Chapter 13: Twisted Every Way

"Mademoiselle Daaé, can you hear me?" A familiar deep voice asked.

In the tinted darkness of her half-lidded vision, she felt her eyelid being pulled up and probed as a light briefly illuminated her vision before it disappeared, followed by receding footsteps and a click.

Even in her state, she could tell she was no longer upon the stage, surrounded by the gasping crowd of patrons in states of shock and horror.

Rather, it was quiet around her, save for the polyphonic voices from outside of the room, which spoke in hushed whispers.

Upon being placed down on a soft surface, she had remained utterly still, her feet dangling off a chaise and her hands pressed into the cushion on her side. She stared straight ahead, and she slowly came to, blinking until she could make out her surroundings.

A black chair pushed into a wide wooden desk sat near the far wall across from her, an oil lamp beside it, which cast an incandescent glow that refracted off the walls, revealing the tan abstract floral design of Scandanavian wallpaper and marble flooring that extended from the grand foyer.

Time was irrelevant and was marked by her rapid heartbeat and harsh gasps as she looked down at her hands, which were partially dried with Carlotta's blood. She turned her hands over and frantically wiped them upon the underlayer of the scratchy black fabric of her platter tutu.

She needed to be clean.

A soreness crept into her skin and itched as the mesh irritated her palms, and she didn't register the incoming footsteps until a pair of hands firmly gripped her wrists and pulled them away from the rough material.

"Christine, I need you to look at me, child", Nadir implored as he carefully inspected her hands for any injuries. He murmured gruffly as he ran a finger along the center of her palm, causing her to wince. "My apologies. You must tell me, are you hurt anywhere else?"

It took her several minutes to process that he meant if she was only hurt physically, and she shook her head, eliciting a sigh of relief from the Persian.

The shakiness from her hand traveled to her body, and her weary eyes struggled to meet his. Nadir sunk to her level on the floor. "Listen to me, I want you to take a deep breath in and out with me. Just focus on your breathing", he instructed her, inhaling first to coax her into it.

Christine felt her chest lift and she exhaled raggedly as she worked to clear her mind. Her hands instinctively clutched into a fist but were quickly peeled away. "You will continue breaking the skin with your nails, Christine. Take another deep breath for me".

With a sniffle, she did as she was told and continued to breathe until she felt reality grip her, bringing her to her senses.

She looked down at her hands again, which had been rid of most of the blood, replaced with irritated red skin. "Is she dead?"

"Your quick-thinking actions saved her life, Christine. Critically injured, but alive". She could hear the truth in his voice, and it felt as if a weight had been pulled off her chest, but the memory of her father still weighed heavily upon her.

Observing the subtle change, he asked "How did you know to do it? Much to the doctor's reticent censure, but how?"

A woman of Christine's age, let alone most women, would normally have no educated knowledge of such a distinct operation.

Christine pulled her hand from Nadir's hold and she pointed to her calf, revealing a long pale scar that stretched jaggedly across her skin. "Years ago, I climbed up a rocky hill and my leg slid out from under me. My father stitched it himself".

He hummed as he inspected it closely. "I see. Quite the job he did. It must've pained you greatly".

It did…..He did.

Her past never seemed to be truly past, and she wondered if she would always have to peer over her shoulder. She cleared her throat.

"Are you a doctor, Monsieur Khan?" She inquired as his meticulous gaze switched back to her hands.

"To an extent. I've encountered many opportunities and professions during my travels". He carefully placed her hands facing upwards onto her lap.

Nadir shifted in his crouched position and he peered over to the door, where a slim shadow now moved behind the foggy glass, and Christine followed his gaze. "Is that…?"

He hummed in agreement. "I was with him in Box Five when everything happened. He was this close to whisking you away to safety before you aided the Prima Donna", he held his index finger and his thumb a fraction of a hairbreadth apart.

Her Angel had continued to watch her.

"I brusquely had to remind him that manifesting his alternate persona before the entirety of the staff and patrons would be against his better judgment". He moved his face closer to hers and Christine went stoic. "He cares deeply for you, Christine, and I am well aware of the ultimatum you have given him".

She searched for words to respond but found there was none, and he backed away to stand. "I will give you both time if you so wish it?" He questioned, and Christine slowly nodded her head.

"In the meantime, I shall fetch a salve for your hands", he instructed as he stiltedly opened the door, closing it behind him. The two shadows merged behind the glass and there was incoherent murmuring.

With the near silence that surrounded her, Christine could feel her eyes beginning to weigh down on her, and she turned to lay on her side, her hands hanging off the couch far from her to prevent the urge to scratch away the remaining blood that stained her skin.

The blood served as a reminder she had both saved and lost a life.

Ever since she was young, Christine had built a strong connection with her faith. When her father was alive, they always went to church on Sundays, and they would do nightly prayers.

But when she came to the Palais Garnier, it no longer felt the same. She was always alone in the chapel, there were no pews, and no one conducting a service. It was only her. And when she prayed, it was always to her father, very much less to God himself.

She knew her father was in Heaven amongst the angels, including her mother. It gave her peace of mind knowing he was in a place so deserving of him.

But even after all this time, it still felt fresh to her. The life she once knew had been stripped from her in a matter of days, and he had known his life had been coming to an end, impelling him to cast send her away.

Why hadn't he told her until it was too late? And in a letter of all ways. Even if he had lived longer, he expected her to be far from him as he continued to suffer.

He suffered. He suffered right until his last breath and I was a fool to not see it!

Christine's chest tightened and her breathing came in short, harsh gasps as her thoughts impelled her into a descent of panic she long thought fleeted. She raised a hand to her chest and she clutched at the bodice of her costume, her legs folding and curling close to her stomach.

There was a click and the office door swung open, and Erik's eyes narrowed in consternation. "Christine!" And faster than humanly possible, he was at her side gently pulling her clutched hands away from her chest.

Sweeping an arm under her side, he coaxed her to sit up, and her legs loosely dangled off the front of the chaise.

He cupped her cheeks and knelt before her, taking in her wide, panicked emerald eyes. "Christine, look at me. You're alright".

Christine fought against herself as she tried to get a grip on her reality. Her heart felt as if it was trying to tear itself free from her chest, and every muscle in her body seemed to tighten.

Her mind was frantic with the thought that had sent her into a spiral and her eyes tried to maintain contact with Erik's, and she focused on the familiar deep hazel hues that swirled with concern. Her arms flailed until she caught his elbows, clutching them with as much grip as she could muster in her state.

"I've got you, my dear".

Minutes passed and Erik's unyielding eyes never once wavered from hers, and all the while he had spoken soft, encouraging, placating words to her until her breathing grew deep and was capable of speaking again, the aftershocks of her panic attack leaving her disconcerted.

"Erik, I… I…" she stammered, and he moved his hands to her shoulders. "I need…" She breathed deeply and swallowed. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she reluctantly removed her hand from his elbow to wrap over her stomach, which pressed uncomfortably against her corset.

Noticing her discomfort, he shifted before her, moving to her side. "Christine?"

Christine aggregated her strength and rose from the chaise and Erik's hands fell from her. "I need to find Madame Giry", she said facing him, a plan beginning to formulate in her mind. "She has something I need. Desperately".

"Is it something I can procure for you?" He offered, moving to his feet as well. Christine paced around the desk, shaking her head.

It was at that moment Nadir returned with a small silver tin in hand, fishing long bandages from his coat pocket with the other. He looked betwixt them, silently noting as Erik stood off in a dimly lit corner of the room, leaning against the wall and his eyes plastered on Christine, who crumpled into the seat at the desk.

She upturned her palms and Nadir pulled out a wet handkerchief, cleansing the blood from her irritated flesh. Christine didn't blink once and stared off at the door deep in thought.

Nadir peeled the hermetic lid off, and Erik silently plucked it from his grasp, requesting in a hushed whisper for the ballet mistress.

Wordlessly, he left the room, and Erik dipped a finger into the green paste, scooping it onto his bony fingers and smoothing it over the harsh red that contrasted against her normally pale complexion.

Christine hissed as his thumb gently rubbed it into the rawness. He murmured a soft apology.

Once he ensured it was properly coated, he wound the bandages upon his hand and brought it to wind around hers expertly, tucking the final strip beneath another, leaving only her fingers visible to the eyes.

He repeated the action on her other hand, and she didn't flinch the second time around, much to his relief. Erik slid the tin before her and her curious fingers grasped it, lifting it to her nose.

"It smells like nature", she commented lightly.

He handed her the lid. "It is made from nature".

Christine closed the container and pulled it close to her somnolently, heaving a long sigh. Enervating, she placed her head in her hands, the bandages smooth against her skin.

Christine knew she probably looked like a wreck. She certainly felt like one.

All Erik could do was watch her intently, feeling helpless as abnegation seemingly pulled at Christine. It was but an hour ago when she was prancing placidly upon the stage with such a blithe demeanor and passion, it invoked a sense of pride within him.

His angel had spread her wings tonight, and now she was falling before him, and he longed to viscerally reach out and catch her.

He moved beside the desk chair and knelt beside her, his hands gripping the arm of the chair with timorous fingers that grew a deathly white in his grip. "What can I do, my angel? Just ask it of me!" He pleaded, drawing in her weary emerald eyes.

Christine raised her chin and placed her hands atop his, bowing her head so her forehead met the back of his skeletal fingers. "Oh, Erik". She caressed the masked side of his face before it limply fell atop of his.

Her eyes fluttered closed, strings of sleep pulling taut behind her eyes. She was so tired.

That was how Madame Giry and Nadir found them minutes later, Christine on the brink of sleep, and Erik knelt on precarious heels that began to feel numb under him, the sharp pangs that resembled pins and needles biting at his skin.

Erik gently shook Christine, who groggily groaned in protest. But she quickly jolted upwards in her seat when she caught sight of the ballet mistress, who stared at her with distinct censure and disapproval.

Her cheeks flushed in response to the mix of sleep and situation. But she quickly rose to her feet, approaching the older woman, whose features softened the closer she came. Her cane sat in hand before her, her posture remaining straight.

Erik stood as well, moving to the corner of the room with a careful eye trained on the ballet mistress. He was not leaving.

"Madame Giry I need the key, tonight", Christine's voice was laced with urgency, her eyes glued to the woman who had become like her adoptive mother.

"Tonight? My dear, it is nearly time to retire for the night! I understand it has been a trying night for you. Let us discuss this in the morning…" she began, extending her hand to the young woman.

Christine shook her head feverishly. "No, you don't understand. I need to go tonight", she pleaded.

Madame Giry ushered her to sit on the chaise and she did so obediently. She sat beside her, flickering an eye to the opera ghost in the corner. She paid no heed to him, directing her focus to the woman who began to tremble beside her.

"What happened on that stage tonight Christine? I know only what Monsieur Khan told me", she implored.

Christine broke down, her head falling into her hands. "All I saw was my father, laying there in the place of Carlotta. Holding him as he breathed his last breath in my arms!" She cried hysterically. "Even to this day he haunts me as if I have never grieved for him! I need to see him. I need to say goodbye".

Heavy sobs wracked her body and she felt the older woman embrace her tightly, plucking the pins from her hair, allowing her auburn curls to fall from place and cascade past her shoulders.

"Even so, my dear, it is late. I can't imagine any carriages would be willing to travel that length in the darkness of night and frigid cold…"

"Then I shall go alone!" Christine declared. Her head shot up, looking to Erik with eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. "Would you allow me to take Caesar tonight? I beseech you!"

"Christine Daaé!" Madame Giry scolded, her head slowly turning to Erik, who stepped out of the dark corner and into the gaslight, his mask gleaming against the incandescent glow.

Nadir decided at that moment to take his leave, having no place in the conversation, and he quietly left the room to stand outside the door, keeping guard.

"It's just for a couple of days, and then I shall return on time for rehearsals. Please", Christine attempted to reassure her guardian, who gazed at her vacuously, with the clear antipathy of the idea. But a gleam of rumination lingered in her gaze.

Christine knew she could leave right at that moment, but she still searched for her approval, she begged for it.

She watched as Madame Giry stood from the chaise, standing before her. "As long as Senora Giudicelli is recovering and Senor Piangi is under the watchful eyes of the gendarmes, there will be no rehearsal, I can assure you of that. However, I cannot go with you".

Christine released a long sigh. "I know, but I promise you I will stay safe. Always go out in daylight if I need anything, and don't leave the house during the dark hours".

She could see the conflict in the madame's eyes, but she knew more than anyone how much she needed to do this.

Madame Giry pulled the young woman tightly into an embrace. "I cannot bear the thought of you being alone. Please write me frequently, and I shall send word for you when rehearsals are set to begin again".

Christine nodded into her shoulder, allowing those unshed tears to fall. Erik's sonorous voice erupted from behind them.

"She will not be alone", he took a step forward, his tall form casting a shadow over her. He placed a temerous hand upon Christine's clavicle. "I swear it. No harm shall befall her", he vowed stiltedly.

Madame Giry released her from the embrace and Christine stepped back, colliding against Erik's chest.

The ballet mistress shot a warning glance at the Phantom who stood behind her, raising a warning finger. "I will keep you to that promise. If anything happens to this young woman, I will come for you", her voice lowered vehemently.

"If anything happens to this young woman I shall tie the Punjab myself", Erik's smooth sinister reply vibrated against her back, making her shiver.

Madame Giry nodded, satisfied with his response, and she opened the door and left, leaving Erik and Christine alone.

Christine spun to face him, gazing up at those protective hazel eyes that swam with the vow he had just made, yet stood impassive before her. "Erik…Does this mean…?"

"Go wash up and dress warmly, Christine. We have a long ride to Calais".

An hour later, Christine stood in the chapel before the painted angel, dressed head to toe in her warmest clothing, wearing Erik's cloak underneath. The petticoats of her navy dress that hovered a mere inch above the ground, trimmed with white fur. She had slipped on a pair of white gloves and had no worry to wear a shawl. It was the only own she owned that had a hood attached that she could unfasten at any time.

She had slipped on the thickest wool socks and laced up her boots. A handbag hung off her shoulder, carrying only her key to the home, her black robe, ballet flats, a discreet sum of francs that would easily provide for them for at least three weeks, and some bread and cheese for their journey. In her other hand was her father's violin.

Christine had always anticipated coming back to Calais, so she had left plenty behind she deemed unnecessary to bring with her. But there were some things she could not bear to part with.

If only her return were under less distressing circumstances. But she needed to do this, else it would haunt her for the rest of her days.

With a rumble, the wall opened before her and a hand stretched out from the shadows, inviting her into its cold embrace. Without hesitation she took it, grasping it firmly in her hand, and the light vanished from behind, completely enveloping her in the palpable darkness.

They wove through the tunnels until they were plunged into the bitter cold, and they entered the stables, Caesar was already equipped with his saddle and bag. Erik took the violin from her hand and fastened it carefully with the other gear. He reached out to take the handbag from her but she shook her head. "I have it".

Christine moved to Caesar, pulling out one of the three carrots she had managed to sneak away from the kitchen. She held it before the stallion, who immediately chomped down on it. She laughed softly, running a gloved hand along his mane.

Erik called out from behind her. "Come, Christine. We must make haste if we are to arrive before first light". After ensuring everything was safely secured, he turned to find Christine standing beside him. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Christine nodded and she felt his hands move to her waist, lifting her to the saddle, then coming up to sit behind her, hooking his legs into the stirrup. She grabbed ahold of the reins and Erik placed his hands above hers.

She twisted to glance at him and intrigue swirled in his hazel orbs. "I know the way. I've got this mon ange", she assured him. Swatting her feet, she kicked his legs out of the stirrup and replaced them with hers.

"You never cease to amaze me, my angel".

She brushed a hand against Caesar's side and he backed out of the secluded stall, turning out to the road. "Hold tight to me, angel".

Erik's leather-gloved hands encircled her small waist, and Christine gasped inaudibly at the closer contact. Five hours of riding before Erik. Dear God.

She hoped the bitter cold would edge away her nerves.

Looking up, she saw the clear night sky was riddled with hundreds of twinkling stars, but a cold gust of wind blew in her face and she snapped into action, urging Caesar on their journey.

"I didn't know you rode", he told her with a hint of surprise in his tone.

"Then I suppose you still have much left to learn".

His velvet voice was consecrating behind her. "It appears I do".

After nearing the three-hour mark, Christine's body went numb, unable to register Erik squeezing her waist to grab her attention as the winter wind whipped at their faces. But soon after she could feel Caesar slowing down and she gently tugged the reins until they came to a stop.

She reached down and used her hands to remove each leg from the stirrup and she swung the leg over Caesar's head, slowly slipping down from the horse, laughing when her numb feet fell out from under her, in turn making her collapse to the ground like a Brisson.

Meanwhile, Erik remained atop the saddle, his hands sitting on his hips and the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. "Sometimes, my dear, you truly strike me as a licentious kind. A chimeric perpetual figment one could only conjure in their imagination".

More laughter bubbled up in her throat. "Is that so? On the contrary, I've often been told I'm quite the infuriating kind", she jested playfully as she wiggled her toes, welcoming the pins and needles sensation before coming up to her feet.

Reaching into her saddlebag, she handed Caesar another carrot, running her gloved hands along the sides of his face back and forth, hoping to warm him even a fraction. Surely his legs must be numb as well.

She heard Erik's feet meet the ground, and he strode over to the equipment. "Aren't your feet numb?" She inquired, moving down Caesar's side.

"What do you think I did while I was sitting in the saddle?" He replied casually.

Smart man, Christine thought inwardly.

She spent the next several minutes stretching her limbs, her body accustoming to the warmth that had been robbed from her.

Erik, on the other hand, continued to check their belongings. Concern tugged at her. "Is everything alright? Do you need help?"

"No, everything is quite alright. Are you ready to continue?" His hooded form faced her, covering the masked side of his face and revealing just a hint of the other side.

"I'm ready", she confirmed, hoisting a foot back into the stirrup and lifting herself onto the saddle, adjusting her skirts beneath her.

Erik joined behind her, but this time he swatted her feet from the stirrup. She thinned her lips and looked up at him. "I can do this, Erik".

"My dear, you've led the way for hours, allow me to relieve you for the remainder of our journey", he attempted to persuade her.

Christine stubbornly shook her head, knocking his feet away, which continued to seek the stirrup. She mischievously tugged at Caesar's reins, sending them into a steady gallop, and Erik's hands came up from under her arms, his hands resting at her clavicles.

She could feel his warm breath upon her ear and a shiver coursed through her, lighting her blood aflame with a familiar desire. "You are a vixen, Christine Daaé".

A smile touched her lips. "And you, Monsieur are a musician, a composer, an architect… a Don Juan", she purred that last part, a coquettish part of her hoping it would entice him, igniting her prurience.

Although she felt impelled to give into her lustful feelings, a part of her yearned for the answers she had not yet obtained. "I didn't think you would choose me. When I didn't see you after tossing me that rose and that note… I wondered if I was enough-"

Erik pulled her tightly against him, his lips still next to her ear. "You are more than I could ever deserve. You are an angel. I believed I wasn't enough for you. A monster seduced by the innocent beauty. You are mine, Christine, my angel. Forever". He pressed his lips to the skin behind her ear, feeling the slight curve of his misshapen lip.

"When did you make your choice?" Her voice wavered as his mask grazed her skin.

A low growl emitted from him. "The moment I let you go. The very second you stepped through that damned mirror!"

"Never again Christine, never again will I let you go. Do you hear me?" He took the lobe of her ear between his lips, a warm trail tracing down the edges of the cold, sensitive flesh.

She breathlessly whispered as a coil within her tightened, the stirrings of desire and lust building. "Yes, Mon Ange Noir".

Her head craned ever so slightly to the side, a clear invitation extended to him to continue his ministrations. Erik's hands drifted down her arms and his lips continued to brush down her neck.

And with rapid movement, Erik's hands clutched over Christine's that held the reins, his legs winding around hers and expertly removing them from the stirrup, pinning them against Caesar.

Christine gasped at the deceiving motions. "You are a sly one, Monsieur le Fantome", her legs fought for control over his, but to no avail. She was irrevocably caught in an unadulterated steel grip against him. "You do not know the way".

"Do I not? I have a navigator sitting right before me", he replied smoothly, tightening her grip on the reins.

They galloped down a narrow dirt road, barely shrouded under the long extended branches of the withered, shriveled trees above them.

Christine vaguely remembered this part of her journey, during that fateful summer she had left with Madame Giry. Their carriage was surrounded in magnificent shades of green as the sun had just begun to peek through the clouds, illuminating the foresty trail. The grass had been long and wispy, billowing with the branches that shaded them, and dandelions spotted the ground like sundrops.

But now that it was winter, everything around them was dead and hollow. Fallen leaves crushed under Caesar's hooves and branches clattered together in the whistling wind, creating a discordant cacophony.

In the distance, the trail forked left and right and Erik hummed behind her. "Which way, my dear?"

Christine bit her lip, shifting her right leg under his, and he took the cue, shifting them down the course.

They didn't halt in the final hours of their journey until they came to a clearing on a hill, the dark sky turning to the color palette of dawn. The small town she had grown up so close to sat nearly below them.

And in the distance, the unmistakable faint outline of her home sat upon the precipice of the cliff overlooking the ocean. The nostalgia that overwhelmed her was bittersweet, and Christine released a shaky breath.

She could almost imagine her father waiting for her.

With all she could muster, she jerked her stiff legs harshly against Erik's, removing them from their hold and replacing his with hers in the stirrup, accelerating their speed across the edge of the plains.

A strong gust of frigid wind blew back her hood, and her auburn ringlets came pouring out of their confines, thrashing about her back and shoulders harshly in the galloping motions. Her heart pounded relentlessly against her frozen chest, which constricted in on itself as her breathing went rapid.

The house grew closer and her eyes narrowed on the jagged edges of the cliff, and the sky faded into a bright orange and pink, with the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon.

She brought them to a jarring halt and a sob crept up in the back of her throat, nearly suffocating her. Her voice squeaked and she threw her body to the side, sliding off Caesar onto numb feet that gave out beneath her.

Christine didn't allow it to deter her and she rose onto the shaky limbs, absorbed in the light of dawn that rose before her. She propelled herself forward and the small rectangles in the bed of wilted grass became visible before her.

Christine fell to her knees, her palms meeting the sides of the marker. She brought her head down to press her lips upon the cold engraved metal, her body wracking with heavy sobs. Warm tears trailed down the corner skin before dripping down onto his name.

She no longer felt bitter cold biting away at her as she was enveloped completely by the sun, and she shakily removed her gloves and ran her pale fingers against his name.

"I'm home, father".

Hello, Lovelies! It's been nearly a week since the last update. University is upping its pressure on assignments, but now I have some more spare time as Easter break nears closer. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I studied vigorously with new vocabulary, hopefully, it will make my writing a bit more eloquent. Feel free to review, reading them makes my day so much brighter! Until next time!

Your Obedient Servant,

-Emma51020