Christine ran. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She zipped up the side of a tree, scurrying into the branches to narrowly avoid detection. Her lungs burned. She couldn't stop, with the relative safety of the faire and her cage in sight. She had been gone too long, Christine had overestimated her abilities to navigate the streets of Paris while the sun was still shining without being caught in the process.

Her legs ached. Feats such as these should have been easier for such a demonic, otherworldly creature. A faint, metallic taste filled her mouth with each breath as she struggled to catch it. She clung to the tree trunk, taking a moment to plan the rest of her route. She was ready to simply collapse from exhaustion and accept whatever punishment awaited her. A stern scolding, a beating, staged humiliation, surely it would be nothing she hadn't already endured.

Christine wasn't even sure if the one book of records she had managed to pilfer from the Palais Garnier would even be of any help to her cause. She had to move forward, justice would be served. Christine was inhuman, capable of impossible things. This was nothing out of the ordinary for a creature such as her, no matter how much her chest felt tight and her arms had little strength left.

She inched her way towards another tree limb, climbing higher and putting herself in better position to leap to another tree a few feet away. She crouched and sprung forward, clutching the stolen book to her side with one arm, reaching out for the next branch with the other.

Her landing made more noise than Christine would have liked. Her feet made a thud against the bark, the leaves rustled harder than the gentle, natural winds. She was better than these sloppy motions, despite her exhaustion being the clear cause of them. The last thing she needed was for any of the faire folk to glance upwards at the suspicious sounds and see the draugr girl that was supposed to be locked in a cage hiding in a tree. Perhaps from this excursion, she'd finally learn a modicum of patience.

That was highly unlikely.

From behind the black silk of her mask, Christine scanned the ground. From here, it was a straight shot to the large tent that her cage was stored behind. If only the traffic of bustling people would dissipate, she could finally catch her breath. Of course, there was little chance of that this time of day. The crowds were starting to pile in.

Carefully, Christine used the last of her concentration to jump back down to the solid earth. From branch to branch, her steps were as quiet as a cat. No one had seemed to notice her descent, exactly as she intended. A breath escaped her as a sigh of relief. She reached for the dark hood of her cloak, adjusting the fabric to fully conceal her white hair and allow her to turn into nothing but a shadow for the last portion of her journey.

She slipped into the crowds of eager faire goers, flowing with them like water. She was ignored, she no longer seemed to exist on this plane of reality at all.

The very moment the cage was in view, Christine sprinted for the hated, but necessary thing. It was a comfort as much as it was a curse. It was safety and dread, all contained within the constricting metal. She pulled the lock out of its place, yanked the bars open and slipped back inside her chosen prison. She clicked the lock back in place and grinned at her apparent victory. Her shoulders fell, the pressure finally rolling off of her. She flipped her cloak off and shook her head to relieve more of the anxious energy she had been holding onto. Her stolen prize was dropped haphazardly now that it was officially among her meager possessions.

Only, it didn't help at all, for Christine was struck with the sudden feeling of being watched. The hair stood at the back of her neck, her heart leapt into her throat as she immediately feared for the worst and her eyes landed on the culprit. The very last person she had ever expected to catch her.

Erik.

His eyes seared into her very core. What would he do next? Her initial response was fear. This man had just witnessed her blatant disregard for her entrapment. He could easily turn her in to Santiago, or worse.

With long and hurried strides, he stepped towards the cage. Christine pressed herself into the farthest set of bars, as if she could somehow escape this. The intensity of his gaze was an unfathomable weight and she could not be expected to suss out what it meant.

The memory of his fist colliding with a heckler's face flooded her mind. In an instant, Christine was transported back to that moment. A pang of nausea, sky spinning around her from the blunt rock that had crashed into her head. The sound of bone cracking, the deafening thud of a body hitting the ground. The sight of blood soaking into the dirt, a few teeth knocked clean out of that terrible man's skull.

And Erik, standing over the unconscious man with a violent anger towards the crowd's combined terror and ambivalence.

"If she is dead, then why does she bleed the same as you?"

His hands found the bars of the cage and grasped them as if he could pull the metal apart with brute strength alone. His knuckles turned white, the color drained from his face and still his stare dug right through her soul.

She did not have to fear that he would harm her, no. But that did not mean there was nothing to be afraid of.

"Christine," he whispered her name as if he could hardly believe it existed. It sounded strange to her ears, scratched down her spine in a way that she couldn't determine if it was painful or the very opposite.

"I have been looking for you," Erik continued, barely taking a moment to even blink. An anxious laugh that Christine could not buckle down escaped her chest.

"You've found me," she agreed, tearing her eyes away from him. She turned her own gaze towards the sky, like that would do anything to help. As a flock of birds flew by, Christine wished that her supposed power included turning into one.

"Why are you in a cage?" was Erik's next, immediate demand.

"I'm an incredibly dangerous creature," she replied, already knowing that the answer wouldn't satisfy him. He hit the prison bar with the flat of his palm in frustration.

"Oh yes, I've certainly witnessed how dangerous you are," he growled, suppressing a half mad snarl.

"If you know, then why were you looking for me?" She asked, curiosity winning over her natural suspicion. He laughed, a clear and biting sound. He shook his head, a lock of his dark hair falling out of its immaculate place.

"From the moment I heard you, I've–" His words halted as he looked for any reason not to admit the truth. Erik had never explicitly planned what he'd do once he encountered her again, his viper eyes tore away from hers.

And landed right on her stolen book that he immediately recognized. Heat flooded him as he realized where she must have come from. Christine watched the expression on his face change and grow darker. She couldn't breathe, the fabric of her mask was suddenly clinging to her flesh in all the wrong ways, she couldn't swallow, the knot in her throat was too tight. In the span of a few minutes, this man had somehow acquired far too much potential power over her.

"Now, where on Earth did you get that?" Erik demanded, though he already expected her to lie about it.

"I opened a portal to Helheim, reached through and grabbed it, quite simple, really," Christine replied. Was she trying to deflect the conversation? Was it a poor, outlandish attempt at humor?

"We both know that isn't true, Christine," He said her name again and she felt a pang of nausea in her hollow stomach. She was trapped and not by the bars of her cage. She bit her lips together, unable to speak.

She was infinitely thankful when the muscled goons assigned to guard her actually bothered to come perform their jobs.

"Get away from that thing!" One shouted.

"If ya wanna see that freak, you're gonna have to pay up at its show tomorrow," The other attempted to be calm as they did their best to surround Erik and intimidate him away from the cage. He didn't move, he was far too focused on the mysterious woman that had been haunting him.

"Get out of here!" the more aggressive one tried to shout again. He reached out, as if to rip Erik away from the cage with brute force. Before he could make contact, Erik took a step backwards. His temper was riled, full of the same fire Christine recognized from their last encounter.

Before the situation had a chance to escalate further, Christine peered behind the three men to see Annette sprinting towards them. Her Vicomte was trailing somewhere behind. Christine's shoulders fell with the tiniest bit of relief.

"Leave him alone, Ledoux," Christine found her voice again, "He was trying to ask if he could get a private meeting with me."

"Private? What reason would anyone ever have to take you somewhere private?" the henchman cackled. Erik's shoulders stiffened as he listened to the man's harassment.

"There's a variety of reasons men dig up graves," Christine shot back, which caused Ledoux to grimace.

"I happen to appreciate her musical talents," Erik huffed with practiced nonchalance. He fussed with his cufflinks, allowing that tiny action to dissipate his brewing rage.

"The only sounds this thing makes are straight from the Devil."

"She is not–"

"Erik!" the Vicomte exclaimed, interjecting himself to the situation, "We were starting to worry when we could not find you!"

"I've been here the entire time, I did not go far," Erik brushed off Raoul's concern. He pulled at the lapels of his coat like an irate raven picking its feathers.

"You hurried off with such haste that–"

"It is no concern of yours," he spat. "Though I suppose the mademoiselle may be able to assist me." Erik looked back at Christine, as if asking for permission before involving Annette. When she did nothing to stop him, he turned to Raoul's companion fully. "Whom do I need to speak to regarding requesting a private performance from–" he faltered for a moment, realizing that using Christine's name directly might raise an alarm.

"The Draugr?" Annette finished for him, "Yes, of course, I imagine Santiago won't argue as long as you make an exorbitant offer. I know where he's probably lurking, come with me, M. Delacroix." She motioned forward with a graceful air for Erik to follow. She took a few steps and realized that Raoul was coming along, which would not be wise.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, this is where we should part ways," she glanced behind her. Raoul stopped in his tracks and he couldn't hide the disappointment in his boyish features. He realized the misstep, understood Annette's reluctance to continue to be seen in his presence here and yet, that did not stifle his feelings.

As Annette led Erik away, Raoul realized he was left with the two henchmen and the creature in the cage. Unable to escape, his eyes locked on the creature, immediately focused on the red scarf poking out from beneath her dark cloak.

A shiver ran down his spine as he felt like icy water was biting his skin. A child's nightmare made real, he shoved his terror down and quickly made haste towards the faire's exit.

A deep, rattling sigh deflated Christine. Her plans for this day had gone completely and entirely sideways. Even with the goons still lingering around her cage, she finally had an opportunity to fully breathe. She leaned her head against the bar behind it and peered up at the sky. Daylight was quickly waning, she wouldn't be able to start dissecting the contents of her stolen tome until the sun rose again. It was easier to be impatient and irritated about that fact than to even start to address any of the other thoughts in her head.

Erik had been about to start another physical altercation on her behalf, she was sure of it. No matter how hard she tried to force her thoughts away from him, they kept springing back. He had been looking for her. He had seen her lock herself back in the cage, he had caught her thievery– He could single-handedly jeopardize everything she had been working towards. It was easy to blame him. If he hadn't been looking for her, he never would have witnessed her crimes. What reason would he have to be searching for her in the first place? How ridiculous. Though, she couldn't ignore that he had immediately recognized the stolen book. His knowledge of the Garnier could be useful to her…But that would force her to trust him. A task easier said than done, even for the man that had so valiantly come to her defense.

Christine's thoughts continued to run circles around her mind. She stared up at the sky, unmoving. Shadowed clouds passed above her, the hazy violet and blues of nighttime bled into the colors of the setting sun until they overtook them. If not for the moon casting beams of light, she hardly would have even noticed the passing of time at all. She didn't even recall blinking.

The sound of a pebble bouncing off the metal bars finally startled Christine back to the normal plane of reality.

"Psst!" Annette made a sound from somewhere behind the cage, trying not to attract the ineffectual goons back to their actual post.

"I'm here," Christine mumbled to acknowledge Annette's presence.

"I can't stay, but I wanted to let you know that Santiago has struck a deal with Monsieur Erik. He'll be back tomorrow before your performance to see you, alone."

Christine couldn't hold back a small bark of a laugh, "And now to wait for my imminent demise."

"Why say that?"

"He caught me returning to my prison."

"You have been rather reckless as of late."

"I know," Christine sighed deeply, "I'll be more careful."

"Will you?" Annette questioned and Christine could see her raised brow, even though the other woman wasn't in front of her. "I need to leave, shall we meet tomorrow night?"

She knew the implication. Away from the camp, further into the town and near the bridge. They could speak freely.

"Of course," Christine said, knowing Annette had likely already run away. She laid down then, stretching her bony legs across the floor. She already knew sleep would be elusive tonight with all that had transpired.

She spoke to the air with a tinge of humor, "Perhaps I'll finally have someone to appreciate my Paganini."

Normally punctual to an outright obsessive degree, Erik was late to work for two days in a row. If he was anxious about that fact, he didn't allow it to show. Honestly, his entire mind was elsewhere. As he entered the auditorium for rehearsals, he strolled right to his seat as if everyone that was there was simply too early and he was the only one on time. Even as they gave him looks of concern, they quickly averted their eyes as he came closer. The staff knew better than to ask too many questions.

He sat down and opened his folio of notes, examining the agenda for today. He had a meeting with the managers, hastily penciled in. As he read, he realized that it was far too silent. Quick to temper, a growl started to form in Erik's throat. He raised his gaze to examine the scene.

Most of the cast was scattered near the wings, keeping their distance from the clutter of ballerinas in the center of the stage. One was in the middle, sitting and clutching at her leg.

"What on Earth is going on?" Erik demanded, the booming sound of his voice causing the girls to startle and dissipate enough that he could see the injured girl more clearly.

"Meg Giry is hurt, sir," little Jammes exclaimed before any of the elder dancers could stop her.

"I'm perfectly alright!" Meg defended herself, "I only need a moment."

"How did this happen?" Erik asked, his voice still on the verge of a dangerous rumble.

"It was the ghost!" Jammes declared. Erik stared at the girl with a scowl. Of all ridiculous things–

"A piece of the set came loose and fell on her yesterday," La Sorelli clarified, crossing her arms with impatience.

"I am fine, it's only a bruise," Giry insisted, convincing no one.

Erik rubbed at his temple, a dull throb starting to ache behind his eye.

"Get her off the stage, send for the physician," he snapped. Immediately, the other girls were helping Meg to her feet and ushering her away. She tried to protest, but it was futile. The others knew better than to challenge a direct order from Erik.

"Where is Buquet?" Erik barked. Those on stage murmured amongst themselves as they looked up into the flies, attempting to locate the stagehand. "He will answer for this impertinence."

"Yes, sir?" Buquet's voice echoed down into the auditorium.

"Why are our precisely crafted set pieces injuring my cast?" Erik snapped.

"It was a simple error, a small accident."

"A small accident? A talented young ballerina may have just lost her future and you wish to call it a small accident? I demand a more detailed explanation."

"Sir, I did not see what happened. I was at stage left, the piece that fell was at the right."

"Are you going to blame your own idiocy on a ghost, too?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, a sudden realization rushed over him. An otherworldly being had been here the previous day. Christine had been here thieving. What else could she have done?

If Buquet answered again, Erik completely ignored it. Continuing any interaction with the man was futile at this point.

Rehearsals continued as planned until the time of this ridiculous meeting with the new managers. One last thing to scratch off his list before his day could truly begin. He couldn't help but feel this was a waste of his time but Erik needed to discuss his own contract with the buffoons, let alone Carlotta's, as he had agreed to.

He didn't even bother knocking on their door. The idiots had left it wide open and Erik had very little respect for them. Inside, the two men were arguing with each other, entirely unaware of the time.

"This office has been broken into, I know it!" Firmin proclaimed. Andre was frustrated, rubbing at his temple.

"There's nothing missing, you are panicking over nothing," the other man groaned.

Erik watched their back and forth bickering. He cleared his throat, attempting to get their attention. Both of them startled and turned towards the taller man.

"Am I interrupting?" Erik snarled, looking for any excuse to abscond. Andre glanced at his pocket watch and then glared at Firmin. They had forgotten their appointment with the director completely.

"No, no!" Firmin declared, anxiously taking his seat at the desk and waving for Erik to sit as well. He did not.

"We only need to address your new contract, M. Delacroix. Standard procedure, we, we won't be long," Andre tried to keep things moving. Erik said nothing. Andre started rifling through paperwork on his desk, looking for the necessary file. Firmin realized it was in his pile of things. He handed it over to the other man.

Erik rolled his eyes at the sign of ineptitude between the men.

Andre's eyes widened as he read through the details of Erik's contract. He shook his head.

"We cannot possibly renew your salary for this amount, monsieur. You, you understand that, yes?"

Erik scoffed, "I am paid as I am owed. I've done more for this theater in an hour than the two of you have done since you were hired."

"And yet, you've been late to work for the past few days."

Erik remained impassive, though he could feel the anger in his chest building.

"I, at the very least, have enough of a grasp on the contents of my office that I would immediately be able to tell if something was missing."

The two managers were left momentarily speechless at Erik's harsh comment but they also could not deny it.

"I think that we should continue this discussion at a different time," Erik growled, turning to leave the office before the managers could protest. He stopped in the doorway, a vile smirk forming on his lips.

"Good luck in finding what you seek, gentlemen," Erik said, "Perhaps…you can ask the ghost for what was lost. The theater is haunted, you know."

At that, Erik turned to leave, his temper flaring too much to continue. At a later time, he'd have to actually come back to properly speak with those buffoons.

"Take it off," Santiago growled.

"No!" Christine protested, trying to hold her mask to her face with one arm, attempting to fight the man off with the other. Santiago yanked her back, trying to swipe at her mask again.

"No one pays that sort of money to see that horrible face all covered up, girl," Santiago argued. Frustrated, Christine wrenched herself from his grip completely.

"I'll take it off, let the man, let him decide when I should reveal it," Her heart raced, not fully understanding why Santiago was causing such a scene about this. It made her angry, could she not have control over this one, tiny thing?

Santiago raised the back of his hand and brought it crashing down across Christine's cheek with a crack. She stumbled back with a sharp yelp, which left the vile man with the perfect opening to sink his fingers into her white hair and pull. With total control over her, he pushed her forward towards the tent's curtain.

It was all about her humiliation. She realized it as Santiago ripped the mask away from her face with enough force that the ties dug into her skin. Christine growled, a feeling of anger starting to pool in her chest as the air settled on her bare skin. She could not tell if the heat in her cheeks was from her brewing rage or the sting from his blow.

And then he pushed her through the curtain, to her awaiting patron.

Christine stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her own feet. She recovered quickly, though her posture was still defensive. She held her hand over her face, covering as much of it as she possibly could. For a few seconds, she stared at the fabric barrier that Santiago likely still stood behind. If she were braver, if she was stronger, she'd rip the thing away and challenge–

"Did that man just harm you?" Erik broke the silence, his voice calm but with a calculated edge. Christine turned, still attempting to hide her horrible face. With a sweeping motion around her neck, she draped her long hair over the shoulder closest to the man staring at her. It wasn't much, but it helped her feel the tiniest bit more in control.

"Nothing I'm not already used to," she muttered, keeping her tone low. She glanced in his direction and briefly saw the fire in his eyes. She received the distinct impression that he was holding himself back on a very short leash and Christine had no idea how to feel about that.

She tried to steady her breaths, but they stayed shallow and quick. She was entirely trapped and she could feel every dreadful beat of her heart. What had she expected? She could feel his eyes on her, an unexplainable weight. Scrutiny she had never fully felt, being stared at by a singular person like this…

"That does not make it right, Christine," Erik replied, his tone shifting towards a growl.

She fell quiet, not knowing how to respond to that. She tried to shrink away, nervously shifting her weight between each foot. She knew that he was correct, that feeling filling her with dread. Christine chose to be here, though Erik's words made her question why. She ran her bony fingers through her hair, trying to both calm and distract herself.

"What, what did you want to ask me?" She changed the subject entirely. Erik continued to watch her. He sat back in his chair, examining the woman. She was younger than her ancient, withered appearance made it seem.

"I'm not going to hurt you," He tried to assure her, "Nor am I afraid of you."

A broken little laugh slipped past Christine's lips before she could stop it. She steeled her expression and turned to face him. Her hands both fell to her sides, balled into fists.

"You should be," she said, her face now fully revealed to him.

Erik could not tell if he was captivated or further disgusted. Or if that disgust was towards her or himself for his twisted fascination with this creature. His expression remained neutral as he fell into the spell she cast.

Christine stood there, her mismatched eyes staring straight through him. Unfocused, but harsh. This was another performance for her, he realized. She was shielding herself from potential pain, trying to scare him off in the process. They'd never be able to have an honest conversation while the dignity of her mask had been stolen from her.

Abruptly, Erik snapped out of his chair. His hands went to the knot of the cravat tied around his neck. With quick, graceful fingers, he untied the fine silk and pulled it out of his collar. He unfolded it, smoothing the creases out of the fabric. In a few quick strides, Erik stood before her. His hand outstretched, he offered her the cravat.

Christine's brows knit together as she stared down at it.

"I do not mind the sight of your face, Christine, please allow me to clarify that," Erik spoke, his voice gentle. Christine slowly dared to meet his gaze. She lifted a hand, her fingers hovering over the silk as she debated whether to take it. He continued, "But I do not wish to see what you have not consented to. If I am to look upon your naked face, I want it to be because you desire it."

Christine was left speechless. She took the silk from his hand, but she paused. She did not immediately move to cover her sunken features, she was rather frozen. Her mind struggled to process his words, she could not recall the last time anyone had ever considered her own wishes so carefully. His words forced her to confront them, what exactly did she desire in this moment?

To escape this entirely? No, that wasn't true.

To hide her face? Yes, but that was a far more complicated issue and Christine was struck rather stupid at the idea that her death-like visage did not bother him.

She twisted the fabric of the cravat around her hands as she debated what to do, her lips gaped open like a rotting fish. She looked away, unable to hold on to Erik's gaze. The feeling of air against her bare skin was a distraction, the delicate silk in her hands was such a luxurious texture that it kept a sliver of her mind grounded.

"Christine?" Erik questioned, sensing her distress.

Her shoulders twitched, betraying that he had managed to startle her. She swallowed the knot in her throat and started to speak.

"You…saw me get back into the cage last night."

"I did," Erik nodded.

"Are you going to say something to–"

"Why would I do anything that would jeopardize your safety further?" Erik interjected, not even allowing her to finish the sentence.

"I barely know you, I do not live the sort of life where I can assume people have the best intentions," Christine explained, her tone distant. Erik let out a measured sigh, subtly flexing his hands to vent his own frustration. He should not have expected a different response from her, he realized. Just because she seemed to have taken a hold of his every thought, it did not mean he had infected her the same.

"If you can clearly escape so easily, why do you stay here? Why do you allow yourself to be treated in such fashion?" His voice grew more pointed as he questioned her. Hearing his own words, Erik's eyes briefly widened as he came to a conclusion. Now, he wondered if she would freely admit to it.

"I don't need to explain myself to you, monsieur," she replied.

"I have reason to suspect you stole something from the Palais Garnier last night, among other things. As that is my place of work, I think an explanation would be warranted," Erik said, adding more bite. Christine's head whipped towards him at the accusation. She had hoped that wouldn't come up in the duration of this conversation. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she once again felt cornered.

"I didn't plan on taking the book. I was only looking for information. I had to take it when, when I heard someone coming. I was always going to return it," Christine was truthful, though she omitted a few details.

"So you stay here because it provides you plausible deniability."

Her silence confirmed his suspicion. She raised the silk cravat towards her face, as if this was now to be the moment she would choose to hide herself behind it. She stopped, stubbornly refusing to give in to the impulse at this moment.

Erik spoke again,"That still is no reason to subject yourself to–"

"To what? The ridicule? The humiliation? Such things are simply a part of my life. There's no escaping it. This…this is at least a choice I can make," Christine snapped, defiantly raising her chin, staring up at Erik with a new, darker intensity.

"Make better choices," He said simply, as if it was an easy thing. Christine scoffed at his bold remark, a hint of fire in her eyes.

"You cannot come here and tell me that the decisions I've made are poor when you know nothing of why I've made them," She defended herself.

"Tell me, then."

"No!"

"Your reasons clearly involve the Garnier. I could easily assist you," Erik pointed out.

"I don't need your help," Christine insisted, stubbornly refusing out of some obligation to preserve her independence.

"It was sheer luck that I happened to be the one to catch you returning to your prison last night."

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place!" She raised her voice a little louder than intended.

"I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"Do you really wish to know…?" Erik hissed, taking a step closer to her. With his height, he loomed over her, his stoked temper barely kept in check.

No sound could come from her lips. Christine could only stare up at him, challenging him to speak the truth.

"Your voice haunts me, Christine," He started, voice a measured growl. Erik's words grew more impassioned as he continued, "Do you understand how ludicrous that is? I spend my days crafting music meant for the heavens but when I close my eyes, your voice is all I can hear. It waits for me in the darkness."

Abruptly, Erik realized that he was losing himself. He stopped, attempting to use a few deep breaths to calm his body. He turned away, now refusing to look at her, as if his own words had offended him.

"Whether it is a dream or a nightmare, your voice is all I can think about and I don't understand why."

Christine stared at him, an incredulous look spread across her face. Her gaze darted from him to the ground, to the side and back. She was left entirely speechless by his words. Stunned and unable to give him a scrap of the sound he so seemed to crave.

"I can understand your reluctance to share your secrets with me, but I believe we might be able to help each other," Erik offered, his more usual poise and posture returning to him. "I do not expect an answer immediately, but I do ask you to consider it."

She shook her head, still unable to give him any sort of proper response. With her heart so furiously thumping in her chest, reminding her that she wasn't some dead thing, Christine was left with no sense of her normal logic. How could she be when this man seemed to be so determined to challenge her every thought?

"Tomorrow. We can discuss this further tomorrow," Christine finally managed to force something out of her throat. She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper so that only Erik would be able to hear her. "Pont d'Iéna. Nightfall."

At her reply, Erik looked back. His eyes traveled her up and down, assessing her shifted demeanor. Was she simply trying to placate him or was she actually willing to think about his proposal? He gave her a small nod to affirm her stipulations.

Without another word, he exited the tent, leaving her there alone.

Finished with her humiliations for the day, Christine sat in the cage, staring off into the distance. The passing clouds were such interesting shapes, the perfect backdrop for her hazy thoughts and tumultuous feelings. In one hand, she held the silk cravat that Erik had given her. Such a complicated, messy thing! What was she supposed to think about it? Behind the comfort of her actual mask, Christine bit her lip. The intensity of that man's determination gave her pause. The fact that it seemed to be entirely focused on her was…strange. Any man's fixation on her was bound to be because of how her fearsome appearance could be exploited.

But Erik was fixated on her voice. Certainly not the first time a man had been transfixed by it, she was fully aware that the cosmic trade for being so god awful in appearance was to have the voice of an angel, a voice that held a great deal of power, should she choose to use it. Had she unknowingly done just that? Cast him under some sort of demonic spell just because she had seen a different sort of horror in his eyes that first time they met in Rouen? He seemed too eager to help. Too eager, too willing, too– she didn't know how to explain it, not even in her own thoughts. There was something about him. A fierceness that could not be ignored and Christine could not figure out if it filled her with more fear, more optimism or more dread.

He had looked her in the eye, maskless, and not shrunk from her gaze.

Not even Annette, the one person she considered a friend in this world, had been able to do that.

In her lap, sat the stolen book, her other hand perched atop it. Christine still hadn't been able to bring herself to look through the thing. Even though she knew she was losing daylight, her own fears had taken over. She had worked so hard to acquire this simple thing, what if it was only another dead end? She wasn't quite ready to acknowledge that very likely possibility. With all the other things rattling through her mind, she wanted to hold on to this for as long as she could. She recognized it was ridiculous. The stolen record book needed to be returned, before suspicions other than Erik's were raised.

With a deep breath and a measured exhale, Christine opened the book. Accounting records and ledgers, for the year that her father had been employed by the Théâtre National. Christine's long standing theory was that her father had been murdered for learning of something he should not have. He had not said much, the man had always tried to shield his child from his troubles, but Christine remembered him being excited about a large, unexpected sum of money. In her youthful naivety, Christine had just been excited to enjoy a few more sweet treats. Now, she wondered if it had been some sort of hush payment. Whether or not there was a record of the sum in this book would be the clue that she was looking for.

As she flipped through the pages, the transaction notes and numbers made less and less sense to her. The records seemed incomplete. Unsurprising, considering they needed to have survived a catastrophic fire. It wasn't just that, the young woman could barely even decipher what some of these expenses truly were. It wasn't yet a dead end, she wouldn't allow it. But…even she was pragmatic enough to recognize that M. Delacroix's assistance could be beneficial in this matter. He knew the Opera, he knew the business. His eagerness to assist her had not gone unnoticed.

Of course, despite it being a logical thing, Christine didn't want to be indebted to anyone. After a life spent only being able to rely on herself, she was reluctant to accept assistance. Even if it was being served to her on a metaphorical silver platter. With a frustrated groan, she slammed the book shut. Her overactive mind started chewing on a million other possibilities, a million other little schemes she could try. Each of them were more complicated and convoluted than the last, full of unnecessary risks.

Frustrated, she threw the book down and hid it under her threadbare blanket. She didn't even want to look at the thing. The silk cravat was tossed down beside it and then neatly tucked between the book covers. She didn't want to look at either object or even acknowledge their existence. She didn't want the answer to be outright staring her in the face.

Seeking comfort, the ghoulish girl turned to her runes. Idly, she stuck her fingers in their pouch and felt the cool stones against her skin. She mixed them in her hand, letting the smooth feeling and the quiet sound of them colliding with each other calm her mind. When it felt right, she plucked out a stone to help her interpret her current situation.

Naudhiz. A heavy handed push towards the thing she did not wish to acknowledge. Christine could nearly hear her father's voice explaining the meaning of the rune to her, telling the stories and reciting ancient poems. A sign to face challenges head on instead of shy away.

And this, combined with all the other runes she had been pulling for herself as of late, kept pointing her in one direction.