His Hands Smelt of Death... (Érik)

[Christine Daaé]

Christine sat trembling in that cold, dark, dusty place, alone except for the rats, which didn't reassure her much. The rats seemed to be watching her. They seemed to follow that man's (if you could call him a man) every command. Some of the rats had gone off with him. A lot of them actually. There were only one or two left there.

She cried softly. What she wouldn't do to be home again. Home where it was safe, and where there were not strange men who ruled over the rats, or women everywhere claiming to be Christine Daaé, or dark damp dungeons full of the bones of dead men...

Carefully, making sure there was no one to see her, she took out the ring she had managed to keep with her, hidden from that cruel monster, and she kissed it gently. It seemed that was all she would ever be able to hope for. It had been almost a week now, and she wasn't sure if Raoul was even still alive... If he was , he was surely close to death...

No!.... No, she refused to believe it! Somehow he had escaped. He must have. If he didn't, she no longer cared whether she lived or died in his wretched place...

With a weak voice and parched throat, she called out, hoping that someone – anyone – would hear her. “Hello? Can anyone hear me? Anyone at all? Please.... Please help me...” She really didn't care who came for her. Any familiar face, anyone at all, and she would be eternally grateful.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik had resumed his travels in the manor after meeting the other Christine in the ballroom. He would hate to meet the others that Lenoir spoke of if they reminded him this much of his own Christine. He decided to hunt more vigorously for his future wife, and decided to investigate the private living arrangements he supposedly had, according to the other masked man. He hoped to God that his home was completely intact, though how it was underneath this mansion, he had no idea. If anything, it would be nice to freshen up and put on some clean clothes, for these were dusty and smelt terrible, as if he'd been asleep in them for a hundred years. Then he would find Christine. He had to be presentable for her, else she think him a vagabond of some sort!

Traversing down the path Lenoir had spoke of earlier, he found himself at a medium sized metal door at the end of a particular hall. With a sinking feeling, he eyed the little button on the side. It pointed down. He looked up above the door, and there was a semi-circle number system, with an intricate iron arrow pointing to specific levels. This seemed to be the ground floor, but the numbers were negative, as if there was only one way. It seemed to be down.

This... This was an elevator. Where was the bellhop if there was an elevator? Perhaps this hadn't been used in so long that the bellhop died. Érik laughed, but moved away from the metal door. It was strange... All the elevators he'd ever come across had two layers of grating, one to close the entrance to the elevator, and one to close the elevator itself. How did this one work exactly?

"Does one just press the button and it opens?" he thought. Wary of the thing, he hovered his skeletal index finger over the little white button. He swallowed, and decided to try it. Perhaps this was a new, more efficient elevator? It seemed so... futuristic, perhaps? It would more firmly establish his theory of him being in another time, considering the state of the works of Poe he found earlier.

He wasn't so sure he trusted the "future's" technology, but he pressed the button anyway.

A dinging sound was heard, and he nearly jumped ten feet in the air as the doors magically slid open. They were operating by themselves?! He'd heard of self-sustaining machines before, but they seemed like fantasy to him, not reality. He gripped at the cravat at his throat and peered inside the machine. The carpet was a red and gold patterned, and the walls were made of wood... or were they? They didn't seem like wood, only like a wallpaper made to look like it. There was a metal rail to grip as one went down along the walls, like a dancer's bar in a mirrored practice room.

There was no one there. Again, no bellhop... Érik paused. Should he venture inside? If this was the only way to his home, he would have to... But was it worth it? Were there no stairs, for the love of Mozart?!

He looked all around. There was a door next to the elevator, and he thought it might be stairs. He looked back to the device. Érik sighed. Perhaps he might try it, if it got him there quicker. He had heard they were much faster than steps, but his experience with them made them so very... unappealing.

Before he could stop himself, he began to step into the elevator.

"Argh!" he cried and the door began to quickly slide closed. He swiftly pulled his body out of there before it was too late, and he was sucked into the abyss of the elevator shaft. It would crash, he knew it, especially with no one but himself to operate it!

The door was shut, and he tried to run away from the thing as fast as possible. Unfortunately, his cloak had gotten stuck in the process of leaving the elevator, and tugged on his neck like his own lasso. He gasped and fell backward onto the metal. Érik groaned, rolling his eyes and growling. He grabbed his dark cloak and yanked it from the machine, but it did not give so easily.

"Curse you, infernal device!" he yelled at it, propping his feet upon the metal door and pulling as hard as he could. It was no use.

The Opera Ghost stood there like a bloody imbecile. He had brought an entire opera house to it's knees, and yet he couldn't manage rescuing his own cloak from a machine?! What in Dickens was the matter with hi--

'Oh...' he thought. He closed his eyes and slapped his hand to his masked face, rubbing his temple and pressing the blasted button. The elevator hadn't even gone down, so the door slid open easily, letting go of his cloak as if it was apologizing to him for causing him so much agony.

He obviously didn't accept the apology, for he took to the stairs before it could even close again.

Almost as soon as Érik started down the stairs, he began to find landings with numbered doors on them. He looked inside each one, hoping to find his home, but there was hardly anything that would help him in any of them. The first one was a room with very nearly a thousand candles in it, and he pitied the poor fellow who had to go and light every one. Another was just a small room with a grand piano, and while that may prove useful to him later, it was useless now when he needed a good crisp shirt and some nice dark slacks; something to go hunting his bride in. Another and another, and soon he was tired and growing rather hungry. He ignored the hunger, as he usually did, and instead dragged himself down a few more flights of steps.

He came to another door, this one numbered 1998. 'Nineteen-hundred-and-ninety-eight?' he thought. 'These all have years on them, years that haven't even occurred yet!' This reinforced his theory of the future, or perhaps some alternate dimension. He sighed, knowing this couldn't be his home, for he certainly hadn't lived in 1998.

Something stopped him, however, from touching the next step in his descent. It was a faint voice, though he could barely make it out, which was surprising with his excellent hearing. It sounded weak and famished, as if it was a dungeon behind the 1998 door instead of a home. Going back to the room, he gripped the handle, but pressed his ear to the wooden door anyway ('It looks like it's been gnawed at by rats!' he thought absently). Still, he couldn't make out the voice.

Érik shrugged, sighing lethargically as he pulled away. "Oh, what the hell." He turned the knob. The rather tall man had to bend down a bit to see clearly into the room.

"Hello, is anyone he--" he began.

His face lit up with happiness, and his breath was caught in his throat as the most beautiful sight in the world graced his golden eyes in the faint darkness.

"Christine!"

[Christine Daaé]

((Think of it this way, Leffie, since you waited, I could make a better post rather than some really rushed thing lol))

There was still no sign of a living breathing soul anywhere to be found, save for the few rats left there, scurrying about. It seemed that there was no one at all to hear her cries. No one at all...

A few tears fell from her crystalline blue eyes as she pulled in her knees toward her, hugging them close. Oh, how she wished she could just go home! She missed sitting at Mamma Valérius' bedside and watching her knit away, talking incessantly about whatever little thing happened to pop into her mind at the moment. She missed seeing the daylight and the flowers. She missed sending letters back and forth with Raoul. She missed her own bed and her room in Mamma Valérius' flat... And as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she missed Érik. She missed the lessons they used to have, and the house on the lake, and the Louis-Philippe room, and that way he would lay sighing at her feet when she would stay with him...

She glanced about again, trembling, still worrying for the moment that man would come back. The man terrified her. He had kissed her, and put his bare hands all over her, touching her places where no man should, especially with bare hands.... She squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering more at the thought.

The chill down there did not help her trembling and shivering at all. Oh, why was this place so cold? Not just here, but the entire manor it seemed had a constant chill about it. Her teeth chattered as the tears continues to roll down those ivory cheeks. There was no point in crying out any more. After all, there was no one around to hear her... Or so she thought

She had just given up hope of being heard by anyone when the sound of a familiar voice greeted her ears.

“Christine!”

Christine looked up in the direction where the voice had come from. She couldn't make out the figure from across the room in the darkness, but she didn't have to. She would have recognized that voice anywhere – that voice, which for such a long time was merely 'the voice' and which she had, for a time, known to be the voice of the Angel of Music... Now, it was almost if that guardian Angel had come to answer her prayers.

Never had she thought that she would ever again be so happy to hear that voice, and yet she couldn't have been more glad to hear him.

“Érik!” she exclaimed in her weak voice.

She stopped hugging her knees and instead let her legs rest on the ground to her left. Oh, to finally find something – someone – familiar in this wretched place!... It made her little heart practically leap.

[Erik Spectre]

Relief washed over Érik when he saw Christine. His heart was pounding as he stepped closer to her, each one shakier than the last. He was still so nervous around her, like a child. Now that he was no longer angry with her, now that she'd made her decision (the right one, he might add), he didn't know what to think. He'd hardly had time to cope with the fact that this woman was to be his wife before he'd fainted and found himself in this place. He'd tried so hard not to think about her too much since arriving here, else he go stir crazy with worry, but he was thankful he found her so soon, else he might have a heart attack from all that stress.

Now he didn't have to worry anymore... or so he thought.

Upon reassuring himself that it was indeed Christine, he examined the rest of her, and immediately noticed her distressed appearance. "C-Christine," he said, rubbing his chin in disbelief. He walked over to her quickly and lent her a hand so that she could get up. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" he said quietly. Still so considerate of her... Still such a child.

He brought her to a standing position, but was hesitant to hold her any further unless she needed his strength, for the poor girl looked weak and miserable. "What has happened to you?" he asked, tempted to brush the dirt caked hair from her eyes, but still so terrified of touching her beautiful face, especially after... after... after everything.

Suddenly, something alive and disgusting sailed over his feet, one by one, about three of them. Rats! "Ugh!" he cried, kicking them to the side and glaring at them. He stepped closer to Christine as if to shield her from their germ infested bodies. He began to look all around as his eyes moved away from hers, and he found himself horrified at the state of this particular room. It was like a cave, but fitted with a few pieces of furniture and a massive organ (which was indeed rather lovely, but ill fitting in a setting such as this). However, he noticed almost immediately the amounts of rat feces and rats themselves scurrying about, and his lips curled into a sneer.

"This place..." he growled. "Come, Christine," he said, his voice as hard as stone as he led her ('Gently, gently, Érik!') from this place and onto the set of stairs.

It was then as he looked up to his cherished bride that he saw the bruises on her dainty wrists and the welts that were left on her neck. His eyes widened as he walked backwards down the stairs (a talent of his) and examined them in the light of the electric torches lining the walls (more electricity in this place, he noticed, even down here).

"Christine! Who hurt you?! You must tell me, and I will punish them immediately!" he exclaimed, wishing more and more he could brush that golden hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. 'Dear Gounod, the things I do for love,' he thought as he restrained himself. She seemed so frightened, so terrified of something other than him. It was almost refreshing, and he knew it to be because of her pledge to him, to be his living wife that she trusted him so.

He thought for a moment about how he might destroy the person who had lain their hands on Christine, but he realized it was getting the nowhere, and he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. He almost slipped and fell, but caught his grip on the wall and balanced himself out before he could drag his fiancee down the stairs with him. Érik huffed, and shook his head as he whipped his head forward again.

"Upon second thought, when we arrive at my house, which I've heard is here completely intact, you shall tell me exactly all that has happened to you in this terrible place, including who took you to that awful room and what they did to you, but for now, let us find the blasted door!" he grumbled, annoyed that as they passed by the years he still hadn't seen one close to his.

Sighing after a long while, Érik stopped at one labeled 1925. He looked at it woefully, seeing more stairs below them, despite the fact that there had been at least two or three dozen above this one. He looked back to the girl, realizing much too late that he had been steadily squeezing her hand for some sort of support in his shaking state. Yes, he was shaking. Was it because he had found her and was so relieved, or...

Was it because he was holding her hand.

"Oh... Oh, Érik is s-sorry," he fretted, letting his grip slid a little, but the shaking resumed it's speed. He tried to rest the other hand on this wrist to calm it, but it was no use. Both hand's shook. "I-I... I just..." He bit his lip and averted his eyes from hers. He should be so strong for her when she is so frightened, but he could only be nervous and clumsy, like a boy. "Mademoiselle will forgive Érik if he is impertinent, please," he whispered, daring to glance into her crystal blue eyes, illuminated by fear and the glow of the light torch above them.

He turned and walked down again, trying his best not to fall down and faint like in the ballroom. 'That would surely make a fine first impression as to what married life will be like,' he though cynically. Though... it wasn't far from the truth. He had no idea how to be a husband. In truth, he hadn't planned that far ahead, apart from her loving him unconditionally and that they would be normal and sweet on each other. But...

What was normal to a married couple?

He blushed underneath his silken mask. He had been running his hand along the wall the entire time, and now he came to another door. Without even seeing it, his eyes lit up in delighted alarm, because he knew without sight that this was his door.

On the darker than black wood were the numbers 1911 nailed eye level (a normal heighted person's eye level at least). This was the last door, because there were no more stairs after this. He wanted to gasp, but instead he grinned. He brought his betrothed to his side and looked down at her. "This must be our home, for there are no other doors!" he exclaimed, and happily turned the handle.

[Christine Daaé]

Christine almost let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Érik there. It was a rather curious thing, for until quite recently, she had been dreading seeing him again. She had dreaded the moment that she would come across that masked man whom she was certain had drugged her and dragged her to this horrid place, but now... now she was just too happy to see a familiar face (or mask in this case) to care.

She took his hand (or rather, that cold, moist, bony thing which functioned like a hand) and let him pull her to her feet, her ankles weak and shaky from fatigue and her own trembling at being in that place.

He asked her what happened, but she did not have time to find the words to answer him before a team of rats began forming at their feet and she let out a cry of terror. She still hadn't gotten used to all of the rats around that place – she didn't think she ever would, and was quite glad that now she wouldn't have to.

She went with him, almost eagerly even, when he began to lead her out of that place and down several flights of stairs. She was still trembling as they walked, glancing back every so often for fear that the man with the rats would return and notice she was missing, then come searching for her.

Erik started squeezing her hand as walked and Christine closed her eyes, wincing for a moment. She didn't think she would ever be able to make herself used to that cold, bony grasp. He asked her who hurt her, but before she even had opportunity to tell him, he stopped her and said that she should tell him everything once they reached the house. His house.... Of course the house on the lake was here, completely intact.

Before she had time to give much more thought to the topic though, he stumbled backward a bit, squeezing Christine's hand even tighter in the process (likely in trying to brace himself), and she winced again. Her hand was beginning to go numb with him squeezing it that tight and she tried to pull it away, but stopped, realizing his grip was only constantly growing tighter.

They had gone quite a ways down before the monster seemed to realize that her hand was beginning to grow a light grayish color and he loosened his grip, apologizing, but not before his hands began to shake and tremble. She let out a soft sigh of relief as the feeling began to return to her hand.

Their eyes met for a brief second before he turned away and continued walking down. Christine's feet were beginning to grow quite cold going down these steps barefoot, and she shivered on top of trembling. Weary, cold, and trembling, she continued to go with him, down into the center of the earth.

Oh, Raoul would have been heartbroken if he knew that she was letting Érik take her down there willingly, but what choice did she really have? It was either go with Érik, or remain captive of the King of the Rats, and she certainly was not choosing the latter.

Raoul.... Christine couldn't help put to shed a few tears thinking of her likely deceased fiancé. Exactly one month to the day was the scheduled date of their wedding. Their wedding which would never happen because the groom was dead and the bride was being held captive. Raoul didn't deserve this... He had done nothing wrong! But unfortunately the only person in Paris who knew that and could testify to it was often taken to be nothing more than an eccentric foreigner, which he was to some extant, but that wasn't the point!

Finally, they ran out of steps and at the bottom of the stairs was one last door with the numbers 1911. Odd... she thought to herself. Is it an address? But why would they put street numbers on doors in a cellar? Érik pulled her to his side looked down at her. She was still trembling and shivering, tired from all of the steps they had traveled in order to get down there. “Our home...” she repeated softly as he turned the handle. It seemed like such a foreign concept in this place, home... What was home, really? She knew that she missed it, but she had been more than ready to leave it only a few weeks before as she and Raoul were planning to flee for the elopement. She knew that it certainly wasn't a place, that was for sure, but wherever 'home' was, she desperately wished to return there. And furthermore, what of this 'our home'? There was no our. There had always been Érik and Ériks house – the house on the lake – and that was it.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik pushed open the door he'd seen so many times over the years. He might just know it like the back of his hand, despite the strange numbering. Peering inside, he pulled his betrothed with him, then went to light the gaslights on the wall so that they could see. Apparently at the first glance nothing was wrong. Everything was as it had been when they left it, as if they were still in the Paris Opera House. There was the little sitting room and the dining room, his chambers as well as Christine's. He pushed the door closed and smiled underneath his mask. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was home, despite the fact that this place once was like a tomb to him.

He realized it was Christine's presence that made it bearable. Indeed, every time she was there she made the world a little less cruel to him, and made the house on the lake (though mysteriously the lake was missing) more like the home he'd always dreamt of having as a boy. It was a warm place to go to, even though it was cold and damp underground. Érik looked down to the girl in his arms.

It was then that he realized she was in his arms. They were so close, he could almost... For a moment he forgot himself looking at her. His eyes drifted down her form. She was shivering, poor girl. Once they were more comfortable, perhaps they'd venture above and find somewhere with a fireplace. Her hair was matted and her eyes were still wide with fright. He noticed the bruises on her wrist again, and his brows furrowed. He pulled her forward again, and suddenly her dress caught the light of the gas lamp, shimmering a drab white. Or... was that her skin?

Erik gulped, realizing that she was wearing a nightgown. It was her ankles he'd seen. His eyes fluttered away, and he let go of her, taking his own cloak off and placing it on her shoulders. "You look cold..." he said absently, running a hand through the hairs of his wig and he walked to the opposite wall to light more of the gaslights. "Please, please sit, darling," he called back to her as he disappeared into his bedroom to make sure all was right. It was indeed. His coffin was still there, the Dies Irae still playing silently on the walls... Into Christine's room. Everything was perfect. His breath caught in his throat when he saw that her wedding dress was lain across the bed. It was not how he left it, but it reminded him of the future ahead of them. He hung up the dress in her closet so that she might sleep in her bed when it came time. Other than the dress, all else was in order. He entered the room where he composed, and every bit of music was there, everything he'd ever written in that room. He touched the keys lightly before returning to his love.

"Christine, perhaps you might change?" he asked, extending a hand to her. "I know I have bought you some simple things, like you like. You... haha, you of course deserve to be covered with diamonds, but you look beautiful either way." He led her to her room and pulled her gently inside. After he closed the door, he looked down at her hands again, and touched lightly the darkening marks on her wrists. "Tell me now, tell me who did this to you! Does it hurt my dear? Shall I find some bandages?"

Érik thought back to his earlier predicament in his thoughts. He had wondered what being married would be like, and for a moment he felt like a caring husband. Yes, this is what it felt like. It must be, because he felt a warmness bubbling up inside of him that made him smile, despite the fact that he was boiling mad at whoever had done this to her. He felt he couldn't display his anger in front of her now. Husbands, from what he had observed, were meant to be cool and collected. They are meant to protect their fragile wives from hardship. This must have been what he was feeling, that urge to protect. He hadn't felt this strongly about anything like this in a long time. It was... relieving.

"Sit, sit here!" he said, gesturing to the ornate bench of her vanity. "I shall find you something... decent to wear," he offered, entering once more into her closet. "Please, while I search continue talking! I do so love to hear you speak, ma chérie. How long have you been here? Do you have any idea why we're here?"

[Christine Daaé]

Christine was still shivering as Érik pushed open the door and pulled her into the dark room with him. He went through the house and lit some of the gas so that they could see. Christine remained by his side, not so much by choice as by the fact that he had hid arm around her the entire time. She didn't mind too much though. At least when Érik's arm was around her, she was safe from that horrid rat man...

He could feel those yellow blazing eyes beating down on her as she rested there by his side. She had never thought that there would be a time when she was so glad to be in the clutches of that living corpse. Oh, Raoul would be devastated if he ever saw her in such a state... Raoul...

She was made to remember hat there was a good possibility that he never would see such a thing because there was a good possibility that he was already dead. It had been so long... Would he still be awaiting trial or execution, or was he already a victim of that dreaded blade? She had estimated that she had been in the clutches of the rat man for about a week – a solid week when she should have been trying to find a way to contact her betrothed. And now...

She was lost in her thoughts until she felt a weight on her shoulders as Érik put his cloak around her. Her shivering stopped a little and she looked up at him. He was running a hand through his hair (or rather, through his wig), seemingly anxious about something. She sat in one of the simple beeswaxed chairs there in the room and watched him as me moved about, pulling the cloak more tightly around her for warmth.

He disappeared into one of the rooms and so she stared down at the floor. This was it then? Raoul was either dead or awaiting execution and there was absolutely nothing that she could do to prevent it. She was trapped here, while her fiancé was being executed for what may as well have been being in love with her...

She couldn't help a few tears falling, thinking of him. However, she quickly wiped them away when Érik reentered the room and looked back up at him. He extended a hand toward her, almost chuckling as he spoke, suggesting that she change, but Christine was in no mood to laugh. She simply nodded silently and took that cold, bony, moist hand. She had become accustomed to the eery corpse-like skin of that deathly grasp. It hardly mattered any more. She almost wished that it were death. At least Death would be merciful enough to take her away from this dreaded face, but it seemed that even death wished to be cruel here...

She stood and he led her into the Louis-Philippe room, closing the door behind her. She glanced around the room. The last time that she had seen this place, Érik had been on his knees before her, telling her that she was free and that he was going to die... Now she knew that all of it had been nothing more than a lie – just another one of Érik's tricks...

She didn't hear him when he asked her about her wrists. Her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of her fiancé. Oh Raoul.... He didn't deserve to die like this. He wasn't trying to betray his country – he was only trying to protect her... She turned her face down toward the floor again and closed her eyes.

She distantly heard him tell her to sit and she collapsed defeatedly on the bench of the vanity. Ma chérie... He had the audacity to call her pet names after all of this! Under normal circumstances, she would have made it very clear to him that he had no right to call her such, but she was too broken to try to argue it. His questions were almost laughable: How long have you been here? Do you have any idea why we're here?... The again, perhaps he was testing her...

“Almost a month now,” she said, a bit soft-spoken. “I.... I do not know why we are here though” She lied to him. Of course she knew, but if he were testing her, them perhaps there was a way that she could outwit him into taking her back. At least then she might be able to see Raoul one last time... She would get nowhere, however, if she chose to provoke him.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik ran his fingers through the fine silks and lace in Christine's closet. There were blushing pinks, earthy browns, fiery crimsons, ethereal creams... Érik tried to think which one would suit her best today. She was hardly in the mood to be daring. She needed to be calmed.

Ah! This dark blue frock would do the trick! It was simply made, but stunning enough to suit Érik's tastes. It was also modest enough that he would not feel uncomfortable around his future bride. He pulled it out, and fumbled through the shoes until he found the matching pair. They were dark, lace up boots with navy trim. He brought the dress back and smiled at the girl. "I hope this will suffice?" he asked innocently, holding out the dress to her and setting the shoes down by their feet.

He set the dress down on the other side of the bench and proceeded to rifle through the drawer of her vanity, finding the matching ribbons and pins to the dress and the matching jewelry. He laid them out neatly on the vanity as he spoke. "The last thing I remember, you see, was fainting by your side from the happiness you brought me! I am sorry for worrying you, but Érik is fine now, no need to fret!" He smiled brightly at her, wanting to brush that stray bit of hair from her face, but dared not to. He stood up straighter.

"It is inexcusable for me to have kept you waiting like this, my dear. An entire month? I have only been here a few days and I was already out of my mind with worry about you! Please, do forgive me?" He bent down and his lips twitched awkwardly, as he patted her shaking hands.

After, however, he flitted away to the door, looking back. "You shall change now, and I will be back in fifteen minutes! When I return, you shall tell me more, and then perhaps we might search for some food! You must be dreadfully hungry, Mademoiselle. There couldn't have been anything particularly appetizing in that rat's nest you were in! However did you end up there in the first place? Oh never mind. I'll leave you to change. Ta~!" With a wave of his hand, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

[Christine Daaé]

Christine sat at the vanity, watching Érik in silence as he skimmed through the closet. She was used to him doing this by now – this dressing her up as if she were a paper doll. She had found it a bit irritating at first, as she was used to selecting her clothes on her own, but she didn't mind it so much now. Érik's taste in clothing actually wasn't that bad, which was quite surprising for a man who spent most of his time living as a hermit below the surface if the earth.

It didn't take long before he selected a deep blue dress from the wardrobe and set it down beside her on the bench. She turned to look down at it as she gave her arms a little rub to try to warm up. It was pretty, a deep dusty blue with a few simple designs and bits of floral and a white lace trim. The neckline was a bit low for a day dress, but then again, Christine had no idea what time of day it was. She estimated that she had been there in that rat den for nearly a week – in fact, she had been using tallies to keep track of the days – but that was based solely on when she went to sleep and then woke up again, as she had no way of telling for herself.

I hope this will suffice?

The girl nodded silently as he set the shoes down by her feet. Suffice. Bah! That word... That word made her feel so awkward, like she was expected to be a source of authority on such matters. If he wanted her to choose what she was wearing, then why didn't he just let her choose in the first place? Mamma Valérius would surely never approve of this if she ever mentioned it to her; it was highly inappropriate for a lady to allow a man to dress her...

Mamma.... The girl could not help an audible sigh thinking of her poor sick adoptive mother. The woman was very frail and had lost use of her legs. She must have been terribly worried without her there for so long. Of course, there was the maid to take care of her in her absence, but she still worries. She would have been a bad daughter to not have been worried.

Érik began speaking to her again. I have only been here a few days and I was already out of my mind with worry about you! Oh, so that was how long ago he had actually bothered to come here himself rather than to leave her with his players in this wretched madhouse? Her fiancé was a dead man because he had been so selfish as to bring her here, and yet he only just came himself a few days ago!? The audacity of that man! Christine could have lashed out in him that very moment, forgetting herself entirely, had she not been so dreadfully fatigued from her time in captivity. But then it struck her what he was saying before then:

The last thing I remember, you see, was fainting by your side from the happiness you brought me!

She looked up at him with wide, glassy blue eyes as he patted her hands in his skeletal palms. ... from the happiness you brought me... Those words kept echoing in her head over and over and for some bizarre reason for which she could find no plausible explanation, she felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Whether it was dread, guilt, or pity, she could not tell, but she hated it! She hated that he could have such a profound effect upon her emotions with his words! She was not tied to him. She was free! Her own person! And yet at the same time, she wasn't...

Rather than an outburst, the girl simply nodded. This is no time to upset him, she kept reminding herself. If she could stay on his good side,, then perhaps she could at least convince him to let her free in enough time to return to Paris in order to see Raoul before his execution, or if she was too late for even that, to pay her respects to her would-have-been husband.

He got up and left the room, leaving in a flood of questions (none of which he gave her time to answer) and with fifteen minutes to change. She stood with shaking knees and went to the bathroom in order to wash up a bit. Of course, she couldn't do much in fifteen minutes, but she at least had time to wash the dirt smudges off of her hands and face, and scrub a bit of the dust off of her bare feet.

After emerging from the bathroom, she sifted through some of the drawers in the Louis-Philippe chest to find fresh undergarments. She was quite glad that Érik had spared her the embarrassment of selecting those as well. After discarding her now dusty gray filth-covered garments, she put on the clean stockings, chemise, pantaloons,corset (although she could not tighten it as much as she would have liked), corset cover, and petticoats, then returned to the vanity ad took the blue dress and slipped it on.

At this point, about fifteen minutes had passed, and the girl sat down on the bench again, picking up the navy-trimmed boots, and slipped on the first one, pulling tight on the laces to decrease the slack, and then tying them in a bow. If she was going to get out of this mess, then she needed to be patient, and that was precisely what she planned upon doing.

[Erik Spectre]

When Érik had slipped out of Christine's room, his face fell. His hand ran over his mask, clenching into a fist that shook with anger. He would kill the man who had taken her from him. Who's to say this man hadn't brought them both here? For ripping them both out of their happy lives this man would pay dearly! For keeping his betrothed hostage, he would pay with his very soul...

With a growl he ripped himself away from the door and strode to immediately to the kitchen. Pulling a bottle of wine from the cabinet, he violently poured himself a glass with shaking hands, sipping it faster than a connoisseur of wine usually sips it. He mumbled incoherently, in a mixture of the variety of languages he's collected over the years.

He wanted to punch a hole in the wall. He wanted to strangle the nearest person who wasn't Christine with all his might. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, and perhaps curl up into a ball and die. This was HARDLY the appropriate reaction for a future husband to have. Christine would not approve of his thoughts, but he thought them anyway. She'd been locked away with no one to take care of her, surrounded by rats and other vermin, been hurt by some unnameable force, and had spent over a month in this godforsaken mansion without a soul she could call a friend! Well, that was about to change. Érik would of course take care of Christine, if it was the last thing he did. She'd been so gracious to accept his hand... He felt like he was on top of the world, just thinking about it.

Érik touched his mask. He remembered with odd, misplaced fondness how she had burned his last mask. She had wanted to see the face of her capt-- angel, despite his flaws. There had been hope for her yet, even with her impudence. She was so kind... So very perfect in every way.

Finishing his wine glass, the man set it down and moved to his own room, deciding to change himself. His clothes were dreadfully dusty, from both the ballroom from before and he suspected the library he'd woken up in. He remembered the Lenoir fellow, and how he spoke of such nonsense. He'd believed it at the time, for Érik was a man who believed the strangest things given the right circumstances, however looking back he found Lenoir to resemble a farce. The Emilie girl had terrified and fascinated him all at once, but he was glad that Christine was in his house. All would be well, so long as he found and suffocated the man who had been responsible for her misfortune.

After changing into a nice pinstriped suit, dark shirt and a deep navy cravat, he slipped out of his room and checked his watch. Yes, it had almost been fifteen minutes, on the nose. He glided up to Christine's door, reassembled his face in the appropriate manner and proceeded to knock. "Christine, darling. It has been fifteen minutes!" He slid inside, smiling from ear to ear. "Oh my! Don't you look lovely!" he said, gazing at her from where she sat next to her vanity.

He walked toward her, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned forward. "Do you like your dress? Blue really is your color." He looked about the room and found a chair to sit in just across from her. He crossed his legs and leaned his head in one of his hands. "Now that you feel a bit better, would you tell me what happened to you? From the beginning, please. I'm listening!"

Érik smiled, deciding to wait patiently for her reply. She seemed distraught, but she knew she could trust her angel.

[Christine Daaé]

((I'm having to keep it pretty vague on what happened in Alex's lair because Steph and I haven't really progressed any with that recently, so I'm still not 100% sure what all is going to happen))

It wasn't long after she had finished that Érik reentered the room. She could feel those deep, unseeable, eyes beating down upon her as he moved closer, his hands clasped behind his back. You have only to play the necessary part, she kept thinking, reminding herself of what the Persian had told her when he and Raoul were trapped within the torture chamber of the house on the lake. She shuddered a bit with the memory of that dreadful time. This time she had to be more careful, to play her role more convincingly. She had already nearly lost her dear friend and lover once, and she refused to allow another failed performance to cause her to lose him permanently.

Érik leaned forward, closer to her. She didn't dare lean back in terror, for Érik would have surely been offended. Besides, she had grown accustomed to being around that living corpse to the point where him being so near to her no longer caused her to much terror as it once had. “Thank you, and yes, I do like it” she said simply instead, her voice fatigued and throat parched from the week she had just endured, but she gave no signs otherwise that she might have been uncomfortable with his presence. Actually, it was quite comforting in comparison.

Instead, she looked up at him with the softest expression she could muster in her given state, her eyes dull with pain and her lips quivering, looking like a little tray kitten all cold and wet and wanting to come in out of the rain.

“Oh, it was horrid... I was walking about the halls, minding my own business, when a man came an took me 'round the wait, tossing me over his shoulder and carrying me off with him. I tried once to escape, but he threatened me with his knife and just kept pulling my hair... And everywhere he walked, dozens upon dozens of rats seemed to follow! It was as if they were his servants... And his hands... oh, his hands....”

She wiped away a few tears which had begun to fall with her hand and then looked back up at the skeletal frame before her with a pathetic and wounded air. “I am so sorry... I must tire you with my stories. You do not really wish to hear all of my silly troubles... Do you happen to have a handkerchief?”

She wrung her hands over and over before her, her eyes darting across the room at phantom rats which scurried about, picking her feet up and holding her dress a little so as to prevent the little imaginary vermin from touching her with their filthy little claws. She gave a little shriek, as if she had seen one peek out, and shivered lightly,.

Her eyes quickly scanned about again before she seemed to ease up just a little, as if the non-existent creatures had gone and scurried back into their little holes so as not to bother any more, but she remained just the slightest still on end, lest they should return and in greater numbers.

[Erik Spectre]

Érik was silent for all of her story, but his mind was racing. He might have snapped at any moment and raced out the door, determined to hunt down and kill the man who had put his dear Christine in such a state. However, he had to remain calm, for her sake. He was still learning, after all... How to be normal...

When she asked for a handkerchief he snatched one out of his breast pocket and reached it out to her, avoiding her eyes and swallowing. His knee bobbed up and down as he crossed his arms. "You do not tire me, Christine. Érik loves to hear the sound of your voice..."

He stood and moved to the center of the room, pacing. "Can you describe what this man looks like? Did he give you his name? When did you see him last?" He spoke quickly, but then realized the questions were making her condition worse, and he felt he might have asked too much of her. "Christine... Christine why don't you lie down? I can fetch you some water, some food? This is what you require, yes? Rest will be good for you."

Érik moved toward her and held out his hand so that he might lead her to the bed. "Let Érik help you. It is... the least I can do..." He forced his mouth into a smile, though it would look to anyone else like the grimace of a skeleton.

[Christine Daaé]

((One to Nutmeg is coming soon. Sorry if it's a bit broken. It's still a pain trying to read all the previous posts.))

Christine reached out a trembling hand to take the handkerchief from the tall masked figure that was Érik. She managed, for a few fleeting seconds, a small smile through her tears when he assured her that she did not tire him, but it quickly faded. She died her eyes and wiped her face before looking back up at him and watching as he paced in the center of the room.

He was asking her so many questions that she did not know where to even begin to attempt at starting to answer him. She tried to form words, but they caught in her throat as she choked a little on her tears. She hiccoughed instead, then swallowed, trying to calm enough to get them to come out, but then Érik spoke again.

Christine, why don't you lie down? I can fetch you some water, some food? This is what you require, yes? Rest will be good for you.

The girl paused a moment, and then nodded weakly. She was hungry and thirsty, but a part of her wanted nothing to do with food, nor drink. She looked at his hand as he held it out to her and slowly took it, not drawing back or flinching at its deathly cold, for she had grown used to it by now. It no longer bothered her as much as it once had, but at the moment, it wasn't much different than her own in temperature.

“Thank you,” she finally managed, in a faint voice, not looking up to see his smile.

[Erik Spectre]

There was that touch, that contact again. When their skin met Érik's fingers grasped hers gently, and his heart fluttered to know that it was real, and that she was his. He would take care of her, protect her, and provide her everything her heart desired. For her to thank him was such a treasure, for no woman ever thanked him for anything. He would take that moment and tuck it away in his heart, forever.

It lasted only a second before he lifted her weight and wrapped his arm around her back to steady her. He walked her, ever so slowly, to the bed and set her down. When she was settled, he didn't quite know what to do with himself yet, so he stood there, awkwardly wriging his hands. "C-Christine? Before I go fetching your water..." he began, though his words died in his throat. He didn't know what to say, only that he was grateful. Yes, that was it. Grateful.

"Thank you," he said finally. She would of course know what he spoke of, so he said no more on the subject he was so tempted to kiss her pale forehead, but he knew his lips couldn't possibly be withstood in this hectic state of hers. She would faint on the spot, he was sure of it. Perhaps on a better day, when she was in more agreeable health.

He nodded at her and walked to the door, dousing the lights so they were soothing, but not extinguished. "When you have recovered we will go above together. You like the sunlight, don't you? Since you'll be my wife we shall have to make public appearances... in this place..." he shook his head. The words seemed wrong on his tongue- going above for fun was never what he envisioned. "At the opera we could have been left alone and happy, but the people in this place will not so easily leave us be." He turned again to look at her. "But you will like that Christine, won't you? When we go up together?"

Érik smiled at her tired form, then stepped outside. His dully glowing eyes still appeared as he closed the door slowly. "Bon nuit, mademoiselle... Je... Je t'aime," he whispered. His blush rose as the door clicked shut. A few moments later he left, his cloak wrapped around in frail shoulders and his hat perched coolly atop his head.

He locked the front door behind him, lest the "rat" man come to claim his bride again!

[Christine Daaé]

Since you'll be my wife...

The words echoed in her head as he said them and she felt a sting in her eyes that she dare not let out. Yes, she was supposed to have been a wife already by now, but not like this. No... no, now she could never be. He was dead. It had been too long now and, as much as she wanted to pretend that he – that Raoul – was perfectly fine, and searching for her, it was becoming more and more difficult for her heart could continue on, knowing that was not the case.

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes as she rested on the bed, her face downcast. She wished that she could speak, to try to persuade him to return her to Raoul, but what was the point now? Even if he was not yet gone, he soon would be. Oh, if only they had left sooner. Then perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps he would be safe... alive....

But then something that Érik said caused her to open her eyes and to look back up at him. Je t'aime... Christine opened her mouth as if to speak in response, but the words caught in her throat. She had been made to remember the reason why she could not bear to make herself leave him sooner before... Back when she had told Raoul everything and he had insisted that they leave at once...

Despite all that he had done to her in the past, every lie he had told, every bit of deceit that she had been so naïve to believe beforehand, Érik still remained the Voice. He had loved her so much, that although she had desperately wanted to, she could not bring herself to hate him then... and she could not bring herself to hate him now.

Raoul had found this difficult to believe, and had once asked her, if she did not hate him, with what emotions did he inspire her. The truth was that he filled her with horror. He still did! Though not the horror that one might be inclined to think of from the word... No... This was a different type of horror that he filled her with. It was the horror of uncertainty.

Érik had never been one to fully reveal himself to anyone – not even to Christine, though she was certain that he had revealed much more of himself to her than he had to possibly any other person who had ever crossed paths with him. While she had always enjoyed a certain amount of unknown ever since she had been a child, it was just how much unknown there was that caused her to be filled with such horror. She could not be certain of his intentions even in what were the most seemingly innocent of circumstances. She trusted Érik's word, yes, but she did not always trust his intentions. And as of late, she had begun to question how good his word was as well. After all, had he not said that he was leaving she and Raoul to be wed and that he was going to die? So why now was she to be his wife, there, trapped in that strange and horrid place, while Raoul was likely to die for crimes he did not commit. Christine could not be certain of who had really murdered the Count Philippe, but she knew that it was not Raoul. Raoul loved his brother...

As all of these thought ran through her head, Christine looked up at Érik exiting the room, and when the door clicked behind him, she took out the ring once more and held it in her hands, turning it over and over in examination, and finally allowing the tears, which had been stinging at her eyes for some time now, to fall.

“Raoul...[/i]” she whispered softly, her voice catching a little as the tears began to choke her “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry....”

She had to do something, but what could she do? She had no idea how far away from Paris they were, and she was not sure who she could turn to for help, nor did she know for how long Érik would be away, or even if he was still in the house at all. This place was so strange and terrifying, she found it almost odd that a place such as the Louis-Philippe room, gilded cage that it was, could feel so comforting for the mere reason that it held some scrap of familiarity.

Érik...

It seemed there really was no option other than to ask Érik.

Her hands trembling, she gave the ring a gentle kiss before tucking it away again and then standing, wiping away a few of her tears. She went to the door and opened it just a crack, peering out into the house.

“Érik?” she said in a soft, weak voice. “Érik, are you here?”

She opened the door a bit more and glanced about before opening it fully and stepping out. Upon a brief scan of the house and its different rooms, she determined that Érik must have gone out, for she could not find him anywhere inside (she had even risked glancing into his own room in her attempt to locate him, but it was to no avail). Afterward, she returned to the Louis-Philippe room and sat down on the bed and sighed. She would have to wait. She did not know the way from here, and even if she did, she could not begin to guess where to start searching for him. It would just take time. Sadly, she knew that there wasn't any time left for it to take...