Eighteen days. It had been eighteen days since Erik last appeared in her window. Christine paced the length of her room, wringing her hands together as a faint muttering lingered in her mouth. Being confined to the same space for so long was driving her stir crazy. Despite her pleas with Raoul to set her free, to at least have free roam of the estate, she remained a prisoner in her own bed chambers.

Some days she would run in small circles around her room to relieve the built up energy in her legs. And every night after dark, she threw the window open with desperate hope that she would find Erik standing there. Only the dark forest surrounding the estate greeted her though. Sometimes she tried singing for him, half-believing he would hear it and emerge from the shadows. But it never worked, and the walls moved in closer around her.

Her one respite from the crippling loneliness was Claudette's regular visits twice a day. She arrived each morning with Christine's breakfast and stayed long enough to change the linens and collect the laundry. Little words were traded between them. Claudette noticed the growing coldness in Christine's behavior since her meeting with Dr. Lebeau. Dark glances littered her face, coupled with suspicion of the old maid. But Claudette never commented on any of it. In the evening, she would return with a supper tray and fresh laundry. The bottle of morphine still sat full in her pocket. On two occasions she considered putting a few drops in Christine's tea, but something stopped her. Each of those times, Claudette arrived to find her in a fit of uncontrollable sobs. She refused to eat, let alone even look at Claudette. Instead Christine clutched at her and cried into her shoulder as a frightened child would. It was the second occurrence of this that Claudette realized a horrible truth: she was all Christine had left. Raoul had seemingly abandoned her, and with no visitors or friends to come calling, it was no wonder she latched onto her for some form of meager solace.

One morning, she arrived to find Christine back at knitting again. This time her stitches held together; a long trail of knitted yarn draped over her lap and reached for the floor. The vibrant red fibers cast a stark contrast against her white dressing gown. Claudette curtsied and smiled before setting the breakfast tray down on the table. She left the dome atop the plate, knowing it might be some time before Christine decided to eat.

"Good morning, Madame," she said in a cheery voice. "May I take your linens today?"

Christine didn't look up, but grunted a reply. "That's fine."

"Did you sleep well?"

"I suppose so." She secured the end of her knitting and set it aside. "I'd like to go out today. To the city."

Claudette froze, her hands full of bed sheets. "The city, milady?"

"That's right. Right now in fact. Order a carriage for me and I'll dress." She stood from her chair and walked behind the changing screen, reaching for a simple blue dress in the process.

"Milady," she stammered after an awkward silence. "The Comte has instructed us—"

"I don't care what that bastard says," she snapped from behind the screen. Her dressing gown flew to the side, landing in a heap on the floor. "He is not my husband anymore. And I'm leaving."

"I... don't know if I can..." Claudette tried to think of something. She didn't want to stop Christine from leaving, not by any means. But she feared Raoul's reaction if she let her go.

Christine stormed around the screen holding up the back of her dress. "Help me with these buttons."

Her resolve unnerved Claudette. Electing not to argue for the moment, she stepped up behind Christine and fastened the long line of buttons on her dress. "He's here, milady. In his chambers, I believe. What if he sees—"

"Then let him see! He can't keep me prisoner." Christine pulled on a pair of boots and hooked their buttons in place.

"He may send you away. To one of those... asylums."

Christine's cold gaze shot to hers and held it for a moment. "At least I'll be far from him then."

"Madame, please don't do this—"

"Don't try to stop me!" Christine pushed past the maid and marched straight for the door. It was still unlocked from when Claudette arrived, as had been her habit over the last couple weeks, and Christine had noticed. When she yanked the door open though, she came face to face with the grizzled visage of Louis.

"Going somewhere, Madame?"

Christine gave him a defiant glare and refused to retreat a single step. "Get out of my way, old man."

"My apologies, Madame. I cannot allow you to leave. The Comte's orders, you understand."

She gritted her teeth. "And I am the Comtess, and I am ordering you, our servant, to move the hell out of my way!"

Louis only stared at her. "I am the Comte's servant. Not yours."

Christine slapped him. The sharp crack startled Claudette, who visibly jumped. Louis recoiled for a mere second, holding his throbbing cheek as he resumed his dark look at Christine. She sneered and shoved at his chest.

"Damn you to hell, Louis! You're nothing but a vicious lap dog for a spoiled brat!"

Louis reached out and took a firm hold of Christine's wrists before forcing her backwards into the bed chambers. He pushed her down onto the stool at her vanity, but refused to let go. Christine writhed and cursed at him, sending small drops of spittle across his face. Louis gave Claudette a sharp look.

"The morphine. Now."

Claudette started to protest, but Christine's violent hollers drowned her out. She thrashed and tried to kick at Louis, but he somehow dodged her attacks. Claudette didn't move, silently berating herself for not disposing of the morphine as Christine ordered weeks ago. Louis stepped around and behind Christine, wrapping her arms around herself in the process to trap her in place. He snarled at Claudette and stomped his foot to gain her attention amidst the loud cries.

"Give her the morphine now! Or you can say farewell to this job!"

Claudette jumped again, her hands rising to her face to hide her gathering tears. "I..."

Christine somehow managed to free one of her arms and buried her elbow into his stomach. Louis bent in half as the breath shot from his lungs. Sharp pain raced through his lower chest, and his hands fell slack. Christine seized the opportunity and scrambled from the stool, her latest knitting project the first weapon she could find. With the length of thick knitted yarn in her hands, she wrapped it around his neck three times, pulling it tighter with each loop. She shoved the knitting needles through the cluster of stitches and, with an inhuman roar of pure anger, twisted them around until she couldn't tighten it anymore.

Louis sputtered and clawed at the yarn around his neck. His face turned red, the vessels of his eyes bulging out. Claudette watched in horror, a scream caught in her throat as the scene unfolded before her. A foul smell filled the room as Louis soiled himself. The old butler continued to fight for his life, but with each attempt he grew weaker. No sound came from his wide mouth, his silent screams choked off by the makeshift garrote. Christine yanked on the needles a final time, sending Louis crashing to the floor. His body jerked one final time, and then fell still.

Christine stood over him, her chest heaving from the struggle, a deranged look in her eyes. She finally looked up at Claudette and took a deep breath to steady herself. "As I said, I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me."