping none of the servants lurked nearby to overhear his absurd ramblings of destroying vampyres… hoping also to stop him before he admitted to feelings she did not reciprocate. Words which could never be taken back but once aired would surely make things more difficult between them. He was family; she loved him for that, but a cousin was all he could ever be to her.

"The decision was mine to make, and I am the Countess cel Tradat." It was the first time she put the title to her lips and she felt a warm tingle to hear the words. "You must reconcile yourself to that. If you cannot accept my choice, then perhaps it would be best if you leave before we both say something we may regret."

"Christine," he complained, almost on a whine. "Why did it have to be him?"

"Why not him? He is a good man."

"He is a reclusive freak…"

"Raoul!" she sharply reprimanded. "Never say that again. I expected better of you."

"And he is dangerous," he went on, as if she had not spoken. "A danger to you."

Recalling their escape from Paris, she forced back a shudder and looked toward the fire.

"There is much about the Count that remains shrouded in mystery," he went on, "including his partiality to the night."

Incredulous, she turned her eyes back to him. "Please, please tell me that you are not again suggesting he could be one of your fabled creatures of darkness!"

"Are you so sure he's not?

She sighed. "I have spent the past weeks traveling with my husband, by day, and I assure you, Raoul, not once did he go up in a puff of ash and smoke!"

By his dismal, somewhat confused expression, he seemed disappointed to hear it, and she rolled her eyes a little and moved toward one of the chairs, stiffly holding to her elbows, though she did not take a seat. She hoped her revelation would cause the end of such wretched accusations volleyed against Erik.

"You haven't read the journals, have you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did read the one written by our ancestor."

"But not my mother's?"

"No…" She hesitated to say it. "I left that one at Montmarte."

"So then, you still don't know."

She warily turned to look at him. "Know?"

His features were grim. "Your parents were not killed by any accident, Christine. That was a falsehood you were told, so as not to frighten the child you'd been. They were killed – by vampyres."

She closed her eyes in irritation, uneasy to hear such words that painted such a stark tragedy, so real and so painful, with imaginary strokes that were an insult to her parents' memory.

"Stop it, Raoul, just stop it. I don't want to hear any more of this!"

"Christine." He swiftly closed the distance and grabbed her below the shoulders. "You cannot pretend away the truth as if it doesn't exist and close your eyes to it forever!"

"Your truth, Raoul, not mine." She shrugged loose from his hold and took a step back. "Not mine…"

He looked to the fire, upset and clearly not knowing what more to say. She didn't want strife between them, especially after having not seen him for weeks, especially after he had just lost a beloved member of his own family. If they could only reach some sort of understanding…

"Raoul." She hesitated before stepping forward and laying a gentle hand on his sleeve. "Let's not argue. We will never agree on this, so can we not simply leave it be?" She smiled, though it came weak. "Tell me, how are things at Montmarte? How is Lucy?"

"I only arrived from Bordeaux this afternoon. Lucy was in her room, I suppose, where she usually keeps herself hidden."

His news troubled her for some reason. "Keep a close eye on our cousin, Raoul. Before I left, she was acting most peculiar, much more so than usual." Christine would not soon forget her nocturnal trek through darkness to find the befuddled Lucy, barely clothed and lying like a virginal sacrifice in the center of the maze.

"Perhaps, if you are so concerned, you should not have left as you did."

She softly snorted in exasperation at his bullheadedness and dropped her hand from his arm. "Would you have preferred seeing me married to the obscene Lord Lomax and becoming the prey into giving him an heir? Because had I not escaped Montmarte that would have been my fate!"

"No, of course not." He sighed. "If only I had not gone to Bordeaux. I could have put a stop to this unsolicited marriage!"

She doubted that but wearied of defending herself and had no wish to replay the stale conversation ad infinitum.

"Of course you should have gone; you needed to be with your grandmother." Swiftly she changed the subject, making her voice purposely light. "I plan to visit Montmarte soon, to collect my things, hopefully before the Yuletide begins – I can scarcely believe that time of year is upon us again. Can you, Raoul?"

He looked beyond her, his eyes narrowing. Christine did not need to ask the reason; she felt a shift in the air and sensed the presence she had come to know well. Briefly she closed her eyes, wondering how much he'd heard, and turned to face the master of Castle Dragan.

"Erik, hello." She did not need to force a welcome, always pleased to see him, but wondered if he could sense the apprehension behind her tight smile. "You remember my cousin, the Vicomte de Chagny? He has come to offer his felicitations on our marriage."

The Count stood in the arched entryway, unsmiling, his eyes searing points of flame beyond the black mask. He gave a curt nod in their direction that fell far short of a greeting and strode determinedly toward his piano. Taking a seat on the bench, he began to riffle through several pages spread out on the rack above.

Well then.

Christine could not fault him for his discourtesy. He told her on more than one occasion that he lacked in the politesse of society's graces, and clearly she had been right about her earlier qualms and he wasn't thrilled to find her entertaining a guest inside his musical domain.

"I should go," Raoul said, casting a bitter look of disgust toward Erik's profile before again addressing Christine. "There is more we have to discuss. Another time, perhaps when you visit Montmarte?"

Christine vaguely nodded, though if 'more' had to do with either his disapproval of her sudden marriage or wild talk of vampyres, she would prefer the time be never. "I will see you to the door."

"Anton can see the young Vicomte out," Erik abruptly said, his wry tone painting Raoul as a child. "We have a lesson, Christine."

Thinking his instruction wasn't scheduled until evening, she curbed her impulsive reply that it would take only a moment to escort Raoul to the door, upon seeing the warning sharply relayed in the two golden eyes turned upon her in piercing demand.

"Lesson?" Raoul asked Christine, doing his utmost to ignore Erik, who turned back to his musical scores.

"My husband is teaching me in voice, to improve my singing," she said somewhat nervously against the friction that coated the room and grew thicker with each sentence aired. "I will bid you farewell here, Raoul. It was good of you to drop by. Please, when you speak with Lucy, tell her I shall soon come to visit." Not that the girl would care, or possibly even remember once told, but Christine had to say something bright and positive to cushion the prickly atmosphere.

Raoul looked at her a moment longer, his eyes intense, as if he might ask her to reconsider and leave with him. Her eyes flared a little, and she barely shook her head, begging him to go and keep his silence. He gave a curt inclination of head and shoulders in a stiff bow and promptly left without a word.

Christine hesitated, briefly closing her eyes a moment, before turning them toward Erik.

"He is not welcome in my home."

She inhaled swiftly at the harsh, direct words and replied without thought, "He is my cousin. I have so little family left."

"He insinuates himself into your life at every turn and has made clear his views with regard to our 'unsolicited marriage.'"

She winced at his sardonic reply, having hoped he had not arrived yet to hear that.

"Raoul can be obstinate in his views, but he means well. I told him and will tell him as many times as I must that I went into this union of my own accord, with full knowledge of what I was entering into."

He looked away suddenly, to the instrument's keys. It was a moment before he coldly spoke. "I do not want him here, Christine. If you wish to visit, do so at Montmarte."

She did not argue; there was no point. Raoul's visit had been less than heartwarming, in no way encouraging, and not something she would wish to relive any time soon.

"If you are ready, I would like to begin before the evening is lost."

"Evening?"

At her clear surprise, he turned to look at her. "Perhaps in your zealous discourse with your cousin, you failed to note that dusk has fallen."

She was stunned to realize it, but noticed well the bitterness in his tone.

"And so, if you are prepared to sing, shall we proceed?"

His wasn't so much a question as a command, and immediately his hands took her to the first of the scales, prompting obedience. She hurried to stand in the bow of the piano, where he had placed her when at the hotel.

They did not get far before he ceased to play and shook his head grimly.

"Now that I have seen the cause of the restriction, I know how to deal with it."

She wasn't certain if his muttered words were meant for her or himself, but the message in his eyes turned up to hers was definitely intended for Christine.

"Come here."

Her heart missed a beat at his determined manner. Blindly she obeyed, as if she had no will left of her own.

He first cast a glance toward her bare neck then looked down the front of her gown. He seemed to consider his words carefully.

"I will ask that you remove your bodice so I may loosen the strings of the device that impedes your breathing – would that I could remove it altogether."

She blinked, his cool words invoking a frisson of warmth inside that she didn't think he would appreciate during a lesson.

"My corset?" Her face warmed to speak of such things to him. "But Erik, all singers in the opera house wear them!"

"Which may account for the subpar vocalizations I was made a hapless victim to during the performance. You cannot draw sufficient breath with a wide strip of boning that squeezes your lungs, depriving them to attain full capacity. Now are you going to remove it, or shall I?"

Christine was half-tempted to tell him to do it, not sure her fingers would work right, but his look was anything but amorous, and she sensed he was still upset about earlier, with Raoul.

"If I must," she said, somewhat doubtfully.

He pointed down with his index finger and gave it a little spin for her to turn around. Nibbling at her lower lip, she did so but held back at a sudden thought.

"What if one of the servants should enter?"

"They know not to disturb me when I am immersed in my music. Come, Christine. The evening wanes and I wish to resume with the lesson."

Hearing his impatience, she forced awkward fingers to manage each button. Once she reached the last, she felt his hands move to her shoulders to rid her of the garment. She held a breath, reminding herself that he had seen her naked – well, at least she assumed he had, his superior vision clearly able to pick out objects in the dark. But he had also seen her in just such a state of undress… directly before they lay with one another, in Paris. Then, too, he had unlaced her corset.

She closed her eyes, chiding herself for thoughts that did not belong to music lessons.

His hands went to her ties and tugged them loose. The boning gave way, as he tugged at each crisscrossed section, and she was soon able to pull in a deep breath and exhale with more ease.

Once he re-tied the laces, but loosely, she jumped a little at the gentle rub of his icy fingertips along her shoulder blade, at the edge of the corset where it had bitten into her flesh.

"The foolish device marks you," he said, and before she knew what to make of that, she felt his cool lips brush the spot where his fingers had been.

Her lashes fluttered down and she exhaled the breath she'd been holding. She felt him pull the sleeves of her bodice back up over her arms and bring the edges around the front. Again awkward, she fumbled with the buttons, barely able to manage the first two, before she felt his hands at her hips turn her slowly around and lift to the buttons to give aid, his hands brushing hers in the process. She somehow managed to push the third button through its slit by the time he was done with the middle ones and working toward the bottom row.

Once she was again presentable, his large hands grasped either side of her waist, his thumbs at her ribcage, and again she forgot to breathe. It was a moment before he looked up into her eyes.

"Christine, I am not angry with you. My irritation lies solely with the boy and his single-minded efforts to take you from me." At the flare of shock in her eyes, he quickly amended, "Not that I wouldn't release you should you wish to go in a year's time; I have said it. But he oversteps the boundaries of what is permissible, and I'll not tolerate such insolence. Especially in my own home."

She nodded, understanding why he felt that way and wishing she would have been more forceful in her disapproval of Raoul's persuasions when Erik had been there to overhear.

"So you have no cause to be nervous or to fear me. I would never want that of you. Now, shall we continue with the lesson?"

This time, he posed it as a question, not a command, and she looked straight into his eyes.

"I do not fear you, Erik. I never have."

A slight smile tipped his lips and he nodded. She felt stunned that he thought her nervousness caused by recent events and an anxiety of his anger that simply did not exist. Stunned that he did not yet realize the effect he had on her, just to be in close proximity to him, how it affected the beats of her heart and her thoughts and her soul…

She loved him. It hit her so suddenly, she felt lightheaded with the truth she had been disguising as companionship and affection and so many other things. Yet she could not bring the tender words past her lips, so new to her mind, so fragile…

What irony. She had prevented Raoul from expressing his feelings, and now that she wished to speak of hers to Erik, she, too, felt hindered.

He began to play, and she resigned herself that this wasn't the time for such a weighty revelation, especially when he then achieved the role of strict teacher, gentle husband fading to the background, and looked at her in silent command for her to take her place.

The lesson proceeded much better than its onset; Christine had to admit that with his adjustment to her laces, she found it easier to extend a note. It made sense, of course, but would surely be frowned upon by Madame Giry and any of her dressers at the opera.

He pulled his hands away from the keys once she sang the final line of the chosen aria.

"Better," he conceded. "Still, there is room for improvement. But that will be all for tonight. Mihaela will have prepared your dinner. It should be waiting for you."

"Will you not join me?" She despised the idea of again eating alone.

"No. I have business to which I must attend."

She could hardly plead with him to remain in her company, since he had put aside all of his business to take her to Paris, so Christine posed no argument or persuasion and grudgingly left his presence.

She had much to dwell on, with the new instruction he'd taught...with how to manage her cousin's difficulty to accept her new status...with her heart's latest revelation. Perhaps some time alone was not unwarranted.

However, once Mihaela served a platter of baked lamb, along with various side dishes, Christine invited the girl to sit down to dinner.

"I cannot do that, my lady," the maid refused in shock, her startled gaze going to the door as if she'd just been asked to commit a mortal sin and was fearful they would be overheard.

"It is perfectly alright, and I would welcome the company. There is more food here than I eat in a day. Please, Mihaela, get a plate and join me. I'd like to know more about you, and with Christmas Eve only days away, I wish also to propose some ideas for the dinner I would like you to prepare." With Erik's firm refusal to allow Raoul to enter the castle, Lucy unable to visit and her uncle unwelcome, she dispensed with the idea of the feast of Le Réveillon on Christmas Eve. A family gathering and what Mama Valerius had made so special. But she had no wish to dispense with celebrating the holiday altogether.

The girl uneasily perched on the edge of a chair across from Christine. It was nice to share dinner conversation, as she questioned and Mihaela answered about her life in Romania. She learned that the girl and her brother had been educated in three languages as part of their training, which explained how she could converse with Christine so well. Toward the end of the meal, Mihaela seemed to have relaxed enough to take a few bites of the meat she had cooked and offered to prepare some favorite dishes from her country, if the village market could supply what was needed, to which Christine readily agreed.

That night, in bed, she read on into Part Two of Dumas's novel, her mind barely cognizant of the continuing anecdotes of the king and his musketeers, at times skimming over pages that seemed to crawl along. All the while, she wondered if Erik might come to her room as he had last night and found her eyes repeatedly lifting to the door and willing it to open.

At last she heard the click of a door closing nearby. Footsteps paused before her chamber momentarily before continuing on and fading, for once not silent. Setting the book aside, she hurried to her door and opened it, peering around the lintel to see him retreat down the corridor, already a long distance away.

He was fully dressed, his hat on his head with his cloak billowing behind him as he set a swift pace, and she wondered where he was going at so late an hour. Tempted to grab her wrapper and follow him downstairs, she barely curtailed the desire.

They had parted on good terms after her lesson. Evidently he was in a hurry and in all likelihood would not appreciate her delaying him to yield to her ever-burning curiosity. But that did not make it easy to meekly return to her bedchamber...

Determined to await his return, she continued on into Part Three of the book, growing more alert at the introduction of a mysterious prisoner in the Bastille and his imprisonment in an iron mask.

Had Erik also been forced to wear a mask when hidden away in a cave with the madwoman, and was years' worth of familiarity behind its protective cover why he refused ever to remove it? More to the point, how could she convince him that it did not matter to her, that his scars did not matter to her in how she perceived him?

The questions revolved as Christine read on, feeling an empathy for the unknown prisoner confined into a disguise not of his choosing…

Until suddenly she found herself awakening as if called from slumber.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Uncertain whether it was day or night, she knew only that something was terribly wrong. She sensed it deep in her spirit and hurried to don slippers and grab her wrapper, belting it as she left her bedchamber. Raising her hand to Erik's door to knock, she changed her mind and scratched her nails along the carved wood panel instead.

When she received no answer, she hesitated then put her hand to the knob…

xXx


A/N: Hmmm... are you sure that's wise, Christine? ;-) What has Erik told you about curiosity? (muwahaha)

More to come soon…