A/N: Er, well, I wasn't sure I wanted to post this or not, but here it is. Please let me know what you think if you make it to then end of the chapter – good, bad, ugly, etc. If I'm horribly maiming all things Phantomy, don't hesitate to tell me. If anyone cares, influences come from Leroux, Kay, ALW's musical, and maybe a tiny bit of the movie. I don't own any of these characters or the Emily Dickinson poem the title is from. And things should be explained a little better soon. :)

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Christine stepped out of the small chapel and into the crisp night air. Darkness that had not been here an hour ago now surrounded her, and Christine clutched her wrap tighter as she made her way down the street. The area was not the nicest, but the tiny church had offered a place that was near enough her home to walk, but far enough that she might avoid being recognized.

It had been her father's birthday and Christine had needed some time to think in quiet; she needed to escape the large estate that had been her home for nearly a year now. It had taken careful steps and a notion to say hidden to escape the home without a servant noticing, but luckily, over the past twelve months, Christine had become very good at being invisible.

As she continued to walk, Christine thought about what leaving unnoticed would mean. To wander about the streets of Paris unaccompanied was a grave impropriety, not to mention a dangerous one, Christine knew. She also knew she would have been permitted to come to the chapel chaperoned, but she had so needed to do this alone. Had normal circumstances applied, she wouldn't have minded, but as it was, Christine wished to be alone with the memory of her father.

Christine shook her head lightly. She had taken today to remember, but now she needed to forget. Sighing softly, she picked up the pace of her steps ever so slightly; it was still a way till home.

As she passed buildings and stands, Christine noticed the sudden sound of footsteps approaching. It wasn't as if the street was devoid of noise – on the contrary, it was filled with a few passers-by trying to make it home for the evening – but this noise was disconcertingly close.

Christine was about to turn around when a large hand found its way to her side. Christine froze; every muscle in her body tightened and she stood rooted to the spot. Another hand clasped her wrist tightly.

"Good evening, Christine de Chagny," a voice whispered in her ear. "I've been waiting for a long time to get you alone."

Christine's breath caught in her throat and shivers exploded over her body. Who was this man?

"If you scream or give anything away, I'll kill you right here. By the time anyone notices, I'll be long gone," the deep voice threatened. "I wished to have my fun first with you first, Christine, but if I must kill you earlier than I planned, so be it. Do you understand?"

A few tears slipped from the corners of her blue eyes as Christine nodded, unable to do anything more. She glanced around frantically, hoping someone would notice her alarm. Surely anyone could see the cruel way the man was twisting her arm?

"Good girl," her captor murmured. "Now, follow me, if you please."

As if in a dream, Christine felt herself being dragged along, the man's hand still clamped painfully over her wrist. She didn't recognize her attacker – a middle-aged man, tall and broad-shouldered with black hair – and she was sure it would be useless to ask.

Paroxysms of fear ran through her body as the man led her down a dark alley, away from any of the eyes that could still save her. If anyone back on the street had seen anything unusual about the tall man leading the petite woman, they had done nothing about it.

Twisting and turning through the back alleys, it was painfully obvious to Christine that there was now no chance anyone would happen upon them. He would kill her without anyone being the wiser until some urchin found her beaten body the next morning.

When they finally stopped moving, they were in a space between the walls of two buildings. A silent moment passed, seeming to last forever, before the man closed the distance between them.

"Now, now, my dear," the man said, grinning sardonically, "there's no reason to look so frightened – not yet at least. Didn't I tell you I've waited for such a long time to do this?"

He took another step closer, leaving no space between them. The man crushed his lips to Christine; his hands gripped her, yanking through her hair. She struggled against him, but the man overpowered her and his kisses became fiercer, more painful.

The man's hands fumbled with the clasp of Christine's dress, trying to rip it open.

"No – no!" Christine choked out. "Stop!"

She pulled away, but was yanked back instantly. The man's lips found hers again, and this time she felt blood trickle into her mouth at the strength of the kiss.

This time, the man's hands ripped her dress in the front, the tear starting at the neckline and going down dangerously close to her chest.

Dear God, what would this man do to her? She had to fight it.

Summoning all her strength, Christine brought her knee up and connected it with the man's body. Her attacker hissed in pain and released her.

"You bitch!" the man shouted. "You don't want a few moments' pleasure before I kill you? Fine."

The unexpected strike across her face knocked the breath from her. Christine staggered but almost regained her balance when the man shoved her once more. She fell to the ground, giving a cry of pain as she felt her wrist snap. In trying to catch herself, Christine had landed on her right wrist.

The man loomed over her, leering. "Having fun, Christine?"

She tried to scramble up, but a kick to her ribs knocked her down again. Pain exploding in her stomach this time, Christine cried out once more. Again, she wondered who this cruel person was, and why he had taken her.

"Time to get up," the man hissed, yanking Christine to her feet.

The man took a step closer to her and then grasped her shoulders and shoved her against the wall of an old building. His hands moved to her neck, and then he squeezed, choking the life out of her.

Christine tried to fight him, but her cracked ribs and wrist prevented her from doing anything. Her hands hit the man's shoulders feebly, accomplishing nothing.

She was tired, so tired. Maybe it would be easier to give up now. She would see her mother and father again. Yes, Christine thought, letting go would be much simpler. She continued to struggle fruitlessly against the iron grip the man hand around her neck, but all air was leaving her. Her vision was clouding and darkening, and the pain that had been consuming her moments ago was drifting away. Sweet oblivion was within her reach.

Then, suddenly, someone else was in the alley with them. No sound had alerted his arrival – a shadow had simply appeared out of the darkness. The vise-like grip around her throat released, and Christine crumpled to the ground. Her attacker turned around the face whoever had come to her rescue.

Then, a voice rang out. It was deep and full of barely controlled rage. "If you wish to be alive in the morning, Monsieur, release the girl."

"Who are you?" Christine's assailant shouted, eyes searching for the other man. "Where are you?"

"Where am I? My dear man, where am I not?" The voice came from Christine's left, then her right. All around. No person showed themselves, but a flash of a Punjab lasso appeared for a fleeting moment, just long enough for the other two to catch sight of it. "This is the last time I shall ask you: release the girl. I assure you that my lasso will not make such a kind offer in a moment."

A moment's silence before the disembodied voice continued. "On second thought, perhaps I will kill you whether you decide to release the girl now or not. I can't have you coming after her again, now can I?"

The attacker in front of Christine suddenly started, and then moved away from her quickly. He was gone in a flash; disappearing as quickly as the other man had appeared. The evil man's voice echoed through the alley as he left. "You've not seen the last of me."

Silence filled the night, save for Christine's rapid breathing. The man who had come to her rescue, could it be…

"Damn." The second voice, her savior's voice, rang through the air. "I should have killed him earlier."

At this, Christine let out a small whimper of pain. Her ribs, her throat, her wrist – all on fire. Though her oxygen had returned, so had the horrible hurt of her injuries,

"Mon Dieu," the man murmured.

He was kneeling next to her before she could realize what was happening. Through her haze of pain, she found herself marveling at the fact that her own angel had returned to her. How had he found her?

She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but all that managed to come out was a horrible sound. "Erik," she croaked.

"Don't try and speak," he replied firmly. "I'll get you help soon. Damn de Chagny for letting you out there alone."

"Didn't know," Christine choked out, her throat burning painfully.

Erik said nothing for a long moment, and finally, darkness clouded Christine's vision once again. She thought she felt a ghost of a touch against her hair, but couldn't be sure a second later. Another cry a pain escaped her mouth and she barely noticed as he scooped her into his arms.

"Oh, Christine, my angel."

His voice was the last thing she remembered as she slipped completely into blackness.