The Pageboy

When the managers went against his instructions about giving Christine the role of the Countess in Il Muto, he'd been beside himself with anger. This anger only intensified when they promised La Carlotta that Christine would be playing the silent role of the pageboy.

How dare they go against his will? But even worse: How dare they allow Christine's heavenly voice to go to waste in such a way? It was blasphemous to let her gift go unused!

He'd already planned his revenge, one securing that his Christine would taking over as the Countess on opening night. It would also humiliate Carlotta and prove to the managers that he wasn't a ghost they should provoke.

After making the necessary preparations for his plan, he finally visited Christine's dressing room to see how she was faring. He'd only had brief glances of her until now. The fact she had to be the pageboy must've hit her hard.

He felt ashamed that he hadn't talked to her since she'd unmasked him, and he had sent her back to the surface, but he feared what she would do if she saw him again. He hadn't treated her kindly.

He had of course spied on her from afar at every opportunity; he'd seen how distressed she had been after he had brought her back, and how the Vicomte had come to see her every day and charmed her with his handsome features and easy manner. It had been enough to make Erik's heart feel like it was breaking into a thousand pieces, as if someone had taken a chisel to his stone heart.

Today, Christine was busy with her costume fitting. Erik waited patiently until she was decently dressed before he neared the two-way mirror; he would never catch a glimpse of her unclad body on purpose. He wanted to talk to her but decided to leave a note with praises for her wonderful performance as the pageboy at the rehearsals - she really was an exceptional actress - and a promise that it would be the last time she'd have to play a minor role.

He hadn't considered that her costume as the pageboy would mean she'd be dressed as a man. It was, of course, something he knew, but Christine wearing men's clothing hadn't crossed his mind. And to say that he was surprised when he saw her in costume was an understatement.

She was wearing a crisp white shirt with a brown vest, and he suspected that she was wearing a corset underneath as it was custom for women. It was, however, mostly her lower body that captured his attention. Women usually wore long skirts made from several meters of fabric. Underneath they wore an underskirt and petticoats, along with long stockings and a garder belt covering all their lower curves.

Christine wasn't wearing any of these things; instead she had on a pair of thin trousers that was cut at her ankles. Beneath the thin stocking he could practically see each nimble ankle! And he could see the shape of her strong, beautiful legs, her luscious thighs and her round, heart-shaped derrière. For not to speak of the apex between her legs, only covered by a few measly scraps of clothing!

He felt his body respond to the sight of her; it was so indecent and yet, it was only part of her role as a pageboy. It couldn't stop him from being appalled on her behalf.

Then he realized that, perhaps, it was only him with such crude thoughts. They wouldn't allow a woman like Christine to wear something outrageous, not after her triumph in Hannibal. No, it was only him who was so vulgar that the sight of her in those clothes should arose him.

His pulse pounded through his veins, heading lower and causing his cock to thicken. He'd promised himself that he would never take such pleasures from the thought of innocent Christine, but his resolve had already faltered a few times. However, he wouldn't disgrace her by touching himself behind her mirror, no matter how great the urge was at the moment.

He should turn around, not allow himself to ogle her in such a way, but his body didn't react to his mind's pleadings. Instead, he stood and took in her magnificent form as she observed herself in the mirror.

It perplexed him that she was still using her old dressing room. She knew there was an entrance there and she probably suspected that he had been able to see her when he'd given her lessons as the Angel of Music. Perhaps the managers hadn't offered her another one which infuriated him, even if it came to his advantage; she shouldn't have to fear the Opera Ghost watching her.

However, she did not seem frightened or worried as she studied her own reflection, allowing him to see every curve of her very exposed body. She lifted her hair and pulled it behind her in a ponytail to hide her femininity, but to Erik it only heightened the experience; he saw her long, pale neck completely exposed and he groaned as he pictured his lips on it.

It was too late when he realized his mistake. Christine's eyes widened, and her shoulders stiffened as she heard the sound from him behind the mirror. "Angel?" She whispered in a stuttering voice, then seemed to think better of it. "Erik." This time it was clear she had accepted his presence, and a touch of anger tinged her tone. He didn't dare to speak, and she became annoyed. "I know you're there, Erik. Show yourself."

Knowing it was too late, and that it was time for his punishment, he moved his heavy hand to the contraption that opened the mirror. He lowered his head as it slid open, not daring to meet her eyes when he stepped out. He might as well be walking to the gallows and the mirror closing behind him was like a noose around his neck. A shaken sigh left him when she commanded him to look at her, but he did as she asked.

Her eyes were hard, a frown marred her forehead and her beautiful, pillowy lips were pulled to a thin line. Trying to avoid her accusing stare, he let his gaze drift lower; still looking at her, just another part of her.

He quickly discovered his error in this. Instead of her disapproving eyes, he was met with the sight of her body in men's clothing, this time closer to him than before and without a mirror between them. She was only guarded by a meter of space between them, and the proximity to her made him feel warmer.

A thought of how she'd felt against him in his lair when he'd enchanted her with his music came to mind, followed by the fantasy of how she would feel in the revealing clothes, she was wearing now. All-consuming lust shot through his body and he quivered. He hurried to remove his fedora and hold it in front of himself, effectively hiding the bulge in his trousers.

He dragged his eyes back to hers which were now widened and held a curious expression. It was like she was looking into his very soul, making him fear what gruesome things she might see there. A lump formed in his throat and he tried to shallow past it before he spoke. "I apologize," he managed to strangle from his throat. Never had he spoken those words with such sincerity.

His words seemed to surprise her. "For what do you apologize?" Memories of his wrongdoings flashed through his mind; for deceiving and lying to her, for enchanting her and taking her underground, for the way he'd acted when she'd innocently had removed his mask? For what he was? The list was truly endless.

He couldn't come up with a single answer, but she didn't press for one. Her eyes flickered for a moment to his fedora, and he saw a small smile form on her lips as she began to move a little closer. "It's a beautiful hat," she mumbled. "Can I try it on? It might fit my costume." She gestured to her body with her soft curves, and like the idiot he was, his eyes followed her hands.

He could smell the rosewater from her skin, already knowing that she had taken a long bath this morning; she'd just emerged from the bathroom in the dormitory when he had checked on her. Her skin had been flushed from the warm water, and he had quickly removed himself from the sight.

It wasn't a possibility to remove himself from this situation; it would be positively rude. He'd been rude enough towards her. Still, he felt the need to back away when she reached for the fedora, he held tightly in his hands in front of his crotch. "It would highly inappropriate, my dear." He stammered.

A chuckle left her. "I think we moved far past propriety long ago, don't you?" He couldn't really argue with that, and he was the one who had put her in such a scandalized situation with him. When she grabbed his fedora, he loosened his hold and she slipped it out of his hands, briefly touching the fabric of his trousers so close to his swollen length. He stumbled backwards to the mirror in shame.

Christine arched an eyebrow at his awkwardness, luckily completely unaware how her attire affected him. She stepped a little closer to him, to see the mirror behind him, and he moved out of the way. He cringed as he noted that he had placed himself directly in front of the mirror. While he could see her face clearly reflected in the mirror, he could also see his own cursed self. But his eyes inadvertently left his horrific form without his notice when she lifted his fedora to her head.

Her donning his fedora shouldn't have been an erotic sight, yet his shaft hardened even further at the sight and he felt the head of his cock leak against his strained drawers. In haste he pulled off his cloak and draped it around his right forearm, so it covered the tent in his trousers. He knew that he had to get away from her because he lost control.

"I've missed our lessons together," she said as she positioned the fedora in different ways. He caught her eyes in the mirror and nodded but said nothing. She continued when she realized he wouldn't respond. "Why haven't you been back before now?"

He had to say something; her compassionate eyes bore into his soul and made him blurt out the truth: "I knew you would be angry with me after I deceived you. Then you saw… my face and I knew for sure you would hate me." Her eyes turned gloomy at his words. He hated to be the one to cause such an expression on her beautiful face. Why couldn't he be like the Vicomte and only bring out her smiles?

She turned around to face him and he found it even more difficult to look directly at her than her reflection in the mirror. She looked stunning in her get-up; even dressed as a man, she was feminine and glorious. If she started to sing now, he would undeniably perish from her splendor. "I do not hate you. I'm merely frustrated that you didn't reveal yourself to me sooner. Oh, how many times have I wished for you to be a man!" Her words were passionately spoken with a tone of true longing and he inhaled sharply as he recognized the feeling in himself. Heat rose in his chest.

She looked down briefly, seemingly in embarrassment, then peeked up at him from under her long, golden eye lashes. She was unlike any beauty he'd ever seen. Music weaved itself around them, he felt, and the tension in him built. "But my face..." he began to remind her of the horror she'd witnessed, but her hand gestured in a dismissive motion.

"It wasn't your face that frightened me in such a powerful; it was your anger! I barely saw your face before your wrath came down upon me." Her words were sharp and he wondered when anyone had ever spoken to him like this and lived. Even the Daroga held his tongue around him. She neared him and he crept around her in the tiny room, trying to move closer to the mirror, wishing he could disappear into it without having to find and release the mechanism that slid the mirror open.

There was a sudden rapping on the door and Christine's attention left him. "Mlle Daaé, are you finished?" a dressing maid called. Erik took this opportunity to slide the mirror open quickly and enter. The mirror had almost closed when a small hand grabbed the edge. He watched with wide eyes as Christine pushed her way into the narrow passage before letting the mirror shut.

From the dressing room he heard the door open, but he didn't remove his eyes from the brave woman who had willingly ventured into his domain.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered in disbelief as she once again stepped closer to him. The vicinity between them was so intense, he felt the few hairs on his body rise. She shivered slightly and he wondered if it was from the cold or his presence. He unwrapped his cloak from his arm, well aware that she couldn't see his arousal in the dark, and draped her in it.

She smiled gratefully, then stunned him by placing her body flush against his. She leaned up slightly - surely enough to feel his cock against her stomach the way it felt her soft curves, forcing him to swallow a moan - and whispered soothingly: "I want your music." She lifted a hand and lay it over his pounding heart. "And all it entails."

Before he could stop himself, he'd turned and pinned her to the wall, effectively trapping her with his body. She let out a gasp that he caught as his mouth swept down to claim her lips. They were soft and yielding, and he dared to imagine a perfect world where he could kiss these lips every day. Before he could think of how he defiled her with his misshaped, bloated excuses of lips, she wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned.

How he soared! He felt as if he was kissing the purest clouds, puffy and light; the kind of cloud where the sun peeked through. He let his tongue lick a beam of light and she opened willingly, allowing her fluids to mix with his. His tongue caressed hers in a playful manner that sent lighting strikes down to his crotch.

His mouth strayed from hers, not because he'd had his fill of her - he never would - but because there was so much of her to explore. He tasted her delicate earlobes, the curve of her jaw and the pulse in her neck. His fingers began to pluck at the little buttons of her waistcoat, quickly dispersing it on the floor. He began the same treatment of the shirt she was wearing, kissing each new patch of silk skin he uncovered.

When he kissed her clavicle, her shirt parted enough to reveal a cream colored corset, covering a heaving bosom. As a moth drawn to a flame, he kissed his way down to her breasts. He sank completely down to his knees and gripped her hips tightly to pull her into his waiting mouth. His tongue dipped between the two mounds of flesh and tasted the sweat that had gathered there, while his hands traveled from her hips to her bottom. He grasped her buttocks, growling at the feel of the ample flesh in his spindly hands.

"Good God, Christine! Stop me!" He growled against her exposed cleavage and she responded by pushing him away. He staggered to his feet and pushed himself as far against the other wall as possible, giving her space.

He thought she had finally come to her senses until she lowered herself to her knees in front of his crotch. She glanced momentarily at him in an enticing manner, then began to unclip his suspenders from his trousers, and he had just barely gathered his bearings after seeing the look of desire in her eyes before she'd unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his hard cock.

A strangled groan escaped him as she squeezed his impossibly swollen member. The sound was followed by a pathetic whimper of her name when her tongue darted out to taste the wet drip on the tip. She moaned in response to her name, or perhaps his taste, and he shuddered, looking down at the temptress before him. Then she wrapped her warm lips around his shaft. "Oh, Christ!" he cried out and gripped her hair to keep balance while his other hand sought stability against the rough brick wall. He was losing the last of what control he had.

Despite his ferocious fight against his body, his taut cock began thrusting into her mouth by reflex, holding her head steady with his hand in her curly hair. She hummed around his shaft; a sound that resonated through his entire body and filled his vision with flashes of light. He was already reaching his breaking point. "Christine," he warned her, tugging at her hair. "I'm going to-" A moan from her interrupted him, and her teeth grazed his sensitive skin, the slight pain enhancing his pleasure. He thrust all the way into her mouth and erupted with a yell of her name that everyone in the opera house must've heard, making her choke on his seed. The gagging from her only seemed to heighten his rapture as the muscles of her throat worked around the head.

When his climax had subsided, he drew out in haste, wincing at the sensitivity, and tugged his half mast away. "I apologize," he mumbled in shame as he eyed the tears in her eyes after gagging. He handed her a handkerchief. To his astonishment she shook her head and smiled at him as her index finger caught his spilled desire around her lips and at her cheek, then licked her finger in enjoyment. A new stab of lust shot through him again at the sight; the thought that she hadn't been disgusted by his action - that she wanted him!

He lifted her from the ground and pulled her into a passionate kiss; not in appreciation of her deed as much as in worship of her sublimity. There was no mistaking the bitter taste of his seed, but underneath he could still taste her honeyed saliva clearly and he wanted more of her. He took the cloak from her, spreading it on the concrete ground. Luckily, he had a warm, thick cloak that would protect her from the hard surface beneath her as he lay her gently down.

He kissed her fervently while eyeing her reaction as his hands swept over her alluring curves. She leaned into his touch, and he reveled in the fact that she let his cursed carcass come into contact with her, despite having seen his face!

He felt every shape of her through the thin clothing, slowly divesting her of each article of fabric. He unbuttoned the rest of her shirt, then lifted her gently and plucked away at the laces of her corset before laying her back down. She sighed relieved into his mouth when he flipped open the clasps in the front and pulled away the tight garment. Her mouth left his as she helped him remove the last barrier - the chemise - until her upper body lay glorious bare in front of him.

His mouth suddenly felt dry. She was a goddess and he was so unworthy of her. His eyes followed the line of her frail neck, resting on her slim shoulders; the generous bounce of her bosom, her soft stomach with a button navel... He couldn't believe that she was truly here, yet even his wildest dreams couldn't have conquered up this image. She was nothing like the loose gypsy women or the Shah's harem girls with their bodies decorated for temptation. Neither did she look like the thin ballet rats, he'd caught glances of when he had found them with a patron. Christine was slim but voluptuous with fair skin and natural body hair. She might as well have been made of the palest marble.

His eyes came on rest on hers again and the discomfort in them was plain to see. He thought, it was him who made her uncomfortable, but when she pulled his lips down to meet hers, he realized that she was feeling self-conscious. To think society's notions of morality had such a hold of her that she, a goddess, felt the need to hide! He would show her how she should be worshiped.

He kissed and suckled his way across her skin, relishing the sweet sounds that left her. Her skin held a tinge of the rosewater, she'd bathed in, but underneath he could taste Christine's wondrous skin; pure and inviting. He quickly discovered that the bloated part of his lip could pull magnificent sounds from her mouth when it moved across a sensitive spot and he intended to use this knowledge to its fullest as he continued lower.

Her breasts moved with her heavy breathing, so he grasped them in his hands, rolling her rosy nipples between his fingers until they were hard peaks, then moved his bloated lip over each nipple. She moaned and it nearly sounded like his name. "Say that again," he murmured shyly. She looked down at him between her breasts and more loudly spoke in pure lust: "Erik." His eyes closed, so she wouldn't see how they suddenly filled with tears. She was well aware who she was with and still, she stayed!

He lowered his lips to her left nipple and drew it into his mouth, sucking as his tongue circled the tip. This time, he heard it clearly when his name left her, and he doubled his efforts while his heart felt close to bursting in his chest. He kept going until a hand touched his good cheek. "Please, Erik, I need you," she begged and lifted her hips in frustration, making him feel the warmth from the thin trousers of her costume.

With extraordinary speed, yet shaking hands, he unbuttoned the trousers, untied the fine strings on her drawers and pulled both items down. The scent of her desire overcame him and he struggled to keep calm, humming in the back of his throat to stay grounded. He dared to look at the source of the intoxicating fragrance, spreading her legs apart with a hand on each thigh, to better see the neat triangle of blonde curls that covered her cunt.

He was glad that the small space surrounding them was only illuminated by the light from her dressing room behind the mirror, because the look of wonder and excitement on his face must've been embarrassing. Luckily, his own vision was flawless in the dim light.

With hesitant fingers, he parted her hidden lips and gazed upon the pinkest flesh he'd ever seen. It glistened in the low light with the proof that she was aroused. Her pheromones saturated all of his other senses, his body responding to her on a primal level which didn't frighten him as much as it should. Never had he feel so basic, except when he killed in rage.

Christine interrupted his thoughts with a worried whisper of his name. He looked up to see her frowning; he must've been staring too long. He let a timid finger slide over the pink flesh, observing her reaction. He bit back a moan when he felt the warm slickness directly. Christine's breath hitched and the frown vanished instantly. His finger traveled higher to find the small pearl that controlled her pleasure. He knew when he found it; she bucked against his hand - gasping a word, he knew to be a curse, in Swedish.

He removed his finger and lifted it to his mouth to taste her need, and was surprised by the taste. Unlike his seed that he had tasted from her lips, her liquid desire was sweet as honey, a pleasing sugary flavor with a hint of something, he couldn't quite grasp. All too soon had he sucked his finger dry of her. He needed to drink directly from the source.

He lowered his mouth to her core and licked from her wet opening to the pearl on top. They shared a moan. Her slick wetness made his very being inflame. It tasted like music, as if each note had been extracted from their incorporeal form and spread inside her body when she'd been created. He would never grow hungry again, if he could feed off of her! He lifted his eyes to hers, begging her for permission. "Oh, Christine, every part of you sings!"

Christine wiggled above him, obviously impatient, and he wouldn't deny her anymore. He buried his mouth in her cunt and let his tongue lick every drop from her entrance, feeling lightheaded from the melodies flowing from her taste. His tongue penetrated her in search for more; his hands digging into the ample flesh of her thighs as he felt the tight muscles from Christine's core.

A certain series of notes from her planted root in his head and he began to hum along. The sounds from Christine seemed to complement the melody perfectly, but something was missing. His tongue left her core and found her clit instead; as a result, her voice grew stronger in response. He could play her like any other instrument, he realized. He just had to learn which keys to press.

He started to experiment by applying pressure differently, flicking his tongue from side to side, or draw circles. But when he cautiously entered a finger, feeling her strong cunt once more, his own need became too overwhelming. He had to have her, properly. He entered another finger in her, which was a tighter fit, and curled his fingers to stretch her. His cock wasn't exactly small; a fact, he had been satisfied with, until this very moment where he knew that the bigger, he was, the more would it hurt the woman, he loved.

Christine responded extremely well to his fingers. As his tongue circled her clit and his fingers curled into her, she began to trust her hips into his face. She was nearing her crisis, he knew, and saw an opportunity to make his penetration less painful. He continued his ministrations while his free hand began to pull his throbbing cock out again. He ached to withdraw his fingers and shove his pulsating length into her core instead, but waited as she began to reach her climax.

When her cunt began to spasm, Erik sat up on his knees, removed his fingers from her and thrust his aching cock deep inside of Christine's wet, tight warmth. He groaned loudly, so it echoed in his hidden passageways of the opera, and Christine cried out his name; a mixture of rapture and agony in her voice. His upper body came down to clutch her to him; to stabilize him. He didn't feel quite sane at the moment. Her rippling muscles gripped his length and pulsed around him, and he strained to keep still as he let her adjust to his size. Her breathing was swallow, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, as if it would help her gain control of the penetrating feeling. "Oh, you're exquisite, my songbird, my love!" He moaned into her temple as he kissed it.

"Erik, it hurts." The words were half a moan, but she stuttered them into his neck, tears dripping onto his collar. There were tears in his own eyes as well, but they were purely of joy. Not only was he finally experiencing physical love, but it was Christine who had granted him this gift. It hurt her, of course, he knew it was normal for a woman's first time. How unfair, he pondered, that a woman should bear pain when providing a man with such pleasure. "I know, my dear. Let your Erik care of you," he mumbled - struggling to sound in control, which he certainly was not - and lifted her head to kiss her trembling lips. A hand moved in between their bodies to circle her clit and give her some relief. Hopefully, it would be enough to ease the pain.

Stimulating her little pearl had the desired effect; the motion caused her to finally relax. A soft coo escaped her, and he finally dared to move. He had feared that he wouldn't know what to do, but it was clear to him now that his body knew how to do this. He pulled almost all the way out of her at a slow pace, enjoying the marvelous feeling of her slick flesh clenching around his sensitive cock. Then he thrust back in, nearly as slowly. The slide was easier this time, and Christine moaned when he buried the hilt in her. His body shuddered.

"Jesus, Christine!" He repeated the motion, quickly gaining a rhythm. "You're mine now, mine!" He tried to keep a slow pace, but Christine responded to his movements as well as his hand on her clit, and began lifting her hips to meet his every thrust. Soon, he was pounding into her while muttering every thought, that came to him, into the pulse in her throat.

"No one else can have you, Christine, only me, not the Vicomte with his pretty smile, I'm the one you belong with, the one taking your virtue, Christine, oh God, I love you so much. Don't leave me, I won't let you leave, you'll stay with me, I'll take you with me and I'll fuck you when I want to because you're mine, your cunt is mine, your voice is mine, your mind is mine. Please be mine, Christine, I beg you, I love you so much."

He was nearly sobbing with joy of having her and fear of losing her. She gripped his head and looked at him with compassion and desire. He kissed her, then; letting her feel every strong emotion coursing through his cursed body. She took it all, being the angel she was.

It was all too soon when his lower body tightened and began to swell in her. His hips rammed into her one last time, then halted as he poured his bitter fluids into her. He cried her name into her neck, and she held him with assuring hands while his length twitched with the last energy.

He realized then that he had finished without thinking of her pleasure. With shaking limbs, he pulled out of her, and brought his finger down again on her clit; he wasn't even sure when he'd removed it in the first place. She put her hand on his to still it. "It's all right, Erik. Please, lie down with me." She sounded surprisingly calm when he felt anything but. He noticed that she was still lying on his cloak on the concrete floor in this dark and dank passage - so beautiful and yet degraded to have her virginity taken by a monster, not even in a proper bed as he had dared to dream of!

He'd never felt more sick with himself. There was no excuse for this behavior. He'd tainted the only beautiful thing in his life, besides music, but after meeting her, he couldn't have music without her, so he had in actuality tainted the only things in his life, he'd left to love. He began to feel as if he was shrinking inside, and perhaps he did on the outside as well, because Christine's eyes seemed to get bigger every time, he met them briefly in the dark. How could he explain to her what awful things, he'd done to her? He couldn't take any of it back. He could kill himself, finally, but she would never be whole again.

He looked down between her legs. His black cloak concealed it well, but there it was: Proof of what had been taken from her, her pure blood mixed with his corrupt seed. It was a sacrilege, if he'd ever seen one. It could even result in a child, his child, and he felt bile rise in his throat at the thought.

He covered his eyes in an attempt to forget it all, but he couldn't because it had happened, he had caused it and he had doomed them both. His short-clipped nails dug into the skin on his left cheek; the right side was covered by the mask to hide the monster in him, but the monster had shown itself after all. The walls began to swallow him, biting at his back to digest him, so he would become one with the opera house and truly haunt the building, but at least allowing the young, beautiful women go free of his physical terror. He knew then that it would be the only way out, and reached in his pocket for the catgut, he kept there.

Suddenly, a hand tried to grab the red string from his hands. It came as a surprise, and to avoid attack, he wrapped his lasso around the attacker's throat. But he saw the brown curls and the bare heaving bosom with dark pink nipples below the neck. In an instant he'd removed the string from Christine's delicate neck and cast it aside, but the damage was already done: Red marks marred the soft skin of her throat and a faint purple hue was plain to see on the usually pink cheeks. "Oh, forgive me, please, Christine, forgive me!" He threw himself on the ground before her.

When he thought all was lost, a gentle hand touched his wig, traveling down his face to lift his chin. He lifted his eyes to hers. They were filled with tears once again. Whether it was tears of being used or nearly killed, he did not know. It didn't matter. "Please hold me," she whispered firmly, despite being out of breath. He followed her instruction meekly and wrapped his arms around her naked torso. She tugged him down on the cloak with her, and snuggled into him.

"Don't leave me again, Angel," she whispered, and lost for words, he silently vowed to protect her for the rest of his miserable life, even from himself.

Erik's short stream-of-conscience during their lovemaking was inspired by Catcorsair. I do not recommend trying that unless you're prepared to go dark.