Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** All credits go to Gaston Leroux for the original novel, Andrew Lloyd Webber for the stage and adaptation, and finally Joel Schumacher for the movie. I seek to make no profit on this. Please don't sue!

**Notes:**

Be warned that there is severe Raoul bashing in the fic. I did not like him in the book and I liked him even less in the movie. Although I will attempt to portray him in a realistic manner, I may get carried away sometimes.

This story is mostly based upon the version of _Phantom_ seen in the 2004 movie with elements from the novels.

And finally, apologies because the Phantom does not actually appear in this chapter much. But I promise he will be included in the next chapter!

For the moment, I just want to get some good Raoul!abuse out of the way.

**Chapter One**

I couldn't let it end this way. Not like this.

I had decided to go back to the labyrinth, just one last time. To know if I really had the strength to do this. To understand if I could really abandon him. My teacher. My ghost. My friend. My angel.

The look on his face when I had sung out the word _hate_ to him still wounded me. It cut through my own heart, as if he had been the one who despised _me_; the one who hated _me_. It had been another in a series of betrayals, but it had not been my last. I knew that in the kiss I had promised him everything, and in return, he had given me even more.

He was truly a fallen angel, descended from heaven. The cruelty of humans had driven him to this. They had herded the darkness into his soul. I had fooled myself into thinking that I understood him – that I comprehended why he thirsted for blood so much. But it wasn't true. I had kissed him because I had been afraid. Because I had wanted to run into the safety of my dear Raoul's arms and escape him. Escape his eyes. Escape his face; his cruelty; his pain.

His very human pain.

I hid there in the shadows; waited until he chanced to look in my direction. When he finally turned miserable eyes upon me, I nearly wavered in my resolve and fled. Slowly, I stepped forward. In my hand was the ring he had given back to me. I almost gave a hesitant smile, but knew that it would be quite inappropriate given the circumstances.

The look of sudden hope in his eyes nearly destroyed me.

Wordlessly, I took his hand and placed the plain band in his trembling palm. Closing my eyes, I wrapped his fingers around it and grasped his hand tightly, just for a moment.

But when I tried to retract my hand, he shook his head slightly and returned the ring to me. "It means nothing to me now," he whispered. "Sell it if you like."

When I stepped away, I pretended not to see the two lone tears that had escaped from beneath his closed eyelids.

Then I fled.

I had truly left him behind forever.

I had betrayed him once again.

**Five Years Later**

I sat before my ornate mirror, brushing out my long brown tresses with a gilded brush. My reflection sparkled back at me through the expensive glass, mocking in its beauty. The small dressing room was decorated with lush flowers, reminiscent of my days in the opera. Then, too, the dressing room had been replete with flowery gifts from admirers who had come to hear me enchant them with my voice.

But no longer. Occasionally I would catch myself humming a familiar tune, but a look from Raoul, and I would be silenced.

"Christine, we'll be late!"

His voice echoed throughout our majestic house, urging me to hurry. My dear husband appeared in the threshold suddenly, "Christine, what _is_ the matter? You're not even dressed yet!"

I fought back a sigh and turned to him patiently. "Raoul, the party does not begin for another three hours." I noted that he was already fully dressed and tugging his pristine white gloves on.

He paused for a moment, a frown in place. "Christine, I expect you to be ready within the hour." Then he swept out of my room.

One of my maids who had been hovering nervously in the background hesitantly approached me. "Shall I fetch your gown, my lady?"

I nodded, "Yes, Cecile. Thank you."

My gaze went to the empty threshold where Raoul had just stood. I began to wonder what exactly had happened to us in the last five years of our marriage. It had started out so well; we had been so incredibly in love. And then, after a year, it had begun to spiral downward and out of control.

When I went with Raoul, I had given up everything. My singing; my career as a star; all had been abandoned just for him. At first, I had believed that I was just punishing myself; that I would keep my voice locked away for all eternity.

Then the desire to sing had come back. You can never truly hold back art or lust, no matter how hard you try.

Once, just once, I had climbed to the roof of our mansion and lifted my voice up in song. The neighbors probably thought I was crazy; few of them knew that I had once been a praised voice of the opera. After the accident, Raoul had removed us to the other side of Paris, where he often kept me hidden from most of the public. It almost seemed as if he feared something ill would befall me.

But I knew better, and I had not feared to sing once more. But then Raoul heard me. He had rushed up onto the roof and hurriedly clapped a rough hand over my mouth.

"_What_ are you doing?" He had demanded this of me, fury etched into his profile.

I had stared back at him, my eyes wide. At the time I had said nothing. Since then, I had not sung a single note.

Cecile patiently helped me into my gown, stuffing me into a confection of blue satin and lace ribbons. I nearly protested at the luxury of it, being accustomed to more simple attire that I was comfortable with. I ached to simply don a white, silk robe as I had in the old days, and run about with the ballet. My thoughts turned back to my old life once again, and I suddenly missed my dear friend Meg. Since Raoul had brought me into the social circles of Paris, I had not discovered any true friends. I was too far removed from the high society that he indulged himself in so frequently. True, I was often described as one of the most beautiful ladies in Paris, but I was still young and also reclusive. Did they think I was blind to the hushed whispers that traveled between lips, hidden by dainty fans?

I gasped as Cecile wrenched on the lacings to my corset. Painfully, I sucked in my breath and attempted to ignore the unpleasant tightness of the dress. Cecile muttered an apology to me, but I was deaf to her words. I craned my neck to inspect my reflection and adopted a dour smile. I did indeed look lovely, but the beauty was merely superficial. Beneath my satin skirts and painted face, I was screaming for release. This was not the life Raoul had promised me: this endless string of parties and functions. He had deceived me into thinking that I could actually be happy here.

"Now, let me fix up your hair," Cecile was rubbing her palms against her apron. "Shall we sweep it up tonight?"

I fingered my curling tresses and after a moment of debate, shook my head. "No. Let's leave it down tonight." I knew this was rather inappropriate; after a certain age, women were expected to always pin their hair up neatly. But tonight, I decided to defy convention. They all whispered about me anyway; what was the true harm?

"_Christine!_"

Cecile glanced nervously at the door. "You better hurry, my lady, before he gets into one of his tempers."

Yes, Raoul was often in _one of his tempers_ these days. I suppose it came naturally with wanting to be like the rest of the stingy, money-obsessed business men of our day. For not only was he a count now (a title bestowed upon him for his supposedly brave role in defeating the Opera Ghost), but also a partner in a wine business. When he wasn't at one of the orchards in the south of France, he was on 'business' in Italy. But I always knew better.

I had ceased to amuse him shortly after that fateful year 1870. I had also failed to provide him with a child, which hadn't come from lack of trying – especially on his part. These days I usually just avoided him as much as possible in the hopes that he would take up with a mistress when night came. It was a clichéd story, really. He had simply discarded an old love for an enthralling new one: swept me aside for money.

We had been so in love once.

I made my way down the spiraling staircase and into the reception hall where my husband waited impatiently for me. As I studied him, I could not help but note everything about him that irritated me: that stupid swagger of his; that loud, nasal voice aimed for all to hear so that he could impress. I hated the way he cut his hair now; short and slicked back with enough oil to keep one hundred wheel axles in excellent condition for the next century or so.

During times like these, I always caught myself thinking back to five years ago. Sometimes the events of 1870 seemed almost unreal to me; almost as if everything had been imagined, and there had been no Opera Ghost at all. Most of the time, I even believed that everything had been just a dream. After all, how could the outcome of everything have been so horrid?

What had Raoul really done? He hadn't saved me. I had been forced to save both of us as he struggled against the moat gate, his neck tangled within a noose. With a simple tug of a hand, his life could have ended right then and there. He was no hero, truly. Just a rich windbag who had seen a prize and coveted it.

I had been that prize; special, because when I sang, even the clouds stopped their journeys in the sky for just a moment to listen. Raoul had not even noticed me when I was a simple flower girl in the ballet; it was not until I became exceptional that he even condescended to look upon me.

It had not been so with my Opera Ghost. He alone had seen me when I seemed nothing special. _He _had cared for and watched over me when my father had died. _He_ had given me the talent which had so enraptured Raoul that night. But in the end, I had betrayed him and lost everything. I wondered now why I had been so blind. God help me, but I had ruined so much more than my own life.

I knew that going back to anything would be impossible. The Opera Populaire was no more than rubble now. Most of its members had probably drifted off to another theater. Meg was already a rising star, renowned for her beautiful skill in the ballet. I wanted desperately to visit a show and watch her dance.

But Raoul had expressly forbidden that we have anything more to do with the theater, opera, or ballet. I had less freedom than his servants, really. How could he do this to me, when my soul ached for the fine arts, with every single breath I took?

I was nothing special to Raoul now because all of the fire and spirit had been beaten out of me. It had been taken away from me by Raoul himself; it was his fault that I no longer entertained him; that I no longer held any mystery for him. I was a useless wife, with no children to give to him and no other skill except to lounge about day by day with an idle book.

I longed for life. I longed for love – for true passion and lust. Not the youthful infatuation that I had shared with Raoul. It had been charming once, but in time, we had both grown up. Raoul realized that he did not need love at all, and I realized that I needed something more cultured; something more _refined_.

We rode in our carriage in complete silence. Raoul was nervously tugging at his gloves and I knew that it was because he had to make a good impression before the party upon another important business man in the wine market. He was supposed to be some famous Italian from Rome and at the top of the wine industry. I merely pondered how I was going to occupy myself for the course of the evening. Raoul only used me when he needed an escort in order to look good for the Paris socialites.

He was running a hand through his hair anxiously. I hated how blond his hair was; it had gotten unnaturally blonder over the years. I fought the urge to tear his hair out in shreds. He treated me less than dirt. All I wanted was to introduce him to the joys of a pistol in his mouth.

When the carriage pulled to a stop, he clambered out stiffly and grudgingly held out his hand to let me down, almost as if it were an unpleasant chore such as mucking out the stables.

Daintily, I accepted and flounced out and past him. We were accepted into the house by a harried-looking maid and butler, both of which snatched off our cloaks and other warm garments, and bustled away with them somewhere into the depths of the house. Another maid led us briskly into an enormous ballroom where many couples were already twirling.

I tugged on Raoul's hand with a nod toward the dance floor. "Shall we dance?" I inquired this of him politely.

He turned a look on me, suddenly all smiles and simpers, "Of course, darling." He teased at my hair with a smile, "We'll do anything you like."

My eyes narrowed, as I was quite suspicious of this sudden turn in his behavior. I remained perplexed as he began to spin me around in tune to the music, until I noticed that his eyes were straying from me and that he was staring in a direction from which extremely loud Italian was emanating. I turned, too, to discover an extremely lumpy man dressed in red brocades trimmed with gold, gorging himself on wine. This was probably Raoul's conquest for the evening, and evidently he wanted to present himself as a gentlemanly type.

Sure enough, when the dance was over, Raoul wound a hand about my waist and half-dragged me to the corner with the fat Italian. The man was positively hideous, his face covered by a thick beard, which was full of crumbs from his dinner and droplets of wine. His face was already extremely red, and needless to say, he was surrounded by groveling women who doubtless were being paid very well to stay by his side.

Raoul inclined his head and held out his hand to the Italian, "Monsieur, may I be allowed to introduce myself? I am the Comte de Chagny."

The Italian gave Raoul scarcely a glance. Instead, his eyes were fixated on me, "My, who _is_ this sumptuous little croissant you've brought along with you?" His eyes were roving my figure now.

Raoul looked surprised for a moment, but then he quickly recovered himself. "This is my lovely wife, the Comtesse de Chagny."

I curtseyed prettily, lowering my eyes so as not to stare at the Italian's ugly visage. Raoul and his associates always thoroughly disgusted me.

"Beautiful," the Italian murmured, before proceeding to utter some additional phrases in Italian. His entourage of women were giving me hostile looks, obviously unhappy that I was being favored by their master.

Raoul cleared his throat suddenly, "I believe that there is the little matter of the -."

"The vineyard, yes, yes!" The Italian waddled closer to us and slung an arm over Raoul's shoulder. "Come, come! We shall adjourn to a private room where we can discuss business." He untangled himself from his women, all of whom were wearing identical pouts. "Now, now, ladies, don't wander off while I'm gone." Then he turned to me, "So sorry, my dear, but would you be so kind as to fetch us some drinks?" Here he tapped me teasingly on the rump and grinned.

I would have hit him if Raoul had not mouthed at me to stop it. He had seen the whole thing, the bastard, and he had done nothing about it. In my expensive satin gown, I practically stalked away. Let them fetch their own drinks, the mongrels. Instead I swiped a glass of wine for myself off of the tray of a passing serving boy and retreated to the outskirts of the crowd. Perhaps I would just duck out of the ballroom for a time and search for some amusement of my own.

As my miserable luck would have it, upon leaving the ballroom, I was immediately cornered by the hostess of the whole affair, Madame Penous. She was a woman a decade or so older than me, but extremely matronly and overbearing, having mothered a family of five already. She swept toward me, her read hair curled about her head and her green eyes intent upon something.

"My dear Comtesse!" She exclaimed, upon reaching my still form. "So nice to see you here!"

They were all so superficial in this world of Raoul's. The opera had indeed been a world of fantasy, but at least it had not masqueraded as anything else but the mystical world that it was. Here, it was harder to pretend that you belonged.

Nevertheless, I attached a bright smile to my face and bobbed my head graciously, "Madame. A lovely party indeed."

She laughed prettily, her fan moving rapidly up and down. "Oh, it's absolutely _nothing_, dear child! You should have been here last Christmas, oh what a lovely time we had then!"

"I'm sure." I hoped my words didn't seem too forced.

She hooked a powdered white hand around my arm suddenly and began to lead me away, "You absolutely must come into the parlor with me. Let me introduce you to some of the ladies of one of my circles."

I nearly rolled my eyes; for almost a year Madame Penous had undertaken to properly initiate me into society, and so far, she had been dismally failing. I had been acquainted with endless 'circles' of her's, including both her sewing and poetry club, all of which had been filled with women who thought they were the foremost authorities on their respective club subjects.

Nevertheless, I allowed Madame Penous to continue to lead me forward as she whispered intimately into my ear, as if we were great friends. With one gloved hand, she pushed open one of her parlor's double doors and brought me forth into a comfortable room decorated with warm reds and oranges with a grand fire blazing in one corner.

Richly dressed and heavily powdered women were reclining about in couches, all dangling wine and unknown papers in their laps. Madame Penous stood me before the fireplace and introduced me in the customary fashion to the circle. A few of the women I had even met before, although they gave no indication of remembering me, as I had probably insulted them with my lack of interest in their hobbies before.

"This," Madame Penous made a general gesture to the circle, "Is my lovely circle for the fine arts."

Now I saw that the papers in the laps of the ladies were all old playbills, bearing the crude poster art from various operas and ballets. One of the ladies moved over in her seat and indicated that I sit beside her. She looked to be my age and offered me a kindly smile.

"Welcome, Comtesse. I'm Adelle." Her eyes were a dark brown, tinged with black, and sparkling cheerfully as if she really meant her welcome.

I gave my first genuine smile of the night to her, "I'm Christine."

"Do you enjoy the arts, Christine?" This came from Madame Renois, an aged woman dressed in heavy green silks on another couch. She was fanning herself with a playbill curled in her hand.

"Yes, very much," I told her honestly. "Unfortunately, my husband detests all forms of art."

"I understand," Adelle commented from beside me. "Francisco simply despises the ballet and abhors the slightest mention of the opera. One would think that he'd have more passion in his blood, being Spanish and all…"

"Adelle!" Madame Renois reprimanded.

Adelle blushed slightly. I privately wondered what was becoming of the men of our society. None of them seemed to take pleasure in simple beauty any more. None of them seemed to have souls, for that matter. What kind of a human being was it that could survive simply on account books like Raoul? Although I did have a rather good idea of why it was exactly that he kept me away from the opera.

"Well, then, you should join the club for an excursion to the opera in two days' time!" Madame Penous clapped her hands together, apparently delighted that she had found a subject to interest me. "You _do_ enjoy the opera, do you not?"

I fought back a grin and replied as nonchalantly as possible, "Oh, I suppose."

Still, the good Madame Penous was encouraged. "Then you will join us, my dear? The Opera Cardinal is opening with a new production and we simply must go on the first night."

"Who is to star?" A woman with a heavy English accent spoke up beside Renois.

Madame Penous seated herself upon a plush comforter. "I believe it is the great Carlotta."

I nearly choked on my wine. These women really had absolutely _no_ idea about real quality in the opera, if they thought Carlotta was talented. At the same time I shuddered, for as comical as she had once been, she too was connected to my memories of the Opera Populaire.

"Have you ever heard Carlotta sing?" Adelle beamed with the rapturous look of admiration for the woman.

I shrugged, "She's nothing special really. Does no one remember the travesty that was _Il Muto_?"

"Was that the day she inexplicably began to croak like a toad?" Madame Renois leaned forward, a look of amusement upon her face. "I thought I was the only one who remembered that."

Adelle gaped, "Surely that was no fault of her own!"

Madame Renois laced her fingers beneath her chin as if she knew a great secret and with a hushed voice, whispered, "Of course not, it was the work of the Opera Ghost."

I stiffened in my seat, all color escaping my face instantly. I must have been squeezing my glass too tightly, because it broke unexpectedly, the shards falling upon my dress in miniscule glittering pieces.

Adelle gasped and jumped up right away with a handkerchief at the ready for me. "Your beautiful dress!" She shook her head over the rapidly-spreading spots, which were diffusing through the fabric in the manner of blood stains. All of the other women began to fuss over me instantly, except for Madame Renois. She alone regarded me thoughtfully, her lips pursed in a frown.

"You do not believe in the Ghost?" she inquired this of me quietly, her words cutting through the din of the other women as they helped to clean me off.

Before I could reply, Madame Penous laughed easily and turned to me, "Pay no attention to Karine, my dear. That Ghost has been an obsession of her's for years. She used to frequent the Opera Populaire up until that horrid accident five years ago."

"Oh, let's not talk about that again, please," the Englishwoman tossed her head and set her curls to bouncing. "Why not discuss our upcoming excursion?"

The rest of the women resumed their seats, "You know, I remember that there used to be another girl who sang at the Populaire in its last days," Adelle suddenly commented. "She stood in for Carlotta several times."

"Now that you mention it, I too remember her," Karine placed a jeweled hand upon Madame Penous's arm. "What was her name again, Tiffanie?"

Madame Penous swirled her glass, musing. "You know, I just can't seem to remember."

I did not dare to look at any of them.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One. Story just intended for fun; no money is being made on this.

**A/N:** Wow, I'm so surprised by all the great reviews that I got! 3 Everyone is so sweet!! Thanks a bunch for even reading this!

**A/N2:** I'm not sure how soon I'll update this one, seeing as midterms are coming up next week -- Down with High School. >. 

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"Darling, where are you going?"

I froze in my tracks, gloves still half on. Completely unexpectedly, Raoul had emerged from his study while I was in the midst of staging my departure. He was leaning against the doorframe now, his jacket having been discarded and his prim, collared shirt unbuttoned. He was giving me what he probably thought was a sultry glance, while I searched for an excuse.

Somewhat luckily, he was more than a bit drunk.

"Why don't you let me sort out your gloves for you?" He lowered his voice as he came towards me and grabbed my left hand. He proceeded to bite my hand in an attempt to pull off my glove with his teeth.

"Rah-_oul_!" I screeched the name and rapidly retracted my poor hand. On account of my swift motion, I dragged my hand against his fingernails and discovered much to my dismay that my hand had begun to bleed lightly in several areas. So much for Raoul's attempts to be alluring.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that," he scratched at his head and stumbled slightly. The liquor had obviously taken its toll on him.

For a moment, my resolve was swayed. I hated seeing him like this – fazed with absolutely no idea what was going on around him. It was likely that one of his business deals had fallen through and that he was now attempting to drink it off, but I could not help but feel some pity for him. Ignoring my injured hand for the moment, I lay down my gloves upon a polished mahogany table and put a firm hand about his shoulders.

"Shh," I told him, beginning to lead him back into his study. "You have to get some rest."

Raoul began to mutter, "Wretched Italians…deceitful lot with their vineyards – _hic!_" He began to hiccup from the effects of the alcohol.

I pushed him down gently on to the couch in the study, "Don't think about that. Just rest for now. You've been working yourself too hard."

As I drew a small blanket over him and silently removed his shoes, I could not help but feel a trickle of the old love that we had shared. It felt good being needed for once; being able to do something for him for the first time in what seemed like ages. Even if it was only done while he was in the midst of drunkenness. He did not often let me hold him these days, being too immersed in the world of money.

He had already fallen asleep by this time, his breathing bordering on the edge of snoring. I smoothed the hair back from his face and planted a chaste kiss upon his forehead, willing him to earn some wisdom. All that I could feel for him now was that fond affection and worry a sister might have for her sibling. I had no desire anymore to give myself to him; all I wanted to do was to help him; to make him what he once was.

Perhaps he had fallen into such a state when some remote corner of his mind realized that I did not truly love him. At least, I did not love him in the way that he so desired. And so he had turned away from me and into a world that I could not follow, submerging himself in the world of business. No longer was there true beauty in either of our lives as a result.

It hurt, realizing that I was the cause of the ruin of yet another man.

But somewhere out there, he could surely find someone to love him. Someone who would want to protect him forever from any harm and to love him unconditionally with a whole heart.

From the parlor, the clock chimed the sixth hour of the evening. Abruptly I stood up and ceased musing; it would not help me to dwell on any additional failures at the moment. One last look at Raoul made me feel slightly guilty about giving him the slip, but it had been too long for my artistic soul to allow me to pass up this chance.

I paused by a washbasin resting on his desk and moistened a cloth in the water. I pressed it to my left hand until I had cleaned off the small scratches and wiped away the scant blood that had trickled. Then I made a hasty exit, snatching my gloves off of the table in the entrance hall.

Outside, I hurried through the swiftly-tumbling snow and to the carriage that waited for me. The driver tipped his hat and bid a good-evening to me. "Where to, Comtesse?"

I huddled within the safety of the cab and called out, "The Opera Cardinal, Monsieur!"

A part of me wondered exactly what it was I was doing. While my husband lay in the grand house sleeping off drunkenness, I was gallivanting out of his reach. At the same time, I felt like I was returning home at long last after an interminable absence. The opera was all that I had ever known; it had been my entire world for so long. By the time the carriage clattered into the crowded square sprawled out before the magnificent Opera Cardinal, my heart had begun to soar, and I could not help but feel a childish excitement.

It was not the Opera Populaire, but I was finally home.

The coachman handed me down from the cab and tipped his hat to me once again. Anxiously, I pressed extra francs into the man's hand and whispered to him, "The Comte must know nothing of this, do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady, Comtesse. Yes, yes." He had already begun to count through the tumble of shimmering coins.

I held back no longer. I could practically feel the tendrils of enchantment reaching out from the gothic windows of the Opera. I almost closed my eyes and walked as if in a daze as I entered the bustling atmosphere of the various patrons of the Opera within the entrance hall. I would have begun to twirl from happiness in the presence of those who loved this as much as I did, if I had not suddenly been seized at the shoulders and whisked around.

Adelle's rosy face greeted my shocked eyes, and then she embraced me. "Oh, Christine!" She stood back to regard me, "You look so pretty! I was almost afraid you wouldn't come!" She took my hand and began to lead me to the theater itself. "Everyone else is already waiting for you!"

I found myself smiling because she reminded me so much of Meg. It was pleasant to feel welcomed by someone at least, even if it was an acquaintance of a mere three days. "You look nice too," I ventured this slowly, having grown unaccustomed to kindness and giving out compliments.

She giggled, "Not nearly as nice as you, Christine."

In the arched doorway, I put a hand on her arm and murmured, "It's been so long, Adelle. I'm almost afraid."

Adelle, of course, hadn't the faintest idea what I was really talking about. "Christine, don't be silly! It's an opera, it won't harm you!"

She hooked her arm through my elbow and led me down the aisle. People had already begun to congregate in order to take their seats, and the lights in the reception hall were flashing to indicate the start of the performance. Adelle tugged me through the mass with brief nods of hello to several acquaintances, before we at last came to Madame Penous and her group of ladies. Upon seeing me, she turned and delightedly pulled me away from Adelle's grasp.

"Oh, dear, you made it! We were beginning to worry you would never arrive!"

"Yes," I whispered, still gazing about the vast cavern of the theater. It was even more breath-taking than the Populaire had been, both in size and decoration. Golden cherubs hung sweetly from every balcony and the frescoes were of the most exquisite talent that I had ever seen. I did not have much time to dwell upon the charm, as Adelle thrust a playbill into my hands and pulled me into a seat next to her's.

"_Antissa_," I read the title slowly. "Is it new?" I had never heard of this production before.

"Entirely new," Karine told me, settling into the other seat beside me. "This is the first time it will ever be performed."

There was no more time for questioning as the lights dimmed and the heavily-embroidered curtain rose painfully slowly to reveal a dazzling spectacle of players and ballerinas. Lovely girls, scantily-clad as Greek dancers glided about the centerpiece, which, much to my dismay, was the _prima donna_ Carlotta herself.

The moment she opened her mouth to sing, I was prepared to stuff my ears with cotton. It was with great surprise that it seemed the woman had improved over the past five years. She was no great talent, surely, yet her vocals actually seemed bearable this time. I even stunned myself when I found myself clapping for her.

The first act of _Antissa_ swept my very soul out of my chest and into the music of the story. I began to softly sing with Carlotta as I sat there in the darkened theater with generous tears drifting over my rouged cheeks. I had not felt so moved since…

Since that last night I had performed _Don Juan_.

When the curtain fell on the first act and intermission began, I apologetically excused myself and hastened away before Adelle or anyone else could attach themselves to my person. I felt in pressing need of a drink, and so I made my way up into the upper levels of the theater where I quickly located trays filled with enticing goblets of wine.

In my rush, I bumped into an elderly gentleman who steadied me with a gentle hand, "You are not hurt, mademoiselle?"

I chose not to correct his error in calling me _mademoiselle _and shook my head vigorously, "No, no, I just…"

He seemed to remark upon my tear-stained face, "A moving production, is it not? I am quite eager to see the next act."

"As am I, monsieur," I agreed, reaching for a goblet.

He nodded to me, "Enjoy the rest of the show, mademoiselle."

"Thank you, monsieur." I watched as he left with a number of other elderly gentlemen and disappeared back into the crowd.

Here, I suddenly found myself presented with a problem. I had absolutely no idea where I had come from, or in what direction I should go next. My seat was near the orchestra, but this level gave access to the various boxes that only rich patrons usually enjoyed. It seemed a trifle shameful to have to ask someone to point me in the correct direction, and so I set off confidently toward an area where the crowd grew less thick.

Having reached said area, I was still irrefutably lost. And in an _opera house_, no less. A moment ago I had been pompously calling this _home_, and now I just felt like a fool. What was I doing here anyway? Had all good sense deserted me? I did not relish the thought of returning home to Raoul, especially if he had found out about my little trip to the forbidden opera.

I hung my head and began to drift through the hall, taking occasional sips from my glass. The wine was cheap, I noted absently. I might have overlooked it, had my mood not been so sour. I realized I still had the playbill in my other hand and wondered if I could consult it to somehow escape my predicament. Rifling through pages as I walked on, I paid little attention to where my steps led me.

"Where are you going?"

Startled out of occupation with my predicament, I blinked several times rather stupidly.

I raised my head from the playbill and realized that I had wandered into a darkened section of the hallway. Frowning, I noted that I was still standing beside the entrance to a private box, and I knew that I hadn't passed any signs forbidding me to come this way.

"You should not be here." The voice continued to speak and I turned with hands placed on my hips, ready with an indignant reply.

And that's when I saw him and the last five years disintegrated into fragmented pieces and floated away from my mind.

He was standing in the arched entrance to a private box, an ebony-gloved hand holding back the deep crimson curtain. Half of him remained in the shadow of the box so that I could only see a part of his face as he gazed at me with a look of wonder that mirrored my own. Obviously, he had not been expecting to see me as much as I had not expected to see him.

"Christine," he breathed just that single word. He spoke only my name, but that single intonation was enough to latch my breath in my throat.

I took a step back, and then another, until I found myself pressed up against the wall with nowhere else to go. He still hadn't made a move and he did not utter another word. I continued to study him, the power to move having deserted me entirely. The past prolonged years had done nothing to age him, I noted with a trace of pleasure. He still possessed half a handsome face with darkened hair, and a powerful figure, but what struck me most were his eyes. Once, they had gazed at me with such desire; such _love_. Yet all I now saw within those orbs was the icy winter day, scathed by bitter northern winds.

He regarded me impartially; unfeelingly. It brought a wisp of chill into my chest.

When he stepped into the light, I saw that he still wore a mask to veil the right side of his face. It all suddenly seemed so otherworldly; as if I had returned to a life I thought I had left behind years ago. I tried to retreat further, but I knew that I had nowhere else to go.

"Erik, why are you here?" I stuttered as I spoke, my voice quavering with fear. I hated that look in his eyes, and above all, I hated that I was the reason for it.

His expression was still frigid as he began to walk toward me, and when he tilted his head, his inflection seemed mocking. "Do not worry, Comtesse. I am not here to hurt or kill anyone." He addressed me formally, ignoring my utterance of his name.

"Then why?" I had a hand pressed against the wall, while in the other I still clutched my goblet. "Have you decided to haunt another opera?" I asked slightly cruelly.

He paused directly in front of me and held out a hand. I stared at the outstretched fingers, debating what exactly he was going to do. I wondered if he would caress me yet again with those gentle fingertips or bend to softly sing a sweet song into my willing ears. I began to tremble as if affected by the cold, but I did not believe that the cause was fear.

A part of me longed for his touch.

I met his eyes again and saw that he was giving me a sardonic smile. He had obviously taken note of my shaken state and fragile nerves. His eyes narrowed and he whispered conspiratorially as if he were sharing a great secret with me, "Look at your playbill."

"Wha – _what_?"

He was toying with me. There was so much between us; so much that needed to be said. Yet I could sense that he did not want to dwell on particular subjects, and nor did he wish to awaken the ghosts of the past. Perhaps that accounted for the seemingly absurd nature of our exchange.

God help me, I knew that I had broken his heart. Everything that needed to be said, I wanted to say! Yet nowhere within me could I discover the words to appropriately convey what I felt. In my heart, I truly knew that there was nothing I could ever say to him that would remedy the past, and at the moment, it did not seem as if he even wished to hear my attempts.

Remembering myself, I obediently raised my right hand and smoothed the cover of the glossy playbill. Beneath the flowing script that proclaimed the word _Antissa_ were letters that formed a very familiar name. I gasped and looked back up, "This is _your_ production?"

"Mm," he acknowledged. "Have I disappointed you, Comtesse? You seem to have been expecting something rather more sinister. You are quick to judge."

"I…" But I really had nothing to say, for he had indeed spoken the truth. It was true that he had once been a killer, but he had also once revealed his entire heart to me…and I had betrayed him in that moment of trust.

As always, I made rash decisions and foolish ones.

"Are you enjoying my opera?"

"What?" I repeated the word dumbly. The next question had taken me aback as well; he continued to ask me the most mundane of questions. "Yes…Yes, very much," I finally offered the words to him. "It's brilliant as always." After a few seconds of silence, I fixed my eyes on the floor and commented, "Carlotta was not all that bad tonight."

"Bah," he threw his hands in the air and complained outright. "Carlotta is perfectly awful as usual and naturally she is the star of every single one of my works."

I smiled at the world-weary tone of his voice. It was quite unlike anything I had ever heard from him before. So casual…so normal. "Still, she does seem to have improved."

He fixed clever eyes on me and replied, "One last letter from the Opera Ghost was quite enough to convince her to actually take some lessons."

"Lessons from you?" I queried quite innocently.

"Don't be stupid," he snapped in return.

For a short while, it had almost felt like I wasn't talking to the Opera Ghost. Every time I had imagined meeting Erik again, I had never thought that we would simply stand in a hall and chat idly about Carlotta. He did not behave like the seductive angel who had once enticed me into his arms with his song. Rather, it was like speaking to an old friend whom I had not seen in years.

He crossed his arms over his chest and commented, "I must admit that I am rather surprised to find you here. I have heard that the de Chagny family does not often frequent the theater anymore."

I smiled nervously, "Yes, well…"

"He does not know you are here." He meant Raoul of course.

"Of course he does!"

My lie was transparent, even to my own deceitful self. I sighed and directed my attention to the floor again, the subject of Raoul an uncomfortable one.

"You are not happy?"

My head shot up and my lips opened ready to shoot an insolent reply back at him. I was prepared to defend Raoul and my choices, more from habit than anything else, but then I saw the way that Erik was looking at me, and I just could not find it in me to lift a single syllable in Raoul's defense.

I did not believe that Erik had asked the question of me out of spite or resentment, but rather out of genuine concern. Although he was doing his best to hide it, I intuitively felt that his inquiry was one based on his honest interest in my welfare.

I almost did not lie to him.

Once again, I was torn. Part of me wished to run into his arms and to tell him the truth. The truth being that I was trapped in a miserable marriage, that I had destroyed Raoul in the process, and that I had broken Erik's heart for nothing. But he gazed at me with the obvious expectation that I would tell him he had done the right thing in letting me go all those long years ago; that it had not all been in vain.

"I _am_ happy," I told him, trying to etch confidence into the three words.

To both my surprise and relief, he suddenly smiled, albeit sadly. "I am glad, Christine." He used my given name for only the second time that night, but it brought a puff of unexpected warmth into my dulled heart.

Something caught his eye and he stepped toward me. "You bleed," he whispered, his eyes directed toward my left hand. Sure enough, the small scratches had begun to crack anew, probably from the cold and dry quality of the air.

"Oh, it's nothing," I fingered the abused skin and searched for something to apply to it to still the blood.

Unexpectedly, Erik gripped my hand, but it was not roughly so. He had removed the handkerchief from his breast pocket and was gently pressing it to my skin.

"Thank you," I murmured, not knowing what else to say. I had found myself aching for his touch while we spoke, and truly, the simple feel of his fingertips brushing softly against my skin once more was enough to cause my breathing to stutter with sudden longing. Despite the fire and passion which I knew resided within his soul, Erik had always touched me so delicately as if I were a glass flower that would break at the slightest pressure.

I frowned when he released my hand at last. Still clutching the cloth, I let the hand fall to hang limply at my side. I recalled all the times that Erik had held me and could not help but compare them to the feel of Raoul, who often did nothing but paw me these days when the mood so took him. Raoul had never treated me as a precious object until he heard me sing that night at the Opera Populaire, and only for a few more months after our wedding had he continued to love me tenderly.

Erik had always dealt with me lovingly. Even when I angered him, he had always managed to retain an echo of delicacy and care whenever he held me. Now I could only lament what a fool I had been for failing to see the treasure that had been before me all this time.

It was rare that a woman felt truly loved these days. I knew it from Madame Penous' crowd, who gathered in their circles to gossip and complain about their husbands. Most of them knew that their spouses conducted affairs, and yet they chatted casually about such things whenever they gathered. I too knew that Raoul engaged in these traditional amusements of his class, yet I differed from the other women in that I had once known what it was truly like to be loved by someone, and so I understood what was missing in my life.

I realized that I had been staring at Erik for an inappropriate amount of time. I averted my eyes and blushed deeply just as the lights began to flicker in the hall, signaling the beginning of the next act. I hoped that my unseemly color was not apparent in the flashing luminescence.

He had begun to retreat back toward the box, rather shyly. "I hope you enjoy the rest of the opera, Comtesse," he brushed aside the heavy curtain.

"Wait!" I darted forward and held out his handkerchief now stained with the filmy outlines of bloody scratches. "You forgot this. Oh, and I'm sorry about the blood…" I considered the cloth, biting my lip. I knew my words sounded odd.

Erik just looked amused, "Keep it. I have many others."

"Oh." As he turned away, I felt compelled to say something – _anything_ – so that he would not leave yet. "Wait!" That was the best I could come up with.

He stopped once again, "Yes?"

"I – ." I stopped and hunched my shoulders, embarrassed for the second time. It felt odd, knowing that there was an infinite amount of things to say to him that I could not find the words nor time to express. "Just…can I see you again?"

His back was to me, but I did not miss the sudden rigid quality that established itself in his frame. The hand that clutched the curtain turned white as he squeezed it, but his voice was even and calm as he spoke. "No, Christine. I do not believe that it would be a good idea."

"But…" I breathed the one word, even as tears began to slip from beneath my lashes. I was glad that his back was to me, for I did not wish him to see the shameful tears upon my cheeks, as but a moment ago I had cheerily informed him that my life was excellent.

"You made your choice," he breathed deeply as he spoke. "I have no place in the life you have chosen."

I snatched ideas out of the air, "You could come visit me as a simple friend! My tutor even…" It sounded absurd even to my own idiotic ears. I tried to justify my silly words with a half-truth, "I suppose I just miss the theater too much."

Erik laughed softly and considered me with a glance over his shoulder, "Your soul will always belong to the theater, no matter how much the Comte tries to beat it out of you."

_No, my soul belongs to you_.This time I did not leap to Raoul's defense. There was nothing to defend, really.

"Erik, I -."

He placed a finger against his lips and murmured, "Shh." Turning to me one last time, he put his hand into his jacket pocket and drew out two thin cuts of paper. "For you and…a lady friend, perhaps. One last gift from your Angel of Music."

I accepted and turned them over in my palm. "Tickets?"

"My newest work. It opens next month."

I no longer hid the tears and began to sniffle noisily into his handkerchief. "I…I can't…accept." I choked out the words, knowing that I was the portrait of 'unladylike' at the moment. Some women were beautiful when they cried; I turned into a red boil of a mess.

Unquestioning, he continued to regard me with a calm look. I knew he was trying to distance himself from me; that he was attempting not to care so that I would not hurt him again. I understood it all, and it pained me more than ever because he was being so unbearably kind to me when I was simply an undeserving wench.

Finally, I mastered myself just enough to gasp, "Thank you." I brushed at my eyes furiously, staring anywhere but at him, "Will I see you there?"

Erik shook his head and I knew he meant the truth. "Good-bye, Christine."

With one final swish of the curtain, he was gone.

I knew that I could charge through that pesky curtain and right into his box – but I really had no idea what I would say to him. I was still too shaken by this encounter, and even though he had told me that we would not be seeing each other again, I still found it somewhere within me to hope that he was wrong.

Dejected, I set off in an arbitrary direction, searching for the way back to my seat. As I walked, I clutched Erik's handkerchief against my chest and dared to breathe in his scent, tinged with the faint tang of blood which had polluted the pure cream of the material.

_Oh, God, I miss him._


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to Leroux, Webber and Kay. No profit is sought.

**A/N:** I LOVE MY READERS SOOO MUCH!!!!! Thank yoouuuuu!!!!!!!!

Sorry for the long wait. I had a horrid week with mid-term exams at school. But now that it's over, I can write at long last. Not too much Erik in this chapter, sorry.

But Raoul gets abused. A lot. Muaha.

In addition, Nadir appears in this installment. For those unfamiliar with him, he's rather self-explanatory in this chapter. Too bad Webber left him out of the musical.

I also just finished Susan Kay's 'Phantom'. Wonderful book and a very pleasant surprise! It's quick and easy, but also a MUST READ for people who want to know all about poor, tortured Erik's angsty past.

And on to the chapter. It's a bit long, but I hope everyone enjoys it anyway. Again, thank you thank you thank you!!

**Chapter 3**

Following that first secret excursion to the opera, I continued my outings with the arts circle in a manner that bordered on the obsessive. I was usually the first to alert my fellow ladies to the emergence of a new work or artist in the city, and always the one who diligently organized such outings with the kind hand of Madame Penous to aid me. Eventually I almost felt a sense of kinship with many of the other ladies who indulged in my enthusiasm that so often prompted them to attend artistic events.

One morning I sat with the artistic circle, chatting idly with Adelle as we perused journals for entertainment. It was at this time that I remembered the present Erik had given me and realized that the opera was set for the following weekend. I knew there was no way that I could force Raoul to accompany me, and so I turned to Adelle and began to whisper into her ear so the other ladies would not hear.

"Adelle, would you like to come with me to the Cardinal next week?"

She looked at me, startled with the unexpected request. "Isn't there a new production opening?"

I nodded.

"You know that Tiffanie has been trying to get us tickets to that for the past month or so!" Adelle frowned and lounged back against the couch. "It was sold out the first night after _Antissa_. The composer seems to have become the height of popularity overnight. It's nearly impossible to get into one of his productions now! We were lucky to even see _Antissa_." Adelle played with a ribbon on her dress, "I wonder what he's like. I hear he's a recluse, but brilliant." She blushed suddenly, "Not that it really interests me all that much…"

I allowed myself a private smile, amused by the thought that Erik had lovely, young female admirers such as Adelle.

"I have tickets," I told her calmly.

"You _what_?" Adelle giggled. "How on earth did you come by them?"

I batted my eyes innocently, "It's a secret."

Adelle rolled her eyes.

I put a hand on her arm and tilted my head, "So will you come with me? It has to be a secret because I only have two."

"I'd be crazy to decline," Adelle's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I simply can't wait for it!"

"Can't wait for what, my dear?" A silky, curious voice interrupted our conversation. I glanced up and met the cold demeanor of Madame Renois, whose eyes examined me with the distasteful glance one might give to an insect.

"Oh…our, um, trip to England," Adelle rapidly recovered herself.

I have said that I was slowly being accepted into the society of Madame Penous and her ladies. The sole exception from this bond was Karine Renois. She alone continued to regard me with dislike and something that seemed to border on suspicion from time to time. I suppose it came from the fact that in a way I had stepped into her place as Madame Penous' right-hand woman, as it were, in our social outings. With my increased immersion in society, I was rapidly becoming more and more popular as people recognized my face whenever I ventured out.

Even Raoul seemed to have recalled something of the warmth of our old days. Now when I saw him, he always had either a smile or a flirtatious comment for me. In the nights he even visited our bed more and more, and I was not ashamed to admit that I felt a sudden surge of happiness. After we made love, he would always lie back and stroke my hair fondly. Once he murmured how proud of me he was that I had finally begun to integrate into society after years of alienation. I briefly wondered whether or not I should have been offended by such a comment, but in the end the loving caresses he bestowed upon me deterred me from anger or irritation.

Yet I could not help but feel guilty. I could not find it in me to tell him of my encounter with Erik in the opera that night. In the first place, Raoul would probably have been furious to find out that I had slipped out against his orders to a forbidden place. And secondly, I would not have put it beyond him to stalk out brandishing his pistols and shouting for Erik's blood, if I by chance told him. What would the point of it have been anyway? It was not as if I had betrayed Raoul in any way by simply speaking with Erik. What Raoul did not know could hurt neither him nor me.

The look in Erik's eyes when I told him I was happy with Raoul had set me in my determination to actually make it a truth. I wanted him to know that his sacrifices had not been for nothing, and above all, I wanted to make myself believe the same thing. Then, at least I could deceive myself into believing that I had not betrayed two men.

"Christine?"

I realized that Adelle and Madame Renois were both staring at me with puzzled expressions. It seemed that someone had asked a question, and that my thoughts had once again led me astray down winding paths.

"Yes?"

Madame Renois gave me a mocking glance, but she refrained from comment.

"I asked if you would like to accompany us to England." Adelle tugged on my sleeve, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you all right, Christine?"

I gaped at her like an idiot. "_England_?"

She smiled, "Tiffanie has acquaintances there and we always visit them in the winter."

"English society is quite delightful," Madame Penous put in. "Not nearly as constrictive as here in the city."

"Do I have to bring Raoul?"

I couldn't help it. It had just slipped out from between my treacherous lips. Still, to my great surprise no one seemed shocked or taken aback. Rather, Tiffanie smiled kindly, "You may if you like, but this is usually a trip that we girls like to take together alone."

The offer certainly sounded tempting, but I wondered how I would ever get Raoul to agree. He was terribly possessive and distrustful of me, even though he was less than faithful himself. On the other hand, I had never been to England and I felt much in need of a distraction. In addition, it would probably help my status in society if I became known as the sociable type who would travel across Europe to indulge her friends.

Nevertheless, I thanked them all politely and remarked that I would think about it.

That night I found myself unable to sleep, disturbed by the blizzard that raged outside in the dainty Parisian streets. The wind buffeted against the glass-paneled doors that led to the balcony of our room, banging on the shutters rhythmically in a manner that reminded me of a marching, ghostly army. Beside me, Raoul snored softly, deeply and obliviously immersed in sleep. He had gone to sleep long ago with scarcely a word tonight. I had wondered if something was wrong, but had possessed neither the courage nor the energy to pry into his affairs.

Finally, the incessant banging gnawed on my nerves enough for me to rise and tiptoe out of bed and to the balcony. I hastily drew a silken robe around my bare shoulders, shivering in the fireless cold as I moved. Grunting, I pried open the heavy glass doors and dove for the bolts that had loosened in the blizzard. Snow had already piled thickly around the balcony, and it took nearly all my efforts not to be whisked away in that abominable wind. Eventually I pulled the doors shut and leaned against the closed panels, breathing heavily with the effort. In the back of my mind, I made a small mental note to attempt to get more exercise in the future.

I eased back into bed and shifted closer to Raoul, seeking warmth from his body. Here I found myself unable to attain a comfortable position, for the first time noting how angular and sharp his thin frame was. Curious, I poked my finger gently in his stomach and shook my head at how slight he was. No matter how strategically I placed myself, a part of me remained cold, completely unshielded by him. If the winters continued to be so miserable, and if my husband did not gain some muscle and bulk soon, I knew that I would probably have to invest in a bear-skin rug to keep me warm at night.

When I shifted for the hundredth time that night, Raoul finally woke up with a sleepy reprimand. "Christine, what _are_ you doing?" He blinked heavy eyelids, looking up at me with a mixture of exhaustion and rebuke. There was also something else in his gaze…something which I could not quite place.

I settled into the sheets with a sheepish look. "I'm cold and I can't sleep," I told him honestly.

Raoul sighed and much to my surprise, slipped his arms about my bare waist and pulled me close. I smiled faintly as I leaned against his thin presence, comforted deeply.

"Better?" He inquired this of me with a soft murmur to my ear. One hand gently stroked my middle until I felt him tense suddenly.

I twisted to regard him, "Raoul, what is it?"

He frowned at me and sat up, laying a hand across my forehead. "You're burning up, Christine. Are you ill?"

I shook my head, "No! Well…I don't know…" I looked up at him shyly. "I haven't been feeling well lately." I did not dare to say that my illness was probably due to the fact that I had lately taken to walking to the Opera Cardinal on foot and through dense snowfalls.

"I'm sorry," Raoul whispered suddenly.

I frowned into the darkness, taken aback by his unexpected words. "What?"

"I'm sorry for neglecting you so much, Christine," he nuzzled my neck and pulled me closer. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Raoul…what's wrong?" I held him off at the shoulders, peering into his face. "What's the matter?"

Raoul did not look at me. "Today, Edmond…he lost his wife."

I sat up briskly, a hand at my mouth. Edmond was one of Raoul's closest friends, and the only one that I approved of anymore. He alone struck me as an honest man, and I remembered that I had always rather liked his wife Sandrine. She had been a slip of a thing, pale, golden-haired and a delicate creature, but overall intelligent and pleasing in company. It was a pity that we had never enjoyed the opportunity to become closer.

"How…how did she die?"

Raoul bit his lip and murmured, "It was so sudden. No one knows what happened. She was not truly ill, but she took a sudden chill. No one thought much of it at the time, but it seems that it was enough to kill her."

I rested my forehead against Raoul's smooth cheek. "I'm still here, Raoul," I whispered softly, "There's nothing to fear."

"What if I turn around one day to find you simply gone?"

It seemed that the death of Sandrine had sparked something in Raoul. He almost gazed upon me with the look of our old love. At the same time, it saddened me to realize that it had taken a death to make me more appreciated in the eyes of Raoul. For some reason, I could not shake off the feeling that somewhere in his mind, the Count still thought of me as no more than a rare prize.

"Christine?"

"Yes?" I propped my head up on an elbow, resting beside him.

He leaned forward and kissed me, "I promise I won't neglect you so much any more." Then his hands were tangling in my hair and suddenly he was back on top of me, pinning me into the silken coverlets with his weight.

I giggled and swatted at him teasingly, "_Raoul!_ Stop being so silly!" I felt the onset of a good mood, and despite my laughing protestations, I responded to him eagerly. It was rare that Raoul ever made any concessions to me, and I knew that true nights of passion were rare things for us now.

Raoul breathed heavily against my neck, slowly tracing the curves of my body with his fingers. "Stay with me, Christine," he growled into my ear, "Love me forever."

I clutched his body against my pale skin desperately, as if fearing he would disappear at any moment. Then, blue eyes became a deep green tinged with flecks of gold, and all I could do was swear my heart away to them, "Yes, this time I will stay. I will love you forever, Erik. I truly will."

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye -."_

"_No! Stop, stop! I cannot listen to any more of this!"_

_I closed my mouth obediently and drew back in fear from the organ. Erik rose and began to pace about the lair, furiously shredding pages of music in his hands and leaving a trail of tender parchment fluttering in his wake. Eventually he stopped cursing and turned back to me, his green eyes rimmed with irritation._

"_Music is a lady, Christine. Your task is to treat her with worship and be mindful of her elegance, not drag her through the mud tied to the back of your carriage!" He paused to snatch up a quill and fresh parchment, scribbling notes frantically._

"_I'm sorry, Erik," I acknowledged humbly, clasping my hands together at the front of my gown with my head bowed in submission._

_He merely glared at me more piercingly and stalked towards me, "Music has to come from the soul, Christine, not the mind. You may know the notes and sing them with perfect pitch and harmony, but they are also empty and devoid of meaning when you do not draw on the spirit."_

"_I'm sorry," I repeated quietly. My shoulders began to tremble and I fought to still my shaking body, knowing that it would only anger him further if he knew that I was frightened._

"_Stop apologizing!" He snarled, slamming down a hand on the headboard of the organ. He pinned some new music to it and added additional notes. "I grow weary of listening to you recite arias as if you were nothing more than an automaton!" Then he sighed and resumed his place before the organ again, "I have no more patience to waste on you today. Leave me."_

_With those words, he immersed himself in his work and shut me out of his world completely. He continued to scratch long lines of notes into the parchment, once again composing a symphony that only he could hear. Occasionally he trilled several notes on the instrument, frowning and adjusting melodies until they flowed together with their harmonies perfectly, as if fated to be together by some divine power._

_I began to walk to the room he had given me, pausing only at a shelf replete with books to select an amusement to pass the time. Erik continued to work, oblivious to my presence and everything but his music. Lord, but that music was truly a distraction. I could never find peace of mind whenever he played, often entirely suffocated by the overwhelming emotion of the melodies that he wrote._

_I abruptly realized that I had been staring at the same shelf for several minutes, my attention elsewhere. I wondered if I would ever be able to create power like that with my voice, and suddenly I felt extremely saddened by the fact that I had displeased Erik. I had not meant to be dull at the lesson today, but my attention was constantly wandering due to the sudden return of Raoul into my life. It was all I could do not to think of my childhood sweetheart's dimpled face and laughing blue eyes…God forbid Erik ever found out._

_As I perused the shelf, my eyes caught sight of a snatch of parchment shoved behind the books. Curious, I reached for the leather folder holding the sheet and its fellows, obviously a composition that seemed to have been discarded in a moment of anger. I flipped through the contents and immediately frowned, feeling strangely discomfited. The melodies were unlike anything I had ever heard before, unheard-of in this modern age. Hesitantly, I hummed a section of the music, knowing that this was something ahead of its time that ought not be heard by any human ears._

"_What do you think you are doing?" A strong hand closed around the frail bones in my wrist, crushing the flesh until my hand turned white._

_In my stupor, I had not noticed that the music had stopped._

_I began to pant with pain and my hand limply released the pages I held. They tumbled to the floor, scattering in an hopeless disarray of ethereal music. But for the moment, all I could think about was the pain. "Erik," I breathed harshly, my eyes tearing, "You're hurting me. Please…let me go."_

_Instead, he twirled me around and roughly pushed me against the wall. I cried out, unable to avert my gaze as he twisted my hands above my head, a look of pure rage and hatred chiseled across the unhidden half of his face. I had not seen him so angry since the night I had torn the mask from his face._

"_You have no right…no right at all! How dare you pry into my personal affairs!" Erik's look was wild as he held me there, my strength rapidly failing. "I ought to kill you now," he hissed, tightening his grip._

"_Forgive me! Please, forgive me!" I piteously begged him to release me, feeling my knees begin to weaken from my leaden weight. "I meant no harm!"_

"_You women with your insatiable curiosity! Is it not enough that I give you my music?" Erik finally flung me away from himself in disgust, allowing me to crumple to the ground in a shameful heap. He turned away and began to gather up the parchment that I had dropped in my pain, deftly sliding the sheets into place with the tender touch that a parent gives a child. All anger abruptly dissipated from his strained form, until he seemed so very weary. _

_Eventually my sobs subsided and I wiped at my nose noisily. I knew that if I did not escape his presence soon, my sniveling would only irritate him further, and Erik's temper was one of the things that I feared most in the world. Ever since he had given up his charade as the Angel of Music, he allowed himself to lose it often with me._

_When at last I stood up, he straightened and walked to a small enameled chest. With a golden key, he opened the box and slid the parchment inside, locking it away beneath my fearful gaze. Although I knew that I should have made myself as scarce as possible, somehow my feet refused to move. I could not take my eyes away from him as he slouched over the table, gazing at the locked chest._

_Very suddenly, I saw him tense and lean his full weight against the table. When he put a hand to his forehead and began to gasp for breath, I understood that something was terribly wrong. I rushed to his side, my fear forgotten in my concern and put a hand around his middle, supporting him as best I could. I saw that his eyes had rolled back into his head and that he was fighting to breathe. Only once before had I seen him like this, that first night when a seizure had taken him._

_I forced him to lie down on the couch and kneeled worriedly on the floor by his side, waiting anxiously for the fit to pass. When at last his eyes fluttered open, they were dim and unfocused, and they stared at me with no recognition. I waited patiently, clasping his hand in mine and trying not to lose my wits._

_Presently, he blinked several times as if awakening from a deep dream. "Christine," he said simply._

_I breathed with relief, "Yes. I'm here."_

_He closed his eyes again, sighing deeply. I released his hand and rose, moving to fetch a pot of herbal tea. I was no nurse, but he often treated me with this whenever I fell ill, and I had confidence in its healing properties. When I brought the steaming cup back to him, he averted his face like a child and muttered something uncomplimentary._

"_Erik, please drink it," I urged him, sinking back to the floor._

"_No," he told me firmly as if that would end the debate._

_I frowned at him, "You always make me drink it whenever I'm ill."_

"_I am not ill," he snapped at me, giving the mug a contemptuous look._

"_Yes, you are," I gazed at him stubbornly, hesitant to push him too far. After a time, I opened my mouth again, "It's the morphine. You're killing yourself."_

_Erik coughed several times, but was no less adamant in his refusal, "You know nothing, foolish child. Leave me be."_

"_I know enough," I snapped in return, surprising even myself. "I know that you send me away whenever the fits become too severe, but I am not blind." Here I set the drink aside on the rug and rolled up the frilled sleeve of his laced shirt, revealing the needle marks that tracked a sickly pattern on his skin. "Why do you do this? Why?"_

"_Give me the tea and do shut up," was all he said, his tone sour._

_Although small, it was a victory with my stern teacher. When he had drained half the cup and remarked on the vulgarity of the taste, I stood up and prepared to retire to my room, sure that he wanted only to be alone at the moment. I had no wish to be punished for my insolence later._

_I was greatly surprised when his soft voice stopped me, intoning steadily, "Stay, Christine. Please." _

_It was the first time he had ever truly asked anything of me. I turned, startled. His face was as expressionless as ever, but in his eyes I saw a pleading quality that I had never noticed before. They were the terrified eyes of a child, begging for love and comfort, but too afraid to ask for it directly. It was the glance of an abandoned soul, unused to human kindness and so fully expecting the request to be brushed away._

_I had hesitated for too long and he shut his eyes, directing his attention to the ceiling. "Never mind. Just bring me a book before you retire, will you?"_

_He looked startled when I sat down beside him and easily pulled his head into my lap. I began to brush at his disheveled ebony hair, running soothing fingertips over the counters of the part of his face not hidden by the mask. At first he stared at me, wide-eyed, and then he gradually relaxed beneath my touch. I could feel the tension seep out of his powerful limbs as he relaxed completely._

"_I'm sorry," he breathed, eyes still closed. _

_I stilled my hand and murmured inquisitively, "For what?"_

"_For losing my temper."_

_I shook my head, "The fault was mine." Truly, I knew that I should have either felt angry or terrified, but all of those feelings had been replaced by simple concern for the man who was my tutor. I realized very suddenly that I loved him, although I was still unsure of how. He had once been a parent to me and rescued me from my loneliness when father died. Yet he had also been my angel, and above all my only friend when I had had no one._

"_What you saw…" he whispered, shifting in my arms, "That was the true music of the night, Christine. It is every laugh that has tinkled; every blow that has been dealt... every tear that has fallen and every emotion that the human race has ever known. Someday, you will sing it for me…someday you will understand."_

_I smiled, "I only hope I can do it justice. What do you call it?"_

_His lips curved in a sardonic manner, "_Don Juan Triumphant. _Ironic, is it not?"_

_Erik shuddered, but I did not know whether it was from cold, illness, or some other emotion. I drew a quilt around him and continued to hold him in my lap, as if comforting an infant._

_His thoughts seemed to run along the same course and he opened his eyes once again. Erik was growing more sleepy by the moment, and when he spoke, his words were less guarded than before. "My mother never did anything as simple as this," he informed me, coughing again. "She would give me no comfort when I was ill and never once kissed me." He frowned, "How can you bear to touch me when you have seen what lies beneath the mask?"_

_He would never have told me such things, had he not been in a weakened state. I decided to allow him to continue speaking, thinking that perhaps it might help him in the end._

_Erik continued to muse aloud, until he looked up and allowed our eyes to meet. "Would you stay with me, Christine?" He asked this so very suddenly, but at first I missed his full meaning._

"_I'm here now," I reminded him firmly._

"_Would you stay with me forever if I asked you?"_

"_Erik, go to sleep," I ordered quietly, convinced that he might begin to rave soon._

_He sighed and settled back against me with an unceremonious yawn. I wondered if there were sedatives in that tea. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, the lucidity disappearing from his eyes. He appeared to have forgotten his plea of a moment ago, "I am awfully tired."_

_I do not know what impulse seized me, but I found myself bending down to place a sweet kiss on his forehead, leaning my cheek against his just for a moment. A small smile spread across his face and he murmured, "…a pleasant dream this is."_

_If he believed he dreamed, then it was better to leave it that way. "Recall those days, look back on all those times…think of the things we'll never do," I began to sing softly, watching as that rare smile lingered upon his full lips. "There will never be a day when I don't think of you."_

_Afterward, we never spoke of that night again, and I eventually knew that he had dismissed everything as an illusion of his lonely mind._

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

"_What_ did you call me?!"

Raoul had gone entirely still as all color drained from his face.

"I…"

"You said…you said _his_ name!" Raoul disentangled himself from me and sat back in stunned silence.

"I didn't!" Why was I even bothering to protest? I knew I had.

Raoul clenched his hands into fists and stared determinedly away from me, "How can you, Christine? How can you still think about that monster, that _thing_ after all these years? After what he put you through and everything I've done for you!" He suddenly slid out of bed and began to pace about the room, naked, "How _dare_ you say his name while I make love to you?"

"Raoul, please calm down!" His movement had begun to worry me; his anger now even rivaled Erik's temper at its worst.

Raoul stopped moving and slammed two hands down on the mantle over the fireplace. "I don't even know what to say to you, Christine!"

"It's not like you have been entirely faithful to me," I mumbled, rising to fetch my robe once again.

"I grow tired of you, Christine!" Raoul shouted defensively. "You have not even given me an heir, yet I have said nothing in protest!"

I nearly ripped the laces of my robe in half, so great was my anger as I tied them with shaking hands. "Go back to your mistresses," I commented coldly. "I'm sure that more than one of them would be happy enough to provide where I am lacking."

"And will you go back to him?" His tone scathed, but I ignored him as I walked to my bureau where I lit a candle. There, I shuffled through drawers rapidly, knowing that I had to leave the room as fast as possible with a few valuable possessions.

I was not aware of Raoul's presence until I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. I shrugged my shoulders as if to flick away a particularly annoying fly that had begun to hover over my shoulder.

Raoul, however, was not to be ignored. "What's this? Where are you going, my dearest wife?" He snatched up a porcelain washbasin from the bureau and dashed it against the floor, where it shattered into many sharpened shards at my feet. "Answer me, Christine!"

I stepped away from the broken fragments and brushed past him, my motions frantic. Where was it? Where could I have possibly hidden it? Ornate pins and gold hair pieces all fell to the floor as I worked, hands shaking uncontrollably. Finally I came upon the last drawer, and there I found it, buried beneath a messy pile of corsets that I had long abandoned. It was Erik's handkerchief from the night of _Antissa_, and in it I had hidden a simple but precious golden band.

Somehow, I had never been able to throw away the ring that Erik had once given me.

When Raoul saw the ring, he recognized it instantly. "How can you still love him? Have you been seeing him all these years?"

I hunted for my slippers, evading Raoul as he resumed his pacing. "I haven't seen Erik in years. I would never betray you with anything as low as an affair," I informed him, speaking only a half-truth.

"Christine, stop!" Raoul tried to catch my wrists as I scuttled about the room, gathering up my things. "_Stop!_" He hissed more urgently.

I pried my arm away from his grasp, but found myself shoved against the balcony doors by Raoul's oppressive weight. He seized me at the shoulders and shook me roughly. "Wake up, Christine! Even after everything that happened, you're still in love with a dream! An _illusion_, do you understand?"

"Go away, Raoul!" I pushed him away with both hands until he stumbled backward and ran a distressed hand through his hair. For a time, I leaned against the glass doors, recovering myself. I had to get past him and to the door somehow.

Raoul turned around and jabbed a finger back in my direction, "Have you heard a word I've said to you? I know you'll return to him somehow. I've always known it."

"You don't understand a thing." Carefully, I slipped the handkerchief and ring into the pocket of my robe.

A look of desperation dawned across Raoul's face and he waved his hands emphatically, "He's a killer, Christine; a sinner who deserves so much more than hell could ever provide for him."

"The men at the opera -," I began, only to be silenced once again.

"The murdered men at the opera were nothing!" Raoul planted a fist into the mahogany frame of the bed. "Why do you love someone who has killed hundreds?"

"Don't be stupid, Raoul." I despised listening to his hateful words.

Raoul stopped and stared at me, "It's you who understand nothing, Christine. He killed people for pleasure in Persia, you know."

"Pleasure…?" I echoed hollowly, unsure of what his words meant.

"His brilliance, his _genius_, he used it all for pain. It was his job to devise the slow and innovative methods of torture for the court." Raoul's voice was low and harsh, "I hear that is how he made his fortune."

"You're lying," I put a hand against my chest to steady my breathing.

"_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, Christine!_" Raoul's eyes glinted dangerously in the candlelight. You don't know what that means, do you! Poor, naïve fool!"

It was enough to send me beyond my own limits. "You filthy beast!" I screamed the words and snatched up my heavily-enameled whalebone hairbrush. With my small strength, I flung the object straight at the head of my dear husband. My aim was off and I missed him completely, but in turn he began to stride toward me, wheezing in his wrath.

The look in his eyes made me as afraid of him as I had never been before. I edged backward until I was once again up against the glass balcony doors. My palms met the door knobs and I was seized by an unexpected idea. The moment Raoul lunged for me, I twisted the knob and flung my weight against the door to open it. Raoul stumbled through the empty space where I should have been, and out on to the balcony.

I do not know from where I found my strength, but I managed to dart forward and pull the doors closed. Raoul instantly began pounding from the other side of the glass, screaming obscenities that were carried away by the raging winds of the blizzard outside. I stood there, arms crossed smugly as I watched him dance naked outside on the balcony, obviously more than a little bit cold.

Just to make sure he would not somehow pry them open again, I pushed my heavy bureau in front of the doors, my anger leaving my limbs worn and loose. Raoul continued to beat his fists against the glass, pure and untainted rage in every inch of his nude, frostbitten profile.

"For God's sake, Christine, let me back in! He'll kill you too, how can you not realize that!"

"Find your own way back!" I screamed in return, lifting up the candle. I ignored his shouting and spent the rest of the night in a guest room that was as far away from our bedroom as possible. The next morning when I saw Madame Penous, I informed her that I would be more than happy to accompany her to England.

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

Tonight I had decided to walk to the opera on foot, with my cloak fastened securely about my shoulders and the hood drawn up. It was the evening of the opera and also my last night before the departure for England. Already I had begun to feel the rise of excited anticipation surge through my blood. I knew that I desperately needed to get away from Paris for a while and most especially Raoul.

For the past several days, I had been met with odd stares and whispers whenever I ventured outside. I often caught snatches of hushed conversation from painted ladies who hurried past me on the snow-clad streets.

"That's _her_," some would say with a smile, giggling as I turned my face away.

Yet I did not turn in shame. I would never forget that look on Raoul's face as long as I lived. Adelle continuously pressed me for details, but I never betrayed anything to the ladies of the art circle, beyond the fact that Raoul and I were currently experiencing slight differences.

At the same time, another part of me understood that the situation was indeed serious. Raoul and I had truly fallen out of love – but no, how could one fall out of love? The only other explanation was that we had never truly been in love in the first place, and this was indeed a disturbing thought. Somewhere inside, I knew that what we had once shared had been infatuation… simple, _safe_ infatuation. I had turned to it, because I had feared the implications of love in its purest and truest form.

Yes, I knew and understood that Erik had been obsessed with me. But I also understood that it had just been his nature. Society had taught him cruel ways and as a result he had never been given cause to love much in his time. Erik had always desired beautiful things, and whenever he found one, he always wished to master and possess it completely. It had been so with architecture and again with music. Love had just been one more beautiful conquest for him, and so his desire to encompass it entirely had turned into an obsession.

Some men were just driven beyond all human standards. I understood now that every single thing that Erik had done…every little action that had frightened me into believing he was an obsessed madman, had been done purely out of the love that had all but consumed him in the end.

As I walked through the Parisian streets, I reminisced fondly about the days at the Opera Populaire. Once, Raoul had labeled them a nightmare, and I as a blind puppy had been forced to agree. Now I looked back upon them with sudden longing and a wish for the past to come back to me. What was the true nightmare in the whole story?

I had been happy until Raoul came back into my life. He should have remained in my past; a childhood sweetheart to me and no more than a pleasant but distant memory. Erik had been my present and future, rescuing me from my pitiful existence as an orphaned chorus girl. He alone had seen my potential and my desperate need for a friend. When we met, we had both needed each other, but in the end I acquired too lofty a head and betrayed him for the sake of silken gowns and 'fine horses'.

_This slave of fashion…_

"And what are you smiling about?"

I stumbled in my step and met the interested gaze of Adelle. My brisk walk had brought me here more quickly than I had anticipated, and I now stood on the small plaza before the opera house. "Oh, nothing in particular," I lowered my hood and brushed away a few stray snowflakes from my forehead.

Adelle glanced behind me, "You didn't _walk_ all the way here, did you?"

"I did."

"You're completely mad," she informed me, taking me back into the opera house once more. "Where are we sitting anyway?"

I wasn't sure as I had not had a chance to glance at the tickets again. I drew them out from my pocket and examined the bold lettering, nearly giggling aloud; the tickets read _Box Five_. My phantom certainly had not lost his sense of humor.

"Christine? Are you all right?"

"What?" I looked at Adelle, startled out of my musings.

"You have a very strange look on your face," Adelle informed me, poking a finger in my direction.

"Oh…I…" I couldn't possibly explain the reasons for my idiotic look. In fact, a part of me even wondered why I was smiling exactly. Then I cleared my throat and did my best to look sane, "We're in box five."

Adelle gaped, "How did you come by these? Those must be amazing places in the house!"

Knowing this was Erik, they were probably the best seats in the entire theater.

Sure enough, when we reached our places, we found ourselves commanding an impressive view of the stage. The box was largely empty, save several plumed ladies, their escorts, and an additional man who slumped in his seat with his nose buried in a playbill. My seat was next to this man and I realized that I knew him.

Luckily for me, at this point Adelle rose and announced that she had to visit the powder room to adjust a faulty hair piece. It seemed that she expected me to go with her, but I was once again too much engrossed in my past and trying not to stare at the man who sat beside me. He ignored me steadily and soon enough, Adelle gave up on me and rushed off on her own, muttering something that was probably unflattering to my person.

As soon as she was gone, the man immediately folded up his playbill and turned keen dark eyes on me. "Comtesse," he greeted me formally.

I smiled and opted to address him informally in contrast, "Nadir."

His exotic features were turned in curiosity as his eyes roved over my face and figure. "I did not think you would come," he remarked.

I shifted in my petticoats uncomfortably, "I saw Erik a month ago…"

"Yes, yes, I know," the Persian interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "He told me all about it."

"Did he send you to see if I would come? Where is he? Is he here?" A flood of questions spilled from my lips. "Nadir, I must see him. _Please_."

Nadir stared at me impartially, arms crossed over his chest. "No, Erik did not send me. We usually attend these things together, but he's out of town right now."

"Out of town?"

"Out of country, actually." Nadir flipped a page of his playbill, "He said he needed some time away from France."

"When did he leave?" I demanded harshly, leaning towards Nadir urgently. "Do you know where he went?"

"He left shortly before that dreadful rumor about the Count de Chagny began to circulate." Nadir grinned, "Tell me, Christine, is it true that you locked Raoul out of the house wearing absolutely nothing?"

I bit my cheek, "I don't really want to discuss it. Can you tell me where Erik is?"

"I do not think he would want me to tell you."

"So you know?"

Nadir stared ahead at the curtained stage. "Of course I know. Erik only confides in me because I can keep a secret."

"Nadir -."

"Comtesse, I advise you to listen to me." The Persian looked at me intently to make sure he had my attention. "You would do best to go back home and fix matters with your husband. Erik has not spoken of you in years and has only just begun to truly forget. It would be better to just leave things as they are; you cannot have your every desire in this world, and I am not quite convinced that even you know what you want."

My fight with Raoul had cemented my belief that I did not belong here in the midst of high Parisian society. At the same time, Nadir's words showed that I no longer had a place in Erik's world either. If that was the case, then where could I go from here?

Nadir rose gracefully as only a Persian could and gathered up his cloak and hat. "I fear I do not have the proper mood to enjoy an opera tonight." He gave me a slight bow and turned to leave.

I rose rapidly, my skirts swishing against the wooden seats. "Wait, one last thing…" I stretched a hand out to touch his sleeve.

He paused and nodded for me to continue.

"You knew Erik in Persia." It was a simple statement, and I waited for him to either affirm or contradict it.

"Yes, I brought him there for the shah's mother, the khanum." Nadir frowned, "Why are you so curious all of a sudden?"

I looked aside, "I need to know why she wanted him."

He smiled, "Surely you know his skills as a magician are unrivaled in this world. The khanum was in need of new entertainment and so she sent me to Russia to fetch this infamous boy from the traveling fairs."

I released a breath I had held for some time and felt relieved. "I suppose he pulled rabbits out of top hats and turned scarves into birds?"

Nadir softly amended, "No, the khanum's tastes were slightly more macabre. Cadavers would dance merry jigs and statues cried the blood of her victims." He paused, allowing me to absorb his words. "Now, Comtesse, I must take my leave."

Adelle appeared by the bound curtain at the entrance of the box. Her attention flicked back and forth between me and Nadir, but she said nothing, as any well-bred lady of her class would have done. In turn, Nadir inclined his head to both of us and bid us good evening.

When he was gone, Adelle crept to where I stood wringing my gloves and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Christine, who was that? You look as though you've heard something dreadful."

Truly, I did not know what I felt or what I desired at this moment. Everything in the present was so muddled, that all I could do was sink wearily into my seat and rest my forehead against my palm. For now, all I wanted to do was escape life; escape Raoul, Erik, and everything that Paris had ever meant to me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** Everything is the property of Webber/Schumacher/Kay/Leroux/etc. I don't own anything.

**A/N: PLEASE READ!** I've discovered a slight issue in the plot with the rings. I started writing this after the movie, but then I reread the book and elements from that clashed with the movie adaptation when I wrote them in. In the book, Erik gives a separate ring to Christine, while in the movie at the end she just gives back her engagement ring that she originally received from Raoul (which is kinda confusing, but whatever). For the purposes of this fic, I'll use the idea that there are two rings. As a consequence, the little prologue thing has been very slightly rewritten. I apologize for this! It's only one little sentence.

Once again, I love all my readers to death! I wish you could all have Erik plushies to cuddle in times of sadness/loneliness/lust.

Sorry for taking so long with this chapter! Lots of drama in the past week.

Oh, and Erik in England? Nooo…of course not…that would be…um…tooo…obvious…uh…heh. What can I say? Lucky guess?

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**C****hapter 4**

The English countryside flashed by in a dazzling array of sparkling, white landscape, majestic and other-worldly in its appearance. No where in Paris had there been such gently-sloping hills, such pure and untainted countryside. It felt both refreshing and frightening at the same time to be far away from the urban life that I had always known. I had grown accustomed to the shuffling of carts upon the cobbled streets, the smell of fresh bread baking in the morning, or the drunken songs of revelers that floated into the sky long after all persons of respectable nature had gone to sleep.

As I traveled within the relative safety of the carriage, I could not help but remark upon the wildness of the landscape. I supposed that it was just because I was unused to the spread of miles and miles of land relatively untouched by the centralization and corruption of the city. It was, I decided, ultimately a blessing to be here.

While I was captivated by the alien beauty about me, my companions were a great deal less enthralled. Madames Penous and Renois were engaged in a leisurely card game and Adelle sat beside me restlessly, distractedly reading a novel of some sort. None of them had a glance to spare for this territory, its beauty and enchantment diminished for them on account of the fact that they had already seen it many times over.

Still, I continued to gape with all the delight of a simple child. If not for the cold weather, I would have been happily leaning out the window of the carriage, reaching to capture a few soft snowflakes upon my outstretched palms. It would have been behavior entirely appropriate for Little Lottie, and I found myself hoping that perhaps somewhere inside me that innocent, absent-minded little child still lived.

The horses clattered through a small lane between two massive hills, upon which scant groups of people were scattered about. This time I pushed my face against the side of the carriage in an attempt to gain a better view of what they were doing.

All the figures were zooming down the hills again and again, usually in groups of twos, squealing all the way. Their joyous laughter could be heard faintly through the enclosed walls of the carriage and I was quite suddenly caught up in their mood, "Look!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands together, "They're _sledding!_"

Madame Renois gave me a look that clearly emphasized her belief in the fact that I was a simpleton.

Adelle, on the other hand, gazed at me with disbelief, "I take it you've never been sledding?"

I shook my head, "No. Oh, it looks so charming!"

Madame Penous reshuffled the cards, "Well, we must be sure to take you sledding while we're here, right, Karine?" The woman appeared to have picked up on the dislike that Karine Renois harbored for me, much to my surprise. Penous was a lovely woman, yet I had always thought that one of her greatest faults was failing to see the flaws in her friends – which, I suppose, was excellent for me in the end.

Renois, however, demonstrated no signs of surprise. "Yes, we'll introduce her to the joys of sledding," she murmured smoothly, assessing me with that ever-indecipherable glance.

That woman was surely trouble and I was liking her less and less with every passing day.

Madame Penous, however, took this as a favorable sign. After the sledders were at least half an hour behind us, she rapped on the roof of the carriage several times. "I'm getting awfully cramped in here," she commented as the horses slowed to a halt.

Adelle stretched, "I agree. Let's get out of this dismal thing."

The four of us piled out into the snow-trodden path, where we proceeded to amble about awkwardly for some time on tired legs. The driver patiently ignored us in favor of his horses, while the other carriage containing the rest of the circle pulled up beside us. Everyone else mingled, but I wandered a ways to the side through a heavy thicket, and halted beside a frozen brook at the edge of the path. Curious, I tested my weight experimentally on the ice and found that it held me up securely. I was overcome with an urge to skate on the slippery surface and did so, slipping about in my laced boots. I would have begun to sing had I not been in the company of some of Paris' most respected and important society.

By this time my skirts were beginning to hang heavily from my waist with the amount of snow they had absorbed. I pulled off my gloves and began swatting at any additional snow on my clothing, shaking my head over my silliness, as I walked back to where my companions were resting. Before I had a chance to clamber back through the thicket, however, I felt the sudden brush of something against my side.

I whirled around, startled. "Who's there?"

A shadow swung down from a tree limb and much to my surprise, I discovered the small form of a young boy crouching in the snow. He could not have been much older than ten, his features still young and unkempt, his skin scratched and muddied with dirt. I could tell that he had probably been out and about, clambering around the forest all day, yet his attire was too fine to belong to a tramp.

His hair was a messy chestnut brown, twigs interwoven among the fine strands. Clever dark eyes regarded me calmly from beneath long bangs, his thin lips pursed in a smirk. I wondered what the lean creature was so happy about as I took a step towards the child.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" I phrased the question kindly, my wariness beginning to dissipate at the sight of the dirty boy. Although I was in England, I spoke in French. My knowledge of the English language could be described as flawed at best.

The boy rose to his full height, deliberately slow in his motion. His movement seemed almost catlike in a way, and I could not help but be reminded of the graceful way that Erik had carried his considerable height. I shook myself to clear the thoughts when I noticed that the boy had begun to circle me with interest. He was young, yet there was something about him that was almost dangerous in a way.

Suddenly, the boy laughed and pulled himself up on to a tree branch. He perched on it for a moment, dangling his legs over the edge. "Look!" He laughed childishly and reached into his pocket. Rather unexpectedly, he addressed my inquiries in heavily accented French. After rummaging a bit, he finally extracted something and held it up for me to see, "It's all shiny and must be worth a _fortune_!"

There in the boy's palm, Erik's ring glittered brilliantly in the winter sunlight.

My heart dropped to my feet and I knew a desperate panic. "Give that back, you stupid child!" I screeched the words, advancing toward him. I knew that I would climb the tree if I had to.

Much to my annoyance, the boy cheekily rose to his feet and danced nimbly out to the edge of the tree branch. "Oh, calm down. It's _only_ a gold band. Be thankful I was nice and didn't take that ugly rock on your finger instead. It must be worth at least ten times more."

I cast my glance down at Raoul's wedding ring and hastily slipped it off my finger. "Here!" I held it up toward the child, "Take it! Only give the other back to me!"

The boy raised an eyebrow and examined the band he held. "Well, this must be worth something if you're so eager to get it back. Perhaps I'll keep it."

"Vile beast!" I bent down and packed a snowball. "Give it _back!_" I tossed the snowball at his face, and much to both our surprise, my projectile connected with its target.

It was not enough, however, to knock him from his perch. He quickly regained his footing and favored me with a furious look. "You should be more careful, lady. It's dangerous to provoke a thief."

I did not have much time to ruminate upon these words, as he dropped back to the ground and scuttled by my side once again. Before I knew what had happened, I was sprawling on the ground and the little imp held my wedding ring as well. He juggled the two objects in his hand thoughtfully, looking at me mockingly. "I was going to let you keep the ugly one," he held up the wedding ring, studded with fat diamonds, "but you should be punished for hurting a small, innocent child."

"Beast!" I began to pack another snowball, but he danced away.

"My thanks for your generosity, great lady!" With those words, he scampered off and disappeared into the woods.

**xxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Christine! Where have you been?" Adelle rushed to my side as soon as I emerged from the thicket, looking for all the world like an ambling bear in my dark skirts and warm furs.

At that moment, I was torn between tears and hatred. So help me, if I saw that boy again, I would kill him.

"Christine?" Tiffanie Penous put a comforting arm about my shoulders and pulled me into the carriage. "You're soaked to the skin! What happened?"

"Someone…someone stole it," I mumbled quietly, trembling from anger and the cold. "That little thief…he…he took it." I put my head in my hands and tore at my hair pins, "It was the last thing I had!"

Tiffanie gently pried away my fingers and took them in her own palms. "Tell me what's wrong, darling. Come now, you're safe."

"The ring. He took the ring!" I sat up and lurched to the door, "I have to get it back! Let me out!"

Adelle caught me in my frenzy and pulled me back with surprising strength. "It's all right, I'm sure that Raoul will understand." She took my ringless left hand and patted it reassuringly.

"No, I don't care about that! I don't!"

At this point, the carriage began to move once more. The landscape increased in beauty as we moved along, but this time I did not have the energy to pay attention to it. All I could think about was that I had somehow betrayed Erik once again with my carelessness. I knew it was silly, but I could not help but pity myself even more.

I did not care a whit for the loss of Raoul's wedding ring. It was, after all, simply an 'ugly rock' to me now. Raoul would surely be furious that I had lost it, but then again he had so many other reasons to be furious with me for. In the grand scheme of things, it was but a minor problem.

For the remainder of the trip, the rest of the women comforted me as best they could, although their glances plainly informed me that they thought I had been taken with an illness. Madame Penous advised me that a warm bath and bed with heated bricks would be prepared for me upon arrival at the villa.

It was one of those days where all that you can think about is depression and how sick of the world you are. All I wanted to do was crawl into that bed and hide under the covers forever with my warm brick and suffering heart. Maybe all I needed was a good dose of brandy to dispel my troubles. I had only tasted the substance once before and had been nearly knocked off my feet by the acid taste, much to Raoul's amusement.

Erik had never approved whenever he saw me with alcohol. I smiled, remembering how protective he had been of my innocence, always cautionary and reproving whenever I was around. In fact, it was now that I realized I had never seen him with a drink himself. So like a father he had been to me at times and I suddenly wished that his warm presence were surrounding me right now, comforting me with gentle arms about my miserable shoulders.

Was there a time anymore when my thoughts did not turn to him? I was worse than a lovesick puppy, batting heavy eyes at the world and dragging my heavy heart along with me like a weighty ball and chain from my feet.

I had never been as innocent as Erik deceived himself to believe. I may have looked a child, but betrayal, deception, and cruelty had been hidden all along in my soul for him to discover. I was his Pandora's Box, and in me he had rediscovered all the torment and agony in the world. I had not even left him with Hope, for she too had escaped with her flitting gossamer wings.

I knew that I would forever be plagued by his memory and the remembrance of my final and ultimate betrayal.

_Christine…Christine…_

Even now, his voice teased at my senses as it had in those long-departed days at the Opera Populaire. Then I had believed the disembodied voice to be the spirit of the Angel of Music, but now I knew it had been yet another one of Erik's elaborate tricks. At the same time I did not care, for even with the unmasking of the deception, the magic had never truly disappeared. That life had been a genuine dream; one I now wished that I had never awoken from.

If only I could hear him sing to me once more: just one last song, and I would be satisfied for the rest of my life. Not happy, no, but somehow it felt as if things had never been given a proper end after that last night of _Don Juan_.

How I wished that _I_ could sing again! Perhaps if I danced upon a snowy hilltop and gave my voice to the winds in the dead of night, then he might hear me! If only!

A lone tear streaked down my right cheek at the same time as Adelle touched my shoulder lightly. "We're here," she informed me, nodding out the window.

I followed her gaze and found that we stood at the brink of a long gravel avenue meandering through a sweeping arch that disappeared to reveal a vast orchard. Through the vast multitude of trees, I could not yet see the villa that lay at the end of the avenue. The horses continued to clatter through the trees heavily clad in snow, their boughs bare of leaves but stooping with weight. In the dim light of a setting sun obscured by heavy snow clouds, the entire place had a mournful look reminiscent of my father's graveyard in winter. I shuddered, recalling that one day I had walked forlornly among the weeping statuettes, singing for both my father and for Erik.

_No! I will_ not_ think of him!_ I had to stop ruminating upon the past and things that could never be, or it would surely drive me mad.

I was mad with love. How ironically stupid I was! Erik would have laughed in my face had I ever declared such a thing in his presence!

Yet, if I had been brave, then perhaps things might have been different.

If only I had possessed the courage to stay with him after _Don Juan_.

If only he had heard my muffled protest as he pushed me away after I kissed him.

If only I had told him honestly that I loved him.

He might have given me a disbelieving look and then hesitantly reached forward to brush his fingertips against my burning cheek. I would have allowed him to draw me close until our bodies melded into one perfect shape and we were consumed entirely by the fire of our passion. I recalled the feel of his lips on mine; how hesitantly he had responded that first time, a fleeting look of fear in his lonesome eyes. But I had guided him until he breathed his love into me, ever so gently probing as if afraid to frighten me away.

_But in his eyes was all the sadness of the world._

If Raoul had not been watching, I would have stayed.

_Please, Erik, I wish you could understand why I left._

_I wish I could understand why I did not come back_.

We clattered to a stop before a rather menacing-looking villa that was larger than anything I had ever seen. As I stepped out and looked up, I thought it dwarfed my Parisian home by a factor of at least twenty. With three levels, it seemed to sprawl out in every direction imaginable. The stone architecture was done with a firm and plain hand, but the windows glinted large and welcoming. Overall, the impressive hall somehow managed to retain a homey air despite its otherwise imposing features. I thought that it must look gorgeous in the spring when the vines caressing the stonework budded and the trees displayed soft leaves.

A prim butler inched out the elegant doors at the forefront of the villa, standing at attention with a mildly disinterested air. It seemed to be the look that most butlers retained. Only when Madame Penous clambered out of the carriage and coughed several times, did he deign to turn his attention to her.

"Peers, how wondrous to see you again!" Madame Penous was never one to be easily deflated by icy attitudes.

Peers, as his name was, smoothed back his balding gray hair and sniffed imperiously. "Your usual rooms, Madame?"

"Yes, and we'll need some additional rooms for a new guest this year!"

Peers blinked several times in indignation. "Madame, how many more guests are you planning on bringing this time? Do you not remember that disaster with - ."

"Yes, yes, Peers. Only one this year!" Penous interrupted the elderly man with a nervous laugh. I only wondered briefly about what this escapade of last year had been, before I found Peers examining me with a critical eye.

I shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny, put off by his potent air of condescension. It was much like the looks I had received from much of Raoul's staff at the manor when I had first come to live with him. Yet at the time, they had known me to be a simple chorus girl; these people knew nothing about me or my past.

Peers, however, said nothing and snapped his fingers several times. Three young maids spilled out of the house, tripping over each other in their haste to obey and mussing their uniforms. Without any further words from the butler, they scooped up our belongings and darted back in to the villa. Peers sniffed once again and indicated that we follow him inside; immediately, snowflakes began to drift from the sky and fell lightly about us as we retreated. It seemed that we had made a timely arrival before another snowstorm could hit us.

"Don't worry about him, my dear," Madame Penous placed a comforting hand on my arm. "Peers is like that with everyone."

Adelle giggled, "Last year we stole his wig and placed it on the altar in the chapel."

Renois' eyes narrowed, "_We_? I recall that only you and Esmeralde were involved in that idiocy. Hopefully you've grown up by now."

"Karine, _honestly_, let's not fight. We're on holiday after all!" Penous continued to escort me into the house. The décor inside the villa was surprisingly bold and innovative for a structure that on the outside, appeared elegantly plain at best. Here, the home was no less than a modern architectural wonder with daring arches creeping into every aspect of the design and much that was reminiscent of classical and renaissance design. In fact, I could not even decide if there was a pattern to all this, or if it was just a muddled blend of a disorderly mind with an active imagination.

Directly in front of us the most grandiose staircase that I had ever seen swept up to the upper levels, dividing into two separate forms that curved around the gallery of the entrance hall. Portraits of severe men and women hung everywhere, presumably past masters of the house.

The current master of the house appeared at the top of the impressive staircase. According to Madame Penous, it was more appropriate to say 'mistress', for although the woman was married, her husband was a man too old and weary to concern himself with much besides gambling these days. At the beginning of our ride here, Tiffanie had informed me of much of the history associated with the house and family, and from the information I had deduced that Lady Barlow was a bit of an eccentric.

Slowly, she descended the staircase, enveloped in a feather boa that accented the rouge on her cheeks. If I hadn't known better, I would have believed her to be an actress from glorious days long past. She was even more matronly than Tiffanie Penous, and despite her slightly strange appearance, her plump and graying countenance was kind. I could immediately see why Lady Barlow and Madame Penous were friends as they stepped forward to embrace each other.

Lady Barlow clapped her hands together in much the same way as Penous often did, and exclaimed in accented French, "Oh, Tiffanie, I'm so glad you brought the girls along! Adelle, it's lovely to see you here!" She swept her boa over her shoulder and rolled up the sleeves of her voluminous pink gown as she moved to greet the other six women in our party. When she came to Karine Renois, I noted the forced look of welcome in Lady Barlow's eyes, but did not have much time to ponder its significance, as the lady turned her eyes to me.

"My, you must be the lovely Christine!" She grabbed both my hands and flashed me a cheerful grin, "Tiffanie wrote and told me _all _about you! You'll simply love it here! I myself adore the Opera, just don't have that much time for it. Usually I hold these little soirees for a few personal friends – nothing formal, mind you! Small; _tiny_, really, and we all sing. Myself, I can't carry a tune, but I know some girls who can!" She smiled at Madame Penous and Adelle as she began to lead me up the staircase with the rest of the entourage following. "I hear you have a formidable interest in the arts, Christine!" She continued to babble, addressing me informally, and I found it comforting in a way.

Madame Penous cleared her throat behind us, "Lizzie, Christine was not feeling well during the trip here and I was wondering if she might simply be allowed to rest for the evening?"

"Oh, but I've had the staff cook such a sumptuous meal for us all!" Lady Barlow peered into my face, "Are you truly too ill for some of our local English specialties?"

I shook my head weakly.

"See, Tiffanie? The girl is a genuine bundle of energy! Aren't you, child?"

Lady Barlow was certainly old enough to be my mother, and dimly I wondered if her children ever felt as exhausted from being around her as I now did. Truly, she seemed a kind soul, but I wondered if she ever took the time to simply sit down and relax. Even now, she was fairly trotting up the stairs at a steady pace.

I realized suddenly that I had been asked a question and turned back to my hostess with the most happy look I could muster in my exhaustion. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Lady Barlow laughed, a sound that was surprising in its delicacy for such an vigorous woman. "I asked if you can sing, Christine! You simply must indulge us at one of my soirees!"

"I…I really can't sing at all." I hoped I didn't seem too flustered by the inquiry.

"Well, that makes two of us! Maybe we can croon a horrid duet together sometime?" Lady Barlow addressed the other women, "Remember, dinner is at six o'clock, sharp! If you're late, Peers is liable to become rather irate."

At the mention of his name, Peers appeared behind our group as if by magic.

"Peers will show you to your rooms," Lady Barlow waved a hand in the direction of various hallways as we emerged on the second level. She released my arm, "I do hope we'll have a chance to talk soon, Christine!" She flounced away in another direction, whispering directions to Peers, who was looking more and more sour by the second.

By the time Peers actually revealed the location of my room to me, I was too exhausted to even remember where the front door was. I changed into a warm nightgown and barely had time to remark upon my lavish surroundings before I collapsed wearily on the soft bed and lost myself to sleep.

**xxxxxxxxxxxx**

When I next opened my eyes, I found that night had long fallen with a bright moon hanging high in the sky. It seemed that someone had been in and drawn a coverlet over my body as I slept. It had probably been Adelle or one of the other women who had decided to let me rest after my inexplicable breakdown earlier that day.

The bleariness rapidly dissipated from me and I clambered to my full height. I suddenly felt very restless and quite in need of a brisk walk to clear my thoughts and to think about what I was really doing here. I had decided to come to England initially to escape Raoul for a time, but was this also the first step to escaping my marriage forever?

It was certainly a frightening thought. I knew divorce was not something they did in France, and even in cases of abuse or the like, wives seldom had the power to escape their husbands. Raoul had never done anything to harm me; at least, he had never hurt me physically. Still, I believed that he did not truly realize that he was stifling and hurting my very spirit.

It was possible my spirit had been lost long ago. Perhaps I had forgotten it in a cave and left it to bask on the sepulchral shores of an underground lake.

A maid had also built up a warm fire which was now blazing cheerily at the foot of the bed. I knelt beside it for a moment, floating my palms just beyond the reach of the flames. Presently I drew myself up and resolved to take that walk I had been debating. I paused to collect a warm woolen robe hanging on a peg by the bed and inserted my feet into slippers toasting by the fire. My hair was loose and unbound with curls spilling messily in every direction, but when the clock tolled once to signify the hour, I was hard put to care.

I slipped out of my room and into the hall where candelabra hung with silent candles. The hallway seemed to stretch for miles in either direction and so I set off in a completely accidental direction, trusting myself to remember the way back to my room. In the darkness, it was hard to see anything but the shadows that clung to the walls. Several times I nearly turned back, frightened by the peculiar villa that had seemed so welcoming in the full light of day.

I paused at an enormous vertical window for a moment, regarding the still landscape outside. Above the trees in the orchard, the sky continued to throw snow upon the ground. Tomorrow, the alien landscape would probably seem ethereal to me since I was unaccustomed to such heavy bouts of snowfall. When morning came I would explore to my heart's content and I would not care what Karine Renois or any of the others thought of me.

For several more minutes I hovered at the window, thoroughly enchanted by the falling flakes. I reveled in the beautiful light of the moon that sent shafts of ethereal illumination into the hall, feeling as if I were the only person in the entire world who now saw this beauty.

"Who are _you_?"

I screamed and flattened myself against the cool glass panes of the frostbitten window. When I saw who the owner of the voice was, my fright instantly switched to fury.

It was the little thief who had robbed me earlier that day.

"_You_!" I recovered myself rapidly and lunged for the boy without further thought. "_Give it back_!"

"Aieee!" The boy shrieked, obviously caught off his guard at this late hour. I tackled him and began to turn out his pockets, frantically searching. He was still wearing the vagrant clothes from earlier, so it was a good bet the ring was on his person somewhere.

"Where is it?" My wrath had certainly begun to drive me insane.

Presently, the boy began to shout again. "_Help! Someone! Grandma! I'm being attacked!"_

"Cheeky little bugger!" I had half a mind to slap him across the face, but in the end I did not have an opportunity to do so. Somehow, he managed to place a well-aimed kick to my stomach, and scuttled away. I was knocked on to my back by the force of the blow and sprawled in a very unladylike manner on the floor. Unluckily, it was a hard wooden surface that connected with my backside quite painfully.

"You could be locked up for attacking an innocent child." The boy crossed his small arms over his chest and nodded at me imperiously. He stood over me, an impertinent smirk on his face. "Oh yes, Grandma will have you shipped off to prison first thing in the morning!"

"I hate you," I hissed, attempting to sit up. My back protested heavily, every muscle aching as I moved.

The boy's sneer only grew larger. "Who could hate such an guiltless, amiable child who has been attacked by a madwoman?"

"You stole something from me and _I want it back!_" Aching back or not, I pounced at him once again, but this time he was prepared and easily sidestepped my attempt. I ended up only tripping clumsily back to my feet and slumping in a heap against the wall. Where had all my grace gone? I had once been a polished dancer, and now I fairly tripped over my own feet.

Impudent brat that he was, the boy began to laugh. It was soft at first, but slowly grew louder and more obnoxious in nature. I was unpleasantly reminded of the false laughter that Raoul so often irritated my ears with these days.

"_Lucien!_"

A nebulous form had materialized in the shadows above us, the voice masculine and callous.

At the harsh utterance of the name, the boy instantly shut his mouth and turned his back to me. For my part, I sagged against the wall in an attempt to hide myself and my shame. After all, I had just been thoroughly beaten by a small child who was probably no more than a decade old. On the other hand, I was also curious who my rescuer would be; the boy obviously seemed to respond to whoever the owner of the voice was.

"Lucien, what is the meaning of gallivanting about at this hour?" The man reached forward and shook Lucien by the shoulders harshly, "Your mother has been absolutely ill with concern ever since you disappeared yesterday morning!" When he stepped into the moonlight, his face was cast into the ghostly light, and for a moment I feared that I had indeed lost sight of all my mental faculties.

I had come to England to escape my vast multitude of troubles, not confront them head on in a dark hallway in the predawn hours.

"_Erik_…" I breathed, my voice so soft that I scarcely heard it myself.

At that precise moment he turned and looked right at me. His astonishment was plain on his face, but only for a brief moment. After the initial look of disbelief, he recovered himself rapidly and addressed the boy calmly, "Lucien, go to your mother."

"But – but _I've been attacked!_" Lucien darted out of Erik's grasp and pointed at me. "She's a madwoman! She tried to kill me!"

"Did she?" Erik's tone was one of dry amusement. "Somehow I cannot envision such a thing occurring."

"Honest, look at her!" Lucien jabbed a finger in my direction again, "She was all wild and everything! She tried to steal from me!"

At that, I forgot about whom I was talking to for a second. "That's not true! _He_ stole from _me_!"

"Oh?" Erik raised one eyebrow at the boy. "What did you take, Lucien?"

Lucien immediately pouted, "You believe _her_?"

"Unless you want to spend the next month sanding in the quarry, you'll answer the question."

"But !" The boy broke off at the look that Erik was giving him. He shuffled uncomfortably and reached into the messy folds of his tattered clothing. "Here! It's only a stupid, ugly ring!" He tossed the object at Erik, who caught it easily with a curious glance.

Lucien began to stomp away in the manner that only a child could muster, but was halted by one further inflection. "Wash and change before you present yourself to your mother; you know she hates it when you're dressed like that."

"Yes, sir," Lucien sighed, obviously beaten and hunching his shoulders.

"Afterward, you will meet me by the gates an hour before sunrise."

Lucien twisted back resentfully, "But you said !"

"You believed that I would not punish you?" Erik toyed with my wedding ring, deftly winding it through his fingers.

Lucien abruptly snarled something in English, but stalked off nevertheless. Even when we could no longer see him, his irate muttering could still be distinctly heard.

When we were alone, neither of us said another word for a time. I felt quite vulnerable and helpless on the ground, and it was all I could do not to begin crying on the spot. I did not know exactly why I so wanted to weep, but in the end it did not really matter. Everything was so muddled and confused right now that it was all I could do to keep my wits about me.

"Well, this is certainly interesting."

I gasped, for Erik had unexpectedly knelt easily by my side.

He offered his hand to me, angling his head in invitation, "Come; that floor looks most uncomfortable."

Hesitantly, I slid my small hand into his gentle grasp and allowed myself to be pulled to my feet. He steadied me about the waist easily, as if righting one of his painted dolls that he had once crafted for the Opera Populaire. I shuddered at the contact, but it was an intimation of pleasure and not fear.

Erik, however, missed nothing as usual. He hurriedly withdrew his touch, clearly believing I trembled from aversion. I did not miss the look of pain in his intense eyes, but I also could not find an appropriate way to mend his mistaken supposition. So it had always been with us, our intertwined lives one long tale of erroneous assumptions and repressed words.

"What are you doing here, Christine?" He finally demanded this of me sharply, stepping away from me to stand by the window. "You're the last person I expected to see."

"So are you," I returned, watching as he began to toss my wedding ring into the air. I followed its path intently, wanting to focus on anything but him. When the ring of shimmering diamonds suddenly disappeared in midair, I could not help but draw on a rough intake of breath. "How'd you do that?" I demanded, curious despite myself.

Erik placed a long finger against his lips and smirked in a way that was reminiscent of Lucien. "It's a secret," he whispered playfully. "I am sure, however, that you have seen this trick before," he reached behind my ear and presently the ring reappeared before my startled eyes.

I smiled, "Magic has always been utterly incomprehensible to me."

"It is not as mystifying as you make it out to be. But what I am curious about is how you managed to lose this." He held out the diamond ring and dropped it into my waiting palm.

Almost automatically, I slipped the ring back on. "That boy stole it from me this morning," I explained softly, twisting it on my finger. For some reason I could not tell Erik about the other object that Lucien had taken from me…I could not bear to bring up that ring, for its very mention would surely incite a torrent of inquiries that I was not prepared to handle yet.

Erik appeared to be greatly entertained. "You really should not wear something like that in broad daylight in the middle of a forest where there are bandits and robbers at large."

"I didn't!" I protested loudly. "I just took off my gloves for a second, and the little monster managed to snatch it off my finger!"

"He's getting better," Erik commented thoughtfully. "You should be careful around him."

Something was bothering me about the way I had seen Erik and the boy interact. The Erik I had known had despised being around children, and his disposition had been entirely unsuited to even coming in contact with them. What then, was the nature of his relationship to this Lucien who had obeyed him almost unquestioningly?

"The boy…" I mumbled softly, "Is he yours?"

Erik tilted his head with a sly smile, "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No! I just…" Truthfully, I did not even know what to think. I myself had proved unable to bear any children, and it was almost as if this was the world's cruel way of throwing that fact back in my face. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Really, Christine, you continue to amaze me with your idiocy," Erik remarked, folding his hands behind his back.

I noted that he wore a long, dark robe that hugged the length of his trim form. It was rather flattering on him, and I could not help but allow my eyes to focus on the length of bare skin that his white undershirt revealed beneath the robe.

Erik continued, "I actually caught the boy trying to rob me several years ago in London. He very nearly succeeded too."

I could not help but feel relieved that my suspicions had been denied. I flung a teasing glance at Erik, "Losing our touch, are we?"

"I said _very nearly_."

I regained my serious expression and inquired, "But that still doesn't explain how you came to be here."

"Lucien is Lady Barlow's grandson. I met her in London as well and she managed to convince me to apprentice the boy."

This was too much incomprehensible information at once. Erik absolutely _hated_ people. Many times he had not even counted himself as a member of the human race, always referring to others as creatures wholly different from himself. The last thing I had expected was to find him consulting with people like the socialite Lady Barlow and the young pickpocket Lucien. I had so much to ask; so much I wanted to know, but I settled for an innocuous question instead.

"What could you possibly be teaching him?" I feared that my words had come out as too harsh-sounding and skeptical.

"Thievery and innovative methods of torture," he quipped lightly.

Nadir's words came back unbidden into my mind. I felt a chill curl around my spine and I took a step back almost without knowing what I did. "You…you should not jest about such things." My voice shook despite my best efforts to steady my heartbeat.

Erik's expression by the window was despondent as he murmured sadly, "Do you really think so little of me, Christine? Is the cold-blooded monster the only thing you see whenever you think of me? I see that you shrink from my touch; I hear the apprehension in your voice. Even now, you fear me. Even now it repulses you to be around me." He sighed and fixed his attention upon the moon; from this angle, the light cast a curious shadow across the unmasked side of his face, throwing the porcelain into illumination.

"No! I - ."

"Christine, why are you here?" Erik cut me off abruptly, leaning against the wall.

"I'm…I'm on holiday," I spoke softly, even as I looked at him earnestly. Silently, I pleaded for him to at least glance at me so that he would see that all his fears were not true! So that he could see I loved him unconditionally despite everything else that was between us!

In the muted twilight, it was easy to believe in such things. It was effortless to convince myself that nothing else mattered and that we could overcome any obstacles. Still, somewhere my senses were rooted in the present, and they told me that whatever I longed for…I had best forget it.

He frowned, "The arts circle?"

"Yes."

"Oh," was all he said.

I gathered my courage and touched his arm lightly. "Erik, look at me. Why do you insist on maintaining this barrier between the two of us? Why won't you - ."

"Why won't I _what_, Christine?" He roughly extracted the velvety fabric of his sleeve from my hand, "You just don't understand, do you? This barrier which you speak of – it is your doing, not mine. You made your choice, and God, don't I know it!"

"Stop saying that!" I cried out the words, flinging myself in front of him. "What if I made the wrong choice! What if I've finally realized what I truly desire!"

Erik began to back away from me slowly, his eyes wild and dark in the dusky light. "You are the one who should not jest about such things, child."

When he addressed me as _child_, it truly stung. Once it had been a comfort to me; a sign that I could always find solace in this man who was so much to me. Now, it was a denial of every thought and emotion that I had ever tried to bring to light. It was as if a door had been locked, and I had only realized just now that I no longer possessed the key.

"What did you call me?" My tone was low and forced; on the brink of rage.

"I called you a child, Christine! A foolish, spoiled princess! Perhaps I was the greater fool for always treating you as such!"

"How _dare_ you!" Forgetting myself once again, I tried to hit him in a moment of pure fury.

Erik easily caught my fragile wrist in his strong grip; I stumbled and fell against his strong frame, my wrist twisting agonizingly. He held me there against his body, bending forward to brush a hard whisper into my ear, "You cannot have everything, Christine. You must learn that the world is an unforgiving and heartless realm. You are not a princess, nor are you an angel; you are a human being who must learn to suffer as the rest of the world suffers."

I nearly lost the strength to stand, being so close to him yet again and feeling the very pulse of his heart against my cheek. His skin was hot and enticing beneath my touch, and oh, how I longed to take his face into my hands and press my body into his until we were one! We had once sung of such passion, but to truly experience it would sweep my senses into a wholly other world!

"You still do not realize, do you, Christine?" He suddenly thrust me away and shuddered severely.

I stumbled back and fell to my knees, my limbs finally giving out. "I _do_ realize," I protested stubbornly, "I finally understand!"

Erik looked down at me with an unfathomable stare. "You're too late again. Even now, you still haven't learned."

"I have! I-."

"You cannot possibly comprehend how much it is that I want you to suffer, Christine. I want you to know all the agony and torment that I have known; I want you to feel the true pain of what it means to love someone." He crouched down beside me and sighed deeply, "How sweet the irony of it all."

"What do you mean?" I looked up at him wretchedly, aware that I had been weeping for some time now.

Although the bare skin of his chest had burned beneath my touch, his fingertips were surprisingly cool as he traced the marks of the tears upon my face. I began to sob ever more noisily when he spoke his final damned words; "Our roles have been reversed, Christine, and you cannot acknowledge the fact that you no longer hold me in your power as you once did."

I threw myself at his feet, beating the floor in anguish. In all my dreams; in all my longings, I had never once imagined such an outcome! I had never imagined that he could _smile_ even as he spoke such heartless words! How could he!

"You are a pitiable sight, Christine." Erik stepped away from me, his words thoughtful, "But somehow, I can no longer bring myself to care."

After he left, I do not know how I managed to drag myself back to my room. I only knew that I found a soft pillow and wept until my body could no longer sustain me, and I fell into an abject sleep.

**xxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** At first I had problems with Erik when I reread this chapter, but then I decided to try and go along with him switching moods so quickly. After all, we do know that he is an extremely mercurial individual. You never know what that Phantom's going to do next!

Anyone remember the time he went all psycho on Christine after she told him that she had a cold? Yeah. Craaaazy, but lovable all the same.

As usual, thanks for reading! I'll try to crank out the next chapter more quickly this time!


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer:** Alas, nothing is mine. Leroux, Kay, Webber, and Schumacher own all. 

**A/N:** As always, my readers and reviewers are what keep me going. Sorry about the long absence last time! I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter muchly.

And as a sidenote, I was rereading Leroux last night and realized for the first time what an incredible fangirl Erik is.

"**While I was at her feet...I heard her say, Poor, unhappy Erik!' ... AND SHE TOOK MY HAND!...I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die for her...I mean it, daroga!..." _Leroux, _****Chapter XXVI _The End of the Ghost's Love Story_**

I love Leroux.

Enjoy the chapter and hopefully I'll update soon!

**Chapter 5**

My sleep proved fitful and fidgety that night. I slept in short bursts, waking frequently and watching always as the first tendrils of gray light heaved themselves through the fragile panes of my windows. The day would dawn fine and frosty, thoroughly blanched after the storm of the night before. Earlier, I had wished to go out and enjoy the landscape, yet now all I could think about was floundering about in my bed for the rest of the day.

I knew, however, that the prognosis for my condition was not favorable. Whether I stayed and wallowed or made an attempt to present my face to the others, I knew that my spirits would remain in the mud. On top of that, even if I faked a cheery attitude, I could lose control at any moment. I feared I would see Erik, and even if it were only a glimpse, it would be enough to set me off. True, the chances of another such meeting were small, as I knew he normally hated the daylight hours.

Then again, nothing about this had been normal so far. My life was falling apart into shards that were rapidly being sucked into quicksand, never to be recovered.

A thousand questions still afflicted my mind, all of which befuddled me. For the life of me, I still could not understand what had prompted Erik to be here, and nor did I comprehend why exactly he was tied to such an impudent child as Lucien. On top of everything, I had just realized that Lucien had only returned one of my stolen valuables to me. He had flung my wedding ring at Erik without its companion and I could not even divine whether I was furious or dejected.

I flung my arms over my head and pressed a pillow to my face. I wished my door had a lock that only I could open, for I knew that in all likelihood a maid would presently emerge to wake me. It could not have been more than several hours after sunrise, but already I heard the telltale buzz that always surrounded a waking household as it set about its business for the day.

What if Erik were passing by my room right now? What if my every step in England followed his own traces? It seemed that there was nowhere in the world that I could go to where he had not already been; where he had not already left the imprint of his existence.

How could he have been so cruel last night? How could he have spoken those words to me after all that we had been through? Once he would have done anything for me! Now, it seemed as if I were as inconsequential as a speck of dust upon a curtain.

Could I have truly driven him to this? Yet, none of it fit. He had been distant but also kind the night of _Antissa_! Why this sudden change in temper? Why this undeserved pain? Truly, my existence was a malediction upon even myself. I began to pray for death right here in the creamy white of the coverlets. I could face the judgment of God, but for the life of me I could not find it in me to face Erik's malicious hatred ever again.

God will not accept you… 

Then I would indulge in a merry trill with the Devil if I so had to! Perhaps I would find Erik there as well and we would dance away our hatred in Hades with Persephone and her stony king!

"Ma'am?"

"Am I dead yet?" I mumbled in reply to the sudden voice at my side.

"Uh…no, ma'am." The voice had a decided British lilt, obviously confused at the moment.

I blinked sleepily, retracting the pillow from my face. A petite girl bobbed at the foot of my bed, her youthful form fitted out in a maid's uniform. She seemed at most fifteen years old, her blue eyes large with the sparkle of youth, and her expression one of childlike curiosity.

"Who are you?" I asked dumbly.

"The…the maid, ma'am," she bubbled nervously, clearly under the impression that I was not one in complete possession of my mental faculties.

I sighed; perhaps I was not. I attempted to bestow a kind look as I slipped out of bed, "I suppose I am to be summoned to breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am. Would you like to dress now?" It was more of a rhetorical question than a direct inquiry, for evidently she expected me to give her a nod of acquiescence.

I allowed her to help me into a corset and then I dismissed her. "I can do the rest myself, thank you. You may go now."

Her eyes widened, but like any well-behaved servant, she merely executed a curtsey and left the room.

Right now, the last thing I needed was a maid hanging on to my every move and stabbing my scalp with hairpins. I had had a horrid night, next to no sleep, and it would do me some good to spend some more time on my own before I had to face the inevitable horror that would be breakfast. Everyone else would be in jovial moods, I knew, and I would have to pretend I felt the same way.

I settled for a heavy gown of gray wool, the skirt elegantly stitched with silver thread that formed a floral pattern. After I buttoned myself into the warm garment, I swept up my hair into severe plaits and pinned them up at the base of my neck. I looked decidedly stern now with a cold expression to match my misery, and so I spent several minutes practicing false smiles before the mirror.

When I was finally satisfied, I rose and carried myself to the door. There I paused, one hand still on the doorknob. My wedding ring glittered ominously in the winter sunlight, its presence obvious and mocking. I had replaced it on my finger the night before, but now it looked as if it no longer belonged on my hand. It contrasted sharply with my dull mood, for now I felt an unpleasant numb feeling beginning to overtake all my senses. It was as if I had no more room for emotion, which was probably a lovely development in the long run; it would not do to break down once again before Madame Penous and her ladies.

As soon as I stepped outside my room, I realized that I had to idea where to go. I was forced to halt and ask directions of a maid as she scurried by. Instead, she merely indicated that I follow her, and soon she showed me into a large dining room on the first level of the mansion.

To my great relief, Erik was not there. In truth, the chances had been small, but by this point I had learned to expect the impossible.

Everyone else was already seated by the time I arrived. Adelle waved me over to an empty seat that she had been saving, and I gratefully sank down beside her. Instantly, a maid bustled up to me and inquired if I desired a cup of tea. I nodded and reached for a croissant, biting into it thoughtfully.

At the head of the table sat an elderly man that could only be Lord Barlow. His lady sat at the other end, engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Madame Penous who sat across from her. Beside Lady Barlow was a well-dressed young boy, not yet a teenager. His clothes were impeccably pressed and his face utterly clean, yet clearly fatigued. I started when I realized it was Lucien, for I had never before seen him dirt free. Obviously the boy had gotten no sleep the night before, and now it was all he could do to keep the yawns from his mouth.

Adelle elbowed me, "Isn't this wonderful, Christine? This part of England is simply beautiful!"

I offered a small nod, "Yes, quite. I am eager to see more of it."

"Don't worry!" Adelle buttered a roll, "Lady Barlow is to show us the grounds after breakfast; everything is always superb after a snowfall!"

"I can't wait," I answered flatly. Adelle, however, seemed not to notice. Instead, she began to speak with a young man at her elbow who had attracted her attention with a polite inquiry. Much to my displeasure, Karine Renois sat to my left, stoic in her silence. She appeared to be deep in thought about something, imparting no information from her expression.

I noticed that Lucien kept shooting me hateful looks from the other end of the table. My mood was spoiled enough already and so I chose to ignore them. I would deal with the child's hatred later on; it was Erik's loathing that I could not accept.

No, I would never acknowledge the fact that he despised me. He had once sung and seduced me in my dreams with a voice that even an angel would be blessed to possess. His gift had been such almost as if God had been trying to compensate for everything else that He had taken from Erik. Once, Erik's voice had been for me and for me alone; now I feared that I would never hear it again.

He could have been a great man, I reflected despondently. If only he had not been cursed with a hideous blemish upon his face that had incited people to spurn him. I believed that if only his mother had shown him love, then he would have been able to face the world despite everything. Nadir had told me that Erik could survive in a society with people, if he wished to do so. Had he not performed in public at traveling fairs? Had he not indulged the khanum with lavish displays in the Persian court?

"Christine, you've been staring at that croissant for a good five minutes now." Adelle peered at me inquisitively as she munched on her oatmeal. "Are you sure you're recovered after your illness last night?"

My tone was false to my ears, but still I hoped Adelle would accept my reassurances that I was perfectly fine. "I'm just tired," I added in the end, hiding a yawn behind my hand.

She nodded, turning sparkling eyes toward the end of the table where Lady Barlow sat. "My, isn't that the most charming boy you've ever laid eyes on?" She put her hands together at her cheek and squealed, "He looks cuter than a teddy!"

I tried not to feel ill. I despised it when people went about cooing over idiotic children. Half the time the little brats did not even deserve to be worshipped, yet adored they were among females such as Adelle. Lucien was a prime example of those little imps who deceived the entire world into believing they were less harmless than a button and just as cute.

At this point, Lady Barlow rose and brought the table to her attention. Most of what she said were the customary courtesies bestowed upon guests by their hosts; the only thing that I really paid attention to was her brief sketch over the tour that she would give us after breakfast. After she was finished, she waved Lucien over to her side as the rest of the table rose to fetch clothes for the outdoors.

We gathered once more in the grand entrance hall, shifting comfortably in our cloaks and fur-lined muffs. Peers, looking even more sour than the day before, opened one of the paneled doors with a huff and allowed the party to exit. Although she had seen everything many times over, Tiffanie Penous was still the most enthusiastic as she exclaimed over various things that Lady Barlow introduced to us on the grounds.

Lucien skipped along behind us, aimlessly tossing snowballs at birds that huddled together on tree branches. I was quite sure, however, that I was the only one who took note of his behavior. Whenever one of the other women chanced to look in his direction, he would kneel in the snow and pretend to be constructing a miniature snowman. When I turned an eye on him, however, he would grin fiendishly and toss a snowball at yet another bird with all the strength he could muster, as if daring me to say anything about it.

I chose to attempt to ignore him. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he irritated me.

Soon, we emerged at the top of a hill dotted with twin sled tracks. Two maids were breathlessly pulling sleds up the hill, their cheeks rosy from the crisp winter day. They presented us with the contraptions, and Lady Barlow immediately seated her plump self in one of them, pulling Madame Penous down in front of her.

"I'll steer," she exclaimed happily, as the two set off zooming down the hill. The others followed suit, and soon everyone was taking turns in the sleds.

I, however, hovered on the fringe of the activity. Unexpectedly, I suddenly began to feel nervous at the prospect of going down a hill on a wooden box at speeds greater than I cared for.

Exasperatingly, Lucien chose that moment to clock me soundly with a snowball in the back of my head. I knew that it had been him, even without looking. When I finally did turn around, he was lying in the snow once again, forming snow angels. He blinked innocent eyes at me, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"Payback for earlier."

I gaped angrily; "_You_ stole from _me_!"

"Well, that's beside the point, isn't it?" Lucien continued to swish his arms and legs through the snow.

I turned my back to him, fixing my attention upon the hill. I would _not_ let the little devil get to me!

"You scared or something?" His voice cut through my determination once again.

I crossed my arms indignantly, "What are you talking about?"

"Never been on a sled, have you?"

"Shut up, Lucien," I muttered, still refusing to look at him. "I'm ill, that's all."

"_Really_?" The boy sauntered up by my side. "You were well enough to attack me last night, weren't you?"

"You deserved it," I spat, uneager to return to any aspect of last night whatsoever.

Lucien scuffed his foot through the snow, covering my boots in the spray. "You made him _really_ mad last night, you know. I was up until the actual crack of dawn cutting stones in the quarry." He made a face, "And all because you put him in a bad mood."

"Quarrying?" I echoed, despite myself. He was the grandson of an extremely wealthy woman; why on earth would he have to spend time in a quarry? "Why would you have to quarry?"

"That's exactly what I asked _him_," Lucien muttered. "I'm supposed to be learning how to be an architect, not a mole."

"A mole?"

"A _mole_. Moles _dig_, you stupid woman."

"Why you !" I swept down and captured a handful of snow.

Lucien quickly danced away from me. "All I have to do is scream! The others understand that I'm an utterly innocent child."

"The others are all being fooled by your looks."

"Yes, they're idiots, but it's my advantage in the end."

I smiled sweetly, inspired at that moment. "All it takes is one word in the right ear, and you're back in that quarry."

Lucien scowled, "I hate you." He jumped up and threw another snowball at a crow, "I can't understand why Grandmamma listens to him anyway. I've complained _endless_ times, but still she persists in letting him do whatever he wants."

I noticed that Lucien had yet to refer to Erik as anything other than _him_. It was as if he feared the man's very name, as in a way, I myself did.

There was a time of silence as we watched the others whiz down the hill. Finally, I commented, "I take it you're studying architecture?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Lucien sat himself back down in the snow, "I haven't actually built anything yet, though. He keeps telling me that I'm not ready, but that's what all adults say." He scowled, "Adults can be so unfair to children."

I smiled; at this one moment, Lucien sounded more like a normal child.

"What are you smiling about?" The boy scowled and turned away from me, "I don't know where Grandmamma found him anyway. Personally, I think he's unqualified to school a great talent like mine, but -."

Lucien broke off because I had started to laugh. I could not help it; the child was so foolish and did not even realize it. In a way, his overconfidence was rather endearing. Like many young people, he clearly thought that he was ready to take on the world.

"What makes you think you have such a great talent?" I asked, still smiling.

"I used to build things out of twigs when I was little," Lucien spat at me, his eyes narrowed. "Are you laughing at me, woman?"

"It's impolite to address an elder in such a way," I wagged a finger in his direction. "Just because you can put a few twigs together to resemble a door, does not mean that you are qualified to build Colosseums."

"That's almost exactly what _he_ said to me," Lucien snarled, his hands curling into fists. "I'm beginning to think that he never built anything that amazing either."

"Mm," I stretched my arms above my head. "Next time you visit your Grandmamma's library, be sure to look up the Opera Populaire in one of her books."

Lucien echoed, "The Opera Populaire?"

I shrugged, "It doesn't look like much on the outside, but the interior is a pure artistic masterpiece."

The boy frowned, "I thought someone else designed that opera house. I asked him about it a few months ago after I saw a picture."

I nodded, "He didn't design the exterior, but every stone was directed there by his hand. You should ask him about it some time."

Lucien looked nervous; "He doesn't like it when I pry."

"He wouldn't, would he?"

"How come you know so much about him anyway?" Lucien looked heavily suspicious now, small fists planted on his hips. "Last night wasn't the first time you two met each other, was it?"

I looked away, flushing. I knew I had said too much to the boy. "I…I met him once in Paris," I said finally, unsure of what else to add.

"He hates talking about Paris," Lucien mused aloud. "He didn't seem to like you very much either, especially with the way he had me toil like an animal this morning."

"Yes, well…" I lazily left the sentence unfinished. Last night I had painfully felt enough of the dislike that Erik now held for me.

"Are you _crying_?"

I realized that tears had begun to brim beneath my lashes, threatening to escape to my cheeks. Hurriedly, I brushed at my eyes with a glove hand and shook my head, "_No_, I am not."

"Yes you are!" Lucien jumped around me and began to chant, "Ooh, the poor woman, she's crying! Have I made you upset?" He grinned again, obviously pleased with this latest development.

"_Shut up_," I snapped at him, anger once again coloring my temperament. I opted for a change in subject, suddenly remembering, "Where is it anyway?"

Lucien looked genuinely confused, "Where is what?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" I took a step toward him, eyebrows drawn together heavily in a V. "Where is the other thing that you took from me?"

"Oh, that…I lost it."

"Don't lie to me," I moved closer to him, although I knew that he could escape my reach easily at any moment.

This time, however, the boy chose to stand his ground. "If you're referring to that worthless gold band, then I am telling the truth. I thought I left it in my room, but when I returned later, it was gone. That other disgusting rock was all I had."

"You think I'm stupid enough to believe you?"

Lucien smirked, "In all honesty? Yes, I do."

The boy had absolutely no idea of how much that small ring was worth to me. At this moment, all I wanted to do was beat that little mop of insolent hair into the ground and bury him in the snow until the next ice age took over.

At that moment, a winded Adelle ran up to my side and caught my elbow. "Come _on_, Christine! The snow is marvelous and you said so yourself that you've never been sledding!"

Lucien instantly assumed the expression of an naïve child, engaged in forming yet another snowman.

Upon seeing him, Adelle exclaimed, "You're Lucien, aren't you!"

He smiled up at her hesitantly, as if nervous in the presence of an adult. Behind Adelle, I made a revolted face at him.

"Yes, Madame," he answered her in courteous French that he rarely employed in my presence.

Adelle giggled, "He's too charming!" She touched me shoulder, "Since you two seem to be such great friends already, you should go down together! Your Grandmamma tells me you're an expert at steering," she added this last phrase to Lucien.

I was certain a gleam entered Lucien's eyes, "I would be happy to take Madame de Chagny on her first sled ride."

Naturally, Adelle saw nothing but an obliging child. "What a perfect gentleman! Come on, Christine!"

When we settled into the sled with Lucien behind me, I began to tremble. "If you try anything, remember that we'll both be killed."

Lucien laughed terribly, "Don't worry, Madame. I _am_ expert at this. I assure you that I'm just going to have a bit of fun, that's all."

The moment we were pushed off the hill, Lucien aimed our path in the direction of every tree he could find, swerving out of the way only just before we could actually hit. He was quite adept at this and skilled to the point where he had me screaming at every twist and turn. When we finally reached the bottom of the hill, I was a shaking mess and vowing vehemently that I would never find myself in a sled again.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

That first night Lady Barlow had arranged for a small dinner party that was attended by several local friends of hers. Among these were various male acquaintances, invited for the purpose of adding a flavor of entertainment to the overwhelming company of women. Most were wealthy lords of some type, while others professed themselves to be artists. One young man could not stop reciting poetry to Adelle for a good part of the night, although she did not exactly seem to mind much.

For my part, I was content to hover beside an array of greenery in one corner of Lady Barlow's drawing room. Our party was too small for the use of the cavernous ballroom, although this room had more than enough space to accommodate a piano, orchestra, and an array of twirling couples.

As I sipped at a drink, I watched the poetry man sweep Adelle about the carpeted room. She looked entirely happy in her surroundings and as if she did not have a care in the world. Here, it seemed, we were all eager to forget our husbands and lives at home.

When the dance was done, Adelle grabbed some refreshment of her own and elbowed me into a corner. "Well, what do you think?" She demanded of me, excitedly.

"Of what?" I slurred through sips of my alcohol.

"Of _him_, of course," she rolled her eyes and indicated the poetry man.

"Oh, he's fine," was all I could say.

"Isn't he?" Adelle sighed, swirling her glass thoughtfully.

"Adelle, you're married," I pointed out quietly, but feeling it necessary to do so.

She laughed nervously, "Yes, I know, Christine! Don't worry…" She abruptly found another subject, "Did you hear, by the way?"

"Hear what?" I repeated tiredly, in no mood for any more of her guessing games.

"You'll never believe it, but I heard the maids and Lady Barlow talking this morning." She peered into my face, grinning, "Monsieur D'Artois is _here_. Right here in this house! Isn't that exciting, Christine? I can't wait to meet him!"

"_Who_?" I demanded, my mind drawing a blank for a moment.

"_Him_!" Adelle giggled furiously, "Christine, you really must pay attention to what I say! D'Artois, the composer!"

Of course. That was Erik's pen name for the opera. I almost smiled, for it appeared that the self-loathing, anti-social Erik actually had admirers.

"I knew you'd be thrilled!" Adelle danced around me, "I would _love_ to meet him!"

I raised an eyebrow, "And what exactly would you say?"

"I'd tell him how much I loved his operas, and how much I…I…" she trailed off, suddenly frowning. She regained herself quickly, however, "I wonder what he looks like! What if he's in this room right now?"

Alarmed, I twitched and made a quick survey of the room. What if he did indeed choose to put in an appearance among these people? I did not know if I could keep my composure with all these people around me. Then again, it was silly to fear such a thing. I knew that Erik did not usually mingle among so great a crowd unless absolutely necessary.

My inspection did not reveal his presence, but I did see that a thick crowd of mostly female enthusiasts surrounded Lucien. The little creature stood on an elegant mahogany chair, waving his hands about in the air with great animation.

Adelle noticed my interest and led me over to the crowd, "That adorable child is putting on a little magic show for everyone. It's quite impressive, especially for such a young child."

Indeed, Lucien appeared to be engaged in an extremely elaborate demonstration of transfiguration. I saw floating scarves that became hats in midair before settling into the form of glasses upon the very shocked noses of several men in the audience. Doves flitted above in the rafters, dropping as pearls into the boy's hands. There was a constant sound of applause for the boy, and I could not help but be awed myself. I was certain that Erik had been imparting more to this boy than his knowledge of architecture.

Several more hours passed before the thick of the crowd began to drift home. Most of the couples had departed by the time that the bachelors began lighting cigars in one corner of the room. Lady Barlow wrinkled her nose at this habit and continued to mingle among the other guests, most of whom consisted of the arts circle. Adelle's poet continued to court her, and I swore that I caught them sharing a cigar at one point.

Once again, I found myself alone in a corner of the room. Lady Barlow had dimmed some of the lights long ago until a sleepy glow settled over the atmosphere, coupled with the curling smoke. I was not alone in my solitude, for I noticed Lucien dozing in a corner, his hand curled around a tuft of scarves. The doves and hats had long ago disappeared, and I was surprised that no one had yet cajoled the boy up to bed.

It was only now that I realized I had never seen either of his parents. I recalled Erik referring to Lucien's mother, but I could not remember Lady Barlow ever having introduced me to the woman. In any case, whoever she was, the woman was neglecting her responsibilities. It was now well past midnight, and a boy hardly older than ten was snoozing in the company of drinking and smoking adults.

I went over to Lucien's corner of the room and knelt beside the boy who was curled up on the piano bench. I shook him gently by the shoulder until he blinked weary eyes at me.

"I think it's time you went to bed," I told him kindly. "You've had a very long day."

"You're ugly in that dress," was his response as he yawned widely.

I immediately regretted waking him up; after all, I had only had the best intentions in mind. I was the only adult in the room who seemed to have remembered the boy at all. Ungrateful child!

"Well, _rot_ here for all I care," I snapped at him and rose to my feet. Immediately, I collided with a tall form and stumbled clumsily.

I did not even have to look up to see who it was.

"Are you following me?" Erik inquired pleasantly, catching me in my awkwardness yet again. "We seem to run into each other everywhere."

Gone was the vindictive anger of the night before. In place, however, was a calm neutrality that was equally unsettling. Although his words were playful, something in his manner still spoke of disinterest.

I did not reply for a time, and Erik instead turned his attention to Lucien. With a firm and quiet command, he ordered the boy to bed. Once again, the child obeyed unquestioningly without even a whine of dissatisfaction. I could only envy the unconditional obedience that Lucien offered to Erik.

I studied him casually, taking note that he was dressed like the other men in the room in their formal evening attire. The only thing that stood out was the white mask, but that too seemed to somehow melt into the atmosphere. None of the other occupants of the room were even staring, as I would have expected them to do. He had entered the scene so quietly that most people were probably still unaware of his presence.

He seemed entirely comfortable with the silence, although I was becoming steadily unsettled. The situation was odd at best, and I could only remark, "I thought you detested being out in boring culture like this."

He shrugged, "I know most of the people here. English society is so much more pleasant than the usual French snobbery."

"You're French yourself," I replied indignantly.

"Your point?"

Lady Barlow chose this moment to sweep herself over to us. "Erik!" She enthused, taking his arm intimately. "How nice of you to join us this evening!" Her quick glance darted between us, "Do you two know each other?"

Erik smiled disarmingly at the matron, the unmasked side of his face unbearably attractive in the dim light of the parlor. "I'm afraid I gave this lady a bit of a scare last night."

"Well, then let me introduce you formally!" Lady Barlow waved an eager hand in my direction, "This is the lovely Comtesse de Chagny, newly-arrived from Paris." She nodded then at Erik, "And this is Monsieur D'Artois, a very good friend of mine. I believe you have heard of him?"

I nodded, attempting to appear nonchalant, and hoping that I did not look as nervous as I felt. "The…the opera, yes," I managed at last, my smile half-hearted.

Erik, of course, was all charm as if nothing were out of the ordinary. It was as if he felt none of the turmoil that I did, and perhaps that was the case. Truly, his manner manifested a distant aloofness as he took my hand and graciously kissed it as custom dictated. "It is an honor, Madame," he purred, his eyes on mine the entire time.

"Your work is extraordinary," I continued, aware that Lady Barlow was regarding me expectantly. I knew that I had to keep up the façade so as not to arouse her suspicion.

He only seemed amused at my attempts to appear casual. "It is truly a joy to hear flattering words from such an exquisite woman," he murmured pleasantly, although I was sure he was laughing at me.

I really had nothing to say to that. I mumbled, flustered for a time, hating that he still possessed such power over me. He continued to toy with me, perhaps trying to see how long I could hold out before my defenses crumbled.

"A dance, Madame?"

I nearly jumped at those words. The orchestra had begun to play a soft waltz, barely on the edge of my perception in my consternation. Erik was holding his elegantly-gloved hand out to me, leaving me with no choice but to accept under Lady Barlow's watchful gaze. "Forgive me, Elizabeth," he gave the woman a teasing apologetic look, "I promise the next dance will be yours."

"Well!" But Lady Barlow was pouting falsely, a smile taking over her features at the banter.

Erik led me out among the other moving couples, confidently adjusting our movement to theirs. His arm quickly found its place about my waist, a gesture of habit and familiarity that spoke of the fact that we were well accustomed to each other. When I rested my hand on his shoulder, I almost gently rubbed my fingertips against the smooth contours of his chin, aching for the intimate touches of old. Yet, I refrained, knowing it would only anger him. I fit into his hold as if I had always belonged there, but still I was overtaken by tension and anxiety.

"Will you relax?" Erik demanded of me, easing his grip on my hand. "I swear I feel like I'm heaving a wooden plank about the parlor."

"What happened to all that charm you seemed so keen to display in front of Lady Barlow?" I threw the words back spitefully, wanting him to know that I was angry with him.

"Appearances, my dear," Erik returned smoothly. "She likes you a great deal, you know, and I can't go around insulting one of her favorites."

"Is that the reason you asked me to dance?" I asked the question softly, feeling a pang of hurt despite myself.

"I did only as common courtesy would dictate."

I bowed my head, "I see." Even through our gloves, his hands sent a warmth to my body that I found myself entirely unable to let go of. I was so close to him, yet no more near than customary for a dance. I knew that he held me at a distance deliberately, torturing me silently with every single step that we took. Even so, he regarded me passively the entire time, and I was sure that only I could discern the iciness upon his features.

Was this really the same man who had once allowed himself to weep and lay bare his entire soul before me? Was this the same man whom I had kissed just that once, so many years ago beneath the dungeons of the Opera Populaire? Was this the same man who had whispered that he loved me, even as I turned my back on him and fled with my young lover?

"I…Lucien…he told me you're instructing him in architecture." I decided to attempt to lighten the atmosphere with casual conversation as the silence between us was too peculiar for my liking.

"Yes."

I gritted my teeth, "What I don't understand is why you're here. I mean, you never struck me as the type to enjoy socializing in public all that much."

Erik smiled enigmatically, "Lady Barlow has done some favors for me in the past and I enjoy her company."

I snorted, "Really?"

"Yes, really." Erik then sighed, "As you have probably noticed this place is a genuine muddle of imagination and architectural ambition without the skill."

"Yes?"

"Simply put, Lady Barlow loves my talent and I love her money. She continually funds my work."

"Oh." Most of it made sense to me now.

As the dance ended, I let go of him reluctantly. When he moved away from me and executed a formal bow of farewell, I suddenly felt very cold and utterly alone. The room was warm, but I felt as if a part of me had been stripped away, and that I stood naked before the entire room.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Madame," he murmured, turning his back on me.

I almost started after him, but thought better of it when Adelle appeared behind me. "Christine…who _was_ that?" Her voice held a certain tone of awe as she peered over my shoulder.

Numbly, I watched as Erik invited Lady Barlow on to the dance floor. It was as if every one of his gestures were deliberately aimed at punishing me, for I found impossible pain and envy in every single thing he did.

"You two looked absolutely perfect together," Adelle sighed, looking in Erik's direction dreamily. "Granted, it is a little odd to be wearing a mask – what for, I wonder – but he still seemed so…" her voice trailed off as she gazed after Erik with a certain curiosity in her eyes.

"So…?"

"The way he held you, it was like you were two halves of the same whole." Adelle suddenly blushed and looked away from me, hiding her flaming cheeks.

I laughed outright at this, "Adelle, you simply must stop reading all that romance novel trash."

She sighed loudly, "Still, who was he?"

I whisked another glass of alcohol off the tray of a waiter. "_That_, my lovely Adelle, was your dear Monsieur D'Artois."

"…No…"

"Oh, yes." I smirked over the rim of my wineglass.

"He's…different from what I imagined," Adelle remarked, chewing absently on her white glove. "He frightens me in a way. There's something dangerous about him. You looked like you were on the verge of tears for a moment, Christine."

"Did I?" I had cried so often in the past few days that I had almost ceased to notice.

Adelle shook her head, but let it stay at that. Instead, she nodded at the other end of the room where the bachelors were all huddled in a clump and smoking, "I had a lovely time tonight with Bert."

"Bert?"

"That one in the very corner," Adelle indicated a striking boy with her fan. "He spoke the loveliest words to me."

Ah, the poet. I laughed and pulled Adelle away from the crowd, "Yes, he's very handsome indeed. And now, it's off to bed for me."

Adelle yawned prettily, "I suppose I'll turn in as well." She began to lead me out of the parlor, "Christine, promise me that you'll introduce us tomorrow?"

"What?"

"To _him_!" She nodded at Erik, who was engaged in a conversation with several of the cigar-smoking bachelors. It was certainly odd to see him in such a sociable setting, although I was sure that he held every person in the room beneath his contempt.

I began to pull her away more forcefully, "I hardly know him, Adelle."

Luckily for me, Lady Barlow chose that moment to sweep down upon us.

"Retiring so soon, ladies?" Her perfume invaded the air as soon as she halted our steps.

I curtseyed prettily, "I fear that we are tired, my lady."

She swept her fan in a low arc, "Yes, yes, well…Tomorrow I hope I will get a chance to spend more time with you ladies. The first day is always just so busy! I do hope you will both honor me with a walk in the gardens tomorrow morning?"

Adelle curtseyed in her turn, "It would be our pleasure."

"Excellent!" Lady Barlow then turned a conspiratorial glance on me, "Tomorrow evening I am holding one of those soirees that I mentioned to you the other day. It will be quite small and only for my art-loving friends, I assure you. I do, however, recall that you promised to indulge us with a song."

"What?" I hissed quickly, my heart hammering in my chest. "I…I…" I remembered joking about singing a duet, but nothing…_nothing!_…Oh no.

With the way that Lady Barlow was looking at me, I knew I could not refuse. I dipped a final curtsey in her direction and murmured, "I would be honored to, my lady."

"Brilliant!" She exclaimed. "Good night, girls!"

I began to fervently pray for a cold.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! This chapter was a little dry, but next chap will be full of drama, angst, and all that fun stuff.

At least, I hope it will. Thanks again!


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer:** Standard stuff: nothing here belongs to me except the original characters. 

**WARNING:** This chapter is a **TOTAL SOAP OPERA. **It's not my fault! My friend gave me a romance novel by Margaret Moore today, titled **ALL MY DESIRE.** I immediately sat down to write this chapter, and here is the result. IT'S SO TOTALLY NOT MY FAULT. Blame her for the melodrama!

**A/N:** Simply, wow. All my readers and reviewers are so special to me! Every time you sit down to write feedback and tell me how much you enjoy reading something that I've written, I get this incredible warm and fuzzy feeling that feels like…like… Gerry Butler came and put his arms around me! (Uh, yeah, if only…) I wish I could do something else to repay all the kind words I've received! I guess the only thing I can hope for is that everyone continues to have fun reading this little **SOAP OPERA**. But it's **SUPER-LONG!** which may be a **BAD THING** since it's such crud, but enjoy anyway!

**Chapter 6**

I did not perform that night, or the next night, or the night after that. Indeed, it seemed that every time Lady Barlow held such an event, she would completely forget my presence as she hastened to accommodate various guests of local prestige, many of which who fancied themselves composers. Needless to say, I was greatly relieved that I had not been forced to sing, although I had been forced to sit through many a terrible performance.

Despite her assurances, Lady Barlow's soirees were by no means 'little'. Rather, she would invite all the ladies of the circle and additional 'friends', who all amounted to at least twenty people. Erik was present every night, although he did not mingle overmuch. Most of the locals undeniably respected him, though I suspected that it came in part from fear. Erik always had a way of making one uncomfortable if he wished to; of presenting himself as dangerous. I knew that the reasons for such a fear were intangible to the others, for they had no practical reason to be afraid of him. The curious thing was that I no longer found myself frightened by him, even though I had the most reason to be out of everyone else. I alone knew what he had done in the past, and even then, I had only been privy to a fraction of the entire truth.

Before I knew it, I had passed an entire month in England. The weeks had simply flown by until I had all but forgotten my troubles in Paris. I was undeniably happy here, surrounded by people whose company I enjoyed, and entertainment which was unquestionably engaging. I felt that this was as close as I would ever be to the opera again, and so I indulged in the weeks to my fullest content.

The only thing that could possibly remind me of any previous misery was Erik's continued presence in my life. No, to call him a presence in my life would be a misnomer; although I saw him almost every evening, we still did not speak, and often I would not even catch his eye. Despite this, I had learned to ignore him as much as I could, opting to retire every night soon after he entered. I would _not_ let him ruin my time here.

It seemed that no one had yet remarked upon the sudden little dips in my moods, when I would unexpectedly become somber and silent. I supposed that many of my acquaintances simply believed that my little bouts of depression were normal and inconsequential compared to the utter happiness that I displayed most of the time.

On a particularly snowy late afternoon, I found myself lazing about my room with a dry book. I was nursing a small cold with a warm mug of tea and gazing distractedly out of my window, my attention wandering from the novel. I debated returning it to the library, but found that I was too lethargic at this moment. With myself enveloped in a thick blanket, a steaming mug before my nose, and a toasty fire at my back, I did not very much feel like moving.

At this moment, several carriages pulled up the drive and settled before the entrance. I watched in near-boredom, for Lady Barlow often had visitors of some form or another. Several of Lady Barlow's lawyer friends piled out into the yard, followed by their ladies. Behind them trotted various servants, carrying elegantly-wrapped packages accented with lace ribbons. I frowned curiously before I remembered that tonight was Lady Barlow's birthday. She was of course throwing the largest gathering for miles around this night, and I knew that come sundown, I would be seeing many more of these carriages.

It really was too bad I possessed a cold at the moment, for although I did not feel well, I knew it would be entirely inappropriate to miss the party. As I slowly forced myself to rise to my feet, I continued to regard the figures emerging from the carriages. When I saw a tall, dark-skinned man hand out a petite blonde girl, for a moment I feared that in the fading sunlight my eyes were playing tricks on me. I could have sworn that was the Persian leading Meg from the carriage! Surely I was imagining things!

I had found my motivation, and at a speed inappropriate for a sick woman, I threw my feet into shoes and bolted out of my room. I passed a shocked Adelle in the corridor and nearly knocked over Madame Renois, but I did not care as I flew down the grandiose staircase. Stumbling over the last few steps, I reached the bottom just as the new arrivals entered the front doors.

"Meg!" I screamed, throwing myself at the friend that I had not seen in years.

We had both been sixteen when last we saw each other, and I was sure that we now looked incredibly different from those spindly young maids we had been. Still, I would have known her anywhere, and saw that she recognized me from the brilliant smile that lit up her features.

"Christine," she replied, pulling me into a tight embrace.

I laughed and marveled at my lovely friend who stood before me. Her face was as youthful and fresh as ever, framed by blonde hair done up in an elaborate style. From the quality and style of her clothes, I knew that she was enjoying a successful career.

"Meg!" I cried again, at loss for further words. "What – what are you doing here?"

She smiled, "Lady Barlow invited me up for her birthday celebration."

"Is there anyone Lady Barlow doesn't know?" I marveled aloud, still gazing at Meg with wonder.

She laughed and tossed her head in mock vanity, "I _am_ after all the most renowned dancer in the world right now."

Peers chose this moment to bustle in, thunder clouds upon his brow. "_More_ guests?" He grumbled this out loud to the room at large. "Marge, Sandra, pick up those bags and prepare extra rooms at once!"

His customary entourage of maids swept in and out, collecting the bags that were piling up in the doorframe. The laughing group of lawyers passed us without much comment, and behind them came Nadir. He carried a single valise slung over his shoulder casually. When Peers motioned to take it, the Persian gave the man one stern frown that clearly instructed Peers to leave.

Peers was not happy about this development, "Sir, may I take your bag?" He asked this in English, frowning at Nadir all the while.

"No, you may not," Nadir replied in French, sweeping by Peers without further care. He reached the staircase where I stood with Meg, and removed his hat with a courteous bow, "Madame de Chagny. It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Nadir," I nodded, offering him a smile. Despite everything that had happened with Erik, I had always liked the Persian and wished I had known him better. "I suppose you are a great friend to Lady Barlow as well?"

Nadir chuckled, "No, but I am a great friend to Erik, and that is good enough for her." He adjusted the valise on his shoulder, "Forgive me, ladies, but I have to attend to some things. Will you two excuse me?"

Meg laughed prettily, "Ever so formal, Nadir." She turned to me with a teasing gleam in her eye, "You have no idea what the trip over here was like; I could barely get one conversation out of him!"

I felt the urge to embrace her again, warmed by the feeling of welcome and familiarity that we still shared even after all these years. Here was something else that had been missing from my life, I realized. I needed someone to whom I could truly talk to; someone who knew of me and my past that I dared not reveal to anyone in Raoul's society. Even Adelle was not an option, for I feared that she was too bred in the beliefs of her class to accept me for who I was. A simple chorus girl would not have been welcomed in the midst of a world like this one.

Nadir had already begun to make his way up the staircase, obviously familiar with his surroundings. I wondered how often he had visited before, and if his presence had escaped my notice at times. Still, it was of no consequence, as I now had my dear friend back with me.

"You are going to come with me, and we will have a _very_ long talk," I informed Meg, beginning to lead her to the upper level.

She looked innocent, "How are you going to explain to all these high-society girls how you know me?"

"I have always had a soft spot for ballet rats," I returned, tugging her up the stairs. "I know you've probably had a long journey, but it's been forever since I saw you!"

Meg looked sad suddenly, "You never came to visit me and I did not feel particularly welcome in your home."

I panicked for a second, "Oh, Meg, I never wanted it to be so!"

She shook her head, "It was Raoul, I know. Mother told me about it, and I…" Meg looked like she was about to say something else, but she covered her mouth at the last moment and coughed delicately.

I guessed her thoughts easily and finished for her, "I hate it, Meg. It's a prison that I thought I could accept and now I can't get out of."

This time it was Meg who began to hurry me up the staircase. "We'll be better off discussing this in the privacy of your room," she informed me, bustling away. "Who knows who might be listening?"

I nodded in agreement, and we decided to meet back in my room in an hour after she had been given a chance to settle in after her long journey.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was true, nothing had really changed between us. It was as if Meg had been there with me always in the past five years, constantly present to hear my sorrows and my fears. For hours I spoke of the constraints that Raoul had imposed upon me, and the wretchedness of my existence among his class. I confessed that I found respite in the arts circle, but that it was not nearly enough. For the time being, I decided to say nothing of Erik, although I was sure she was aware of his presence on account of Nadir.

Meg listened attentively, and after I had winded down in my long story, she sat back thoughtfully with her own mug of tea firmly settled in her lap. She scratched at her pretty hair and frowned continuously, her legs tucked up beneath her in her comfortable seat. At last, she asked, "What do you want to do, Christine?"

I snorted, "I've been asking myself that every day ever since I locked Raoul out on the balcony."

"Naked."

"What?"

Meg grinned mischievously, "You forgot that little detail, even though it's already been all over Paris."

I sighed, "I say all these things, yet I still feel terrible about the way I've been treating him. In a way it's my fault that our marriage is failing."

Meg frowned, "Do you love him?"

I blinked at the sudden question, "What?"

"Do you love him?" She repeated firmly, wrapping her hands around her mug to warm them.

It only took me a moment to formulate my answer, but it was the absolute truth. "Yes, I love him. But my love is only like the way one clings to and cherishes a fond memory from times long gone."

"You love the ideal of something that once was."

I ran my hand through my loose hair, brushing it away from my face, "When did we become so philosophical?"

Meg made a face, "Philosophy? It's called romance novels, Christine."

"So it is." We both abruptly giggled, and the tension in the air eased somewhat. Then I continued thoughtfully, "It's not real anymore, Meg. Not for either of us. Raoul is just as miserable as I am, yet he says nothing because he feels indebted to me. I know that he feels guilty for carrying me away from my old life and that he must now provide for me as he promised at our wedding."

"But you say he mistreats you," Meg pointed out, frowning.

I took a sip from my mug, tasting the hot liquid painfully. "Only because I mistreat him. I promised to 'honor and obey', Meg. I promised to give myself to him and to him alone, but I think he saw it before I did…" I suddenly rose and began to pace around the room, my steps following the pattern of spirals woven into the carpet.

Meg was clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"

I continued my movements, "Meg, don't you see? Raoul always knew my heart would never be his completely, yet he hoped that he could capture enough of it. Through all the years he understood that a part of me loved another, but he gave me a chance. He gave me a chance!" I fell to my knees on the carpet and supported myself on trembling arms, "I drove him away, Meg! I drove him away every night that I refused to hold him! Every night that I ignored him! Every night that I snapped at him, always wishing for the presence of another!"

Meg was at my side in a moment, her thin arms around me. "Hush, Christine," she whispered, rocking me back and forth on the carpet.

After several minutes, my tears finally subsided and I rose to my feet, blowing my nose unceremoniously in a handkerchief. An elegantly-embroidered letter _E_ glared up at me mockingly from the fabric, as if deliberately attempting to wound me.

When Meg saw the handkerchief, she turned her head away and settled back into a chair. She refrained from looking at me as she spoke. "Christine, my presence here is not a coincidence," she whispered, as if afraid to hurt me further.

I looked up, confused, "Well, of course it isn't. You were invited, weren't you?"

"Yes, but under different circumstances I would not have come." She reached into her sleeve and drew out a thin envelope sealed with a small wax emblem that bore a very familiar mark. "A week before I departed, Raoul came to me and asked – no, _begged_ me to give you this."

I accepted the envelope with a trembling hand. For a time I stared at it, then I cautiously broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. I read it over silently, and even at the end of the letter, I still was not sure what to think.

"What does it say?" Meg finally asked after several minutes of silence.

I stared at her, "I really don't know." Raoul was in Italy right now, and he had favored me with a jovial account of the vineyards and their prosperity. After the business talk, however, he had launched into a desperate plea for my return.

"_You cannot comprehend how much I ache with the loss of you,_" Meg read aloud, frowning. "_Business is successful, but all I can think about is how much I wish you were here to enjoy the splendors of such a beautiful and mystifying land with me. All I can plead for is your return; all I can do is acknowledge that I was wrong. I fear I did you the greatest wrongs, and now I wish to remedy them._

"_Oh, sing if you like, Christine, sing! I will never try to stop you again if it makes you happy! I only feared it was…_" Meg had to stop here, because the words were blotted out with tear stains. Her eyes roved the page and then she continued, "_Both of us committed wrongs, but I wish we could forget them now. All I ask for is your safe return. Ever yours, Raoul._"

I swung a leg against my couch, beating the heel in time. "I don't know what to think of that."

Meg looked at me intently, "Clearly he wishes for you to give him one last chance."

I stood once again and waved my arms at no one in particular, "He deserves much more than one chance from me! It is I who should be on my knees begging him to accept me back! Perhaps it would be in both our interests if he just let me go."

Meg shook her head firmly, "Oh, you can't! Maybe now that you're both aware of the problem in your marriage, you can fix it. Maybe you can try again. He loves you so, Christine! Just listen to the letter!"

I snatched the parchment back from her, "It doesn't even sound like him! It is as if his heart was not in it!"

Meg heaved a heavy sigh, "Christine, the man is heartbroken. Contrary to what our favorite romantic stories tell us, men do not always have the presence of mind to pen brilliant works of literature when they suffer from broken hearts."

I considered the letter once again, my resolve swaying for a time. Divorce was such a nasty business, after all. As my eyes roved over the paper again and again, I began to believe that it was worth a try. Perhaps on account of the fact that Erik no longer loved me, I could learn to let him go until _he_ was the one who became the distant memory.

Squaring my shoulders, I hid the letter in my bureau and scooped up the book I had been reading earlier. "Would you like to see the library?" I inquired softly, hovering by the door.

Meg rose, "Christine, will you consider the letter?"

I nodded, "I…I think I will try. There's nothing else for me to go to, is there?"

Meg smiled sadly, "There will always be something and someone for you in this world."

I laughed, "I have only half an idea of what that meant, but it sounded kind!"

Meg pushed me out of the door, "Here I am trying to be poetic, and you have to make fun of me. Typical, Christine!"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"I almost think we would have been better off staying in my room," I giggled, as Meg recounted to me the last exploits of her current lover.

"Stop laughing at me!" Yet she was all smiles, obviously enjoying telling me about the Englishman who had begun to court her in Paris. It seemed serious, but I knew that Meg would never be above some fun teasing.

I paused at a shelf, examining the array of books. It seemed that we were stuck in the mythology section with books pertaining to ancient Greek and Roman societies, none of which I knew much about. Right now I felt in need of some light and preferably silly reading that would not require much thought. When I rounded the shelf, I was greeted by the impact of a hard object against my head.

The projectile turned out to be a round, red apple. It rolled back toward its owner who was none other than that irritating scoundrel Lucien.

"Can't you go for _one_ day without harassing me?" I exclaimed angrily, rubbing the back of my head.

Lucien smirked and began to toss the apple into the air. "I didn't see you yesterday," he pointed out.

"Missed me?" I grumbled, placing a shelf between myself and the boy.

Lucien instantly skipped over to where I was standing, "Well, I need _someone_ stupid to throw apples at."

I raised my hand, "I _will_ slap you."

"That's what you say every time I do something bad."

"I mean it this time!"

Lucien rolled his eyes, "You can't hit me because I'm Lady Barlow's grandson! You'll get in sooo much trouble!"

At that moment, Meg appeared, "Christine, who are you talking to?" When her eyes settled upon the small boy, I saw the dawn of that insane light in her eyes that favored many women when they looked at cute children. "Oh, Christine, he's _divine_!" She cried out, reaching a hand toward Lucien. "I'm Meg, a friend of Christine."

Lucien stuck out his lower lip and pretended to look bashful. His voice trembled as if with fear and he whispered, "I…I'm Lucien, Madame." He bowed prettily over her hand, still retaining the pretense of shyness.

"What a perfect gentleman!"

Was I the only one immune to his charm?

Meg was looking at me expectantly, until I realized she was waiting for further explanation. "Lady Barlow's grandson," I waved my hand vaguely in Lucien's direction.

"I see." That delighted gleam was still in Meg's eyes. "Lucien…is that French?"

I looked at the boy with interest now, for that fact had never occurred to me. I wondered now why it was that I had never bothered to ask before.

Lucien suddenly seemed hesitant to speak, and his voice was low and soft as he answered. "My father came from Grandmama's side of the family, but my mother was French."

Meg squealed even louder, if possible, "Incredible!" I was not sure what exactly was so incredible, but I was prevented from asking when the clock began to chime the hour. Meg jumped and exclaimed, "Oh no! I have to finish a letter to Mother so that I can send it off tomorrow!" She ruffled Lucien's hair, "I'm sorry, Lucien, but I guess you know how demanding mothers can be! Christine, I'll see you at the gathering?"

I smiled at the degree to which she was flustered. Madame Giry certainly continued to hold her lovely daughter in her firm grip. "Of course, Meg. Go on."

With a wave, the girl disappeared out of the library. I sighed and decided to continue my search for some interesting reading. "Ugh, all history," I muttered. Erik had been interested in this type of thing, but right now with my cold and all, my brain was not capable of digesting anything remotely intellectual.

Lucien had been suspiciously silent for a while, so I turned to him with a curious gaze. Before, there had never been a moment when he indulged me with his silence; rather, I was always the one telling him to be quiet. Now, however, he leaned against a shelf with his head down and eyes shut.

"What's up with you?" I demanded, continuing my search. "Cat _finally_ got your tongue?"

Lucien stared up at me with anger in his features. "It's none of your damn business, woman."

"Language, Lucien."

"You're not my mother!" He yelled unexpectedly, advancing toward me several steps.

I stared at him, a book hanging loosely in my hands. Never before had he shouted at me in such a manner; never had he looked at me with such raw pain and hurt in his eyes. For the first time, I was frightened by him.

"What's wrong?" I asked him softly, placing the book aside.

He turned away from me and crossed his arms, "Like I said, it doesn't concern you."

"So?"

Lucien glanced at me, "What do you mean, 'so'?"

"So, you can still talk to me."

"_I_ am above speaking with idiots like yourself," Lucien informed me contemptuously. "Besides, you wouldn't understand."

I tilted my head at him and merely met his gaze. We stayed like that for several minutes, with me calmly looking at him and allowing his anger to simmer to a reasonable temperature. I had never seen him so furious before; so frightened; so _vulnerable_.

At last, Lucien broke the look and averted his face. "She died this morning," he whispered, as if not quite believing the words that he had spoken.

I frowned, "Who?"

The heat was back in his manner as he hissed at me, "My mother, that's who! My stupid, useless mother who had to get sick and die!"

I stared, frozen by my shock. Of all the things that I had learned to expect from the carefree, rebellious scamp, it was not a display of open emotion. He had always seemed so strong…so entirely satisfied and comfortable with his circumstances. It hit me that it had never occurred to me to ask about his parents, and only now did he reveal part of his life to me.

Without further thought, I knelt beside him and put my arms about his small shoulders. At first he tried to pry free from my grasp, but I knew how much he needed this; I understood the pain of what it was to lose a parent. I held on to him fiercely, and eventually allowed him to settle into my embrace. Then, Lucien did the inevitable and began to bawl in a manner that defied every part of the image that he had built for himself.

"Shh," I whispered, holding the small boy gently. "Just let yourself cry."

Lucien sniffled noisily, "I'm _not_ crying. I'm not weak!" He pushed away forcefully, "What do you know, anyway? You're just a stupid rich girl!"

At any other time I would have been offended, but not now. I only smiled soothingly and offered him one of my own clean handkerchiefs, "I never really knew my mother because she died when I was very young." Lucien accepted the handkerchief, and I continued to speak, "For a time my father and I were very close; I felt as if I would never love anyone else in the world as much as I loved him. Then, when I was even younger than you are now, he also died."

Lucien blew his nose several times. He blinked moist eyes at me, his face drenched in tear tracks. "My father was a drunk," he stated flatly. "He left Mama and I six years back because he loved alcohol more. He never writes."

He did not protest when I kissed the top of his head, "No matter what you feel right now, you are not alone, Lucien. You will never be alone."

His eyes narrowed, "I have you, is that it? Some comfort."

I laughed outright and hugged him yet again. "Isn't it?"

We sat together in companionable silence for a while more, until the clock announced the next hour. I marveled silently, for in the midst of our small battles, a tender bond had somehow developed between the two of us. I had gone from outright hating him for stealing a precious thing, to somehow caring about what happened to this little boy who tossed apples at my head and tried to trip me with sticks when I walked in the orchard.

"The birthday dinner!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "We only have an hour!"

"How can she throw a party when my mother is dead?" Lucien whispered. "You know, Mama was only a poor baker's daughter, but she was so very pretty before she got sick! Grandmama only took her in out of humiliation at what her son had done, but I don't think she ever cared about Mama."

"Oh, Lucien, don't say such things!"

"It's true," Lucien spat bitterly.

I sighed, "If you like, I'll stay with you and we can both miss the party."

Lucien shook his head, "No. I want to show them that I'm not some weakling like my stupid father. Besides, it will displease _him_."

"Surely Erik will understand if you miss the party!"

"No."

"Haven't you spoken to him today?"

"Not about…not about Mama." Lucien's voice had a decided tremble to it now. "It was…lessons as usual. I'm positive I want to go tonight."

"Are you sure?" I let the concern edge my voice, disturbed by the unfeeling attitude Erik had given the boy.

"Go put on your ugly dinner frock," Lucien ordered. "I'm tired of you."

Despite the words which I knew he did not mean, I walked Lucien to his room. He did not allow me to plant any more kisses on him, informing me that he was revolted by all the disgusting simpering showered upon him by other females.

"See you downstairs?" I paused at the door, still concerned about leaving him alone with his grief.

Lucien stuck his tongue out at me, "Go away, woman."

I smiled and began to walk away.

His voice stopped me one last time, "Christine?"

I turned, "Yes?"

"Thank you."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

On my way back from Lucien's room, I stopped off at Adelle's room. She was already fully-dressed, and gave an exclamation of dismay when she saw me in my day clothes. I spent a moment appreciating her full gown of lavender silk, peppered with delicate lace ribbons that set off just the right effect for her complexion. At the moment I walked in, she was busy fussing over her hair with harried maids rushing about in every direction.

"I haven't seen you all day!" She commented, fidgeting with yet another potential style. "How is your cold?"

"Better," I told her. Then I added, "I spent the day with an old friend who came unexpectedly to visit."

"Oh?" She winced as one of the maids stuck a hairpin in her scalp. "Who was she?"

"Meg Giry," I rested on the edge of her couch. "The famous ballerina."

To my great surprise, Adelle's lips set in a harsh line. "Meg Giry, you say? Isn't she, well, _common_?"

I sat up, incredulous. I could not believe what I was hearing! "I thought you admired her! You told me you once went to see her dance!"

"Oh, her dancing is fine…But you called her an old friend! Christine, how could you have known her when she was a nobody?" Adelle went to my side and placed her hands on her hips, "Women in our position can't afford to go around -."

I clambered to my feet and demanded loudly, "Where is that jar of oil I lent you?"

Adelle looked confused, "What?"

"I came here for my bath oil, not your inane conversation."

She bit her lip, "Oh, Christine, I didn't mean it! It's only that I was surprised…and…and I once knew a girl who fraternized with those beneath her class, and it did _not_ turn out well!"

"My bath oil?" I asked coldly.

She rushed to her bureau and retrieved my jar. "Christine -."

"I have to go take a bath," I snapped, sweeping out of her room and slamming the door shut behind me. Of all people, I had thought Adelle would have been the most understanding out of all these high society types! How very wrong I had been! True, a part of me understood that she could not help but be colored by the prejudices of her class…but _still!_ I loved Meg dearly, and I could not stand an insult like that!

I myself was not one of Adelle's class! I had married into that social status, although I prayed that no one here knew. My very existence and acceptance in this circle was proof that ballet rats like myself could be interesting and intellectual individuals as well!

I was in a truly foul mood now as I stomped off to my room. I wanted nothing to do with this party, nor with the people associated with it. I reflected that I would simply spend most of the evening with Meg and Lucien, and hope that I could excuse myself quickly, using my cold as an excuse.

Still, I was not given respite from my trials. By this time, I had learned to know my way through most of the house. It was a complete labyrinth, yet I walked confidently, meandering through halls that I did not often visit. So great was my anger, that after a while I realized that my supposed confident step had brought me into a very unfamiliar section of the mansion. Everything was furnished just as elegantly and brilliantly in this quarter, but I could not figure out which way to go. Once again, I was lost. I seemed to have a talent for going astray.

Just before I was about to round a corner, familiar voices drifted toward me. Of course, of all people, it just had to be Erik. Again. Of all things, I did not need to see _him _right now! I hesitated for a moment, hiding myself behind the corner and straining to place the voice of the other individual. It was feminine and extremely familiar, but I could not call up a name.

I peered around the corner, inching my face forward to catch a glimpse. I could see the fringe of the woman's skirt in a doorway, and Erik's voice drifted out as they spoke with each other.

"…you say, but I don't believe you!" She cried, her skirts rustling.

"What can I do to make you trust me?" Was the soft response, low and deep.

The woman stepped back out of the apartment, stylish in her evening gown of trimmed green velvet. It was exceedingly low-cut, revealing a generous figure of enviable proportions. I nearly gasped aloud, for it was Karine Renois.

Erik stepped out after her, and I was further astounded when he touched her cheek with his fingertips, "Karine, you have my promise."

Although she glared, she took his hand into her own, apparently absorbed in inspecting his palm. "I know, but -."

He smiled, but it was so very cold that even from a distance, I shivered. It was the calculating, inhuman look that I so loathed; it was the look he gave people that he sentenced to death.

Renois, however, seemed to indulge in it. "Oh, Erik, you tease me so," she whispered, curling lovely hands about his neck. I watched, shocked beyond rational thought, as he did not protest and instead pulled her into a kiss. "I have you on a string," she murmured, rubbing against his cheek.

He continued to lavish her neck with kisses, his agreement muffled, "You certainly do."

I continued to watch, a morbid fascination having captured my senses. Renois forced him against the wall, curling a leg around his middle as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head back and moaned a slight protest, "Karine, what if one of the maids sees?"

"Let them see," she traced the outline of his chest through the thin silk shirt that he wore.

"I worry only about you, my dear," he continued, almost absently tugging at a lace on her bodice. "You _are_ married, after all."

She paused, "Oh, all right. We're expected at that damned party in any case."

"Social responsibility is so troublesome." Erik sighed as he retied the laces to her gown, "We may have to retire early."

"We do have better things to do with our time," She agreed, settling against him in the doorway. "You're mine, aren't you?"

Over the top of her head, Erik shut his eyes and whispered, "Who else's could I be?"

She laughed, "Well, we still have some time to waste before the party." Renois began to pull him back inside the doorframe, "We could just settle down in here for a while longer."

How they reminded me of two predators, circling each other as they readied for the kill! Both had the same hungry look in their eyes; the same deliberate edge to their movement. Each knew what the other was, and for a time they reveled in it.

Was this the reason why Erik no longer loved me? Was it because he had found someone _like him_? Maybe he truly was the monster he had always denied; maybe he had finally given in to his true nature. And how I hated him! How I wanted to hurt him in any way I could! I knew suddenly that I could never go back to Raoul, for this anger that I felt – this insatiable, burning rage that overwhelmed me – it could never be put to the back of my mind.

A part of me should have realized I hurt him first; some sector of my mind should have understood that _I_ abandoned Erik at the moment that he needed me most. Why should it matter what he did now? All those years ago I had plainly told him that I did not care!

I chose that moment to allow my irrational rage to take full control of me. Breathing furiously, I revealed my location and stalked toward the pair, lugging my jar of bath oil with me. I stopped in front of the door, pausing as if I had only discovered them by chance.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide. "I did not mean to _intrude_."

Renois uncoiled her serpentine limbs from around Erik, although one hand remained against his chest possessively. "Comtesse," she uttered, sending me a look that clearly stated hatred.

My own rage, however, was so great that I could not have cared less that she apparently despised me. I had no idea why she would hate me, but we had never liked each other much.

"_Well_," I said, looking calmly at Erik.

His own look was as uncaring and chilly as ever. "Do you need something, Madame?" he inquired.

I tapped my foot, hugging the bath oil jar to my stomach. "Oh, no, everything is so much more _clear_ now."

"You have no business here. Run along now, little Comtesse." Renois spoke as if addressing a small child, although she was not more than several years older than me.

I hated the way she touched Erik, as if claiming him for her property. Above all, I hated that he endured it, apparently taking pleasure in her action. "And who are you to order me around?" I glared at her furiously, although I must have looked ridiculous with my hair completely unbound, wearing nothing but a simple afternoon gown, slippers, and holding a gigantic jar.

His look inscrutable, Erik spoke a single word; "Leave."

I was not to be deterred, however. "I will _not_ be ordered about like a petulant child!"

Infuriatingly, Karine Renois began to laugh. The sound was mocking in its elegance, and she rolled her head against Erik's shoulder as she chortled with her arms tight about him, "Listen to her! How amusing this _grown woman_ is!"

Although Erik did not join in her ridicule, he was no more obliging to me. "I do not want to see you here," he told me, his eyes as unfathomable as ever.

"You couldn't tell me outright?" I demanded, continuing to speak without thinking. "You couldn't tell me that _this_ was the reason? Don't you owe that to me?"

Erik stepped away from Renois, leaning toward me dangerously in the doorway. "I owe you _nothing_. Do you understand me? I gave you _everything_ and in return you gave me nothing! Now know what it feels like!"

By this point, however, I was so wound up that I could not stop myself. "You may owe nothing to me, but what about others?" With one hand I pointed down the corridor, "Lucien lost his mother today, and _here_ you are, gallivanting about with a woman in the middle of the day while that child is _alone_!"

Obviously, Erik had not expected our conversation to take such a turn. Indeed, neither had I, as I had simply grasped for straws to justify my anger.

Renois leaned in the doorway beside Erik. She looked between us with an air that was close to boredom. "I'm tired of you, Comtesse," she yawned, looking away from me. "Always the little darling of Penous and all her little friends. Go back and play, girl. Can't you see you're not wanted?"

I ignored her and continued to stare at Erik.

Finally, he spoke. "What do you expect from me, Madame? I cannot possibly watch that child every waking hour."

My grip around the jar tightened, my knuckles turning white. "You have a certain responsibility to him! You are his teacher and his mentor! He depends on you!"

"But I am not his father," Erik pointed out coldly, crossing his arms.

At this point I lost all sense of my volume and snarled outright, "_You might as well be!_" I inhaled one deep breath before continuing. "The boy needs someone to talk to! You know him better than anyone else!"

Erik clenched his hands at his side, his own control slipping for the first time. "And what would I say to him? Would I embrace the sniveling child and tell him that everything will be fine? That his mother loved him and that _he_ is still loved?"

"It would be something!" I realized now that we were standing nearly face to face, shouting at each other in the middle of a public hall. Karine Renois had withdrawn slightly, but I took note of the fact that her expression was still amused.

He looked at me now with what could only be construed as abhorrence. "I hated my mother, Comtesse. I despised her with all my loathsome heart! You know, I contemplated burning her alive in that miserable home of ours! A pity God decided to take her just days before I could carry out my plan! I would tell the boy that God had done him a favor, ridding him of that monstrous thing called a _mother!_ Why should _I_ show him kindness? He has enough admirers!"

"Your kindness would mean the most to him, you wretched beast!" I screamed, my voice rising to impossible volume. I knew that his mother had been unkind, but how could he say such things about the woman who had brought him into the world? How could he refuse to care about a poor boy who needed him right now?

Renois coughed, "If you're done here, Comtesse? We have other things to attend to."

This time I sneered, "Of course you do." I began to back away, hefting my jar firmly in my hands as I glared, unforgiving, at Erik. "I cannot believe that I actually convinced myself that I _loved_ you," I told him scathingly. "The thought makes me shudder with revulsion now, for you truly are no more than a selfish, uncaring _thing_."

Erik's voice had impossible control and neutrality when he answered. "Get out of my sight, Comtesse." He took a step back into his room, "And never speak to me again."

"With pleasure," I snarled, stalking off down the corridor.

Karine Renois' laughter followed me all the way to my room, and I could still hear it as I placed the jar on the ground and shut the door.

I should have felt accomplished; I should have felt like I had done the right thing. But strangely, I felt no better. If anything, I only felt worse about everything.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

My gown for that evening suited my cold-ridden face extremely well. The chiffon skirts and bodice were so deep a burgundy that the aura bordered on black. The sleeves hung about my arms so that my shoulders were bare and my necklace of rubies could be properly displayed. The rubies had been an anniversary gift from Raoul several years back, and I had not been given occasion to wear them until now. He always said that they complimented the soft brown of my eyes, although I could never be sure if that was mere flattery.

I had chosen my finest gown for this night not only because it was the grand occasion of Lady Barlow's birthday, but also because I felt in need of something to restore my confidence after everything that had happened that day. I felt the need to prove that I was just as good as everyone else in that room. Above all, I wanted Karine Renois to see that she was no woman over _me_, although I worried that she would be by Erik the entire night.

Still, I would teach that Karine Renois that I was not one to be laughed at! I had chosen a gown that flattered my assets to the maximum: as if daring her, I had also made sure the neckline was low enough to properly emphasize the curves of my chest, with the back of the gown rippling low to my waist. It was audacious, but still stylish enough not to cross the borders into the vulgar. Just in case, an ebony wrap draped loosely through my elbows complemented the entire ensemble.

That night I enjoyed many a dance with the young lordling friends of Lady Barlow, and more than a few attempted to lead me outside to the balcony. Karine Renois, however, still could easily rival me that night. She was naturally an enticing woman, her features so enigmatic that men could not help but gravitate toward her. She had discarded her dress from earlier in favor of a regal ebony evening gown that clung to her body in all the right places. It was, if possible, even more low cut than her gown of earlier had been and somehow managed to emphasize her height to regal proportions. She carried herself as a goddess, and the sparkling jewels in her dark hair were as if stars had decided to nestle temporarily in her lovely locks.

True to my fears, Erik was by her side for most of the night, although neither did anything that could be construed as improper. To my eyes, they shared more dances than was necessary, and stood closer to each other than circumstances dictated, but I was sure I was the only one who thought so. I tried not to notice how Erik outshone all the other pathetic creatures in the room, for I could not help but be captured by his eternal grace and charm. Tonight, it seemed as if he overpowered the room with it, and although he was dressed no more elaborately than the other men, it was all in the way that he moved and carried himself. It was as if he were the master who commanded the world, and everyone knew it.

Several times I caught English women beside me, whispering about him excitedly. "Who _is_ that?" One of them would exclaim, fanning herself enthusiastically.

Another would reply that she had seen him once or twice at a soiree, and they would proceed to wonder about him aloud.

"I wonder why he wears a mask?" One of them suddenly asked.

"I hear he's Lady Barlow's magician or something like that," the other replied. "But does it really matter?"

"What's a little eccentricity?" Another agreed.

"Who is that woman dancing with him anyway?"

"Some pompous cow of a Frenchwoman. Look at the way she hangs from him! It's disgusting."

"It certainly is!"

I nearly laughed aloud, but restrained myself when my most recent dance partner returned with the drinks I had asked him to fetch. We stood there on the edge of the room and watched as the multitude of guests danced enthusiastically. Tonight, Lady Barlow had opted to open her grand ballroom in honor of the occasion. It was so immense that it reached up to the full height of the house with a second gallery curling high about the fringe of the room. Multiple chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but the grandest crystal piece hung in the center of the room. It's design was so intricate and remarkable that I was reminded of the lovely chandelier of the Opera Populaire.

I supposed it was still lying in broken fragments upon the stage. It was a pitiable fate for so exquisite a thing.

Eventually, Meg and I found each other in the crowd. Adelle also came to us and apologized to me profusely, and her tone was so sincere that I could not help but forgive her. In any case, I could only fight one war at a time, and my battle with Renois was already leeching all my energy. I wanted nothing but to go to my room and sleep off my cold, but I forced myself to stay. I did not really know what I was competing for, but I knew that I had to remain here as long as possible.

Adelle and Meg actually appreciated each other's company, and soon they were chatting away enthusiastically.

"You look incredibly tonight, by the way, Christine," Adelle informed me, looking over my clothes appreciatively.

Meg sighed, "If only I had a dressmaker like that."

For a time the talk turned to seamstresses, and around us, the crowd began to disperse. The clock chimed midnight, and the orchestra began to pack away their things. The room suddenly seemed incredibly large in relation to the amount of people now inside it, and Lady Barlow clapped her hands for attention as she often did.

"My friends, perhaps we should retire to the parlor?" The question was one of suggestion, but everyone obeyed unquestioningly. The remaining guests piled out, and I guessed there to be only thirty or so of us remaining. It was still a large number, but small enough to fit into the other room comfortably.

What I had not been expecting, however, was Lady Barlow's other demand.

"Since it's my birthday and all," she smiled, hovering beside her grand piano, "and since I am now an old woman -." She put a hand up at the protests, although she laughed, "Would you all mind indulging a grandmother with a small concert?"

It seemed no more formal than her other soirees, and the customary people rose to play a variety of pieces. Some executed grand concertos upon the piano, while others stood by the instrument and sang in warbling tones. Lady Barlow herself rose several times to perform a ballad, and she was not as terrible as she had advocated to me that first day I met her. Her voice was untrained, but she did possess a certain talent for the nuances of music.

Throughout the entire recital, I remained seated in a corner with Adelle and Meg for companions. Lucien had found us as well, and was curled up dozing against me, long bored by the proceedings. The poor boy had suffered enough today that I debated sending him to bed. There was no polite way, however, for me to suddenly rise and leave the room with all of us seated and listening to the most recent performer. If I rose, Lady Barlow would immediately assume I wished to perform something for her – and _that_ would be disastrous.

I had quickly tired of attempting to outdo Karine Renois that night, for I had realized that my greatest critic had simply been myself. I did hate her with all my heart, but with the combined pressures of my cold and other events of that day, I no longer had any more energy to spend upon trying to show that I was better than her.

Erik had not looked at me once that entire night, and I was glad of it. I did not think that I could face him ever again, for I now felt terribly about what I had said to him earlier. Where had all that stupid irrational anger come from anyway? He, more than anyone else in this world, did not deserve to receive such unkind words from me.

A young man who had just finished a small sonatina walked back to his seat amongst enthusiastic clapping from the audience. Lady Barlow then rose and scanned the crowd, her face still alight with smiles. "Well, that was certainly lovely!" She exclaimed, playing with her own elaborate wrap and boa.

Then her eyes settled on me. My heart rose in my throat and I knew a deadly panic. Could I plead a cold tonight? _Oh please, no! Not with him watching!_

"My divine Comtesse de Chagny! You once promised me that you would sing for me, but I have yet to hear your lovely voice! Come, child, and don't be afraid!"

"I…I have a cold," I protested weakly.

She laughed, "Nonsense! It is my birthday, and I will absolutely love anything you do!"

Lucien was sitting up now, interested. He rubbed at his eyes and looked at me expectantly. The entire room slowly craned their necks in my direction, and I knew I had no choice but to rise. Meg alone appeared to share my panic, and her hand momentarily tightened around mine as I stood up.

"Excellent!" Lady Barlow rushed to my side and began to escort me to the piano. "Oh, and you will need accompaniment, won't you? I have the most wonderful idea!"

I did not think it could have gotten much worse than this. She abandoned me by the piano and waved happily at none other than the last man I wanted to see right now.

"My good friend, Monsieur D'Artois," she motioned at Erik, who sat beside Renois with the stoniest expression I had ever seen. "A composer, and you have yet to perform anything for us! Accompany the girl, or perhaps you two could sing a duet?"

My heart dropped from my throat and down to my toes where it began to writhe.

Erik obediently followed Lady Barlow's command, and I marveled at his composure that betrayed nothing but easy compliance. "Anything for you, Elizabeth," he told her silkily, coming to sit upon the bench for the majestic piano.

"What will you sing?" She asked me, her eyes alight with expectation as she went back to her seat in the front row.

I glanced helplessly at Erik, and for the first time he met my eyes. A deadly, manipulative smile appeared on his lips that held no kindness for me. "Something contemporary," he informed the room, although he continued to stare at me. "I am sure the Comtesse will recognize it."

When he struck the first unforgiving chords upon the subservient keys of the piano, my knees nearly gave way. The notes were gentle and coercive; they were meant to lull the listener to a place of security, but all I could feel was the inferno rising to greet me.

When Erik began to sing, I could practically feel the simultaneous intake of breath in the room. Into his words, he poured all his soul and every emotion that he had ever had possessed, but I was sure that only I could feel the concealed cruelty in those melodious tones.

"_No more talk of darkness; forget these wide-eyed fears,_" he sang, looking at me all the while. "_I'm here, nothing can harm you – my words will warm and calm you_."

I nearly began to weep as he continued to sing. How could he! How could he continue to do such hateful things? This song – these _words_ did not and _could not_ ever belong to him! They were something precious; something unique I had shared with Raoul and Raoul alone! I knew so little of my husband now that it was the worst crime imaginable to steal one of my last fond memories of him!

I did not know if I felt hate or sorrow; I had to sing. I did not try to hide my voice or conceal my skill; all I could do was sing from my heart and try not to cry. "_Say you love me every waking moment; turn my head with talk of summertime._" I turned my side to the crowd and moved closer to him, my fingers trailing over the carved framework of the piano, "_Say you need me with you, now and always…promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you._"

We knew each other well, and it showed. Our voices melded together perfectly, spiraling through the notes and confidently making every jump between octaves. We trusted each other to complete the music; to make it a whole as we sang. There was no world any more; there was only us and the music we shared.

Petty human emotions suddenly became things of no consequence. There was no hatred or love either; everything blurred and melted into the element that was the music. Dimly, I saw Lady Barlow and her guests staring at us wide-eyed, but there was nothing to stop us. Meg's frightened glance did not matter; Adelle's shocked expression was unimportant; Renois' blatant detestation was laughable.

When we reached the climax, I found myself sitting beside him, our eyes locked even as he continued to play mechanically.

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too_," we both sang softly, "_Love me, that's all I ask of you._"

After the last chord was struck, the room sat in perfect silence. Erik and I continued to stare at each other as we returned to the corporeal world. Slowly, I began to shake as the last of the magic dissipated and I recalled those emotions that Erik had dispelled with the power of his song.

There was the sudden sound of a clap, followed by another, until the whole room rose in appreciation. I did not turn to look, for all I could do was look at Erik helplessly as I lost all control and fought to breathe. I rose shakily, supporting myself against the piano, and nearly crumpled despite my efforts. When Erik moved to support me, I beat his hand away and stepped back.

I shook my head and stumbled away. "Don't touch me!" It was childish, I knew, but I had never been so utterly consumed by hate in my life. This was not the illogical anger of earlier; this was the cold, brutal truth. Of everything he could have done to me, this was the worst. To tease me with the song and words of Raoul!

When I dared to look at him again, I saw that for the very first time, an unendurable sadness had registered across Erik's face. It was the same look of tragedy that had defeated him all those years ago as he forced me to make my choice beneath the Opera Populaire. It was that unspoken plea for forgiveness; the look that had driven me to pity and to even believe that I _loved_ him!

But I would not be taken for a fool twice! "You…I _hate_ you," I hissed quietly. Although my voice was low, it was enough to send the room into a quiet shock. Everyone stared at us now not with admiration, but with bewilderment.

I could not face anyone in that room anymore!

I began to back out of the room. I walked slowly at first, not caring that Adelle reached for me or that Meg addressed me plaintively. I heard none of the confused murmurs floating around the room as I turned my back and quickened my pace into a dash. I wanted no one to follow me; I wanted to see no one ever again.

As I disappeared up the stairs, I heard the single utterance of my name that I least wanted. "Christine!"

Erik was calling for me.

And still, I ran.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** I swear that all will be explained next chapter! The author isn't just inserting every soap-opery-random-angsty thing she can think of. Seriously!

I hope no one laughed at this chapter too much. Thanks for even sitting through it!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer:** Standard stuff. Leroux, Kay, Webber and Schumacher own all.

**A/N:** I am just SHOCKED by the amazing response I got for the previous chapter. After all that incredible feedback that I got, I'm rather hesitant to post this chapter because for some reason I just don't feel happy with it. The other chapter I worried that I overdid everything until it turned into a soap opera (although I didn't hear many complaints…), but with this chapter…

I think that I'm just terrible at plot. So bear with me while I ATTEMPT to force everything to make sense. And if it doesn't at the end, well, then just enjoy the EC stuff.

**Update Notice:** I got hit in the face with a tennis ball this morning, so I decided that it was a sign that I should get off my rear and finish this chapter. Seriously, the right side of my face rivals Butler!Erik's at the moment. All they should've done was hit Gerry with tennis balls repeatedly before filming. It would've saved them hours of makeup anyway…

I'm sorry I took so long with this chapter, but the next chapter may not come that much sooner. I have my SATs next Saturday, so I'm REALLY quite stressed at the moment with the work piling up in school as well…HOPEFULLY I'll update within a week, but at most it'll only be two weeks. Promise!

I love my caps lock key.

Good luck trudging through this one!

**Chapter 7**

I have said that Lady Barlow was always considered a bit unconventional; this quality was prevalent throughout the architecture of her house. Among many of the twists and turns of her mansion, one might often encounter a Renaissance façade or a Roman theme in the next room. One could spend hours simply wandering about the vast house, indulging in all the various styles. Lady Barlow's crowning achievement, however, was to be found upon the roof of her home. Here, she had spent an entire summer refining an elegant rock garden that required a great amount of upkeep throughout the changing seasons.

Now that it was winter, the garden was usually deserted, although servants kept the walks shoveled for their mistress. I had only taken several walks here before since I harbored an extreme fear of heights, however now I was glad for its existence. It was to here that I now ran, my steps racing ever faster and as far away as possible from that room in the base of the house. I needed to be somewhere right now where no one could find me, for I knew I was on the verge of breaking completely.

I passed several servants on my way and received many strange looks from them. I knew I was certainly a sight, for I carried my voluminous skirts up above my knees as I ran far too quickly in my heeled shoes. At any moment I expected myself to trip as I climbed stone stairwells, up to that desolate garden.

Erik's cry rang in my ears as I ran, but I could not and _would not_ acknowledge it.

Finally I burst out upon the terrace, the frigid night air blasting me full in the face. It was not unlike that night that Raoul and I had first sung our duet of love, with the snowflakes falling gently about us as we danced with the sculpted cherubs as our witnesses.

_No, I won't think of it._ In that memory I no longer saw Raoul's joyful face, but the shadow of my phantom as he listened behind an unforgiving statue. I had not seen him there that night, but I always knew he had been there. How else could he have thrown my words back at me the night of _Don Juan_?

Here the snow fell lightly upon my bare shoulders, but there were no frightening statuettes to hide behind. Instead, elegant paths were sculpted by rocks sprinkled lightly in snow and fringed with tiny plants arranged in a pattern. The walks were freshly-shoveled, although I stumbled in my path, vision obscured by the darkness. At last I fell and crouched beside a stone pillar, winded from my frantic flight to the rooftop. For a moment I fought to catch my breath, grateful that I was finally alone.

The door behind me burst open.

"Christine!"

Oh God, he had followed me. I scooted against my pillar and shut my eyes, wishing I could just melt into the shadows. Why couldn't he just leave me alone? Why did he want to hurt me even more?

Erik easily traced my footsteps in the snow, his eyesight a great deal keener in the dark than my own. I barely heard him approach, but when he next spoke, the voice was right at my ear. "Christine?" Erik knelt in the snow beside me, reaching out to touch my cheek.

I hardly acknowledged the touch, refusing to look at him. Instead I twitched my face away from his gloved hand, wrapping my arms about my knees. "Why can't you leave me be?" I whispered, beginning to shudder as I belatedly realized that it was disagreeably cold upon the rooftop. Flakes dusted my bare skin as the snow continued to fall.

"Christine, won't you come inside?" Erik suggested quietly.

I coughed several times, "No! Let me alone!"

Undeterred, he grasped my shoulders. Erik peered into my face fixedly, eyes untamed and frantic, "Oh, Christine! My poor, foolish Christine!"

I clawed at his hands, trying to fight my way out of his hold. "Let me go!" I yelled, pushing him away.

Erik shook me, forcing me to look at him. "Do you hate me, Christine? Do you wish to see me dead with my abhorrent skull smashed against a stone?"

I opened and closed my mouth several times, beginning to cry yet again. I had thought I possessed no more tears to shed, but it appeared I had been wrong yet again.

The dim moonlight glanced dully off the white porcelain of his mask, white orbs reflected in both of his eyes. It gave him the increased appearance of a madman with only the ashen light of blind lunacy in his gaze. "Tell me, Christine! You do not have to forgive me, only let me know! Even if it is hate, at least you feel something!"

"You're insane," I gasped, taking his wrists.

Erik laughed cruelly, his eyes glinting. "I know, Christine. I've had to live with this madness for so long and I'm tired. I'm so tired of it all." He finally let go, allowing me to rest against the ground. There were twin red marks upon my shoulders, the tint a mockery of the shade of my gown.

I huddled in the cold and put my face in my lap. I shivered until I felt a light weight drop on to my shoulders: the silken fabric of his dinner jacket. My desire for warmth momentarily conquered my pride and I clutched the garment close to my body. When I chanced another look at Erik, I saw that he now sat dejectedly on the stone rim of the frozen fountain, face thrust into his hands.

"Why did you do it?" I asked quietly, tracing a design in the snow with a numb finger.

He did not move as he replied; "Why did you betray me?"

"What?"

"You see, my dear, it is all a matter of perspective, is it not?" Erik slowly raised his face until his eyes met mine, unblinking.

"I don't understand," I whispered, crowding as much of myself and my capacious sleeves into the jacket as possible.

"Neither do I, really," he commented thoughtfully. "Why do you suppose people hurt each other, Christine?"

I looked at him furiously, my vision still thick with tears. "You still haven't answered _me_! How could you sing those words to me before all those people? How could you even dare to?"

He stared at me, his expression absently contemplative. Then he looked away, tangling a hand in his hair as he spoke; "I did not know what else to do! It was the last thing – the _worst_ thing I could think of! God knows, I tried everything else."

"_Why do people hurt each other_?" I mocked, tilting my head. "Perhaps because they take a perverse pleasure in seeing others suffer?"

Erik's eyes hardened; "You should know better than to speak to me of suffering."

I crossed my arms and shook my head, "You still take me for no more than a naïve chorus girl. I won't be spoken to like that anymore! Once, I submitted to your moods and your tempers because I feared you! Sometimes I even felt pity for you!" I stood up, brushing snow from the folds of my soaked gown. "But now I won't allow it! I am not a silly little ballet rat anymore!"

To my surprise, Erik laughed, still cradling his unmasked cheek in one long-fingered hand. "How charming! Little Christine has developed character at last!"

I shuddered at the ridicule, but pressed on. "You speak to me of your endless suffering, yet you see nothing wrong in inflicting pain upon others! Why do you mock me now after you have done everything else within your power to wound me?" I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing to stop the flow of tears. I could feel the kohl beginning to run down my cheeks and knew that I was indeed an abysmal picture.

Erik remained silent and dropped into thought once more. The mirth that had come to his features disappeared just as quickly as it had come, leaving his face a blank. He stared determinedly at the snow, swinging one leg against the base stonework of the fountain as he seemingly ignored me.

Still, I would not be quieted so. Instead, I stopped my pacing and knelt in the snow before him so that he was forced to look at me, although his expression was still unreadable.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I asked him quietly, resting my hands upon my lap. My gown was most likely ruined by now from the exposure to the snow, but I did not care anymore. "I…I never meant to…" I frowned, for I did not know exactly what I wished to say. I would have muttered on if Erik had not gently placed a hand upon my cheek, bidding me to look up at him.

"You know, I tried so hard to hate you, Christine." He traced the outline of my cheekbone with his thumb, studying my face intently, "Still, I could never find it in me to despise you. Even when you left with that boy, I still loved you. Even when you address me as no more than a _thing_ and show me that all you see is a loathsome creature…all I can think about is how much I still cherish you… Forgive me."

I pushed his hand away from my cheek, shaking my head.

Erik sighed and stood, walking around my shaking frame. He circled around me slowly, his shadow dropping across my body as he walked through the snow. I continued to tremble, my hand lingering upon the place where he had touched my skin.

"Go back," his voice drifted back to me, suddenly formal again. "Go home, Comtesse."

I rose to my feet swiftly, turning to face him again. "Why do you insist on playing these games! Why do you dismiss me without a word of explanation? I think you owe me at least that!"

Erik turned back to me sharply, his figure oddly angular in a loose-fitting shirt. The rigid outline of his body could be dimly seen through the fabric permeated by the moon. Then he grabbed me once again, this time clutching my arms urgently. "Ungrateful child! You have to go back to where you are safe!"

I grew limp in his hold, allowing him to shake me again.

"Everything I have done… I did it all for you, Christine! But it is better that you not know – yes, it is safer that way. Go back, go back, _go back!_" With each word he shook me more and more until I stumbled once again. He held me, continuing to rave with his muddled speech.

I looked at him helplessly, "What are you talking about? I don't understand!"

"No! Of course you don't!" Erik slumped suddenly, although he retained his hold on me. "I would rather you hate me, if only you do not come to harm!"

"What?" I wrapped my chilled fingers about his large wrists, feeling the tension in his very bones. "Speak plainly!"

"I cannot," he shook his head, looking down at the snow. "I have already done too much, and if she finds us here, then we are already lost."

I could fathom none of his cryptic remarks! I only wished to understand what was going on: what mad impulse had seized this man now? His words were no better than gibberish to me!

A sickly creak ensued from behind as the door to the roof opened once again. Erik hissed a warning and thrust me behind himself, but not before I saw the shapely body of a woman clad in a light fur slip out into the garden. It only took me a moment to recognize the face of the lady so comfortably nestled within the folds of her coat.

Karine Renois stood regarding us impassively, her hands folded into her sleeves for warmth. A slight wind picked up, whipping wisps of her dark hair about her face, but still she did not move. I stepped around Erik once again, feeling thoroughly confused by this point. When I turned to look at him questioningly, I was disturbed to see a fleeting look of fear pass across his face.

"Well," Renois remarked, brushing back her hair with a gloved hand. "It seems you have broken our agreement, Erik." She flicked a cursory glance in my direction, but said nothing to me.

"I did nothing of the kind," Erik spat, the fear gone now to be replaced with what could plainly be described as loathing. "I told her nothing."

"Your actions speak for themselves." Renois' lips lazed into a deadly smile, "You are weak; soon you would have told her everything. Your last attempt to save her would have been the words that condemned her." She glanced away and heaved a sigh, stretching her neck gracefully, "I suppose I am tired of our game as well."

I stared. Who was this woman who seemed to have Erik wrapped completely around her finger? Never would he have listened to such words from anyone in the past! If I knew him at all, he should have noosed Karine Renois by now, all merciful thoughts forgotten in the heat of his fury.

I saw Erik close his eyes and inhale deeply before he spoke again. His voice was deadly, but calm and controlled; "Let her go, Renois. Just let her go and I swear to you I will give you whatever else you want."

Now I openly gaped, "What are you _saying_?" I exclaimed, stepping between them so that Erik faced me. "Let _me_ go? To where? Give her what?"

Karine laughed prettily behind me and I turned to see her lift a hand to her lips with a thoughtful look for me. "You really told her nothing? Well, I suppose it is all too late now anyway. Now that I have you both here…"

Erik's tone was still steely, bordering on the edge of control. "She has nothing to do with any of this. It would be pointless to harm her; you would gain nothing."

The woman drew her eyebrows together quickly and furiously, crossing her arms tightly. "She has _everything_ to do with this! It was for _her_ that you killed him! It was all for this thoughtless girl who even now does not realize how selfish she has been!" Renois turned her full attention on me now, "I see nothing but a spoiled princess in you, Comtesse. In a way, the entire fault lies with you."

I opened my mouth to retort a reply, searching for proper words.

Erik placed a hand on my arm, dragging me backward and away from Renois. "Stay out of this," he told me harshly.

"Enough," I declared finally, looking between them. "Erik, _let go_ and allow me to finally hear what I am being accused of!"

Karine Renois' face was set in a hard anger, although her words did not reveal an impassioned tone. "You truly wish to know, Comtesse? The reason for my hatred is really very simple." She included Erik in a dainty gesture with her hand, "You see, he took everything I ever loved from me just for you."

I glanced quickly at Erik, but the woman moved to where I stood with a livid utterance, "Look at me when I speak!"

I obeyed almost unthinkingly, startled by her sudden proximity. Truly, the woman moved nearly as subtly as Erik did. When I turned my confused gaze back in her direction, I was rewarded with the sting of a sudden slap from her bare hand. I hissed in my breath and shielded the cheek, which but a minute ago had been lovingly touched by another.

The moment Renois struck me, Erik moved smoothly forward and snatched her delicate wrist in a furious grip. I saw her knuckles turn white as all blood was prevented from flowing out to her fingertips. She was forced to her knees from the pain, but still she continued to smirk as if daring him, her luscious lips once again curved in that unfathomable smile.

"What will you do?" She inquired quietly, sprawled upon the ground. "You cannot kill me as you did my brother. Not unless you wish her to live."

Erik muttered a curse, but did not release her. I stayed back at a distance, massaging the cheek that still stung from where she had hit me. Despite the pain and my alarm, I allowed my curiosity to govern my actions.

"Who…who was your brother?" I asked softly.

She did not look at me, for her entire focus was on Erik. Her breath was halting when she spoke as she gritted her teeth from the pain. "Buquet was his name, Comtesse. _Joseph Buquet._"

At her words, Erik pushed the woman roughly against a statue. Karine Renois cried out, but he did not lessen his grip. I began to see the telltale signs of madness slowly overtake him once again, for he lightly wrapped his other hand about her delicate throat.

I stared quickly at Erik, but all I could see in his features was the insanity. Although she was held mercilessly by the throat, Karine Renois began to look pleased, "The first piece falls into place, does it not? You see, there is little that I do not know about your previous existence, Christine Daaé."

"Daaé? How…how could you know?" At the mention of my given name, I felt a deadly hand wrap its iced fingers about my heart.

"There is much I have learned," she choked out the words, bound in the rough grip. "I know everything about the Opera Ghost and his connection to you." She looked pointedly at Erik now, fairly gloating in her words.

His brows drawn together, Erik visibly tightened his hold on her. "I have listened to _enough_," he growled, treating her as no more than a lifeless rag doll.

At last I regained my senses and darted forward, clutching at his elbow to pry his hands away from the woman's throat. "For the love of God, Erik, let her speak! She has done nothing to hurt anyone!" My anger at the woman was momentarily forgotten; the images of her possessing Erik fled from my mind in the frightening reality of the present moment.

"Yes, Erik, I am _innocent_, am I not? Still, you have never had any qualms about murdering in cold blood before, have you?" Karine Renois' tone blatantly mocked my words.

Erik allowed a sneer to grace his lips. "Yes," he smiled horribly, "To kill you would bring immeasurable pleasure to my weary senses. It has been long since I last tasted the sweet scent of fresh blood in the air." Nevertheless, there was something defeated in his tone, and he released her and allowed the woman to slump back on the ground and regain her breath.

Although he had freed her for the moment, Erik continued to hover over the woman as if to prevent her from fleeing the rooftop. Karine Renois seemed suddenly so very tired and broken; a warped and deranged creature in the white snow. Her eyes became sad and her next words were whispered; "You wish to hear what I have to say, Comtesse?"

"Yes," I told her evenly, refusing to even look at Erik. Why had he attacked the woman so when there was no reason for it? I remembered how they had behaved earlier this evening. There could have been no mistake as to what I witnessed! Was this how Erik would have treated me had we ever become lovers? Now I fairly trembled with repulsion at the thought, more willing to sympathize with this woman who had left me completely baffled.

Renois glanced down at the snow, speaking to the ground; "Joseph Buquet was born Joseph _Renois_, my older brother. We grew up together, only two years apart and extremely close. We had four elder siblings and our parents never had enough time to devote to any one of us singly. Joseph and I found comfort in the company of each other, playing together for years until we began to grow up."

She paused, stretching her neck further to ease the hurt that had been caused. "We were not good children," Renois nearly smiled genuinely at some distant memory. "Joseph taught me how to pick pockets and survive out on the street among other things. We began to fall in with a certain crowd of miscreants, children well below the class that the two of us had been born into. But for us, you understand, these urchins held all the wonder in the world. They gave us opportunities to escape the endless succession of French and piano lessons that were our parents' only gift to us."

I frowned, rocking back and forth on my heels. I was almost unaware of the cold now, my curiosity completely overtaking any previous thought I had harbored for comfort. Sheltered by Erik's jacket, I was now warm enough, although I still felt my newfound hatred for its owner. I did not yet quite know whether or not I believed Renois' story, but her words still held a certain edge of truth in their sound and I knew that it would be best to continue to listen.

Renois, who had stopped for breath, now continued. "When I was ten, my mother finally took me in hand and began to properly teach me how to be a lady in society. At the same time, father attempted to rein in Joseph, but by then it was already too late. The crimes that he and his band committed had increased in daring and shamelessness, until one particular instance came back to Father. He heard that a group of scamps had attacked and stolen precious jewels from an elderly lady of high society who was at the time mourning her recently-deceased husband." Karine sneezed several times, "My, it is cold out here."

"Get on with it," Erik snapped, poised behind her as if he were her executioner waiting to take her to the block.

I did not even spare a glance for him and waited patiently for her to continue at her own pace.

Renois sneered, but nevertheless continued with her narrative. "This was the final straw, and on account of the shame of it all, Father promptly disowned Joseph." She sighed, "Joseph eventually ended up at the Opera Populaire, and despite his disgrace, we met frequently. He used to tell me the most interesting stories of a 'ghost' who haunted the Populaire." Renois keenly glanced up at Erik, "I must say, he exaggerated on some aspects of your appearance."

Erik's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

She went on, "At the time I only took his words for fairy tales that he made up to tease the ballet girls with. It was only after his…_accidental_ death that I began to truly wonder. There had been so many odd occurrences at the Populaire that everything in his stories added up! Eventually I realized that I was not merely searching for a reason to justify his death. " Renois finally began to rise, teetering slightly on weakened feet, "Joseph always kept in contact with his friends from the old ring, and needless to say it was a simple to wheedle information out of them. They saw things like the midnight trips to the graveyard; the comings and goings of a strange Persian man on the Rue Scribe.

"From Joseph's words it was easy to explain the mysterious occurrence of the _soprano's flight_!" The woman tossed her dark hair, forcing it away from her eyes so that she could look at Erik once again. "Joseph always knew more about you than he let on, although he hid it because he wished to keep his life. It is little matter now, for you killed him in the end anyway."

Throughout her long narrative, I had kept silent. I knew her story was not over yet, but it was intriguing to watch as her neutral features morphed from sadness and into the very base lines of a hate so powerful that I had never before seen it in any living creature.

Renois now spoke to Erik as if she had all but forgotten about my presence. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised her voice slightly, for it had begun to shake anew. "Joseph was the only thing I ever loved about my monotonous existence! It was bad enough that Father pushed him away; but it was worse that you took him away forever. From the moment I learned of you, I swore I would seek revenge for his death. Whoever this mysterious _O. G._ was, I promised that I would ruin him."

Neither Erik nor I had moved while she spoke. We both stood every bit as insensible as the statues in the rock garden; the only animated figure in the entire scene was Karine Renois, who shifted between the two of us as a player upon a stage. I looked to Erik for his reaction to her story, knowing that he had heard it all before. As always, his face was more blank than the lifeless porcelain that adorned it.

"For a time I was at a loss after you two disappeared from the performance of _Don Juan_," Renois now addressed me. "I waited impatiently for any sign of him in Parisian society, fearing that he might already be dead before I had a chance to exact my own revenge."

"The mob destroyed everything," I put in. "That is what Raoul told me." Then I looked at Erik, "But you escaped."

"Yes, he escaped and was fool enough to resurface barely a year later," Renois interrupted, glaring at me. "Although I felt I had waited an entire lifetime, I knew who he was the moment his first new opera was staged. Each composer has a distinctive style, and he was no different." She regarded Erik again, "You put too much of yourself into your music, Monsieur. You betrayed yourself."

I shook my head, my mind reeling with all this new information. So much still did not make sense to me! "How is it that you -."

"That I found the reclusive D'Artois?" Renois smiled cryptically, "Many of Joseph's less than honorable friends were part of Paris' considerable underground. Even the most private information has a way of flitting about through their networks, and the moment _anyone_ makes themselves known in high society all ears turn in that direction. He made another mistake the minute that he made the acquaintance of Lady Barlow from England. She is well-known, even in Parisian society. I knew of Madame Penous and her great friendship with Lady Barlow, and that is the only reason why I joined the arts circle."

"Just so you could travel to England?" I asked thoughtfully, reiterating the obvious.

"It was my best chance of finding him."

"You wanted to kill him," I murmured softly, although I met her eyes squarely.

"Of course."

We now both spoke as if Erik were not there. In truth, he had melted as a shadow into the background, ever watchful but as if he had been defeated by something. He hovered there, just on the edge of my awareness, for my attention had been captured entirely by Karine Renois' story. As she spoke, I could not decide what I felt for her. On one hand, I felt pity for her plight…but on the other, something in her manner unnerved me decidedly. It almost seemed as if she had been unhinged in some manner; as if she were closer to the breaking point than I myself had ever been.

The woman laughed prettily again, searching Erik out again. "But I soon found other, _better _ways to achieve my ends. And oh, how I wanted to hurt you," she began to walk back to Erik, who did not lift a finger even as she meandered toward him. "I wanted you to ache with every single pang of loss that I had felt, and I realized that death would not be enough for you."

Erik allowed her to flick a fingertip against his lips teasingly. She smirked as she did it, sighing with a satisfaction that seemed almost perverse in nature.

"How strange and mercurial a creature you are," she mused. "At my throat but a minute ago, your judgment clouded by your rage! It amuses me."

"What did you do?" I asked the question so calmly that I surprised myself. I had pinpointed that what so bothered me in the woman was her very predatory nature that I had glimpsed earlier that day in the hallway. It reasserted itself now, and it unnerved me once again that Erik did nothing to stop her from touching and addressing him in such a manner.

Renois allowed her hand to fall back to her side. "The usual," she leered. "Extortion…blackmail…I realized I could benefit from all this much more if I kept him alive. And how rich I have become, draining him of his wealth among other things!" She put her arm back about Erik's neck, "You do everything that I want, don't you? How you must long to kill me, knowing that you cannot!" She gave him a coy glance beneath lowered lashes, "Although I must admit that you came fairly close just now…"

I saw the rigid quality to Erik's bland manner, but was also disturbed by the fact that he continued to listen to the words of this woman as she clung to him.

"What are you saying?" I felt nervous now and looked to Erik for help; for explanation. Erik's unpredictability had always been something that I accepted as normal in my world; how unsettling it was to see him demure and submissive. My entire concept of normality had been overturned. "Erik, why do you listen to her?" I _knew_ that Erik could make himself disappear from the world as easily as if he had never been there in the first place. It was inconceivable that he had become too attached to his life as D'Artois; despite appearances, it was apparent that he still hated the rest of humanity as much as he always had.

And for that matter, why had he not killed her yet? As hard as it was for me to admit, it would have been simple, and most likely his preferred solution to the problem.

Over the top of Karine Renois' dark head, Erik looked at me as honestly and as urgently as he ever had. The silent plea was in his eyes, as well as the look that told me that we had passed another _point of no return _yet again. His eyes glistened sadly even as he accepted Renois into his embrace.

"Do you still fail to see, Christine?" He asked me quietly, allowing Renois to hide her face against his chest. She acted as if she were tired after her long speech, leaning into him for a respite from her words. In every movement that she made, I saw how she indulged in something that I still could not find the proper words to describe.

While Renois spoke, I had listened with a sort of rapt attention. The rest of the world had briefly faded away until she brought Erik back into my awareness, and I realized that at some point I had begun to feel ill. Emotionally, I no longer felt hate, anger or sadness; instead, I felt simply _sick_ from it all.

"No…" I breathed in answer to his question.

"It was for you, Christine. It was all because of you that I could not simply leave my life behind once again and start over in a new place."

Renois spoke up languidly, "I threatened the sinister Opera Ghost himself with your life, Comtesse.. At any time I could have easily killed you and blamed your death upon your own lowly origins as a chorus girl in a ruined Opera. Your death would have been easily accepted by society once they knew you for what you truly were – a _fraud_."

"I am no such thing!" I returned, automatically defending myself.

"Oh?" Renois twisted away from Erik, crossing her arms. "So everyone knows where you found your incredible talent for music, do they?"

My silence was all the reply she needed.

"No one would care if a nobody like you who had wormed her way into respectable society, died." The woman hurriedly added more and more details to her story, each bit like another drop of salt into a wound that had never properly healed. "I took great pleasure in torturing my brother's murderer by constantly threatening to end the life of one whom I knew he loved more than the rest of the world itself. In a way it was perverse that so disturbed a creature cared about you to the point that he would do anything to protect you." Renois unkindly emphasized, "_Anything_."

I shut my eyes, unwilling to hear and to realize what her words meant. Oh, I understood everything now all too clearly, but it did not hurt any less. It still bothered me that Erik had allowed himself to submit to her will in such a manner! Had it all really been for me…?

"I suppose you wonder why I am not dead yet?" Renois recaptured my attention, that damned smile still playing upon her lips. "I warn you now, Comtesse, if you try anything, know that I am still connected to Joseph's ring of friends who are no less eager to avenge his death. They know much and _will_ act should they learn of my…untimely death. I have paid them well and it will infuriate them to lose their source of income."

"So you plan to kill me?" I asked quietly. "Here? Tonight? Upon this very rooftop?"

Renois rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Honestly, Comtesse. Sometimes I wonder at Erik's taste in women, for you do not have much of a brain. How stupid would I have to be to perform such an act myself? The people of the underground, however, would be more than obliging to perform a small murder for me… Imagine how elated I was when I learned that _you_, the Comtesse de Chagny, had fallen right into my grasp with your induction into Penous' ridiculous arts circle!"

Truly, the woman had cornered me, and as I stood here on this rooftop I suddenly felt as if I had nowhere to go but off the edge. What would I do now? How could I live a life in which I constantly looked over my shoulder, fearing that cutthroats would be trailing after me with knives and other murderous objects.

I knew I had to leave Paris, but how could I convince Raoul to go with me? Would he even go once I told him? Would he even _believe_ me? What an utter mess my life had become!

Renois yawned luxuriously, at the last moment hiding her gaping mouth with a hand. "_Keep your hand at the level of your eyes_, Comtesse," she warned scornfully. "Perhaps one night you will find yourself with a knife at your throat if I grow displeased."

Almost automatically, my hand wandered to my throat where it lingered fearfully. Once again I tried to look to Erik for help, but he merely turned his face away from me and whispered, "I tried to send you away, Christine. I tried to send you back; to your home where you might be safe with the Comte." Even though he did not mention Raoul by name, the word _Comte_ no longer held any derision in its inflection.

It was his way of offering an apology, I realized. At this last, hopeless moment all he wanted was for me to realize and not to despise him any longer.

Karine Renois interrupted us once again, her voice high with ridicule. "How charming," she remarked lightly. "You know, Comtesse, he tried to make me believe that he no longer loved you. He almost had me convinced as well – until tonight. Erik, you forget once again that I was there when you two performed _Don Juan_! How could I fail to recognize the last melody you sang to her before she so cruelly exposed your distasteful face to the audience?"

The old pain was back in his eyes, but I now realized that a new injury had been added to the old. All his life Erik had suffered for himself, but now he suffered for _me_ as well. There was nothing I could do to ease his pain, yet I also could not go back to Raoul now that I had learned the truth of the matter.

"Karine," Erik said to her softly, "You have made your point -."

But the stubborn woman shook her head contemplatively. "You know, I never got a proper look back then."

My eyes widened, for there was no doubt what she was speaking of. It was hard for me to feel pity for the woman who had lost her dear brother; she now behaved no better than a conniving brute who wore the guise of a lovely woman. Erik's crimes were unforgivable…yet her's were equally as inexcusable. In many ways, Renois was worse, for she felt no remorse for what she did. Even when she hurt people, it seemed that she allowed others to do the actual deeds for her.

At Renois' request, Erik had gone utterly still. While I hovered a distance away from them, the two stood gazing at each other, unmoving. The woman's face was innocently inquisitive, while his expression had fallen as cold and dead as a leaf in winter.

"What did you say?" He asked evenly, his voice so soft it was nearly carried away by the force of the winds.

Renois, however, was in full confidence of her powers over him. "In all the times that we lay together, you never once took that accursed mask off," she stated, removing the glove for her hand. She reached for the right side of his face, remarking, "If the Comtesse saw, then surely you will allow me to do the same. After all, I have known more of you than she has or ever will."

This time, his rage was even uglier than before. He stopped Karine Renois' hand before it ever touched his face and threw her to the ground. "You push me too far!" He snarled, advancing toward her with only the look of utmost hatred and rage. "I already do every single thing you ask, but I am not some spectacle to be gawked at!"

Somehow, this clever woman had managed to hit all the wrong notes in this man's character. I watched in near-morbid fascination with the scene unfolding before me, as Erik lost his will to his temper completely. Before, although he had held the woman in the grip of insanity, he had also managed to control his actions. Now, I feared that no voice could curb whatever he had set his mind on doing.

Still, Renois did not realize the danger she was in. Even as she sprawled in the ground once again, that eternal smirk did not depart from her face. "You forget your place," she told him instead.

Erik seized her once again, dragging her up to her feet. She gave an amazed cough, but held her ground nonetheless even as he fairly dragged through the snow. "No matter what you do, you cannot save your precious Comtesse!" She yelled, beginning to kick as she realized where he was taking her. "I have you caged!"

He stopped right at the edge of the rooftop, holding her now only by the fringes of her rich coat. One thing that Lady Barlow had not taken into account while constructing the rooftop garden was the scant protection against falling off the edge. The elegant carvings etched around the sides of the roof were scarcely taller than my ankles, just large enough so that one could easily trip over them and stumble into death.

Even now, Renois continued to smile. "I ask a simple request of you, and you desire to throw me off the roof?"

"You deserve far worse for even trying to harm Christine, but right now it is all I can do." He held her further over the side, until she leaned dangerously over the emptiness.

I ran after them, taken aback at how high up we now were. Light from the rooms on the lowest level spilled out onto the stone yard before the house, illuminating the vast distance that one would travel in a fall. From that one look, I began to tremble coldly.

Once again, I decided to attempt to stop him with my voice. "Erik! Don't! Not for me!"

In his hatred he paid little heed to me, focused instead entirely upon the woman he now held between life and death.

Despite everything, she continued to smile dangerously. "Yes, do listen to her, Erik. Your foolish Christine seems to have more sense than I initially credited her with."

"You promised," I reminded him deliberately, ignoring the woman. "You promised you would never kill again."

"Those useless words were given to the daroga, not you," Erik snarled, not bothering to even look at me. "I regret that I ever spoke them now."

"What does it matter who you gave them to? Erik, _don't_!"

With a frustrated growl, he once again flung the woman away from himself and onto the safety of the snow beside him. He straightened and turned away from both of us, stoically looking out over the edge and toward the moonlit grounds of the estate.

Renois lay on the ground for a moment, retaining the look of one who was not unsettled in the least by his behavior. It was as if she were not afraid to die.

"Really, Erik," she commented, clambering to her feet again. "You must stop treating me in such a manner. I have almost had enough of your horrid temper."

When he did not bother to even offer her a reply, she raised her voice once again; "All I asked for was to see your face!"

"_You_, Madame, do not have me _caged_, nor will you ever," Erik spoke over his shoulder, his tone so constricted that it barely hid the torrent of frightful emotions that burned beneath. "In fact, you have no idea what it is like to even live in a cage for spectators of all kind to gape and jeer at you for their amusement. My gypsy friends made a great profit off of me, yes," he continued, lowering his voice even further. "People traveled for miles and paid well just to see _me_, the Devil's Child."

Renois impatiently stamped her foot, "If you will not oblige me, then at least let us get out of this cold. I tire of these sermons -."

"Here!" Erik turned around finally, taking her chin up in his hand so that she had no choice but to look at him. "Get a good look, Karine! Indulge your sick heart to its utter delight!" With one swift motion, he tore the white mask from his face, allowing it to lodge in the snow at his feet.

I must admit, I flinched as soon as I saw him expose that hated half of his face. The scarring so twisted and marred his face that it resembled the skull of a rotting corpse. It now lay bare for the entire moon to see and to cast her light upon it; in the illumination, the deformity was emphasized until it seemed to overshadow the part of his face that was not affected. The hair on that half of his face had all but receded, further giving him the look of a man who had lain dead for months with only the maggots for company in his open grave.

Still, I did not turn. I had flinched not from revulsion, but from the wild fury that I saw turn to pain in Erik's mismatched eyes as he realized yet again what he had done. Karine Renois' face had gone ashen and her unforgiving tongue fell slack. She began to shake uncontrollably, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away.

"Have you satisfied your curiosity?" Erik demanded, placing both his hands upon her cheeks. "_Have you?_" He held her so tightly that she was forced to open her eyes and look at him, his alarming face mere inches from her own perfect visage.

She could not even nod mutely.

Erik finally allowed her to stagger away, watching as the woman was unable to take her eyes off of the horror that she saw presented before her. "I…monster…believe…I…I…" she continued to mumble, trembling from more than just the cold.

At this moment, the door to the roof opened once again to admit two new figures.

The first was the Persian, Nadir. His gait was frantic and his alarm considerable. Behind him, I saw the round figure of Lady Barlow heaving itself impressively towards us through the snow. Then, both of them stopped in shock as they took into account the scene presented before them.

For Erik and Karine Renois, it was as if the rest of us did not exist. When he at last hid his face with his hand, Renois was released from the spell of the terror. She now felt free to turn around and run; to escape from this roof of nighttime frights and back down to the civilized world below where men looked human and corpses stayed beneath the ground where they belonged.

When I at last noticed her path, I gave a cry of dismay and started forward toward her. In her fear, Karine Renois had not bothered to look where she was going and now she unwittingly stumbled straight toward the edge.

"Stop!" I screamed, even as she turned in my direction.

At the moment I cried, Erik reached for her, his eyes widening in sudden fear. Doubly frightened now, Karine Renois screamed to the heavens, "No! Stay away!" She turned to run and met only the harsh unreality of nothingness beneath her slippered feet.

Just as she went over the edge, Erik let loose an undecipherable cry, "_Luciana!_" He skidded to a halt by the side of the roof, but it was already too late.

She did not even scream as she fell.

For a time we remained motionless, allowing the snow to fall about us lightly. Erik knelt at the edge, his eyes fixed on what lay below. I stood some distance away, my mouth frozen open with disbelief at what had just happened.

At last I ventured toward his motionless shape. I advanced to the edge slowly, fearing what I might see upon the cobblestones below. I half-expected Erik to force me away, but he seemed unable to tear himself from the horrific image.

It was Nadir who attempted to stop me, reaching for my shoulders; "Comtesse! Stay back!"

All I did was turn a glare on Nadir and push him firmly away. He relented easily, although he remained clearly nervous. Lady Barlow reached his side and looked between Erik and I, her mouth opening and closing several times as she attempted so say something.

I turned my back on both of them, peering over the side and only allowing myself a quick glance at what lay beneath us. I was more concerned for the man who quietly knelt beside the edge, no longer hiding his face in his misery.

I saw that he was shaking and fell to my knees beside him. Hesitantly, I reached out to touch his cheek, for it was the unmarred half that faced me now. When he felt my fingers against his skin, he was startled out of his stupor, and he threw my hand away with a warning glance.

"Get back, Christine!" He ordered in an unsteady voice. "Get back before I send you to your death as well!"

I shook my head and moved closer to him on the ground. "You are not to blame," I told him firmly. "She fell because - ."

"No, Christine. I am entirely at fault. First Luciana and now Karine; both met early deaths on account of the sight of me." Although I looked upon the half that was normally unmasked, he still turned and hid his entire face from me. "And now I have ruined your life, Christine. Do you not realize? How can you ever forgive me! How can…how can…oh, just like Luciana! Why!"

I did not have the slightest idea as to who Luciana was, but for the moment it did not matter. I did not care that Karine Renois' death had ensured my own. All I felt was that sudden rush of torrential sorrow, as I reached for him once again.

Gently but firmly, I placed both my arms around Erik's neck until I forced him to look at me. I left no room for argument as I once again ran my fingers over every contour of his face, scarred and unscarred, and touched my forehead to his. "Don't think of it now," I whispered urgently. "Turn your mind to other things; enter a pleasant dream that belongs only to us."

I spoke nonsense, but I felt our tears beginning to mingle. Erik accepted my embrace this time, tangling his hands in my hair as if grabbing for any comfort that he could find.

I allowed him to do so and continued babbling, wanting only to leave this place and enter a place of safety. "Do not look upon it," I cautioned him. "Just look at me, look at_ me_, Erik."

He sighed and pulled me fully into his arms, while I allowed him to rest his face against my shoulder. We both held each other there on the lonely rooftop, and slowly our senses began to remind us of other unimportant things like the frigid night air and the pair of horrified faces that regarded us.

When the import of what had happened finally hit us, I allowed myself one final look at the remains of the woman who had plummeted to her death. What I saw sickened me, and abruptly I felt the bile rise in my throat. I began to cough violently, eliciting a look of fright from Erik who held me as I fell into the fit.

I turned my frightened eyes on him, whispering, "Please, take me inside. Please, Erik! _Please!_"

I tried to support my weight upon my own feet, but I only fell the moment I tried to walk. Erik easily caught and held me before I could reach the ground again. The last thing I could remember was looking up at his grotesque face and thinking how much I loved it, as I did every part of him.

And after that, I finally allowed myself to faint clear away for the first time in years.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The next time that I opened my eyes, I was back in the safety and comfort of my bed. For a brief moment, I felt very safe and cozy beneath my heavy down coverlet, although I dimly sensed that there was something at the back of my mind I was forgetting.

Abruptly, I remembered Erik's face; a woman falling; screaming.

I sat up quickly, a hand pressed to my forehead to blot out the headache that threatened to conquer me. With a start, I realized I was now wearing a warm woolen nightgown instead of the impractical burgundy dress. I fingered the material, wondering if a nurse had been in to attend to me. I felt mortified at the thought, for I had displayed myself as no more than a weakling.

I opened and closed my eyes several times, blinking the sleep away. When my vision at last focused, I saw that a hearty fire burned at the foot of my bed, warming and illuminating the room. A man was slumped in a generous armchair set close to the fireplace, a book loosely spread across his lap. I blushed heavily when I saw that I was Erik, and tugged self-consciously at my nightgown.

Had he…? I shook my head, more embarrassed than ever and decided that he hadn't been the one to attend to me. With another humiliated blush, I realized that I almost felt disappointed at the thought that it hadn't been him.

Now was not the time to be thinking such thoughts either. I silently reprimanded myself and quietly swung my legs over the side of the bed. I brought my feet into toasty slippers and hesitantly tried a few steps on my feet. I was shaky at first, but it seemed that rest had done me some good. I wondered what time it was, but all that I could see through the cracks between the curtains was the black nighttime sky.

I treaded lightly toward the fireplace, lured by the warmth that it greeted me with. Smiling, I saw that Erik had fallen asleep while he kept his vigil, his head lolling against his shoulder. He had replaced the mask upon his face, but it was not difficult to miss the signs of exhaustion beneath his eyes. I almost reached out a hand to touch him, but fearing that I might wake him, I instead knelt before the fire and stretched out my hands to warm them.

Presently I set my slippers out to toast beside the flames and turned back to him. He still hadn't moved, although his book threatened to slip from his lap. I carefully extracted it from his loose grip, taking note of the cover and realizing that it was Greek. I shook my head, unsurprised. Erik had once tried to teach me, but I had proven miserable at the language, and so after a time we had given up.

I sat back on my heels, considering him. Then I lay the book aside and sidled closer to him, deciding to quietly rest my head on his knees. He shifted slightly as I did this, but did not wake up immediately. I sighed contentedly, warmed doubly by the heat of the fire and his presence so close to mine. I closed my eyes once again, but it was not long before I felt a tentative hand begin to tease my curls lightly.

"Christine," he whispered my name, continuing to play gently with my hair.

I turned from my position, smiling softly up at him. His eyes were still half-lidded from sleep, although there was a warmth in his gaze that was enhanced by the illumination that the flames cast. "Good morning," I whispered, covering my own yawn and made sleepy by the heat of the fire. "Or is it night?"

"You slept all day," he told me. "It can't be more than a few hours past sunset now."

I marveled at my own ability to sleep the hours away. "I'm sorry for waking you," I apologized quietly, knowing that he had not slept long.

"Don't trouble yourself about it," he replied, his hand stilling on top of my head. "You are a most pleasant thing to wake up to."

I blushed anew and hid my face from him. Erik laughed softly in response and pushed me away so that he could join me on the floor beside the fire. I mumbled a few words of surprise when he pulled me into his lap and rested against the foot of the armchair so that we both faced the fire. At the same time, I did not argue with him either and allowed myself to loosen contentedly in his hold. It was a thousand times better than the comfort of my down coverlet.

For a time, the two of us simply stared into the fire and said nothing. But I finally forced myself to ask the inevitable question, "What happens to us now?"

Erik exhaled haltingly, his breath tickling my ear. "You must leave Paris, Christine. Convince the Comte to move to his orchards in Italy; you may be safer there."

I frowned, "What if I am not?"

"I can think of nothing else," he admitted.

I took his hand that was resting on my middle and brought it up to my cheek, reveling in the closeness of him. "What if I left with you?" I asked him unflinchingly.

He chose not to answer my question. Instead, he told me, "Things would have been so much simpler if only you had listened to me, Christine. If only you had left when I told you to!"

"You tried to drive me away," I remarked sadly. "With all the cruelty and unkind words, you tried to convince me that you no longer cared."

"Yes."

I frowned, continuing to hold his hand against my cheek. "The song too?"

"One last desperate attempt to make you hate me forever. But you see, in the end I was far too weak to see you hurt like that. In that moment, _she_ realized that I had lied to her, and I ruined us both." I felt him rest his face against the my mass of luxurious curls. "I even sent you a letter that urged you to return home."

I craned my neck to look at him, surprised. "The letter from Raoul?"

"Falsified," he stated flatly. "Madame Giry owed me a favor, and so she asked no questions and sent Meg to you for the purpose of delivering the letter."

"You sent for Meg?" I echoed dimly.

"The daroga came with her and was to escort the two of you home as soon as possible. I assure you, she knows very little – only that your life was in danger, and as a friend, she came unquestioningly."

I paused and then progressed to other recent events. "What happened today while I slept?"

Erik's hold about me tightened while he talked. "The chief inspector came to inquire about the death, but with Lady Barlow and the daroga as witnesses, there can be no question that it was an…accident." Clearly, he did not believe it himself.

"It was not your fault," I told him yet again. Although he was silent, I became thoughtful once more. "Who…who was Luciana?" I asked him quietly.

I felt him stiffen before he held me ever more closely. Because he did not speak, I feared that I had pried too far, and so I amended quickly, "You do not have to tell me."

Erik chose to reply, although his story was curt. "She was a girl I knew in Rome when I was a boy. She…she met her fate in much the same way that Karine did."

I had to ask. "Did you love her?"

"No – I don't know, really. I was far too young to understand anything I felt then," he broke off, his voice flat. He brushed the curls back from my forehead; "But she loved me terribly for no reason that I could see. When she fell, she was younger than you are now. That too was called an _accident_."

"And Karine?" I asked, because I could not help myself.

Erik's hand stilled, but he answered nonetheless. "There was nothing between us, Christine. If not for the danger to you, I would be glad that she is now dead."

"Can't I come with you?" I asked him suddenly.

"What?"

"I mean," I extracted myself from his grip and knelt so that we were facing each other on the carpet. "Why don't we _both_ leave Paris behind? Together."

He was silent, and from this point on, I lost all capacity for clear thought and found my actions instead governed by the enigmatic lure of his eyes. I could not draw my gaze away from him, and instead began to lean forward until I captured his lips in a cautious kiss.

The warmth of what I felt was indescribable as I felt him accept and draw me further against himself. Impassioned, I forced my tongue into his mouth and discovered that he tasted lightly of brandy. The previous night had certainly taken its toll upon him and I now sought to ease his weariness in any way that I could. I would do anything to see him smile at me once again and to witness a sign of true happiness upon his face. He allowed me to settle fully into his hold once more and to force the fabric of his jacket off his shoulders. In turn, I felt him brush his fingertips against the back of my nightgown, undoing the laces easily until it began to slip.

"I take it you accept?" I asked him in between feverish kisses.

Just as suddenly as the passion had seized us, it withered and fled. Erik drew back and thrust me away at arm's length, a look of fear and complete helplessness conquering him. He stared at me with that disturbing look, eyes darting back and forth between my face and figure.

"What is it?" I asked softly, fighting to ward off panic.

He shook his head fervently several times and released me. Standing up, he stepped away and collected his jacket from the ground where I had disposed of it. "No," he said nearly inaudibly. Then he repeated more loudly, "No, Christine."

"What?" I asked, fighting for a semblance of modesty now. I recovered my shoulders with the gown and left the warm rug to follow him. When I stepped toward him, he backed away, holding up a hand.

"Tomorrow, Nadir and Meg will bring you home," he told me forcefully. "You must do your best to leave Paris before word of Karine Renois' death can reach the proper ears."

I gasped in a mixture of indignation and fear, "You're abandoning me?" I demanded this of him, unable to believe what he was saying.

"No!" He took another step away from me and bent to retrieve his book from where I had left it. "I will do my best to keep you safe, I promise, but I cannot go with you."

I ran toward him, catching his elbow in my frantic hands, "I said that _I_ would go with _you_!"

He tried to free himself from my grasp, "Christine, you're _married_!"

"Then I'll get a divorce!" I yelled suddenly, "I'll leave!"

The anxiety in his manner was quickly fled; "Stop it, Christine. You run to me only because it is convenient!"

I took a confused step back, "That's not true."

"It is and you damn well know it! You use people, Christine!" Erik snatched up my hand where Raoul's ring rested, "How can you kiss and desire me when this gaudy monstrosity still glitters upon your finger? You are bound to another and don't you forget it!"

I pulled my hand away and forced the ring off. "Here! Take it!" I thrust the object toward him, but he only regarded me coldly.

"Put it back on, Christine," he ordered me. "No more of your theatrics."

Refusing, I held it out in my palm. "I do not run to you because it is _convenient_," I informed him curtly. "I run to you because I love you."

"You loved me so much that you ran off with another. Interesting," Erik tilted his head contemptuously. "You only kept me around for as long as you needed to. When you were a child, I returned your father to you. Later, you indulged yourself with your fantasies of the Angel of Music, until you realized one day that you had no need of him anymore. You let go of your father; you ceased to care about your music when you saw all that the Vicomte offered in his enticing world. The lure of _fine horses_ and stylish clothes brought you into a new world after you grew tired of the old one."

"You understand nothing," I spat bitterly.

"And now, when you are no longer amused by your Comte and his horses, you return to me. On the contrary, I think I understand _very_ well, Christine." He adjusted the last of his clothes and turned toward the door, "You believed that you would always have your poor, unfortunate Erik to run to! You thought I would never learn." He sighed deeply, collecting the last of his thoughts. "Mademoiselle Giry will help you pack your things for your trip tomorrow," he said at last. "Good night, Comtesse."

I lunged for the door and put myself between him and the knob. "You leave because you are _afraid_," I hissed at him. "You abandon me because _you_ fear _me_."

Erik laughed, "You? I think not. But I fear what you may do to me. I have myself to think of as well, you know." He leaned over me and pried my hands away from the doorknob, "I fear being hurt by you again, Christine. I know that you will only use and injure me once more." He pushed me aside easily, "I almost feel pity for your Comte. Now he should know what it is like to be betrayed by the one he loves most."

I was desperate now, refusing to be brushed to the side. "Then you still love me!" I exclaimed, willing him to stay.

"I know my heart," Erik told me evenly. "But I will never know yours."

Why did he have to complicate matters so? A part of me understood his reasoning; to an outsider, it would have been simple to see how he had drawn his conclusions. But I had to make him believe me! I had to make him understand!

"Please, wait," I begged of him, slumping against the wall.

He opened the door despite my protest; "Think on what I said," he advised. "Go back to the boy and mend your marriage."

"No."

"At last you begin to learn what life really means, Christine."

I choked back the lump that was forming in my throat, "Pain and suffering?"

"And so much more."

When he was gone, the lump remained, but I could not cry anymore. I felt that I might never shed a tear again.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N: Yeeehaaawwww!** Okay, so that was random. My, that was a long chapter. Hope you got at least a little enjoyment out of it! Forgive any proofreading errors as well. I'm completely out of it at the moment.

**Face Update: **Swelling miserably above eye. Headache from hell. Ouch.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill.

**A/N:** Really sorry for the long hiatus! SATs, school, and crap that no one else really cares about. Here's the new installment! Forgive me for any serious errors…it's late, my brain is fried, and I just had an unfortunate accident with laundry detergent.

Enjoy!

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Chapter 8**

I had been sitting on the edge of the bed for the better part of an hour now, a skirt splayed loosely across my lap. Fingering the material almost absently, I stared blankly at the empty fireplace that was completely devoid of any flames. I had allowed the fire to burn out hours ago, and although a maid had peeked into my room once, I had sent her away quickly.

Go home? To _Italy_? I did not want that. It was probably the last thing that I desired right now. Who knew what kind of life awaited me there? Would I be subject to Raoul's acquaintances who were for the most part like the fat Italian at Madame Penous' party of so many months ago? I gathered the skirt up into a ball and tossed it haphazardly into the trunk at the foot of the bed, rising with a sigh.

I wanted to shut it all out of my mind. Everything needed to be forgotten, or I would surely become insane. I had tried to occupy my brain with menial activities like packing, but it had all been useless. I moved automatically through my chores, pausing here and there to attend to some small task that was truly inconsequential.

I was now pacing back and forth in front of the dead fireplace, rubbing my arms at the chill. Then I bent over and began to stack logs as I hunted for something to light the wood with. As soon as the wood blazed to life, welcome warmth gravitated to my skin and warmed me. I reached for the poker and tended to the flames for a moment, stirring up the blaze as best I could.

"Tending to a fire like a common maid. I'm surprised, Christine."

I gasped and turned, the heavy poker causing me to stumble in a momentary loss of balance. Leaning against the mantle, I steadied myself and flicked the curls back from my face. I had been so absorbed in my task that I had not heard him enter.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I asked softly, laying the poker aside. I attempted to bring more order to my hair, grabbing at the locks self-consciously. I had not bothered much with my appearance that morning, opting to don a simple woolen dress devoid of any decoration. I could have passed for a maid in my current state, for I had neglected to even pin up my hair.

"Here." He reached over to the bureau and extracted a ribbon from the melee of objects that cluttered the furniture.

I accepted the ribbon, murmuring my thanks and turning away to modestly tie my hair back in a thick tail at the base of my neck. While I worked, I watched my visitor twist a hat in his hands and gravitate further into the room. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, looking around curiously.

I nodded and closed the door behind him, pausing with a hand on the doorknob as I watched him settle on the edge of the bed where I had just been sitting. The afternoon sun glanced off his bright hair, which was slicked back as cleanly as ever, although there was a decided haggard look to his appearance.

"Raoul, why are you here?" I asked him again, still leaning against the doorframe.

He stretched forward and fingered the materials in my trunk thoughtfully, "Does it matter? You look like you were about to return anyway."

I frowned and shook my head, "Who sent for you?" Was this all part of Erik's plan to have me shipped home? Had he really grown desperate enough to summon Raoul?

Raoul smiled hesitantly, lifting up the feather light skirt that I had just put away. He pressed the fabric to his face, inhaling the scent from it and looking wistful, "No one sent for me, Christine. I came on my own."

"You did?" I asked stupidly. "Why?"

"So much to say, and yet I have no way of properly expressing myself. How does one go about this?"

I frowned, "About what?"

"Apologizing." Raoul continued to finger the garment sadly, holding it close to himself. "I want you to come home with me. I want us to try again."

I looked away, feeling guilty very suddenly. Raoul had come all this way to ask my forgiveness? But _why_? Any way one looked at the situation, it was my fault and mine alone! How Raoul had tried to please me; to make me happy! True, I knew he had long ago ceased to be faithful to me in body, but I had begun to sin the second we left the Opera Populaire behind. Every day there was always a moment in which my thoughts reached for elements of an existence that I could never have. Every sense I experienced possessed an elusive reminder of something that I missed unbearably. My mind had never been faithful to him, and because of this, he had turned away from me.

So why was I not kneeling on the ground now and begging his forgiveness? Why had he been forced to seek mine in turn?

Raoul groaned and tossed the skirt back into the trunk, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "It's been months, Christine. I miss you," he told me honestly. "You did not even send a single letter to me."

I looked away, "I know."

He stood up and walked to where I stood at the door. Raoul took my hands gently and kissed my knuckles longingly, "Tell me it isn't too late. Tell me I still have a chance. Can I make you happy again, Christine? Were you _ever_ happy with me?"

My eyes widened and I shook my head in protest, "Of course I was happy! For a time…I was truly…happy." My voice dwindled and I looked away.

Raoul sighed, still holding my hands. "I wish you would speak to me honestly. I promise I won't get angry, no matter what you say."

I turned my eyes back on him and smiled sadly, "You're human, Raoul. Whatever I tell you of the truth will only anger and hurt you. You have been drifting from me for a long time now no, don't speak! The blame lies with me and with me alone."

He stepped away from me, mussing his hair with an anxious hand. "I fear we will get nowhere like this. We both blame ourselves entirely." He frowned, "How did we allow things to become so muddled? Where was our first mistake?"

"Was it when I left with you?" I asked softly. "Or when we kissed upon the rooftop? When you became the patron of the Opera Populaire?" I swallowed slowly, "Perhaps it was when you ran into the sea to fetch my scarf."

Raoul brushed a few loose tresses back from my forehead, "I don't regret that one bit," he told me firmly.

"Foolish boy," I laughed teasingly.

"Little Lotte with her head forever in the clouds," he replied in kind.

We both laughed, sharing a single childhood reminiscence in the moment.

Then the moment passed and reality settled back upon us.

"Is it him?" Raoul asked at last, the question obviously forced.

My silence was all the reply he needed. He did not have to elaborate upon the question, for we both knew perfectly well what he meant.

"You wish to return to him." It was a flat statement, and for the first time bitterness entered his voice.

I hugged my elbows and sank into the chair beside my bureau. I knew I had to make a decision now; I had to reconcile with Raoul and attempt to move on with my life. Erik had made it perfectly clear to me that he wished to have as little to do with me as possible. Oh, I knew that he still cared for me how could he not after all that he had done to try to save me? But he had his pride, I knew, and beyond that he possessed a fragile heart that I had shattered over and over again.

For the first time I felt a dull and aching pain begin to draw on my chest. It was as if an invisible leech had settled upon my bare skin and begun to draw the soul from my body. I placed a hand over my chest and drew a deep breath, willing myself to forget and leave behind an impossible love. I had forsaken it once; why could I not do it once again? Why couldn't I let go of Erik as he had of me? Now I knew how he had felt all these years; now I understood what _I_ had led him through. Yet in the end, he had released me, and now it was my turn to do the same.

Oh, God. If only I had possessed the courage to love him all those years ago! Why had I feared him so? Why had I been so blind? Why had I been so selfish? What had I to show for my decision but five years of misery and the ruin of two men who were both so dear to me?

Lost in thought, I did not notice Raoul until he knelt before me. "Can't you try to forget again, Christine?"

"I want to," I whispered, touching his cheek with my chilled fingers.

He smiled and leaned into my touch. "Then come home with me."

I realized very suddenly that I would be putting him in danger if I accompanied him back to Paris. Even if we were in Italy, my very presence would be a threat to him. I did not know for sure how much Karine Renois had told her 'friends', nor did I know how many of those friends there actually were. If I stayed with Raoul, the chances of him becoming hurt increased dramatically. Could I put him in such danger? Could I ask him to protect me once again?

"Come home," he repeated, rising and pulling me to my feet. "_Anywhere you go, let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of you_."

I wrenched out of his grasp and stumbled back, feeling the tears gather at the corners of my eyes. That song! Always those cursed words that damned us! And what foolish words they had been! All this _talk of summertime_ had been nothing but a fanciful dream, pleasant in its stark contrast to the seductive lure of the other dream I had found myself living in those last days at the Populaire.

"I can't," I told him, my brows drawn together in thought. "I can't go with you!"

"What?" Raoul looked helplessly about the room, completely at a loss. "Then you are truly returning to him?"

"No!" I yelled, surprising even myself. "No, I can't go back! But I can't condemn you to a life of misery either!"

"What?" Raoul's stare was blank, his thoughts clearly muddled.

I nodded my head in accordance with my own words, "Don't you understand? I can never make you happy not like you deserve." I turned my tearful face to him again, "Please, Raoul, let me go."

Raoul shook his head, "Just one more chance, Christine. We could leave Paris behind forever and settle in Italy to escape the memories of that place. Please, say that you'll come!"

Instead of answering him, I tugged at my wedding ring ruthlessly. I offered it to him eagerly, pushing it into his hand in haste. "I can't wear this anymore," I told him. "I'm not worthy of it. I'm not worthy of your love, Raoul."

Raoul stared at me as if I had slapped him. He looked confusedly at the ring cradled in his palm, his expression utterly perplexed. "That's it?" He asked quietly. "I suppose you put the other ring on now."

"What?"

"It has to be him, doesn't it?" Raoul sighed and turned the ring over in his hand. "I don't know what else to say, Christine. I tried so hard to make it work between us…I had hoped that in time you would forget him; that in time you could learn to love me instead and stop aching for your loss."

Almost involuntarily, I replaced the hand upon my chest and took another deep breath.

"What really happened?" Raoul asked, staring at a fixed point in the air. "I mean, what were these last five years anyway? Were we living a charade? Were we playing some game that both of us hated but at the same time could not give up?"

"I didn't want it all to be in vain," I whispered quietly. "I wanted his sacrifice to mean something; I wanted you to have my love after you fought so hard for it."

Raoul laughed softly, "You wanted me to have your love?"

I smiled, "It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"No, I understand."

I rubbed at my eyes, "It's all so complicated."

"Maybe we just need some time," Raoul suggested quietly. "Divorce is not something that is taken to so lightly."

I sighed, "I know that it is nothing short of a scandal."

Raoul snorted, "That's an understatement." He breathed deeply now, "Tell me, Christine, where will you go? What will you do? Is he waiting for you now with open arms?"

"No." I replied hesitantly. "Raoul, please don't be angry with me -."

He began to pace in front of the fireplace again, "You would rather be alone than stay with me? You would rather die by yourself than share the rest of your with someone that you love only as a…what? What am I to you?"

I could not answer the question.

"Is there anything else to love?" Raoul demanded of no one in particular. "Bitterness? Lies? Deceit?" He looked down at me, "Can we even call what we had 'love'?"

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," I whispered.

Raoul stopped his pacing and forced himself into a semblance of control. "What would it take to make you truly happy, Christine?" He returned to his place on the edge of the bed, "You locked me outside in a blizzard, you know, yet I still want you beside me."

I smiled despite myself. "Naked."

"What?"

I shook my head, waving my hand dismissively. "Nothing."

Raoul sighed, "You know that I can't abandon you in good conscience, Christine."

"It's what I want," I told him softly.

He was stubborn in his refusal, "I will _not_ drop you like an old ornament. I know I have a certain responsibility to you."

I looked at him pleadingly, "Let me go!" I repeated the phrase, willing him to understand. I was hesitant to tell him the truth about Erik, Buquet, Renois and the rest, for I barely understood the half of it myself. I also knew that it would only strengthen his resolve to stay with and watch over me.

He looked at the ring in his hand once again, and then he pocketed it. His shoulders were hunched and defeated, but he spoke evenly, "Very well. If you wish me to keep my distance, I will."

"Thank you," I gasped, although I looked disbelievingly at the ground. Was he really letting me go?

"But," he held up a hand and now knew that he had my attention.

"Yes?" I asked, wondering what conditions he would set.

Raoul's blue-eyed gaze was honest and kind, "Tomorrow we will go back to Paris no, don't protest, Christine. Hear me out. After we return, I want you to stay with me until you are settled somewhere else comfortably. Name whatever you want and I will bring it to you."

"You would do that?" I asked quietly, awed by his generosity. "You would really…"

He frowned, "What?"

I rubbed at my neck tiredly, "It's just not what I was expecting, that's all."

Unexpectedly, his gaze hardened and grew cold. "What would you have me do?" He gestured at the floor, "Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg at your feet? Do you want me to make a dog of myself, only knowing that it will lead to rejection in the end?"

"God, no!" I cried, moving toward him. "Never!"

Raoul stepped back from me much as Erik had, surprising me greatly, "I need some time."

I halted and hovered at an uncertain distance from him. Had I driven away all the men who had ever cared about me? I remembered how Erik had distanced himself, refusing to touch me after I had tried to speak with him. What had I done to them?

"Don't cry," Raoul intoned softly. "It would be useless to lament what was only inevitable. I should have seen it and not held on to my blind hope."

"Raoul…" I breathed.

He shook his head, "Can you be ready by morning? Do you need more time to gather your things?"

I looked away and walked to the window, concentrating on the fields of the estate caressed by the afternoon sunlight. Several figures meandered about the grounds, one of them a boy chasing a dog with a stick. I frowned, recognizing the dark brown hair which belonged to Lucien. I resolved to berate him later for torturing the poor animal whose yelps reached my ears even through the thick glass.

"Christine?" Raoul asked, reminding me of his presence.

I did not look at him, managing a small nod, "Yes, I'll be ready."

He said nothing else, for there was no more to say. As soon as I heard the door shut, I leaned my forehead against the glass and struggled to control the torrent of emotions that had begun to assault me. It was over…it was truly the end of our marriage. I frowned, straightening; how could this be the end? Just like that, he had let me go?

Then again, what more could I have expected of him? Neither of us were happy with present circumstances. This was probably the best way things could have ended for all of us, Erik included. Things would be strange between Raoul and I while we worked out a settlement, and I knew this would cost him some public embarrassment…but he was willing to risk that for me.

I was truly no better than a selfish tramp! I constantly made horrible decisions, and as a result I ended up wrecking the lives of the people who had been closest to me. It seemed that anyone who became too close to me would only end up being hurt in the end! I slammed my fist into the ledge of the window and turned away from it, determined to fetch some food from the kitchens so that I could fend off the depression which I knew was about to settle upon me.

Why all this self-pity? I was not even worthy of entertaining depression anymore.

On a sudden impulse, I knew that I had to go and see Erik now. I did not know what I would say to him, but somehow I had to show him how sorry I was for all of it. I had to make him understand that I had not hurt him willingly!

But hadn't I?

Why wouldn't these horrid thoughts end?

I opened the door and paused, rethinking my actions. Would I only make things worse? What was I going to say to him anyway? Maybe I could stop him from leaving maybe I could even convince him to take me along!

I shook my head at no one in particular. _No, no!_ That was exactly what he didn't want! That was just what could make things worse between us! No, this last visit would be the end; the last time I would ever see him. I nodded in tune to my own resolve. I had to bid him good bye and let go of him as he had of me after _Don Juan_. That was what both of us needed; yes, it was the best way to end it all.

Determined, I began to move swiftly through the halls before I realized that I really had no idea where to go. The night before when I had stumbled upon him and Renois accidentally, I had been forced to ask a maid for directions back to my room. I had a terrible head for remembering my way around places, and so I now paused thoughtfully. A lady could not very well ask for the way to the room of a gentleman who was not her husband.

Someone was walking along the corridor behind me, whistling loudly. I turned irritably to discover Lucien skipping along, still wielding the dirty stick in one hand. He stopped upon seeing me, the habitual smirk gracing his face. "What was all that about last night?" he inquired, his tone condescending.

"What?" I replied automatically. So much had happened since I had last seen Lucien that I was almost at a loss as to what to say.

"Stupid as usual," Lucien commented. He sighed and turned as if he were preparing to walk away, "I don't have time to waste with idiots right now."

I held out a hand, "Wait! Where are you going?"

He hefted the stick on his shoulder, giving me a critical look, "Grandmamma needs to speak with me about Mother's funeral."

"So soon?" I asked tactlessly. I saw the wounded look that crossed the boy's eyes, and I quickly looked down in shame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insensitive," I told him.

Lucien shrugged, "No matter. It's not like anyone else cares that much. We weren't even that close."

I resisted the temptation to swamp him in an embrace and ruffle his hair in comfort. I had done enough of that the day before and I knew that Lucien normally did not take very kindly to any show of affection from me. In fact, he still behaved as if he perceived me as subhuman.

I knew that it was difficult for people like Lucien to open up and seek comfort from others. Erik was one such individual, and I understood all too well from my experiences with him that there were times when one offered comfort, and other times when it was best to let the situation be.

"I care," I told him firmly. When I saw that he opened his mouth to throw back a saucy reply, I interrupted him loudly, "I haven't got time for you to call me uncomplimentary names right now. Could you tell me the way to Erik's room?"

Lucien's eyes went from irritated to confused. "Erik?" He pursed his lips and then nodded, "Oh, _him!_ He never lets me call him by his name – but why do you want to know?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously with the question.

Of course I had forgotten. Lucien addressed Erik only as _monsieur_ whenever the two were together, as the man had insisted on keeping formality between the two of them. I had never understood it, but then again, I understood very little of Erik.

Lucien was still regarding me questioningly, tapping his foot.

"I wanted to say good-bye before I left," I told the boy. "Now, could you show me how to get there?"

Instead of throwing an insulting remark in my direction, Lucien's eyes widened in alarm. "Before you _what_?" He jumped up, dropping the stick on the ground, "What do you mean by that?"

"I leave for Paris in the morning," I informed him, shifting uncomfortably in my simple gown. The fabric suddenly seemed very uncomfortable and crude.

"No!" Lucien cried out, "No, you can't go!"

I stared at his outburst, completely surprised. "You don't want me to go?" I asked quietly, secretly pleased that this little boy at least seemed to care for me.

Lucien quickly recovered himself and snorted, "I haven't been punished as much ever since you came along, not counting that first night that _Monsieur_ made me stay in the quarry all the way through dawn." He grinned, "You seem to make him forget all about punishing me whenever I do something bad."

And what exactly did he mean by _that_?

I began to walk away, shaking my head, "Never mind, I'll find him myself."

Lucien trotted along behind me, "Wait! Christine, are you _really _leaving?" The concern flickered across his childish features once more, and this time he did not hide it.

I nodded, "Yes, I am."

"You can't!"

"Lucien, I have to," I told him firmly.

He grabbed my sleeve, "Why? Does it have something to do with the woman that fell from the roof last night? I saw her with him several times…" Lucien bit his lip, "What happened? Why do you have to go?"

My breath latched in my throat when I saw the telltale signs of tears in his dark eyes. What in the name of the Lord had I done to capture the affection of this small boy?

Lucien looked up at me calculatingly, "Maybe he can convince you to stay! Yes, you'll listen to him, won't you?"

Although I knew what he said was probably true, I tipped my head and frowned, "What makes you say that?"

"You refer to him as _Erik_," Lucien commented. "You would have to be more than an acquaintance to do that!" He looked extremely pleased with himself at the deduction, "Especially after that little number last night with the song and all. You knew each other in Paris, didn't you?"

I snarled in frustration; I did not wish this to become any more complicated. There was no reason for Lucien to know anything beyond what he already did.

Lucien now began to leer again, "I know why you're so eager to see him. You're in luuuuuuurve, aren't you?" He fairly crooned the word _love_, delighting in my irritation.

I took a step toward him, "Be quiet, you stupid child!"

He laughed and danced away from me, "_Love, love! Looooove!_" Then he began to run down the hall, still singing the word _love_.

I almost hid my face in my hands to avoid the girlish blush that was rising in my cheeks. _Damn the boy! Why was I blushing!_

At a turn in the corridor, Lucien stopped running and waved back to me, "Well, come on, then!"

Pushing away his teasing words, I followed obediently at a slower pace. If he brought me to Erik, then I would not complain. Useless child with his stupid words! What did he know anyway? I glared at the back of Lucien's insolent head, my hands clutched into fists at my sides. The boy fairly skipped along in the hall now, singing the word _love_ in rhythm with his pace. How I wanted to slap him!

Lucien suddenly stopped walking and I nearly collided with him. He turned slowly to regard me, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Wait, aren't you married?" He asked this of me innocently.

At any other time I might have indeed favored him with a tart reply, but the memory of Raoul's visit killed any such words and left me to shake my head sadly. "Not for much longer," I whispered almost so that he did not hear.

Lucien frowned and continued to walk on, but he said nothing else. I was grateful for his thoughtful silence, crossing my arms over my chest protectively as I felt the cold return to my bones. It was certainly chilly in the corridors of the vast mansion, which suddenly seemed rather unwelcoming. In any case, I would be gone soon enough.

After a good amount of meandering through the hallways, Lucien finally brought me to a door that looked ordinary enough. With a small smile, I realized that I had almost expected a door that was invisibly carved into a wall and could only be opened with the aid of some complicated lock.

I turned to Lucien, "Thank you." Then I raised my hand to knock, steeling myself for this final encounter.

"Don't bother doing that," Lucien remarked. "He never answers the door. The only people he allows in there know how to open the door."

"Well, open it then," I ordered.

"Pushy," Lucien muttered. "Sometimes he locks it so that even I can't get in." Nevertheless, he passed his hand over some unseen mechanism, which elicited a _click_ from the lock.

I still felt like we were breaking and entering, but Lucien was oblivious to my reservations and he skipped into the room naturally. More timid, I peeked around the door and hovered on the threshold, wondering how Erik would react to my presence.

What I saw, however, shocked me from performing any previous words that I had prepared. Lucien also stood completely still, his quick eyes darting about the room.

The room was large, but completely devoid of any furniture, save a single table cluttered with various scrolls and opened books. A few candles burned on the table, throwing the otherwise dark room into ghostly illumination. A piano crouched silently in a corner, looking lonely and forgotten. It was so different from what I had expected of him, especially after the lavish style he had displayed in his home beneath the opera. I took curious note of the pair of open trunks nestled beside the piano as well.

Erik sat at the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked over a grand spread of paper. He held a small pencil in his hand and was scribbling lines into the sheet furiously when we entered unannounced, and probably unwelcome as well. He did not turn when we entered, although I was sure he heard us.

"Lucien, I thought I told you not to bother me today," he snapped without looking up from his work.

I moved quietly over to where he sat and stole a glance over his shoulder at what he was doing. I only caught a glimpse of what I could only assume to be architectural plan, before he turned suddenly with a shocked expression on his face.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He demanded angrily, rising from his place. Erik looked over at Lucien who hovered guiltily by the door, "Did you let her in?" He directed a look of unconcealed fury over at the boy.

Despite Erik's look, Lucien seemed unmoved.

"Don't yell at the boy," I reprimanded softly. "I made him bring me here."

"I don't believe I was talking to you," Erik snapped, regarding me coldly. "Who said you were welcome here anyway?"

This was not proceeding in the way that I had imagined at all. Once, I might have cowered at this tone in fear, but now I resolved to set my will against his and to force him to hear me out. After all, I had simply come here looking for what one might call closure. All I wanted was to bid him farewell and be done with it.

His hostility, however, had only angered me. "Going somewhere?" I inquired of him, motioning toward the trunks in the corner.

Erik flicked a glance in my direction, "London. The train leaves tomorrow."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I blurted before I could help myself. I clapped a hand over my mouth and blushed deeply, grateful for the semi-darkness of the room.

He raised an eyebrow, "I wasn't aware that you had any business in knowing, Comtesse. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you last night."

I almost screamed at his insistence upon formality between the two of us. After all that we had been through, surely he would at least allow this one barrier to remain fallen!

Lucien sauntered over and stood between the two of us. He looked at Erik and exclaimed, "I'm coming with you, right? I can't wait to see London!"

Erik grunted in annoyance and turned away, "You most certainly are not." He began to rearrange things upon the table, sorting out the mess that was so uncharacteristic of him. "I have no desire to be weighed down with a petulant child in my presence."

Instead of yielding, Lucien began to whine, "But _monsieur_! I hate it here!"

"End of discussion," Erik scowled at nothing in particular and began to ignore Lucien.

I caught myself smiling at the exchange, for I could not help but be reminded of a parent berating a child who was behaving badly. What amused me the most was that Lucien did not appear to be terrified of Erik in the least. Rather, he looked like he was willing to push Erik to extremes without fear of being punished for it. Where had Lucien gathered such courage anyway? Even I had never possessed the will to talk back to the phantom!

Then again, I had always been rather weak.

I saw Lucien make a face behind Erik's back, and once again I hid a smile. The boy then ran up to the table where Erik stood sorting out his belongings, and snatched a pile of architectural plans from the corner of the table gleefully. He darted away from Erik's sharp hiss and smirked at him from a safe distance.

Erik's eyes narrowed and he held out his hand slowly. "Give that back _right now_," he ordered evenly.

Lucien waved the large papers in the air smugly, "_Make me_."

I drew in a breath sharply and watched the exchange with a sort of morbid fascination.

Indeed, Erik himself seemed surprised. He blinked several times, his hand still held out. "Excuse me?"

The boy sniffed and sat down on the ground, right on top of the papers. "I said _make me_," he grinned, knowing that Erik would have to drag him off by force.

Erik stared at him blankly for a moment, and then turned away with a frustrated sigh. "You'll give up eventually," he informed the boy.

"Take me to London with you, and I'll give them back."

"No." Erik sat back down at the table and drew up a new sheet of paper. He frowned when he saw me, "Why are you still here?"

I nearly laughed at the flustered look upon his face. I was sure that he had never been defied before in such a way and certainly not by a child! Grinning, I let the laughter take me and was forced to turn away. The man I had known in Paris would _never_ have tolerated such games! Although his gaze had become hard and far from amused, I still could not help my mirth.

With his back still turned to me, Erik spoke once again. "Why have you come, Christine?"

I sobered instantly and the laughter fled as I remembered the purpose for my visit. After all, I had come here to say our last _adieu._ Not _au revoir_, no. This was the final good-bye, wasn't it? Lucien regarded both of us expectantly, crossing his little legs on the floor in order to obtain a more comfortable position. He probably knew he was in for a long sit.

"I came to say good-bye," I finally murmured, clasping my hands at the front of my dress and looking down at the floor. I concentrated on the hard, wooden planks. "I did not feel as if we properly bid each other farewell the other night."

Erik had tensed, but he did not move from his place. Instead I heard him lay his pencil aside and lean back in his chair with a sigh.

I walked over to where he sat and gracefully knelt at his feet, turning my face up to look at him. It was reminiscent of our actions upon the rooftop, but this was the last time I would ever do so. Trying to fend off the tears, I gazed at him sadly and whispered, "I don't know how to properly go about this. I don't even know if there _is_ a right way to say it."

He frowned, "We've already said enough, Christine."

"No," I glanced down and then forced myself to look up at his face. The mask was there, yes, but the emotion could not be wiped away from his features no matter how hard he tried. Even now I saw the concern in his eyes; even now I could distinguish the sad lines about his mouth. "No," I repeated more forcefully, "I have said I am sorry, but I want you to truly understand." His left hand was resting on his knees, and I took it up in both of mine urgently, "I wanted you to know that it's over between Raoul and I."

Erik looked alarmed, "What did you say?"

I continued to hold his hand tightly, "I couldn't lie to him anymore. I know that I ruined things between us and that there is no going back, but at least I did one thing right."

To my surprise, Erik stood up and dragged me to my feet. "Christine, what have you done!"

I stared at him, confused, "What do you mean?"

He dropped my hand and began to pace once again. "You were supposed to leave for Italy with the Comte so that you could be safe! How can you play with your life like this?" Erik groaned aloud and mussed his hair with anxious hands, "How can you expect to survive on your own?"

"He promised he would provide whatever I needed," I replied. I followed Erik in his path and took his elbow, "You have to understand! My presence in his life would only put Raoul in danger! There was no other choice!"

Erik rubbed his forehead tiredly, closing his eyes, "You foolish girl."

I threw my hands in the air, "Whatever I do, I am always that _foolish, naïve Christine_ to you!" Hadn't I done the right thing in leaving Raoul? _Hadn't I?_

Erik stilled, although it was not response to my words. "You say you left Raoul?"

I nodded, "Yes! I could not deceive him any longer!"

"He's here? The Comte de Chagny is _here_?"

"Well…yes. He begged me to come home, but I refused."

A cruel smile appeared on Erik's face, "Perhaps I can find a means of persuading the Comte to take his ungrateful wife back."

I stepped in front of him again and shrieked, "Don't you try anything! I made my decision! Leave him out of this!"

Erik looked wild at my outburst. "Christine, look at your situation. You are now completely alone in a world where there are cutthroats after your precious little neck! Do you really wish to live a life where you will be constantly looking over your shoulder even within the confines of your own home? You must go back with the Comte! You have to live!"

In that moment, I realized that no matter what my resolve had been, I could never leave him. Not when he stood before me, openly concerned for my well-being. Not when he so clearly told me that he feared for my life and that he had never stopped caring for me. The words of last night did not matter to me; all I could think of was how I longed to ask _him_ to protect me. It would be asking much of him, but how I wanted it!

"Take me with you," I murmured quietly.

Erik turned away from me, "We've had this discussion. I thought you came here to bid me farewell."

"Doesn't it make sense?" I asked pointedly, hoping that I did hold the upper hand. "You are the only person in this world who can help me."

He laughed, "That sounds slightly pathetic."

I stomped my foot much like Lucien had done, "Raoul does not even know what happened! I could never tell him and risk his life as well! Or is that what you want?" I touched Erik's shoulder and forced him to look at me, "Was that the general idea? To send me back to Raoul so that both of us could die?"

Erik grabbed my wrist and twisted it harshly, "If that was what I wanted, I could have killed both of you by now. Listen to yourself, Christine! Where did you get the notion that _I_ wanted to kill you? Think before you spout more nonsense!" He let go and directed his attention at Lucien, "Give me those sketches, boy!"

While his back was turned, I was seized with a sudden idea. I gravitated toward the piano where I discovered music sheets dotted with notes littering the elegant frame. I picked several up and commented lightly, "Is this your new work?"

Erik turned from where he was arguing with Lucien and glowered. "Put that down, Christine," he warned. I knew perfectly well that he hated it when others fiddled with his work and that was exactly why I took up a quill resting on the piano and began to scratch new notes into the paper.

"Beautiful," I went on, "but I think that this waltz could use some further touches."

He started toward me, furious beyond words once again. But I no longer feared him; I had been inspired by Lucien, and now I acted without terror. As soon as I saw Erik turn in my direction, I swiftly sat myself down on top of the music, settling comfortably on the ground.

"Either way you look at it, it makes more sense for me to accompany you," I told him firmly. "I will never go back to Raoul," I lifted up my hand, devoid of a ring, "I can't hurt him again.

"Move," Erik seethed, chest heaving. "I don't care for your sentimental babbling."

I smirked triumphantly, "_Make me_."

From across the room, Lucien laughed.

"Like two children!" Erik exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "For the love of God, Christine, you're twenty-one years old! Act your age!"

Lucien was fairly howling with laughter now, and I could not restrain my own giggles. "Make me," I repeated.

Erik sat down beside me and tapped his fingers on the ground impatiently. He regarded both Lucien and I calmly, "You two can't just sit there forever, you know."

"Yes we can," Lucien put in.

And then, Erik began to laugh. Quietly at first, and then for the first time in my life, I heard him give a great hearty laugh of pure joy that I had thought him incapable of. I stared at his sudden mirth, for never before had I seen him give himself entirely to the hilarity of a situation. Was that delight I saw in his eyes? Was that the beautiful light of hope returning to him?

I held out a tentative hand, "Erik?"

He finally mastered himself and wiped the tears from his eyes. They fairly shone with pleasure as he looked at me. "I don't think I've ever laughed like that," he admitted. "Forgive me."

I smiled, "How you've changed."

Erik looked at me with surprise, "Changed? Well, I suppose I'm softer than I once was. I should have taught both you and the boy a lesson by now. I'm growing weak, I fear. Weak and old."

"You're not old," I chided him. He smiled softly, but looked away.

Had another barrier between the two of us lifted? Was this another glimpse of Erik that I had never seen before? I had feared the Phantom of the Opera, I had given my soul to the Angel of Music, and I had fled from him the first time I had seen Erik as he was: a simple man with a broken heart. His manner was almost playful now, a far cry from everything that I had come to know and expect from him.

"Take me to London?" I asked again.

"No."

"What?" I gasped, taken aback. I leaned forward and reached to caress the unmasked half of his face. His features appeared handsome indeed in the weak light, accented by the haunted and enigmatic look of his eyes. A pity that the horror that lay beneath the mask overshadowed and blotted out any beauty he possessed! But no, none of that mattered to me now. Why did he constantly deny me when I openly wished to give myself to his embrace and lovingly touch every inch of his face? Beautiful or twisted, it no longer mattered. I loved him as Erik I wanted him as the whole man, and nothing else. I no longer cared for angels or demons! Why could I not have him?

I was encouraged by the fact that he did not pull away from my touch. He even pressed his lips gently to my palm and held my hand there for a time with his striking eyes shut against the world. "I can't take you with me because Death follows wherever I go," he spoke softly. "Remember, Christine, it is on account of me that you find yourself in your current predicament. It would have been better if you had never known me! Then, at least, you would have been truly safe." Erik opened his eyes and lowered my hand, "If you stay with me, then I will only bring you more pain. Can't you see that?"

"Maybe I am blind, but I cannot see," I replied. "Since it is your fault there is a price on my head, then you have a certain responsibility to me, do you not? Isn't it your duty to protect me now? It seems only logical to me."

Erik stared at me, "You don't want my protection."

"I do," I answered promptly.

"Christine, you don't know what you'd be getting into –."

I cut him off, "I _do_ know! It's my choice!"

Erik took a slow breath, "Christine, you barely know a thing about me. You say you are willing to stay with me, but you don't know the half of what I have done."

"So you want me with you?"

He nodded, "Of course I do, but I'm telling you right now that - ."

Erik was silenced because I cut his words off with a kiss. I covered his lips urgently, catching him completely off guard with my sudden weight. His balance disappeared in that one moment, and we both fell flat against the floor with a painful _thump_.

"I'm sorry!" I sat up instantly, worried I had somehow harmed him. "Did I hurt you?"

He still lay on the floor before me, eyes wide and shocked. "Haven't you heard a word I said?"

"I have, and I choose not to care right now." I leaned over him once again, "Erik, what matters is the present moment. Forgive me for sounding trite, but it is unwise to live in the past." I moved my face closer to his, "If we dwelt on all our past mistakes, we would never move very far in life, now would we?"

"Christine, you still don't know - ."

"One day, you will tell me," I urged him, bestowing another kiss upon his forehead. I smiled and murmured into his ear, "I love you as you are now. I don't need anything else besides that. Will you take me to London?"

"Do I have a choice?"

I kissed his nose lightly, "There is always choice."

"Is there?"

"Well, not in this case."

Laughing once more, he put his hands about my waist and pressed me to his body urgently. "Thank you," was all he said to me, but it was enough.

Someone coughed.

Erik and I stiffened in our embrace and turned shocked gazes on Lucien who was looking at us open-mouthed. His jaw fairly reached the floor as he stared at the two of us, nestled comfortably against one another on the hard floor. I could not believe that we had forgotten his presence! My cheeks flushed red for the third time that night, and I sat up hastily with Erik's help.

"You two are disgusting," Lucien declared finally.

"Lucien, if you wish to accompany us, you will leave this room immediately and pack your things. Is that understood?" Erik's tone had switched from tender to strict.

Lucien beamed, "I can really come?"

"My sketches?" Erik held out his hand once more.

"Here!" Lucien clapped his hands delightedly and returned the papers to Erik. He ran toward the door, "London!" With that, he exited swiftly and left us alone.

Erik had risen and was now returning his work back to its proper place upon his table. I suddenly felt very shy, and rose slowly. I picked up the music that I had held hostage and returned it to its place on the piano without a word. When I turned back around, I saw that Erik was giving me an amused look.

"What?"

He gestured at me, "You've got a bit of ink on you."

I looked down at my dress, "Oh no! Where?" I twisted around and discovered to my dismay that I had sat in wet ink, which had stained the light gray of my dress. There were now ink stains smudged unceremoniously across my rump, causing me to color and hide my face in shame. Of all the places to stain one's dress! I was a lady of respectable society, not some commoner who worked in a printing shop!

Then again, what was I now? I could no longer call myself a lady, for I had made the decision to leave Raoul and his society behind forever. Where did I truly belong?

Erik noticed that I looked thoughtful and he approached me once more. "Don't worry," he told me, "I still love you."

I buried my face against his neck and pressed myself to his frame. "You're so thin," I reprimanded him softly. "But warm too." I sighed contentedly and began to unbutton his vest, "It feels nice." I drew myself up and kissed him again.

"I'm glad you approve," Erik told me when I broke the contact.

I had begun to shrug off the rest of his clothes, when an overwhelming sense of guilt took me. I looked at the enticing expanse of his revealed chest, but I could not continue. I looked up in remorse, willing him to understand.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked softly, confused by my actions.

I sighed regretfully, "No matter how much we want this, I am still a married woman." I began to plead, "Just, not tonight, Erik! Not on the night that Raoul probably grieves for me in this house, or else I will truly be guilty of all that he has accused me of!"

A look of hurt appeared on Erik's fine features, and he removed himself from my hold. "I see," was all he said. Then he stared at me once again, "I will _never_ understand you, Christine!" He fairly yelled the words at me, "How can you just play around with me like this? You had be so convinced this time! I actually believed you…I believed you again when I swore to myself that I never would!" He began to button his finely-tailored shirt, walking away from me. "Time and again I fall to your charms! For all my lofty protestations, I never _will_ learn!"

I would not let him escape me this time. I followed his footsteps like a dog and locked my arms about him from behind, resting my head against his back. "I'm not playing," I told him. "Please, Erik, just give me some time."

He tried to dislodge me, but I held on to him firmly.

"Stay with me tonight," I begged. "Please? Just hold me while I sleep."

Erik slumped. "Women," he muttered.

"Yes, women," I agreed.

Obediently, he turned so that he could lift me up in his arms. I purred my pleasure and allowed him to carry me through the door on the far end of the room, which led to his bedroom. This too was now unfurnished, but a generous feather bed still made up stood in one corner. Erik gently placed me here, and I pulled him down beside me with a firm resolve.

Our passions would have to be quelled for this night. I knew I pained him, but it was a silly thing for my own ridiculous piece of mind.

"You are indeed an angel to me," I told him.

He said nothing as he covered us with a blanket and held me protectively against his side. I settled against the length of his body comfortably, feeling as if I had always belonged there. He was thin, yes, but no bone jarred me uncomfortably and nor did any mannerism of his irk me. I smiled to myself, resolving to put more meat on his frame and then to show him just how much I loved him. I could not give myself to him tonight, no, but I prayed he would understand.

"Are you asleep?" I asked timidly. His eyes were closed, but I could not tell.

"No."

I kissed his cheek, "Will you sing me a lullaby?"

That brought a smile to his lips, "Which one?"

"Oh, any old nursery rhyme will do."

He began to sing softly, his words tickling my senses just as pleasurably as they had always done. I felt a surge of warmth in my heart, for it was a song that he had once sung to me when I had truly been a child. Silently, I marveled at how far we had come and allowed myself to drift off into a land called Sleep, lulled there by the current that was Erik's voice.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** This isn't the end. Yet. The next chapter is probably going to be the last, I think. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not mine, not mine.

**A/N:** After a bit of debate, I decided NOT to end the story so soon. I think I can go for a few more chapters, because I want to give this story the conclusion it deserves. As always, big thanks to all my readers who continually encourage me to keep going.

**Chapter Nine**

I was forced to squint as soon as I tried to open my eyes. Bright sunlight filtered into the room, the heavy curtains having been drawn back from the windows. I threw a hand across my face lethargically and twisted so that my back was to the windows. Sighing deeply, I drew the covers up over my shoulders and snuggled further into the softness of the bed in search of a return to sleep. It was only as I attempted to focus once again on sleep, that my senses naturally began to awaken and I slowly realized that several things were out of place.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I felt strangely disoriented. Walls existed in my room where there should have been none and my door had somehow managed to change its location over the course of the night. I sat up swiftly, rubbing my eyes and taking note that all my furniture had disappeared as well. In the sudden cold, I clutched the blankets to my chest and inhaled a scent that was clearly not my own. Gulping deeply, I slowly realized that I was alone in Erik's unfurnished and abandoned room. I suddenly felt quite small sitting there serenely, assailed by the memory of his lingering presence.

But where had he gone? I remembered how he had held me the night before, singing a soft a tune in my ear. Why had I not awoken with him beside me?

I made my way over to the door slowly, my feet chilled upon the cool floor. It was ajar, but only by a fraction so that I could dimly perceive a thin sliver of the room beyond it. Voices drifted out to me and I frowned when I discovered that Erik was not alone. From my position, all I could see was the angular form of the Persian seated wearily before the cluttered table. He was nursing a mug of tea, sipping it thoughtfully with a frown upon his lips.

"You must do what you think is right," Nadir was saying, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the scope of my view.

"You know that my judgment has not always been…clear," Erik returned quietly.

I frowned and strained to get a glimpse of him, daring to push the door open a crack further. Uncomfortable, I had the distinct feeling that I probably should not have been eavesdropping on their conversation.

Nadir took another swig of the tea and shrugged, "And you know my opinion on her."

I heard Erik sigh deeply; "Perhaps I should not have relented so easily last night. She clearly still cares for the boy."

"Clearly," Nadir muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nadir lifted an eyebrow, "Of course she still cares for him how could she not? But it was to you that she ran; to you that she came with her troubles."

"That doesn't mean a thing," Erik returned. "What if the only thing she desires from me is protection? She knows I will help her willingly, but she may not wish to give me anything in return." I heard him shuffling papers nervously at what was probably the piano, "What if she betrays me again, Nadir? I don't think I can live through that twice in a single lifetime."

Dear God, he still didn't trust me!

"As soon as she is safe, she will leave me at the first convenient moment. I know she will, and all will be as it was before."

Each word was the additional thrust of an icicle into my heart. I crouched by the door on shaking feet, my knees beginning to grow weak. What would it take to make him believe me? What would it take to remove all fear and doubt from his heart?

"You don't know that," Nadir suggested quietly.

"Don't I?" Erik's tone was slightly harsher than before. "_She_ kissed me last night and then begged _me_ to stop! Why, Nadir? _Why?_"

Nadir shrugged innocently, seemingly unmoved by Erik's angry tone. "Women are strange creatures and I don't pretend to understand them. Sometimes it is better to let them have their whims."

"Their whims?" Erik echoed disbelievingly. "I am tired of all her whims! Yet, why do I give in to her time and again? I'm never myself around her and I hate that feeling of not knowing who I am!"

"And who are you, Erik?" Nadir inquired quietly.

"How should I know?" Erik yelled suddenly, and I heard him slam an unforgiving palm against the soft keys of the piano. A shriek of dissonance emerged from the instrument and he snarled back at the Persian, "Why don't _you_ tell me since you seem to know so much about everything else?"

Nadir's eyes narrowed, "Watch your temper. You asked for my advice and I was simply giving it."

I blinked at Nadir's berating words, for it sounded for all the world like he were chastising a shrill child.

Erik did not relent in his sudden rage, "How the hell am I supposed to know who I am when I don't even know when my own birthday is? Certainly an amusing question, daroga."

Nadir stretched his legs wearily and laid his teacup aside on the table. "I suppose you have a point," he admitted slowly. "Then try asking yourself who you are to other people. Perhaps that would be a more valid question."

"Who am I to other people?" The anger once again began to dissipate from Erik's voice, "That is something that I do not enjoy dwelling upon either."

I saw Nadir was staring at Erik pointedly and could only imagine the exasperated expression upon the masked face of his friend. How long had these two known each other, anyway? Nadir was the only man whom I could ever recall giving orders to Erik without being punjabbed instantly.

"Well?" Nadir asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What an intriguing exercise," Erik told him dryly. "I killed your son, daroga. What am I to you, then?"

I managed to stifle a cry of dismay before I gave away my position. Had he really? Sweet lord above, had Erik killed Nadir's child?

Nadir flinched and looked away, but he was not angry. "_Nature is a cruel goddess…_" he whispered, and I was sure the words were not his own.

For the first time, Erik came into my line of vision. He reached for the curtains behind Nadir and slowly drew them closed, throwing the room into a ghostly shade hidden from the bright sun. "She certainly is," he agreed softly, his hand touching the material of the mask upon his face.

Nadir stood quietly, his sleek form slumping heavily in the shadows; "You loved the boy and did what I could not. That does not justify or excuse a thing, but you still mean much to me." He paused and then added, "Even if you are an infidel."

At the last phrase, Erik laughed quietly. He began to sort the last remaining articles upon the table, which was now nearly empty. "You have an odd taste in company, my friend," he remarked.

Nadir snorted and rose to allow Erik space to gather his things. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as…as soon as Christine is ready," he replied quietly. "If she still wishes to go with me."

"You will stay with her?"

"I will take her only as far as Sweden. After that, it is her choice. Until then…"

"You will distance yourself," Nadir put in. I saw him shake his head sorrowfully, "Erik, you must confront her -."

"About what?" Erik turned and glared at the Persian. "Every touch she gives me is a precious gift to be cherished; every rare kiss a jewel unlike any other. I would never do anything to risk that."

Even in the dim light of the room, I could see that Nadir frowned. "Risk what? She has told you that she loves you unconditionally!"

"She has told me much," Erik replied quietly. "No, daroga, I will keep my distance. It is better that I do so."

I felt the sobs begin to gather in my chest, for it seemed that the closer to him I tried to be, the farther away he retreated.

Nadir voiced my worst fears aloud. "You still don't trust her," he marveled disbelievingly. "The woman even invited you into her bed!"

"A pity that our interpretations of such an invitation seem to differ," the other shot back. "All she would let me do was to hold her! She constantly tempts and leaves sweet promises of more, but she never gives anything at all!"

Attempting to be patient, Nadir continued, "Christine is a woman of honor; as much as you hate to hear it, she loved Raoul. It seems that it wasn't meant to be between the two of them, but she will still mourn that loss. They were childhood friends, and such bonds are not easily broken. Have you not considered that perhaps the Comte suffers as much as you do now?"

"Don't you dare liken me to that pathetic boy," Erik warned.

"She needs her time to mourn," Nadir went on as if Erik had not spoken. "And as one who loves her in turn, you must respect that."

"I _will_ respect it by staying away before she hurts me again as well."

Nadir threw his hand down upon the table, causing me to jump in my hiding place. I drew on deep breaths to calm myself, startled by his sudden anger. "You stupid lump of bones!" He shouted out the words, and thinking the insult too mild, added additional offensive words in what I assumed to be his native tongue. I saw Erik glare with irritation, but Nadir went on in French once more, "Good Allah, both of you suffer from misunderstandings! You must speak plainly, you idiot! Would you rather live out the rest of your ghastly life in misery, than simply talk to her?"

"Daroga -," there was a distinct warning in Erik's tone, but Nadir furiously ignored it.

"Have you never considered that you confuse her as well, Erik?" Nadir continued to glare and his anger did not lessen. "You hold and kiss her tenderly one day, yet at the next moment you behave almost as if the two of you were strangers. Stop pitying yourself and _talk to her_!"

"Because she !"

Nadir shook his head, "No, don't blame it on Christine alone! Both of you are at fault!"

Defeated, Erik threw himself back into the chair wearily and propped his chin up in his hands. "It's no use, daroga. I know you're right, but if she doesn't love and trust me now, then she never will. I don't even know if _I_ can ever trust her again."

Nadir leaned against the wall and crossed his arms; "It's worth the risk, isn't it?"

"Is it? I hardly know. You wouldn't happen to have any morphine, would you, Nadir?" Erik looked up hopefully at the Persian, who made a grimace in turn.

"I thought you gave that up years ago."

"I did. Now I need it again to ensure I don't do something to Christine that I'll regret."

"I refuse to see you recklessly waste your life away on drugs again," Nadir shook his head. "What do you want, Erik? Do _you_ know what you want?"

"Morphine," Erik muttered stubbornly.

Nadir scowled, "What do you want from Christine? If you could speak to her without fear of losing her, what would you say?"

"I asked you for your advice, not these futile exercises."

"What would you say?" Nadir repeated obstinately, his voice low and demanding now. "If you answer my question, I will let you be."

Erik groaned and looked at the floor, clasping his hands over his head now so that his face was completely hidden. I shifted in my position uncomfortably, feeling guilty for eavesdropping on what was an intimate conversation clearly not meant for my ears. The prudent course of action would have been for me to withdraw silently, but still I lingered, drawn by my curiosity.

"What would you say?" Nadir repeated quietly, still standing by the wall.

"There are many things I would say," Erik murmured hesitantly. "If only I possessed the courage, I would ask her to be my wife. I would ask her to perhaps give me children and to stay with me in a place that we could call our own and no one else's. I desire the same things as any other man, and all my life I have been denied them." He looked away from the floor wearily and up at Nadir, "There is so much more, but what is the point when I will never have the courage to face her?"

Nadir sighed just as tiredly and rubbed at his eyes. "Erik - ."

"Last night she asked me to hold her, but today she will only flit away from my touch as she always does," Erik interrupted. "If I spoke to her plainly, she would merely give me that lost wide-eyed look and turn from me completely. It will be as last time, and I will lose everything and more."

"You know, I never took you for a fool," Nadir commented, beginning to walk across the room. He moved outside my view, but I heard him open the door and pause to say, "That is, until now."

My eyes widened, but I saw that Erik did not move a muscle at Nadir's comment. He continued to sit before the table impassively, his hands clasped thoughtfully beneath his chin. Finally he spoke, "I believe you have business to attend to, daroga." It was as plain a dismissal as he would give the Persian.

"You imbecile," were Nadir's last words before I heard the door slam behind him.

I watched Erik hunch tiredly in the chair and found myself unable to turn away. When he finally moved, it was to crawl to his knees before the curtained windows, clasping his hands together before his heart as a suppliant might. His lips began to move in some ancient Latin prayer, so soft that I almost missed it.

Then he spoke again, and this time I understood. "Forgive me, Father," he whispered, staring up at some unseen point. "How does one say it? Yes, _I have sinned_. But you already knew that, didn't you? Will you listen to a child who has ignored you for so many long years? Can I even call myself yours when Lucifer has so clearly branded his mark upon my face?"

He had stopped his speech momentarily, frowning in the dark and looking back down. I almost drew back from my hiding place, worried that he would see me. Still, he did not chance to look in my direction, and I allowed myself a shallow breath.

"Will you hear the words of this wandering child?" He went on, smiling with a hint of what one might call irony; "You _must_ hear me, for even your angels turn to me at the mere sound of my voice. I could have the world with this one gift that you have given me; yes, I could control any creature to my utter delight… Yet I do not. Why did you see fit to give me a heart, you cruel God? Why did you find it necessary to give me this damned conscience and a thing called remorse that eats away at me with every passing day?

He stood up now, drawing the curtains apart slowly. "You should know that monsters ought to be deprived of such things. If you feel you must take every other thing from us, then at least let us be ignorant of the fact that we suffer! Let us not know what it is like to feel emotions! Let us remain naïve when it comes to things like love and hate!"

I crouched silently upon the ground, rendered motionless by his sudden prayer. The sunlight began to come back into the room, and soon he stood bathed in the cheery afternoon sunlight.

"For so long I believed that I did not care a whit for any member of the human race. I never even valued the friendship of the daroga, and the only creatures I ever truly loved were Sacha and Ayesha. A dog and a cat, you wicked God! Those were the only souls that you ever allowed to care for me in return. Why could I not have been content with the love of a dog and a cat? Why did you have to make me fall in love with one of your angels?"

My lip began to bleed, for I had bitten it unintentionally in my shock. What was he saying? How could he torture himself so when I was not even worthy of his love?

He placed a hand against the windowpane, staring absently at something outside. "I want nothing for myself I know that you ceased to care for me long ago. Only let Christine be happy, that's all I ask. Hear _her_ prayers, for she is the fallen angel from heaven, cursed by my love. Let her be free from it! Let her find her happiness, far from me!" He laughed very suddenly in stark contrast to the rest of his words, "Damn you, Lord. Damn you for ever bringing me into this world. Why do I even bother to address you now when all my life you have deemed your ears too lofty to hear my prayers? Damn you!" He ended his speech with a desperate sob, the sound shocking to me, for I had only heard him weep once before.

I was torn between going to him, betraying that I had heard his every word, or returning quietly to bed and pretending as if it had never happened. I finally opted to feign sleep, for I knew that my presence would only anger him in all likelihood and send him even further from me when he knew that I had heard words he wished to keep secret.

And how I longed to escape the sting in that ethereal voice that did not belong on this Earth! I wanted to shut it out of my ears and to leave behind all of it.

I crept back underneath the covers, huddling beneath them and sinking into the softness of the bed. Shutting my eyes tightly, I nearly screamed out in pain. Would he never trust me? Would he never allow himself to love me again as he once had? I had been so hopeful the night before! I had truly believed he would never leave my side and might even one day consider giving me the life I had once believed Raoul might share with me.

Would he never forgive himself?

I waited for him to come back into the bedroom to wake me. Still, he did not come. I heard him moving around in the adjoining room, presumably collecting his things before departure. Then, his footsteps moved to the other door that led to the corridor, and I knew that he had left the set of apartments.

Sitting up swiftly, I rushed out of the bedroom, worried that he had decided to abandon me completely and leave for London without me. To my relief, I saw that not all his belongings were yet packed away, and I seated myself before the piano despondently. I experimented with a hesitant set of mournful notes, extracting an unpracticed sound from the instrument. Despite Erik's best efforts, I had never been gifted with the piano. At best I could only manage a simple melody, and even then with the use of the same two fingers throughout the entire piece.

A tentative knock at the door brought me swiftly to my feet. I ran to the door, fully expecting to see Erik standing there with his confession for me upon his lips but as soon as I flung open the door, all I saw was the timid face of a young maid bearing a tray. "You sent for breakfast, Madame?" She inquired, offering the tray up to me. "Where shall I set this?"

I stood back and allowed her into the apartment, frowning in my disappointment. The girl examined her surroundings critically, and I finally gestured for her to set her burden upon the piano. "There is fine," I told her, nodding my thanks.

The girl curtseyed and exited the room, shutting the door carefully. I was now left alone with my steaming rolls and tea. I sighed and went back to the piano bench, drawing the tray toward myself and taking an uncaring bite of a roll.

How accurately Nadir had assessed the situation! Erik and I suffered simply because we were unable to communicate with each other. I fell into a deeper depression as I thought, for I could not banish the words _I killed your son_ from my mind. There was so much I did not know about Erik and if only he would teach me…!

If only he could stop condemning himself and allow himself to be happy at last. Nadir had been right; what fools we were!

Resolute, I rose once more and crossed over to the door. Fate had dictated that I hear his conversations with Nadir and the Lord, and by that same God, I was going to _make_ him listen to me. Enough of these games!

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As it turned out, I did not have to journey far beyond the confines of Erik's apartments. I really had not possessed the slightest notion of how I was going to find him and so I set off in the comfortable direction of my own rooms, weaving through the corridors swiftly. Fate, it seemed, had decided to intervene once again, and as I turned a corner I ran straight into Erik and –

"Raoul!" I cried, shouting in panic.

Neither man turned to face me, for both stood adamantly in the hallway, staring at each other with blatant loathing in their eyes. Raoul had tensed and was clenching and unclenching his hands, breathing heavily through his nose with a fury that I had rarely seen him display. Erik, in contrast, had lost all the desperation and vulnerability of the moment before, and appeared completely calm and deadly, his head tilted ever so slightly with a cold and delighted smile lounging upon his lips. I knew that look, and I hated it.

Raoul finally deigned to address me, his eyes narrowed with hatred. "Christine," he returned slowly. "You could have told me, you know. I thought I asked you, and, well, it really wasn't your place to lie to me, now was it?" He flicked his attention back and forth between Erik and I, clearly assuming the worst.

"It's not what you think!" I quickly put in the hackneyed words before I realized how stupid I sounded.

"You must realize, that is rather difficult for me to believe," Raoul told me. "I come to fetch you from one of the most remote locations in all of England, and naturally I have to find _him_ here." He gestured vaguely in Erik's direction; Erik, who still gazed lazily at Raoul as if waiting patiently for the time when he might kill him.

I shook my head fervently, "Believe what you want, but nothing has passed between us."

As soon as I said it, I wished I had not spoken the sentence. I was sure that Raoul missed it, but I did not fail to see the fleeting look of hurt that passed over Erik's otherwise placid features.

Raoul, however, snorted his disbelief and threw a hand in the air. "I don't really care anymore, Christine! I was willing to do what I could for you but now, what would be the point? How long have you lied to me, I wonder? I actually believed your words from yesterday! How stupid I've been!"

"Yes, incredibly stupid. You ought to be put on display at a museum," Erik addressed him, that little smile ever in place. "You never cease to amaze me with your idiocy, my dear Comte."

"Shut up, you! I could easily have you arrested! The famous Opera Ghost, finally under lock and key!"

"I'd like to see you try," Erik purred, crossing his arms indolently. "Really, I would."

Raoul started toward him, but I swiftly moved and placed myself between the two feuding men. "Stop it, both of you!" I made sure I had their attention and then looked at Raoul, "Please, let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain," Erik spoke from behind me. "He'll believe what he wants, and nothing you can say will change that."

I ignored him, "Raoul, listen carefully. I have to leave with Erik because my life is in danger. If I were to be with you, you would only come by ill fortune yourself. I must stay as far away from Paris as possible, so that neither of us comes to harm."

Raoul stared at me blankly.

"Don't you see?" I inquired desperately. "There are -."

"Bandits after your head?" Raoul finished for me. "Christine, you're a trained actress; surely you can concoct a more plausible excuse for your behavior and for," he dared to glance at Erik once more, "_this thing._"

This time Erik tried to step around me; "There; I fear that is the last of my patience. I will enjoy hearing your pleas for mercy at the hands of _this thing_, my dear Comte de Chagny."

On a sudden impulse and having no better idea in mind, I threw myself at Erik, tackling him from the front so that he stumbled back a step and was forced to grab my waist to prevent the two of us from falling. "Don't you dare!" I hissed at him, clutching at the lapels of his jacket so that he was forced to look at me. "Hold your temper!" I ordered, realizing too late that I had nearly repeated Nadir's words of earlier.

When I let go and turned back to Raoul, I could have sworn that Erik's hands lingered a little too long upon my waist, reluctantly relinquishing their hold on me.

"Raoul, I -," I began, but I was cut off.

He shook his head and remarked curtly, "I want nothing more to do with you, Christine. The sooner we finalize the divorce, the better. Let _him_," he gestured toward Erik vaguely, "partake in the joys of an unfaithful wife."

"I have done nothing to - ."

"Does it matter?" Raoul inquired perfectly reasonably. "It is not by chance that I find both of you here. I will still send you whatever you need, Christine, but I hope that I may never see you again."

I had not expected it to hurt this much. I had not expected the sudden cry that escaped my lungs and released my tears. "Raoul," I whispered raggedly, "Please, don't do this."

"Do what?" He snapped, looking at me with what could only be called disgust. "If you can, send someone to Paris to take care of your end of our settlement; I would rather not see you."

"Raoul - !"

He turned and tossed his last words back over his shoulder, "Pray that I never see either of you in Paris again."

I saw Erik twitch toward him, that hatred plain in his eyes. "Let me kill him, damn you," he hissed at me, even as I moved myself in front of him once more. "I will not allow something like that order me around."

"No!" I yelled, before I realized that I had raised my voice. I took a deep breath to calm myself and glared at him, "Leave Raoul alone."

Erik's gaze settled on me as soon as Raoul disappeared around a corner. He looked at me intensely for a moment, "Of course, you still care for him, don't you? Perhaps there is still time to make amends; I will not stop you."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. I quickly collected my wits, however, and grabbed his hands urgently, "Of course I care! But where I belong is with you!"

He looked away and gently removed his hands from my grip, "You just said there was nothing between us, Christine."

"Forget what I said!" I cried out desperately. "I didn't -!" I was unable to finish the sentence, as my chest constricted painfully and I began to gasp for breath. I had spent too long in a corset and even slept in it, and now it had snatched the last of my breath from me in my urgency and desperation. I swayed, fighting for breath which I could not gain no matter how much I tried, and fell forward into darkness.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The next time I opened my eyes, I was back in my own bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, aware of the bruises which littered my middle and made every intake of breath painful. Still, someone had removed the corset and now I was able to breathe freely. When I glanced to my side, I saw that Adelle sat by me, holding my hand gently.

When she saw I was awake, her face brightened considerably and she smiled, "Christine! You had us all so worried!"

I glanced around the room, but saw no one else. I hid a sigh of disappointment, for I had half-expected Erik to be here once again. Now I saw that someone had almost finished the rest of my packing for me, and that the room stood nearly as bare as Erik's own.

Looking to Adelle, I motioned for her to help me sit up. She did so, her gentle hands supporting and mindful of the bruises on my body. "Damned corsets," I told her wearily, biting the inside of my cheek at the pain when I was upright. I looked at Adelle again, "Where's Erik?"

"Who?" She looked blank for a moment, and then her eyes cleared, "Oh, D'Artois! He's with Lady Barlow, I believe. I heard them arguing over something earlier, about a boy, I believe." Before I could respond, Adelle went on, "I don't pretend to understand anything that has passed within the past few days, Christine… But I merely wished to bid you good-bye before you left."

I looked at her curiously, "How could you know?"

She looked sad; "I saw the Comte in the hall earlier. Tell me, Christine, have you really left him? Don't you know the scandal that such an action will cause?"

I shrugged, "I don't plan on returning to Paris."

"Christine, you must!" Adelle sighed, "I'll miss your company among all these dreadful women!"

Smiling, I offered her an embrace and we sat like that for a moment. "Perhaps you can come visit me sometime," I told her softly.

"Where are you going?" She sniffled slightly, still holding me.

"Sweden, I think," I told her. "I was born there, you know."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door and the entry of a hassled-looking Peers. He bowed stiffly to us and then addressed me; "Comtesse, you are to be ready for departure within the hour."

I looked at the window and discovered that the sun had already begun to set. "Thank you," I told him.

"It'll be cold in Sweden," Adelle told me softly. "Are you sure you won't come stay with me in Paris for a time?"

I smiled, waiting for Peers to bow out so that I could dress. "I would love that, Adelle, but I could never bring such a burden down upon your head." I thought of something else, "Please, don't tell anyone where I'm going."

She frowned, but when Peers finally left, Adelle shook her head smilingly, "Of course."

I opened my mouth in order to inquire about the knowing smile, but Adelle giggled and began to help me up out of bed. "I won't stand in the way of love," she winked at me. "Just try not to lock this one out on a balcony naked."

Admittedly, I almost laughed aloud at the image. Still, I sobered quickly, for I no longer knew what it was that Erik and I shared. I was almost at the point of giving up with him, for he constantly made it more difficult for me to ever be honest.

Adelle helped me to dress, and although she protested, I shook my head firmly at the idea of a corset. I threw on a light dress instead, obscuring the fact that I wore no corset with the aid of a loose traveling cloak. By the time I was finally prepared, small groups of maids had intruded upon us once again and were carrying out my things.

While Adelle was walking me to the entrance hall, we were unexpectedly confronted by one of the young men from Lady Barlow's parties. His face was vaguely familiar, and I dimly recalled that this was Bert, Adelle's poet friend.

Upon seeing Adelle, Bert colored slightly and exclaimed, "Oh! I did not expect to see you, Adelle! I mean, Baroness!" He stumbled over his words, realizing too late that he had neglected to use the appropriate degree of formality. Noticing me, he blushed anew, "Comtesse, I, I -."

"It's quite all right," I told him kindly, steering Adelle on.

Adelle was now blushing prettily, and she mumbled an incoherent sentence.

"She'll see you later," I supplied helpfully to Bert, trying not to grin. The poor boy stood in the middle of the hall, utterly flustered with that frightened expression on his face well after we had retreated. Adelle was still bright red by the time we were out of sight, and I giggled at her expression, "_Well!_"

She put her hands over her flaming cheeks, "Oh, it's nothing, Christine! We're still just acquaintances! I swear it!"

"Oh, but for how long?" I asked innocently, adoring the bashful expression on her face.

By the time we reached the entrance hall, there was already a group of people gathered there. Among these were Meg and Nadir, arguing over in a corner with a small coachman. The other people were Erik and Lady Barlow, with Lucien playing in a corner with a poor dog that whined piteously for a bone which the boy was holding just out of its reach.

When Adelle and I reached the bottom of the staircase, I saw that Erik and Lady Barlow were still engaged in a heated discussion.

"…it's his choice," Erik was saying, gesturing at Lucien.

Lady Barlow crossed her arms over her generous chest, glaring at the man, "I don't pretend to like you anymore, D'Artois," she accused. "You have brought down an endless amount of trouble upon my roof. It was no easy matter explaining the death of that woman to the authorities!"

"I will be gone soon enough," Erik returned coolly. "With the boy, if he wishes to go."

The woman looked back at Lucien; "I have a responsibility to him now that his wretched excuse for a mother is dead. I am his only living relative now."

Lucien spoke up from his corner, not disturbed by the conversation in the least bit. "If you don't let me go, Grandmama, I will only run away."

Lady Barlow stared at the boy in irritation before she addressed Erik once more. "I regret we ever met," she mumbled. "I regret I ever allowed you to teach this innocent boy your wicked ways."

"Yes, well, let's not dwell," Erik muttered. When he saw me, he commented coldly, "It appears we are ready. Lucien, are you coming or not?"

"Coming!" Lucien exclaimed, running up to me and darting in a circle around me. "Christine, you took _forever_!" He then snatched up my hand and began to pull me along rather more energetically than I was prepared for. I stumbled after him, and he laughed, "This'll be sooooo much fun!"

Damned youthful vigor. Despite the fact that I had only lived through twenty-one summers, I felt older than Lady Barlow at the moment. Every one of my muscles screamed out in protest, but I said nothing and allowed Lucien to pull me along. At the door, I bid a swift good-bye to Meg, praying that I might see her again. I promised I would somehow contact her, if it was the last thing I did. She returned her quiet smile, and stepped back so that Nadir could say his farewells.

Erik hovered patiently by the door, Lucien skipping about at his side and continuing to torture the dog. Finally, I saw Erik wrench the bone out of the boy's hand and toss it at the wretched animal before he gave the boy a slight cuff for his behavior. Lucien pouted, but said nothing more and searched for alternate amusement.

Always a man of few words, Nadir bowed over my hand and then leaned forward suddenly. He whispered, "Best of luck, Comtesse. You'll need it."

I knew he did not refer to the price on my head. "Thank you, Nadir. We'll see each other again, won't we?"

"Of course," he nodded and then walked me over to the door where Erik stood waiting with a frown in place while he watched Lucien. He looked up at us and straightened when Nadir extracted several papers from the folds of his jacket. "Here," he handed them over to Erik, who examined them critically. "These will grant you passage to your destination; there will be a man waiting for you in London with the legal documents that you will need."

Erik frowned, "How will we know him?"

Nadir displayed a ring on his finger, "He will bear this mark. I am afraid you will have to trust my judgment on this. It's the best I can do, for I cannot meet you there myself. I still have the Comtesse's divorce to take care of in Paris."

I looked at him curiously, "You would do that for me?"

"It is not safe for you to be anywhere near Paris, and I wish to gather as much information on this Renois as I can," Nadir answered. "Don't worry, I shall find you both."

Erik was visibly tense as he said his farewells to Nadir, his manner brisk and distant. Both men probably still smoldered from their argument of earlier, although it was not my place to remark upon it. I stood off at a distance, keeping one eye on Lucien to make sure he did not start torturing the poor dog again. When we were finally ready, Peers opened the doors for us and we exited on to the moonlit terrace. The moon was exceptionally bright this night, its light so intense that one might almost have been able to read by it. The grounds fairly glowed, the light reflecting up off the snow.

A dark carriage waited for us outside, already burdened with the heavy weight of our things. The little coachman whom I had seen arguing with Nadir earlier skipped to his seat and gathered up the reins impatiently. Lucien clambered into the cab, and Erik handed me up without comment. As soon as we were all gathered, I heard the crack of a whip and the horses set off with their silent passengers. Lucien bounced up and down for a time and attempted to make conversation, inquiring exactly where it was that we were going and if there was candy in Sweden, before Erik snapped at him harshly to be quiet.

Lucien stared at Erik and then stuck out his tongue. Still, he was quiet and silence reigned for the better part of an hour while we made our way to the small train station. After a period of quiet, Lucien began to whine, "Are we almost there?"

"Shut up unless you wish to trot behind the carriage," Erik returned, staring out the window.

"There's no need to be so snappish," I murmured softly, speaking for the first time since we had left the mansion. The silence between us was awkward, but I had not been able to think of anything to say to him with Lucien present.

Erik glared at me, but I was saved from his retort when we did indeed clamber to a stop. Although it was dark, it was not yet past the hour for supper. With luck, we might be in London before midnight, for Lady Barlow did not live entirely too far off from the city.

Uncomfortably, the entire train ride was spent in silence. This was mostly due to the fact that Lucien skipped out of our apartment right away to explore the vast confines of the train, while Erik rose and excused himself soon after the boy left. I was left alone to my own devices, idly flipping through the pages of a book without really absorbing any information. I debated what I might say to him; what I might do to finally win him over. Even then, how would I ever know that I had convinced him? When would we ever be able to trust each other implicitly?

I leaned my face against the windowpane, watching the dark countryside fly by. The landscape began to change slowly, from entirely wild and rustic, to somewhat more civilized. More and more dark silhouettes of houses appeared, beginning to litter the scenery. Still, this was not enough to properly enthrall me, and so I was left alone for the most part with my thoughts for company.

Closing my eyes, I began to dwell on what Erik had said. I pondered what I would say if he ever asked me to marry him, although the idea seemed unlikely. I feared he would never ask; not with the way he had spoken earlier. But if he did, I would most certainly say _yes_. I knew I would if only _he_ knew that! There was little question in my mind, for although I did not know everything about Erik, I knew that I could work through all the darkness in his past if only he would trust me with it.

He was too terrified of being hurt again; afraid that I would run the minute I heard his story in detail. I also understood that I was not perfect; indeed, I might flinch and be disgusted by certain elements of his life, but wasn't it worth the risk? It certainly was to me, and I did not understand why it was that he could not see that!

And what of children? I sighed shakily when the thought came upon me, but it was out of regret. How could I tell him that I was unable to have children without wounding him once more? What if his obstinate mind interpreted my words in entirely the wrong way and he assumed I simply balked at the thought of bearing _his_ children?

I massaged my forehead wearily, resolving to find some sleep and respite from all these trials. Eventually I did indeed drift off to sleep and the next thing I saw was Lucien's face right in front of mine, demanding that I remove my lazy rear from the train. I yawned generously and stretched my arms, noticing that Erik regarded me silently from the threshold of the compartment.

He said nothing and drew up the hood of his cloak, obscuring the masked half of his face. Then he offered me his elbow, which I took without a word. We stepped off the train and into a waiting cab that moved off silently. Erik sat up above in conversation with the driver, and I remained with only Lucien for company. The boy bobbed up and down excitedly, peering out at the bright city streets, which were teeming with people even at this late hour. In the distance, I heard a clock mournfully strike the twelfth hour.

It was difficult for me to feel as thrilled about being in a city as Lucien obviously was. I had spent most of my life in Paris, and although I had never been in London, I was not very much disposed to care right now. The child was young and obviously overjoyed at the prospect of travel, and so I decided not to dampen his spirits.

When we finally came to a stop, it was on a more or less empty street. I looked out of the window and saw only a few people milling about at this late hour. Most of them were dressed richly, presumably returning from some type of entertainment. Many of the ladies wore rich furs and were laughing delightedly with their male companions, all in fine evening attire.

Without waiting, Lucien sprinted out the door and I clambered out without any further assistance. To my surprise I saw no sign of Erik, but the little coachman sidled up to us and said something in English. I looked to Lucien for explanation, who shrugged, "He says _monsieur_ told us to wait here." He pointed up at the house, "I suppose that's where we're staying."

I took this opportunity to examine the small townhouse that we had stopped in front of, but the night was late and my eyes were unaccustomed to the dark. I also noticed that several of the passerby were examining me with critical eyes and whispering to each other, but by this point I was so accustomed to the actions of Raoul and his circles that I could ignore it. I realized belatedly that they were most likely remarking upon the fact that I wore no corset, and so I drew my own cloak over my front to obscure the fact that my dress hung loosely over my curves.

By the time Erik returned, I was thoroughly chilled to the bones and shivering in the street. Lucien continued to run in circles about the carriage, excitedly gawking at everything that he could. I finally grabbed him by the collar and ordered the boy to be still before he made someone dizzy. He obeyed, but nonetheless made a face at me.

I saw a faint light behind the front door of the house, and I blinked when I saw Erik emerge, in conversation with a pair of young Italians. The boys immediately darted down to where Lucien and I waited and promptly hefted our belongings back into the house.

The three of us followed the boys into the interior of the building. As soon as we were inside, Lucien ran off to begin his exploration of the house. I might have been more curious, had I not been so tired. In my exhausted state, all that I could remark upon were the scant furnishings of the place. It was apparent that no one took up permanent residence here and I looked to Erik for explanation.

"I stay here occasionally when I have business in London," was all he said, before he motioned me to follow him. On the upper landing, he opened a door to another sparsely-furnished room that held only a bed and a desk. "You can ask Lisette about a bath," he told me, moving aside to let the boys carry my things in.

"Lisette?" I asked blankly.

"The maid. She's somewhere around here."

My weary eyes quickly located the bed and all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep; I hated traveling for long periods of time. I allowed myself to balance on the edge of the mattress, removing my cloak in the sudden warmth.

Lucien returned and peered into my room, having looked at the rest of the house. "It's boring here," he declared. "I think I'll go and play outside."

I stood up quickly, "Lucien, no! Stay here!"

"Keep your skirts on," Lucien returned peevishly. "I'm just going to have some fun."

With that, the boy disappeared through the door and skipped off. I glanced at Erik helplessly, but he was once again saying something to the Italians, and did not look up from his task. "Well?" I inquired, interrupting him. When Erik continued to ignore me, I coughed loudly and went on, "Aren't you going to do anything about that?"

"About what?" He finally dismissed the boys, who shut the door on us.

I glared at him; "It's well past midnight and that boy is out there in a city doing God only knows what. You should keep a stricter watch on him! Boys his age should be safely abed by this hour, not gadding about in the dead of night without supervision!"

An amused smirk appeared on Erik's face. "What do you suggest I do? You know Lucien is his own master."

Instead, I shook my head firmly, "That boy needs to be taken in hand." I opened the door and looked at him expectantly, "Get out."

"What?" Erik blinked several times, surprised by my words.

"Get out; I want to take a bath," I explained coldly. "While I bathe, you go look for him."

He sighed, "Are you angry with me, Christine?"

"No, I just think you're utterly irresponsible. And I want to take a bath."

His features darkened in displeasure at my words; "Don't you dare presume to give me orders, my dear."

Although he was a good deal taller than me, I stood my ground. An unreasonable anger that had been brewing in me all day suddenly reared its head, and I exclaimed, "Out this instant! I _am_ angry with you! Furious, in fact! Get out! _Get out!_" As he had not been expecting it, I managed to give him enough of a push so that he found himself on the other side of the door.

He put out a hand before I could shut it on him and scowled at me, "What's the meaning of this, Christine?"

"Unless you wish to see me gallivanting about the room completely naked, you'll leave," I hissed, pushing on the door stubbornly.

I saw him pale considerably at that, and he quickly withdrew his hold without further comment. With the loss of resistance, I fell forward against the door heavily, hitting my shoulder. Pain blossomed from the injury, and I shuddered when it coupled with my earlier bruises. After I recovered somewhat, I was able to ring for a maid and order the bath that I so desired now.

It half-amused me that I had sent Erik off almost at a sprint at the mere mention of indecency. At the same time, it also pained me, for it truly showed how strong the barrier between us still was. What would it take to break through those thick defenses of his?

Afterward, when I lay soaking in my bath, I continued to wonder about what I might say to him. I knew that I absolutely had to confront him now and to make this the ultimate confrontation so that we did not suffer any additional…misunderstandings.

Holding my breath, I plunged completely underwater and stayed there for as long as I could before I rose back to the surface, gasping for breath. By the time the water had begun to cool, I was already out and toweling myself down wearily. I regarded my naked form in the mirror, frowning because I believed I had become slightly more plump over the course of five years. I pinched myself experimentally in the stomach and then grimaced when I hit a bruise.

I slipped easily into a sheer nightgown that rested easily on my bruised frame. It was a relief to finally be out of my clothes that were uncomfortable even without the corset, and I crawled contentedly into bed. For almost half an hour, I attempted to force myself into sleep. I shifted this way and that, throwing my limbs into odd positions, trying to find a comfortable arrangement. In the end it was no use, for the memory of Erik's body twined around my own lingered until I could no longer even lie down.

Furious with myself, I went to the window and threw it open to admit the cold city air. Far below me, people still streamed along the streets, some of them obviously drunk, for their off-key singing drifted up to me. I stayed there for a while, but drowsiness still did not come.

I rang for the maid once again, and a sleepy Lisette appeared at my door. The girl was Italian as well, although she spoke flawless French and was able to understand me perfectly. Hoping that I did not sound desperate, I asked her about Erik's whereabouts.

Without making so much as a frown, the girl informed me that he was most likely in his room, and gave me directions. I thanked her and set off along the course that she had pointed out to me. As I was as bad as ever with direction, I knocked on six different doors before I finally hit upon the right one. It took several knocks, but at the last he finally answered.

"What?" Erik asked irritably, opening the door only a fraction. I quickly noted that he had changed into a slack Persian robe, and that his hair was still slightly wet. I almost smiled at the rather endearing picture he made, even in his irritation, but then I recovered myself and planted my hands on my hips firmly.

"Did you find Lucien?"

"No," he replied. "I wouldn't worry until morning; he knows his way around the city." I saw him run his gaze over my form, and I became rather self-conscious again as I realized just how slight the material was. I crossed my arms over my front as if shielding myself from the cold, and looked straight at him once more. He began to close the door; "Is that all?"

This time I was the one who put out a hand to stop him from closing the door. "No, that is not all." Thoughts of Lucien began to disperse, as I realized that I had to confront him now. I looked down at my hands and asked him, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"No, not tonight," he said simply.

"Why not?" I asked doggedly. "You seemed more than willing to hold me last night. In fact," I went on before he could protest, "I can't understand why you've barely said a word to me all day."

"I have my reasons," was all he said.

I shook my head, "That's not good enough. You can't kiss and touch me like that one day and then completely ignore me the next without an explanation! Tell me what I've done wrong!" I wanted him to admit his feelings to me without having to betray my knowledge of his conversation with Nadir.

"I can very well do what I please!" He barked, opening the door more widely. I noticed that he was staring at something behind me, and I turned to see the three curious faces of Lisette and the Italians peering at us around a corner.

Ignoring them, I returned my attention to him. "You can't!"

"I've had enough of you for one night, Christine! Go back to bed!"

I could not allow myself to relent this time. "And _I've_ had enough of this childish behavior from _you_!"

He tried to close the door on me, but this time I refused to let him escape the situation. He couldn't just keep walking away every time this surfaced. I had to _make_ him face this now.

I slipped my small form into the crack between the door and the wall, until he was forced to stop pushing on it for fear of hurting me. "I would rather not break any of your dear bones," he snarled. "Get out of my way."

"No."

Erik reached for my middle and attempted to lift me from the doorframe. As soon as I felt my feet slip on the ground, I acted on instinct and aimed a slap straight at his face. "Put me down!" I shrieked, even as my hand connected with his cheek.

In my fury, my hand passed over the right side of his face and dislodged the mask. When he felt the material leave his skin, he dropped me and allowed his hand to fly to the perverse scarring upon his face. I slumped against the door and abruptly began to weep again, covering my own face with my hands.

"There is one of my reasons," he growled darkly. "You are quite willing to tolerate my company until you see what I am."

I looked at him through my fingers and slowly removed my hands from my face. "I don't know what you are!" I screamed at him. "I don't even know who you are, because you won't let me see! I want to, but time and again you push me away! You of all people should know that I don't care about your face!"

He snorted disbelievingly and turned from me. I saw him glance down at the floor before he suddenly kicked the mask so that it shattered against a distant wall. "You ask the impossible," he told me. "You will never be able to see beyond this."

Fairly tearing at my hair, I continued to yell, "I will! Yes, your face is twisted and abhorrent! Yes, part of you is ugly as sin! But _I don't care_! I don't give a damn for appearances anymore! The only person who is bothered by it is _you_, you fool! Haven't I proven that _I_ don't care?"

"Oh, it was all high and mighty of you to touch me while I hid my face," Erik snarled. "Why are you crying now, Christine? Tell me, _why_?" Abruptly, he turned back to me again and snatched my face up in his hands. "Kiss me now," he growled. "Kiss me again, but this time without the life of your lover at stake! Kiss me as I am without flinching away! Kiss me because it is what you want! I dare you to try it!"

I stared at the two halves of his face which were in such direct discord with each other. The left side might have been called handsome, if only the other half had not stolen the rest of the attractiveness from his features. Indeed, one could easily see why he had been known as a _little corpse_ as a child; when he turned the blemished half to my eyes, the fleeting remnants of his beauty all but disappeared.

My own features contorted in sudden pity, but he mistook it for the revulsion that he had come to know all too well. "I knew it," Erik said, pushing me away. "As usual, your words mean absolutely nothing. You are no different from all the rest."

I resumed my position between him and the door to make sure he did not escape once more. This time, I would _not_ be defeated so easily. I watched him walk to a window in his room and lean out of it much as I had done earlier, inhaling the crisp night air.

While his back was to me, I hit upon a sudden idea. "Kiss _me_," I whispered.

He straightened, but did not look at me, "What did you say?"

"Now I dare _you_ to kiss me."

"I won't," he said harshly.

"Why not? What are you afraid of?" I continued to goad him.

His tone was still furious; "I'm not afraid of anything. Let me be."

No, I would not stop. I refused to _let him be_!

I began to walk toward him slowly; "You fear my rejection and my hatred. You fear that I will turn and run, don't you? _I_ do not fear to kiss you rather, you tremble to see what I might do if _you_ tried to touch me first." I stopped directly behind him and hissed, "You coward."

Even though I could see how tight the muscles in his powerful shoulders had become, he still refused to rise to my bait. Instead, he spoke quietly; "Even if you could see beyond my face, there is still much you would never accept. You say that you love me, but you could never live with me as I am. If I told you everything, I would lose you forever."

"You are losing me anyway," I said quietly. "Is that what you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want."

I took a deep, calming breath, having reached desperation. "Teach me, Erik. Tell me of yourself. That is what _I_ want, and one of us has to matter." When he was silent, I went on, "Tell me of Nadir's son."

He gasped, turning the misshapen half of his face to me. "What? How could you know?"

I forced myself to go on; "Tell me of Persia. I know you have killed many I even heard that you _enjoyed _it. Yet, I am still here. Why, Erik? Why am I still here? Why do I still care?" I sunk down on to the soft bed in the room, clutching the post, "Why did you kill Nadir's son?"

His knuckles stood out in the bright moonlight as he held the ledge tightly. Finally, he relented to me; "He was very ill; I poisoned the boy to give him a quick end. It was a mercy to kill him rather than let the child waste away before the eyes of his father."

I swallowed shakily, murmuring, "That still doesn't excuse it."

"Of course it doesn't!" Erik retorted. "It is never right to take the life of another human being! And yet, I can't help myself! I hate the rest of the race so much that it gives me pleasure to watch the pathetic creatures die!"

I willed myself to stop crying and to go on. "It is not entirely your fault," I said.

"Not my fault? How kind of you," he replied, unmoved.

"I can't believe you were born all bad," I pressed on, willing him to hear me out. "The world made you what you are all on account of one unfortunate circumstance."

"No, that _circumstance_ you speak of is only an intimation of the true horror I was born with."

I rose and walked to him so that I could look straight into his eyes. "You cannot be as unfeeling as you claim," I whispered. "You have not killed in years -."

"What of Renois? I would gladly have smeared her brains all over a wall if not for -."

"If not for me," I finished smugly, a smile forming despite the serious quality of the conversation. "Unfeeling monster that you are, you learned to care for another member of the human race despite yourself." I took another step towards him; "You learned to care for several, for you have always been kind to Nadir and Lucien as well."

"Have you forgotten that I -," Erik began, only to have me cut him off once more.

"No, I have not," I assured him. "But now I know, Erik. Now I know more of who you are. See? I haven't run yet. I'm still here."

"It is only a matter of time before you come to your senses," he answered, beginning to turn away from me once more. "How much did you hear, Christine?"

I looked down at my hands, "What do you mean?"

"I know you heard Nadir and I speak this morning. How much of our conversation did you eavesdrop on?" He did not sound harsh, but neither was he overly pleased.

"I heard enough," I finally told him, daring to look back up. "Will you still not kiss me?" When he was silent, I added, "Here we are, Erik. Just ourselves, devoid of any façades; no more than a man and a woman."

He looked at me for a long while before he sighed and shook his head resignedly. "I cannot, Christine. I'm sorry."

I had sworn that I would not let him get away from me, and by God, I was going to keep that promise. Before Erik could do anything else, I pulled his face down to mine. "This is the last time that I do this," I warned him, even as I trapped his lips in a vicious kiss. When I broke it, he still had the same look of disbelief on his face, and I snapped at him impatiently, "Will you kiss me _now_?"

Determined, I arched my back and pushed my breasts up against his chest so that he was made agonizingly aware of the fact that only a thin layer of gauze nightgown separated us. He groaned and instantly tightened his grasp on my middle. I stifled a gasp at the pain, for he had inadvertently pressured my bruised skin, but I did not want to make him aware of the fact. Instead, I smiled at him invitingly and did not lessen my hold about his neck.

When he at last dared to kiss me, I was wholly unprepared for the urgency with which he did so. I almost cried out at the brutal invasion of my mouth, before I decided to instead allow him to do what he wished with me. There was no going back now, for this was the only way in which we could learn to trust each other unreservedly.

Finally, we were forced to break apart for want of air. We both stared at each other, breathing heavily with the breeze from the window thrashing about us. Erik was looking at me oddly now, and I puzzled over the expression before I realized that he looked to me for either approval or rejection. I laughed softly and buried my head against his neck.

"Thank you," I told him, inhaling the cold air while my cheek rested against his burning skin. "Do you think you might learn to trust me now?"

He ran a trembling hand over my back, massaging the skin carefully. "I can try," he admitted hesitantly.

It was better than nothing and would have to do for the moment. I leaned back and smiled straight at him, "Good enough…for now." I took Erik's hand and pulled him along behind me to the bed, "I'm staying here with you tonight, no excuses."

He made only a small protest; "What if Lucien walks in?"

Pulling back the covers, I climbed in without relinquishing my hold on his hand so that he was forced to once again settle beside me. "He'll just have to learn to live with us."

Erik grunted softly in amusement and pulled me close just as he had done the night before. I was about to shut my eyes, when I could not help but speak once again. "Erik, if you ever have any fears, swear that you'll tell me."

"I promise," he said without hesitation. He began to rub at my middle gently, his hand warm through the fabric of my nightgown.

His simple action reminded me of something else. "I need to tell you one more thing."

He frowned in sudden concern; "What?"

It was difficult for me to say, but I had to let him know. Still, I shut my eyes because I did not want to see the disappointment in his eyes. "I…I can't have children," I confessed reluctantly, all in one breath. I felt his hand still, and I forced myself to look at him desperately. "Not because I don't want to! I just…can't. I tried for all these years, but…" I almost twisted away in my shame, but he caught my cheek firmly and forced me to stay in place.

"So you heard that part too," he muttered. Then he ordered, "Christine, look at me."

I obeyed and blinked away my tears, seeing nothing but a faint look of sadness in his eyes. I felt myself compelled to babble on; "The doctor did all he could, but he said that he just couldn't find anything wrong with me."

To my surprise, Erik gave me words of reassurance. "Then perhaps the fault did not lie with you," he suggested.

I tried not to become too hopeful at his implication, although my heart nearly skipped an animated beat.

"In any case, you are all I want right now, and Lucien is more trouble than a handful of children," Erik finished.

This time I was forced to smile, and I moved closer to him with a delighted grin. I turned in the wrong direction, however, and cried out yet again as I managed to elbow myself in the ribs.

"What's wrong?" Erik drew back the covers and watched me as I massaged my injuries with a grimace.

"Corset," I muttered as an explanation.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked in concern.

I shook my head, "No." Then I rolled over so that I rested directly on top of him. "It doesn't hurt if you hold me from the back," I offered by way of explanation. I gave him a coy gaze and kissed his nose lightly, "And this way, you won't be able to run away from me in the morning."

"I won't."

"I know."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** They're together now SERIOUSLY. No more trips to the angst farm, I promise. Hope you guys liked this one! It took forever to write, and I'm not sure what to think of it yet myself.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine. 

Sorry also if some parts are weird. Pulled an all-nighter for this one. Wheee, the birds are singing already.

**A/N:** I've never been to Sweden, so I'm truly sorry if I made some dreadful error in this chapter! If I have, please tell me! I'm completely guessing at the interior appearance of the Uppsala Cathedral because most of what I know comes from not entirely reliable internet sources. 

Sorry for the long hiatus! Lots of Real Life stuff to deal with ;.;

**Chapter 10**

For the first time in many years, I wanted to laugh. It was not the sound that one made when it was expected, whether the cause was something amusing or necessary, but the type of laugh that one gave when everything seemed perfect. I wanted to laugh because I was happy; because I felt complete and for the first time in my life, utterly carefree. Of course this was a strange thing to think, what with my life apparently in danger, but I could not help it! There had been no trouble for me ever since I departed England and I had begun to secretly foster a small hope that perhaps we had made a clean escape after all.

The journey up through Europe to Denmark and finally Sweden had taken us weeks, but much to my surprise, we had had managed it without even a minor problem. True, the voyage had been long, but somehow I had not minded. After a few weeks, I had even learned to stop looking over my shoulder in search of murderers who wished to slit my throat.

From Stockholm, I had persuaded Erik to allow us to return to Uppsala, the town in which I had lived with my father after my mother died. My few memories of him all remained in this place and I had not been back ever since I arrived at the Opera Populaire. In truth, it had not required much cajoling on my part to force Erik to take me there, as he admittedly longed to visit the famous Cathedral which dominated the town.

It was only our sixth week in Uppsala, but already it seemed as if we had been together forever. In the several weeks that we had spent exclusively in each other's company, we had slowly adjusted to each other until it seemed as if we had never parted. At times I barely remembered my life with Raoul, dismissing it as no more than a crooked path upon with I had meandered aimlessly for a time.

Yes, life was indeed lovely. I could not help but feel the sentiment emphasized by the grandeur and beauty of the architecture about me, for I now stood in the Uppsala Cathedral. I had not been nearly as enthusiastic as Erik about visiting the cathedral, but I simply could not refuse the eager look in his eyes when he mentioned it to me. And so we had come to explore the church, renowned for its size and style as one of the most grand cathedrals in all of northern Europe.

It was truly beautiful. Naturally, we had come here in the hours of the evening when there was not a soul to be seen. Candles still burned lightly in every recess and I was certain the priest who served as the caretaker for the evening was somewhere about, but at the moment he was absent. I traveled aimlessly between stained glass windows and statues, at times pausing to lean against pews and attempt to not become dizzy at Lucien's eager dashes about the main gallery.

I watched Erik pause before the altar as he thoughtfully examined the decorations gracing the display. Then he tilted his head back once again to study the construction of the ceiling, all the while attempting to keep his patience with Lucien, who was constantly tugging at his sleeve and asking endless questions.

Studying his face carefully, I smiled as I noted many of his more subtle mannerisms. Despite the fact that outwardly he appeared to be as irritated as ever with the boy, I could sense the slight curve in his lips and the delight in his eyes as he spoke of a subject that he was extremely enthusiastic about. While he spoke to the child, he happened to glance in my direction and gave me an ever so faint smile. It was in fact so small that one would almost have missed it.

I loved those little secret smiles that we shared. I could not imagine how I had ever survived without the mystifying glances that lovers exchanged, enjoying indulgences that no one else could pick up on. Many gestures of sentimentality were slight with Erik; so diaphanous that I once would have overlooked them entirely. I still did not know and could not understand every one of his secrets, but I was slowly learning.

Every night that he held me, he would reveal one new thing about himself to me. At times the words he spoke were frightening; on other occasions, they were even amusing and I caught myself laughing. At my urging, he had even forced himself to tell me the horrific parts of his life, most of which centered around Persia. These occasions were few, and I knew that he might never reveal even the half of it to me, but I was grateful for the fact that he trusted me enough to at least allow himself to confess a part of his soul. I caught myself both fearing and respecting this man as I slowly learned that I in fact knew next to nothing about him at all.

Erik had been right; how could people fall for each other when one barely knew the other?

Perhaps that question made our enigmatic relationship all that more enticing. Somehow, we had been drawn to one another, and even now when we both heard and admitted things that neither one of us wanted to hear, still we stayed with each other.

His attention had strayed from me once again and I saw that he was now showing Lucien something that was above me. I followed their gazes and saw the framework of pipes behind an upper level balcony, which signified the presence of an organ. I shook my head at Lucien's delighted squeal and watched Erik restrain the boy as the child tried to dash up into the heights of the cathedral.

A bell tower in the distance chimed the eighth hour of the evening and I straightened with a slight cough. "We should be going if we still want dinner," I informed my two companions as I adjusted my gloves with another cough.

Still attempting to control Lucien, Erik frowned at me and inquired; "Are you ill, Christine?"

I coughed again and shook my head; "No. Perhaps a slight chill."

Nevertheless, he studied me with intense concern and I felt compelled to smile at the look on his face. His attention from me was finally diverted, however, when Lucien stomped on Erik's foot and cried out; "Let me go! I want to see upstairs!"

Erik cuffed the boy soundly for his pains and caught him up by his collar, finally swinging the child unceremoniously over his shoulder. "Enough from you," Erik snapped and tried to ignore Lucien as he beat his small fists into his captor's back.

"Are you sure you're not being too harsh?" I asked, watching the boy struggle.

Erik merely shrugged and instead returned his attention to Lucien. "You're behind in your Latin lessons. I want twenty lines of your text translated tonight before you go to bed."

Lucien stilled immediately and lifted his head slightly; "Twenty? But _why_? I won't! I won't do it!" He began to kick again.

"Fifty," Erik continued pleasantly, arranging his grip on the boy so that his legs were finally locked in a position that could do no damage.

"No!"

"Seventy-five."

"But - !"

"One hundred."

Lucien subsided, but it was with a decided grumble. "Can you at least put me down?" He asked after a bit of silence when we were exiting the cathedral.

"No."

And that was that. I was slightly intrigued by this show of discipline, but I said nothing even though I knew Lucien would probably treat me coldly afterward for not intervening on his behalf.

We walked on in silence through the streets which were by no means empty. The night was still relatively young but nevertheless cold. I huddled into my cloak and coughed again, deciding to blame this wretchedly cold weather for my chill. Still, it was beautiful here and I did not regret that we had come. A distance away from the cathedral I turned back to regard it in its full splendor and smiled at this grand achievement of mankind, marveling at its brilliance.

"Beautiful," I remarked when I noticed that Erik had stopped as well and was hovering expectantly by my side.

"And so much more," Erik commented in response.

I turned to him; "I wish I had a greater understanding of these things. All I can see is a pretty building, but I fail to appreciate it like you and Lucien seem to."

Lucien's voice was muffled as he spoke into Erik's cloak; "I hate it!"

Erik sighed and set the boy back on his feet with a warning glance. Then he offered his elbow to me and drew me close when he saw me cough again. "Appreciation comes from experience and knowledge -- you'll learn soon enough. For the moment, enjoy it as it is: just a _pretty building_."

I was grateful for the warmth and leaned into his bulk as soon as the wind picked up again and began to whip through the street. Lucien made a face at the two of us; "You two are too slow and I'm cold," he announced and immediately set off down the street at a run as soon as he was sure that he was free.

I turned my face up to Erik's with a smile and commented; "I'm happy right where I am."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The following afternoon found me thoughtfully applying a thin knife to the scales of a fish as I cleaned it clumsily. We had all decided on an early meal and I now stood in a small, heated kitchen, wearing a simple homespun dress with my sleeves rolled up messily up past my elbows. Raoul might have shot himself had he seen me standing about as a commoner, attempting to prepare my own food! This was all so great a departure from my old life, that I both marveled and reveled in it.

A gnarled and bent elderly woman worked beside me, muttering over my handiwork with occasional critical glances. Alma, as we all called her, had been found by Nadir and employed on account of the fact that she seemed to know everything that went on in the city, but at the same time was trustworthy enough to keep her silence about us. Because Nadir had brought her to us, Erik had not questioned her presence and had allowed her to be the lone servant that we employed.

Erik did not question Nadir's judgment and so neither did I.

"No, no! Like _this_!"

I blinked, having lost myself in my thoughts. Alma had snatched up my hands and was adjusting my knife with a frown on her face. "Hold it like _so_," she instructed in quick Swedish.

Obeying, I moved my grip and continued in my efforts to skin the fish. To break the silence, I asked Alma curiously, "What do you call this again?"

"Strömming," she told me, one eye fixed firmly on my clumsy work.

"Strömming," I repeated, testing the word on my lips. To my shame, I barely knew the name of a single traditional Swedish dish, although I had been born in the country. My knowledge of the language was even slightly shaky, although I was slowly regaining the familiarity I had possessed as a child.

On top of everything, my cooking skills were less than dismal. I had already dropped my fish several times in my attempts to clean the scales from its body, much to Alma's irritation. She had immediately demanded that I clean everything up myself in that commanding manner of hers and I had acquiesced without a word. In many ways, the little Swedish woman reminded me of Madame Giry, different only in the fact that one had been a ballet instructor.

I yelped when I thinly sliced through the skin of my finger instead of that of the fish. Dropping the tool, I hastily sucked on the wound and tasted an uncomfortable mix of blood and salty fish. Grimacing and trying to ignore Alma's glares, I moved away to a bucket of water, which had been recently heated, and plunged my hand into it.

"That's for the fish, not you!" Alma exclaimed, brandishing her knife at me. Then she shook her head and sighed with a dismissive gesture, "Out. You'll just end up burning the kitchen down."

I gave her an apologetic look, but knowing that she was right, ducked out of the warm room and into the hallway. The air out here was pleasantly cool and free of all the smells and sounds which a kitchen replete with boiling pots and skinned fish promised. I cradled my injured hand against my chest for a moment, wincing when I saw that it still bled lightly.

My attention from the small injury was swept away when I heard the sudden sound of music, woven against a backdrop of sounds from the kitchen and noises on the street outside. I tilted my head toward the sound to listen and smiled when I realized that Erik was playing as he often did in the evenings. Momentarily forgetting my hand, I moved quietly through the darkened hall and instead pushed open the door to the parlor.

Everything in the small home was sparsely furnished, on account of the fact that we did not know how long we would stay here. Every moment presented fresh opportunity for fear; in every second, there was the possibility of danger, and despite my current carefree state, I was suddenly reminded of the fact that at any time we might have to pack up and flee this place as well.

Despite the lack of furnishings in the house, this room retained a pleasant and warm air nonetheless. Somehow a homey feel had settled into it, influenced by a combination of rich quilts scattered about the furniture. A piano -- a most necessary item -- stood demurely in a corner illuminated by a sea of candles. I still did not understand Erik's penchant for candles, but I had forced myself to learn to live with it.

It was almost amusing to me in a way, thinking that we now did indeed live together. Such an odd thought! We were certainly an unconventional couple, to say the least. Still, I did not care. Rather, I had learned to find most of his odd habits charming. The one thing which continued to trouble me was the obvious existence of the barriers which still remained between us. Not matter what I said or did, he simply could not bring himself to trust me entirely. I knew that I was being aggressive in a way, and that I should not pressure him too much -- but I could not help my impatient and impulsive nature.

At first, _I_ had been the one who insisted upon keeping the distance between us. I had told him that I needed time to adjust and to grieve for Raoul, and so it had been. In a way, I had needed time to learn to trust Erik as fully as I could. I had wanted to use this time to learn about him so that we could not do anything that we would later regret.

He was seated before the instrument now, drawing out a tune from the obedient keys. I smiled, because he was still completely oblivious to my presence, utterly immersed in the music as was his wont. Taking care to make as little noise as possible, I tiptoed over to his corner and slid myself into place beside him. He barely glanced at me, but I was not bothered in the least because I was accustomed to this as well by now.

Music was his other lover and I knew that I had to share his heart with her. And although it did not bother me, I could not resist poking a bit of fun at him. Folding my hands in my lap and looking down at the ground as if blushing, I sidled closer to him and rubbed my shoulder against his, grinning when he stumbled over a note. When he still did not stop, I teased a fingertip lightly over his neck, until he was forced to lean into my touch almost on instinct.

Then I placed a small but entirely deliberate kiss on the skin which I had taunted. I murmured quietly, "I feel neglected."

Finally, his hands slipped on the keys entirely. He turned an exasperated look on me; "What?"

To another, his single word might have seemed harsh. To someone else, his response might have been called cruel. But I merely smiled, indulging in the mere fact that Erik's attention was upon _me_; "I said I feel a little neglected."

He shook his head, but despite that, he still reached up to my face to tug on a few curls that had escaped the tie at the base of my neck. "You smell like fish," he informed me nicely.

I grimaced; "I know. I suppose I should change before dinner."

"Mm," he nodded, although he did not release my hair. Instead, he frowned and suddenly caught up my injured hand with an accusing look; "What did you do to yourself?"

"Oh," I glanced down at the hand, having forgotten about the slice for a moment. "I cut it trying to clean the fish," I admitted sheepishly, coloring slightly as I took note of the amused light in his eyes.

"Thank God for Alma, then," he muttered.

I pouted falsely in his direction and tried to retract my hand, but found that he held it firmly. Still focused intently upon my palm, he extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and applied it gently to my damaged skin.

"You should try to take better care of these," he reprimanded me quietly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, smiling at the same time.

He smirked suddenly; "Your hand was also bleeding on the night of _Antissa_. I do believe the boy had bitten you, or done something along those lines."

"It was an accident! And he only scratched me!"

"No doubt his attempts to be seductive."

"_Erik!_" Despite myself, I hid a girlish giggle behind a hand. He laughed along with me, although his chuckle was rather restrained in comparison to my own delight. How strange it was to jest about elements of my past -- to teasingly speak to each other of things which had existed in our lives not all that long ago. Why was it that we could actually now laugh about things like my time with Raoul? Why was it that we could forget so much of the darkness and behave as if we truly did not possess a world of cares?

I suddenly felt compelled to snake my arms about him and settle against him. He seemed surprised by my sudden action, but nevertheless accommodated me wordlessly with one arm resting loosely on my waist. We were silent for a time, merely indulging in the fact that we were alone with each other.

"Erik?" I uttered his name quietly, tightening my hold about him.

"Yes?" He asked, and I could hear the concern in the solitary word. "Is something the matter, Christine?"

I was seized by another one of my brilliant ideas and decided that perhaps my predicament might be voiced more clearly by actions than words. Raising my face so that my lips were mere inches from his face, I leaned forward cautiously and kissed him quickly. "Does that bother you?" I asked, after I had drawn back.

He frowned; "No…why do you ask?"

Instead of replying, I slowly traced a hand along the bare skin of his chest exposed by the flowing folds of the shirt. Then I reached forward and undid the few buttons holding it together, hastily pushing back the material. Before he could fully realize what I was doing, I swung a leg around his middle and settled swiftly into his lap. I made him aware of my weight as much as possible, wrapping my legs about him until he was forced to clutch at the edges of the piano bench to prevent himself from toppling over.

"Christine, _what_ are you doing?" He hissed, and I sensed the first intimation of panic in his melodious voice. Erik tried to push me away, but I was now merciless and fully bent upon proving my point.

I roughly shoved thin silk material off his shoulders, winding my hands tightly in his dark hair until he was forced to look up at me. "I can kiss you, you say? I can lie in your embrace at night, but no more than that?" Not to be deterred from my goal, I forced a rough kiss upon his lips with a ruthless attack upon his mouth. Despite himself, he moaned deeply and gripped my back harshly until barely a wisp of air separated our bodies.

"Why can't I do more?" I asked, beginning to explore every inch of his bare skin with urgent hands. "Why is _this_ not allowed?" I touched his face and began to pry at the edges of the mask.

"Christine, for the love of God, _stop_!" He finally regained control and caught my hands.

Drawing back, I saw the fright reflected in his mismatched eyes. I fought the temptation to simply tear the mask from his face and to disobey his plea, but I did not. Instead I sat back and whispered, "Why?"

"Why what?" The slight blush in his cheeks had begun to recede, and he was slowly regaining himself despite the fact that I was still seated in his lap.

I fussed with my hair momentarily and then mumbled, "Well, first of all, why are things always so complicated between us?"

"How do you mean?"

Biting my lip, I looked at him imploringly; "Oh, you know _exactly_ what I mean! Haven't we waited long enough? Why are some things between us still not allowed? What are we waiting for?"

"Christine," he looked away as he said my name, but nonetheless I felt him wind his fingers gently about my neck and pull me into a light embrace. "You know exactly what I'm waiting for."

"I'm divorced from Raoul in every way possible except on paper," I told him quietly. "You know that divorce hasn't been legal for years in France."

"I do know," was all he said.

I pulled away and studied his face closely, noting that his eyes were averted from me even though I was situated right in his lap. Shifting my weight on purpose, I angrily replied, "Then what is it? What's the reason for this distance between us?"

Erik gave me a look of genuine confusion. "I thought you were happy, Christine," he said slowly. "Have I done something wrong? You asked me for time and I gave it to you! Am I not allowed to have some time of my own, then?"

Suddenly I felt very awkward in our current position and so I pulled myself out of his lap and sat back down on the bench, this time with my back to him so that he could not see my face. I stared determinedly at the floor and willed myself to understand. "What do you mean? I thought we discussed this."

I heard Erik draw on a deep breath and when he spoke, there was a distinct reluctant edge to his voice. "It's always been about you, Christine."

"What?" I gaped, stung by the unfairness of that statement. "How can you even say such a thing? I gave up - ."

Erik entwined both arms about my waist and rested his chin on my right shoulder with a soft command; "Shush. Hear me out."

I twisted in his grip in a way that was reminiscent of Lucien, but Erik stilled me by tightening his hold on my middle. "We're both selfish creatures, Christine. Love itself is a selfish thing, you know."

"So?" I asked petulantly, in no mood for his philosophical ramblings.

"I know what it is that you gave up," Erik went on. "I know how much you've sacrificed, but at the same time can you really blame me for entertaining some doubts?"

"Doubts?" I echoed.

"What if I told you that I still feel like second best?"

"Second best?" I continued to mirror his words dumbly.

"If you had been happy with Raoul, you never would have come to me, would you?" Erik inquired slowly, pulling the hair back from my neck ever so gently.

I felt confused by his words; "What are you trying to say?"

"Answer the question," he murmured and I shuddered when I felt some of his hair brush against my neck, tickling my sensitive skin.

I thought about his question for a few seconds and forced myself to answer honestly. "If I had been happy with Raoul, then yes, I would have stayed."

"With never a thought for me?"

"Of course I would have thought of you!" I finally unwrapped his hands from my body and turned so that I could look at him again; "What are you doing, anyway? Are you _trying_ to make me feel guilty? To make me feel wretched? Are you enjoying this?"

Erik said nothing. Studying me calmly, he sat back with a face so expressionless that it suddenly frightened me.

I opened my mouth once again; "But the point is that I did _not_ stay with Raoul. I came back not because he was particularly horrid to me but because I realized that I had made a mistake. Don't you see? Amending a mistake doesn't mean a return to something that is second-best. You are _not_ second-best, nor could you ever be."

Erik was staring at me now, his eyebrows lifted in a faint gesture of interest.

I rubbed at my face wearily and gave an exasperated cry; "Oh, say something, will you? I hate listening to myself babble on like a badly-written love ballad."

He smiled then and shook his head; "I keep forgetting that you're no longer a girl, Christine."

I did not know what to say to that and so I bit my lip and said nothing.

He frowned then and played distractedly with a tassel on the edge of the bench. "I know that divorce is illegal in France, but I can't help but be bothered by the fact that you are still somehow tied to the Comte."

I looked at him helplessly; "Why does it trouble you so much?"

"Because I would still feel as if I were taking something that doesn't belong to me."

Affront seized me and I glared at him. "_Belong_, you say? I don't _belong_ to anyone."

"Christine, stop being so difficult!" He snapped at me suddenly, glaring and seizing a handful of his own messy dark hair in exasperation. "You know what I mean!"

I sat back, my lips falling shut the moment he raised his voice. I always hated it when he yelled at me.

He seemed to recover himself, turning away to strike a random chord on the keys before us. "Ridicule me if you wish," he began again, "but this is serious to me. I don't want you to do anything that you may ever regret - ."

"I won't - ."

"You still wish to throw away your entire life? Your reputation, good name and future? All for me?" He played a hesitant melody in a single, lonely octave as he spoke.

I hit a solitary note, striking momentary conflict into the tiny, perfect melody that he had created. "Throw away what?" I asked softly, touching his hand and stilling it so that the music was cut off. "What do reputation and a good name really mean? It's this future or none at all. Please, no more doubts."

"You could have had so much more than this," Erik muttered, gesturing at the room that did indeed appear sparse in comparison to the splendor of my former living room in Raoul's home.

I snorted and pushed some of my unruly hair out of my eyes; "I'm happy where I am."

Erik closed his eyes and pressed a small kiss to my forehead, cradling my head gently with his other hand. Moving away once more, he met my eyes as if considering something and reached up slowly to caress my cheek. I frowned when I felt the unmistakable sensation of something cool against my skin and when he withdrew his hand I saw that he held an object that I had believed to be lost.

In his palm he held that simple golden ring that Lucien had taken from me all those months ago. I stared at it for a time, grateful for the fact that Erik said nothing for the moment. He held his hand outstretched to me, but it was merely an invitation that could be either accepted or denied. I looked back up at him again, my mouth slightly open as I was unsure whether I understood correctly.

"It's yours if you want it," Erik said quietly, his eyes still locked with mine. "Will you have me, Christine?"

My accursed eyes allowed tears to escape their confines. I hastily wiped at them, but the flood would not stop.

Erik looked extremely confused and he murmured softly; "Shall I get to my knees and beg?"

"God, no," I managed to mumble, taking his face between my palms to stop him from moving. I smiled shakily at him, "It just wouldn't be like you to grovel."

A sudden look of hope flared in his untamed eyes and my heart constricted fiercely at his countenance. It was that same expression of hope that he had worn when I returned to the lair one last time to be rid of the very ring which he now offered to me once again. Back then, I had cruelly crushed the last fleeting remnants of hope within his trampled heart, yet now he had allowed himself to trust once more.

"We have no church," I whispered, touching my forehead to his.

There was a thoughtful pause and then he commented, "There's the cathedral."

"No priest," I went on without moving from my position.

"God is the only witness we need."

"You don't believe in God," I chided him playfully through my tears.

"No," he agreed calmly.

"I'm still married to Raoul."

"Only on paper -- you said so yourself."

"It doesn't bother you?" I allowed my left hand to fall to my side and reach for his own palm.

"No, because you gave me your word that it doesn't trouble _you_," he returned, pulling away to glance down at our hands. He looked back up at me, his gaze as open and honest as I had ever seen it; "Marry me, Christine?"

I nodded wordlessly and surrendered my hand completely, gaining a sense of wholeness as soon as I felt him slide the ring over my finger. When we looked at each other again, I girlishly flung my arms about him and burst into noisy, unrestrained tears.

Erik held me tightly and muttered, "I once thought that I would never utter those words to a woman as long as I lived."

That caused me to bawl all the more loudly and to wheeze out in between hiccups; "Don't say such foolish things."

He rubbed my back gently and asked curiously, "Christine, why are you crying again?"

I hid my face against his shoulder and hiccupped even more noisily. "It's because I'm so happy, that's why!" I hiccupped again and choked on my own tears, coughing loudly several times.

"Is everything all right in here?" A Swedish tongue interrupted us and I turned my messy face to see Alma poking her tidy head through the door curiously.

Erik gently cleaned my face with another handkerchief and addressed the woman without looking at her; "Everything's perfect, Alma."

I smiled at her reassuringly, knowing that we made an interesting picture. Alma frowned, shaking her head and muttering something about young people and their unrestrained habits when there came the unexpected sound of a crash from the kitchens.

Alma disappeared from the threshold and in a matter of seconds we heard a yelp emerge from the distance, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of pots and pans clanging. Lucien's voice soon floated into the parlor, accompanied by uncomplimentary Swedish vocabulary on Alma's part as she scolded the boy.

I glanced at Erik helplessly; "So this is what life's going to be like now, is it?"

He shrugged innocently.

I giggled lightly and admired the new ring on my finger; "Mm, that's not so bad at all."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

To my disappointment, Alma had insisted on dragging me out to the marketplace later that afternoon. All I had wanted to do was to spend my hours in Erik's company, but the old woman had seemed rather intent on breaking us apart for the moment so that we could 'go about things properly' as she had phrased it for me. This involved an excursion to the market to purchase goods for an extravagant dinner that we could all eat in celebration that night.

No amount of cajoling could convince her that we did not need any celebrations. No feast could ever properly express what Erik and I felt; no material thing could ever even come close. Alma, however, had been so insistent and turned up everywhere at odd moments until Erik fairly pushed the two of us out the door, shaking his head in frustration at the elderly woman.

Alma now looked extremely pleased with herself and was inspecting a stall filled with all sorts of exotic fruits. She began to barter loudly with the seller and I slowly wandered away, my interest piqued by a vendor that had various rich silks on display. I lifted the length of some golden material and held it reverently in my hands, marveling at the fine workmanship.

I felt a hand tap my shoulder and I turned around, fully expecting to see Alma's cheerful face reprimanding me for straying. Instead, I gasped and nearly dropped the rich silk in my surprise.

"_Adelle_!" I cried out, looking wildly from side to side.

"Christine!" She exclaimed, although she did not seem as surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" I inquired, blinking furiously to make sure I wasn't imagining things.

She laughed delightedly, "I knew you would be in Sweden, but I didn't think that my guess was right!"

I continued to open and close my mouth until Alma appeared and glanced back and forth between the two of us. "Who is this?" She asked me in Swedish, glaring rather disapprovingly at Adelle.

"Uh…a friend from France," I told her, still staring. "Adelle, however did you end up here?"

To my continued surprise, the girl blushed and looked around herself nervously as if she were worried that someone might hear her. Alma raised her eyebrows and remarked to me once again in Swedish so that Adelle did not understand, "The girl's red. That means she's here with a lover."

"Alma!" I scolded, but nevertheless I could not help but wonder if she was right. I looked back up at Adelle and asked slyly, "Is Francisco here with you?"

Adelle blushed all the more and I knew that Alma was right. She cleared her throat to change the subject; "I came here on a complete guess, but Meg Giry told me that you were born near here and so I decided to visit on the chance that I might find you." Adelle lowered her voice, although there was no one to eavesdrop now, "Francisco thinks that I'm away on holiday with 'friends'."

"_Friends_," I echoed smilingly. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that Bert fellow, would it?"

"Shh!" Adelle exclaimed before she hid her flaming face in a gloved hand.

Alma looked smug.

I ignored the woman and looked at Adelle kindly. "Then you must come and visit us sometime, Adelle." I paused and realized that Erik and I might just have our two witnesses now; "Would you like to come over tonight?"

Adelle giggled, completely delighted. "I just need to find Bert, but yes!"

I rattled off the location of our accommodations after which Alma grabbed my elbow in an attempt to usher me away. The loyal bell tower chimed out the fifth hour and I sighed, hastily bidding Adelle good-bye and agreeing that we would meet in an hour. We embraced, but this time it was with light hearts and I felt overjoyed at the prospect that I now had another friend by my side. I was already in the clouds from Erik's proposal and now I could not help but feel as if everything was finally beyond perfect for me.

Alma still looked displeased and she hurried me away, taking an extremely circuitous route back to our new home. I glared at her and commented; "You know, I hardly think Adelle is a danger to any of us."

"She found you. That means that any other fool could find you just as easily." Alma moved with considerable speed and agility for one of her age.

But I was indignant at her words. "My friends aren't fools," I informed her curtly. "All of the people who know my past won't tell any random stranger about it."

"Meg Giry told Adelle."

"Meg Giry is one of my closest friends and she knows that Adelle is the same."

Alma grunted and heaved me up the iced steps to the house. "I still don't like it," she told me as she unlocked the door and hastily pulled the two of us inside. The moment the door shut behind us, I could hear the clear tones of music drifting out from the interior of the house. I turned to Alma one last time and scowled, "Not a word to him, understand?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off.

"Not a single word," I emphasized. "I don't want to spoil this day with needless worries."

Alma set off with a huff, hefting our purchases angrily.

I stayed by the door for a time, listening to the faint sound of Erik's music and allowing it to comfort me completely. Surely he would understand -- Erik would not be plagued by the silly fears of a Swedish housekeeper. He _knew_ that Adelle was my friend and that her presence did not pose a single risk to any of us.

Disposing of my cloak, I made my way back to the parlor where I had left Erik several hours before. This time when I pushed open the door, I saw that Lucien was also present, scribbling busily in a corner. He looked up at my entrance, took obvious note of the ring on my finger, and then went back to writing. I approached Erik once again, but this time he had been alerted to my presence and was not surprised. He turned from his place and received me with a wordless kiss and embrace.

"Gross," Lucien commented from his corner.

We both turned to see the boy picking up his materials. He began to head for the door, saying, "I hope Alma brought me chocolate."

I looked at Erik apologetically; "I feel like I should be helping her."

"Why?" Erik asked, settling me in his lap this time of his own volition.

I slid out of his reach mischievously, dancing away with a small twirl. "We're cooking for six tonight."

Erik frowned, not quite understanding. "Six?"

I nodded with a grin and then added, "I think I'll take a bath before dinner too. I still smell like fish."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As soon as I stepped out of my room, completely clean and no longer smelling like a dockyard, a knock sounded at the front door. Adelle had arrived sooner that I had expected, but I received her with a beam and ushered both her and a flustered-looking Bert inside. The young man looked at me helplessly, all apology and stutters. "Are you quite sure we're not intruding, Comtesse?"

"Not at all!" I exclaimed, sneaking one glance over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of Erik staring at the three of us. He leaned against the side of the staircase silently, his arms crossed loosely as he assessed the current situation. I was not quite sure what his expression meant, but I prayed that it wasn't disapproval. I had only invited friends in, after all! Surely it was not a crime to spend some time socializing in pleasant company!

Alma walked in, holding a meat-filled platter coldly as she made her way to the dining room. She brushed past Erik with a glare and informed us all in accented French that dinner was ready. Erik's gaze was still indecipherable and I saw that Bert had paled considerably the moment that the other man had captured his attention.

Still, I gave the young man credit for attempting to take control of the situation. He cleared his throat nervously and stretched out his hand awkwardly in a gesture of greeting. "You're D'Artois, aren't you? I'm Bert Vidal, by the way." He spoke nearly in one breath and I saw that Erik was clearly unimpressed. I only prayed that he would make at least an effort of behaving politely to our guests.

"Bert Vidal?" Erik echoed, taking his hand but speaking quite coldly. "I see." He said no more and turned his back on all of us, following in Alma's footsteps.

I shrugged helplessly at Adelle, hoping that the rest of the night would not be as awkward.

Naturally, my wish did not come true. Erik did not speak often, and when he did, it was clear that he was displeased with me. He did his best to make both Bert and Adelle as uncomfortable as possible, which was a skill that he proved to be quite talented at. Soon the young couple was squirming beneath his questioning, until I was forced to intervene with my inane remarks on the weather.

When the conversation settled into a semblance of normalcy and Erik was silent, I realized that he was now staring at me accusingly. I looked at him helplessly, but knew that I had sent us into the makings of yet another argument that would be unpleasant for the both of us. I also saw that Erik was not thrilled at all with the fact that Bert kept sneaking glances at his masked face, failing to hide his curiosity.

Finally, Bert made the ultimate error.

"I'm curious, but why do you wear a mask, monsieur?" He asked Erik good-naturedly, intending the question to be an innocent one. "Is it something you do for creativity?"

I could practically see every one of Erik's muscles still and become rigid with fury. Bert, however, was completely oblivious and continued to regard Erik with his patient interest.

"Creativity?" Erik finally rasped, glancing over his fork dangerously.

Adelle too had picked up on the hostility in the air, and she looked to me for help, unsure of what was about to happen.

"Creativity?" Erik repeated, his voice barely controlled.

I chose that moment to upset my wine glass and spill my lemon chicken all over my dress. Adelle immediately rose from her place and rushed to help me; "Oh, how clumsy of you, Christine!" Alma ran to assist with a washcloth and together the two women fussed over me for a good ten minutes. While the women worked on my dress, Erik rose with a terse excuse and left the room.

As soon as I was as clean as possible, Adelle turned to Bert and informed him of a headache that had apparently been plaguing her all day. "Dear, I just don't feel well," she told him quietly. "I think I need to lie down."

Bert immediately adopted an expression of concern and felt her forehead; "You do seem a trifle warm." He looked at me with uncertainty, "Might it be all right if we retired for the night, Comtesse?"

"Of course," I told him, trying not to sound too relieved.

When they were gone, I tried to ignore the knowing glances that Alma sent me. I had not heard nor seen a single trace of Erik since he had excused himself and it troubled me that he was not even before his beloved instrument, expressing his emotions through the music as he often did.

Instead I found him in the room that served as a study, sitting pensively before a cold fireplace. When I entered the dark room, bearing a light with me, his only greeting was to reprimand me. "Put that light out," he hissed.

I obeyed almost automatically, recognizing the discontented tone that he had often used with me at the Opera House during our music lessons. In the dark he was no more than a hunched figure, his profile blending with the thick shadows of the room. I went to him slowly, finally kneeling by his feet on the cold floor. I shivered and then reached hesitantly to touch his leg.

Instead, he beat my hand away and caught my wrist so that I could make no further attempt to reach out to him. "Don't touch me, Christine," he warned. His voice was strained with barely contained anger and I knew that I had committed an error far more dangerous than that of Bert.

Still, I whimpered an apology. "I'm sorry."

He snorted and released my hand and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw him lean forward and rest his chin on his hands. "Don't apologize; it's useless. You did something very foolish today."

"I know," I whispered.

"I don't think you do!" Erik shouted suddenly, rising so abruptly that his chair skidded back several feet. "Do you understand the danger that you've put yourself in? How the hell did she even find out you were going to be in Sweden?"

"I may have mentioned it casually - ,"

"Casually," Erik repeated disbelievingly. "You stupid girl! On top of everything else, you just felt that you had to invite the two of them back here! Things are bad enough without having your friends come here to gawk and babble all about us and where we are to the rest of the world!"

I rose from the floor and felt the first hints of anger flare up in my chest. "Well, you certainly didn't help matters at all! You were rude and horrid to my friends!"

"Your _friends_ shouldn't have been here in the first place!"

"That's no excuse for treating them as you did!"

"They deserved it! Especially that boy with his meddling questions!" Erik had begun to pace about the room, looking everywhere but at me.

I knew that we were both shouting, but I could not stop myself. "I see now! It's all about you, isn't it?"

He stopped moving and hissed, "What are you talking about?"

"The only reason you're so angry is because you were _afraid_. You were so rude to the two of them because they made you feel uncomfortable, didn't they?"

"Christine - ."

"Well, you have to learn how to face the rest of the world sooner or later! You can't hide behind that mask in a dark corner forever, you know!" I went on screaming at him because I could not find a way to calm myself. A part of me did not even know why I was shouting, but I could not stop. "_Selfish_ does not even begin to describe what you are! Adelle was my friend and you treated her like trash because you're a coward!"

"_Shut up!_" Erik suddenly seized me and I saw him raise his hand as he prepared to slap me.

I closed my eyes and readied my cheek for the slap, but it did not come. After a time I felt him release me and step away, sighing heavily. "I once swore that I would never harm a lady, but how I wish I had never made that promise," he spat at me. "Then again, you are not a lady, are you? You're just a common wench, spoiled rotten by everyone around you and now you think you're a princess."

"I think no such thing." Defiant, I turned my cheek to him and taunted, "Go on, coward. Hit me and make yourself feel better. We both know it's what your pathetic self wants."

Erik reached for something and I saw that it was his cloak.

"Where are you going?" I demanded loudly.

"Away from you," he returned.

I began to gasp for breath between my tears, but my anger could not be restrained. "Running away as usual," I sneered, stumbling after him. When he said nothing, I went on, "You know, I really hate you. When I agreed to -- and the thought makes me shudder now -- actually share a life with you, I thought you understood that we would have to compromise. I never realized just _how_ self-absorbed you were." Erik did not move, nor did he say anything. I felt compelled to shout again; "You really do think of no one but yourself!"

"I thought I told you to be quiet," he finally returned, his voice forced and dangerous.

I laughed aloud, "I won't be quiet! I won't be ordered about by you any longer! And to think that I thought I loved you! _You_! A murderer and so much more! Go find some pathetic wretch to kill and spend your anger, you monster!"

"Then what the hell are you still doing here with me, you rotten whore? Tell me!"

"_What did you call me_?" I was so wound up that I barely noticed how loudly we were shouting.

"You heard me, and you deserved every syllable! You are no more than a dirty, ungrateful whore!" Erik kicked the door back open and snarled his last few words at me; "Go back to your boy and his palace! Perhaps he is still willing to take back second-handgoods!"

"Damn you!" I screamed and flung my quiet lamp at his head. He ducked my projectile easily, scoffing at my feeble attempts to hurt him.

"I am already damned, Christine," he told me smoothly, lurking at the door. "Murderer and monster? You don't know the half of it, love."

"Don't you dare call me _love_," I hissed.

"Would you prefer _whore_, then? Because that's what you are, isn't it? You used all of your sweet innocent charm to win me over for your convenience, didn't you?" Erik studied me thoughtfully.

"Yes," I replied, barely aware of what I was now saying. "I don't love you and I could _never_ love a thing like you." I suddenly became quite aware of the gold ring glinting mockingly on my finger. Without another thought, I tore it off and tossed it at his feet. "Take your useless piece of metal. I hope you enjoy the rest of your existence. I hope you never find anyone to share it with!"

Erik turned away from me and I scrambled after him as he traveled down the stairs.

I could not shut myself up and so I went on; "I hope that no one ever takes pity upon you again! I hope that you die, miserable and alone and that no one is even around to hear of your death!" I continued to shout after him even as he opened the front door, "I hope that no one even remembers you after you are gone! I hope that - ."

But Erik was gone.

The door slammed behind him.

There were several minutes of silence. A half hour went by. Then an hour. Then another hour. I sat on the stairs, my knees drawn up to my chest.

What the hell had I done?

"Alma!" I called out, stumbling to my feet. "Where's my cloak? Where are my boots? _Alma!_"

Alma appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "I told you it was a bad idea to bring those two," she nodded in agreement to her own statement. "But no one ever listens to their elders anymore."

"I can't find any of my things!" I cried out desperately, upsetting a vase.

Lucien hovered by Alma's skirts, glaring at me accusingly.

"It may be better that you stay away this time," Alma suggested.

I stared at her; "What?" I had now calmed down sufficiently to realize that I had made another mistake. Both Erik and I had both been wrong, but perhaps I had carried our argument to too great an extreme. Not even perhaps…I _knew_ I had.

"I heard everything and I do not think it is a good idea - ."

"Alma, I'm going to find him if I have to go outside in a lace corset and stockings."

Alma quickly brought me my cloak and my boots. "You shouldn't go alone," she warned me as she watched me lace my shoes. "It's dangerous outside and late! You could catch your death!"

"I don't care if she does," Lucien put in. "I hate you and hope you die," he informed me.

I stared in shock at the boy, and Alma quickly slapped him. "Lucien! Apologize immediately!"

But I shook my head. "No, Alma. He's right." I opened the door and met the unpleasant bite of a winter night.

Alma made one last attempt to restrain me. "How will you even know where to find him? Uppsala is a big city for one girl."

I moved out of the safety of the house and into the night. I wasn't sure, but I thought I knew where I could find Erik.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Once again the cathedral was deserted, but it was never locked. I hated the feeling of being alone in a church and I prayed that I would find Erik here, for I had begun to shiver from both a mixture of cold and fear. I almost expected an assassin to be lurking behind every column, ready to slit my throat and collect his reward.

Instead, _I_ was rewarded when I finally caught sight of a lone figure kneeling by an alcove lit dimly with candles. I approached him slowly, extremely unsure of my welcome and not knowing if his anger had dissipated as quickly as mine had.

When I knelt beside him, he made no move to either get up or leave and so I took heart from the fact that he was willing to at least listen to me. I shyly studied his face and discovered much to my surprise that he had removed the mask and now knelt as if praying to a nameless divinity. I was not startled by the scarring on his face, but instead by the evident tear tracks that marred both his cheeks.

His eyes were open, reflecting the candlelight even as he stared straight ahead at a casket which stood at the other end of the alcove. I felt compelled to say something, although I wanted it to be anything but the problem at hand. Instead I made idle conversation, willing myself to break the silence.

"What is it?" I asked him softly, nodding at the casket.

"Bones," he returned nonchalantly. His attention did not waver from the box, although I heard how husky and broken his voice had grown.

I felt my heart twist at the sound, but I wanted him to keep talking. His silence frightened me. "Whose bones?" I asked, lamenting the cheerlessness of the topic.

"Erik's," he responded easily.

I stared at him and choked, "_What_?"

"Erik the Lawgiver or Erik the Saint," he told me, unfazed by my reaction. "He was a Swedish king in the twelfth century and now he's the patron saint of Stockholm."

"Oh, that Erik." I managed. "Well, that's rather nice, isn't it?" I smiled weakly.

"Erik was murdered here. Right in Uppsala when he was forty."

I looked away and tried not to let alarm seize me. "Don't say things like that."

Erik sighed, "Why does it even matter to you?"

"It just does." I knew we spoke of something else now.

"That's not good enough." He made as if to rise, but I touched his arm which stopped him from moving any further.

"Don't go," I begged softly.

Erik only looked at me helplessly. He was just as lost and confused as I was. "What would you have me do, Christine?"

"You were right," I told him. "You were right about everything. I _am_ just a dirty whore; I _do_ use people for my own gains and I'm just about as selfish as they come. I had absolutely no right to say any of those things to you."

"No, Christine. You were completely right about me; everything that you said was true. Perhaps it is a good thing that this happened now before we allowed ourselves to move further." Erik tried to remove my hand, but I tightened my grip.

"Stop it! That's nonsense!" I cried out.

"The fact of the matter is that I just can't function in your society, Christine. You crave the companionship of your friends; you need to be around other people to be happy. Living with me just wouldn't be enough and I could never learn to adjust to your lifestyle. You were entirely right when you said that I was a coward. I _am_ a coward and I will never learn to live with this." Here he pointed to the misshapen half of his face and turned away from me.

"Compromise," I reminded him softly. "Every husband and wife need to make compromises to live with each other. We're not any different from other couples in that respect."

"Maybe we aren't," he agreed. "But - ."

Before he could say another word, I put my arms about him much as I had earlier that day, and began to weep noisily into his collar. "Just say that you that you forgive me! I love you! I do! I really do!" I nodded enthusiastically, "I'm a wretched and stupid girl, just like you said, and I don't deserve you, but say that you'll forgive me. Tell me that you still love me! Please, Erik? I didn't mean any of it! Oh, I didn't! I didn't!" I continued to babble, pressing kisses to every part of his face until I was sure that I had covered every inch of his skin. "Please, I didn't mean it!"

I heard him laugh softly and he rewarded me with another gentle kiss to my lips.

"Does that mean you forgive me?" I asked sniffing and knowing that I now possessed a face marred by angry red blotches. I harshly willed myself to stop crying.

"How could I not forgive you? You can say any cruel thing to me that you like, but I love you far too much to be angry with you forever."

I wailed openly and once again buried my face in his clothes. "Don't deserve you," I mumbled over and over again.

"Hush," he told me, stroking my hair. "The priest might hear you."

"I don't care," I informed him. "I don't, I don't." By the time I was calm, Erik had sacrificed several more of his handkerchiefs for me and I was blowing my noise noisily. He regarded me fondly, watching me in my unceremonious task with a smile.

"What?" I asked abruptly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at my appearance. When he continued to stare with that infuriatingly smug look on his face, I turned away and grumbled, "Where's my ring?"

He smiled replaced the object on my finger. "It feels more appropriate now in a cathedral."

I nodded, "It does." I surrendered to his embrace once more and allowed him to rock me back and forth. "Can we just spend the night here?" I inquired sleepily.

Erik was about to reply when we heard a door at the head of the church open. We both ducked into the alcove and Erik muttered, "It must be the priest."

Yawning, I giggled; "What if he finds us?"

"I'll just go and create a distraction elsewhere to ensure that he doesn't," Erik whispered. "I won't be a moment." He kissed me one last time and slithered out of the alcove more easily than a shadow might.

I had decided that the sight of the casket was definitely quite unsettling. I began to hunt for a way to arrange myself so that I would not be in sight of it, when I heard someone give a delighted exclamation.

"There you are!"

A boot planted itself in my line of vision and I followed its form up to its owner. Frowning, I stood up slowly and stared.

"Bert?"

He smirked and calmly balanced a pistol in one hand.

"Let's see, my instructions were to bring you back as a cadaver, so - ."

"_No_!" Erik had returned to us and Bert swiveled in his direction uncertainly. "So you're here too. Well, no matter. I seem to have the advantage in this situation."

"Advantage? I hardly think so," Erik sneered at him and was rewarded by the click of the gun.

"Quiet," Bert smiled widely. "I don't really need you; I already have the stupid chit in any case. Perhaps I'll just shoot you now." He paused and shook his head, "No, I assume it would be better if you watched the girl die."

Erik lunged at the younger man the moment he turned the pistol on me. In his confusion, Bert fumbled with the gun and the two stumbled toward me as they struggled.

I screamed even as the walls of the cathedral echoed cruelly with the sound of the gunshot. Then I felt the warm sprinkles of blood shower my face with all the softness of a gentle crimson rain.

There was silence, but I could still hear his voice.

_Erik was murdered here._

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** /hums


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: **Everything mostly belongs to someone other than me.

Chapter 11 

In the instant before the first bullet left its home, I had lunged toward the fighting pair in a desperate and foolish attempt to place myself between the two men. I focused only upon one thing and that was the silver flash of the gun in the very moment that it went off and found its victim. I barely felt the bullet as it grazed my arm and met its mark behind me. All I was aware of was the outpouring of blood and the scream which I uttered the moment I saw red. There was burgundy staining my dress…a ruby tint upon a floor…red clouding the senses behind my eyes.

I stumbled, shocked both by the numbness that had begun to spread through my arm and the coppery taint upon my lips from the flecks of red that had sprayed my face lightly. Before I could wipe them away, however, a hand seized my wounded arm roughly and squeezed until fresh droplets of blood began to squirm from my torn flesh. Crying out in pain, I obediently stumbled in the direction that the hand was pulling me, my thoughts turned only to the hurt.

Bert's leering face appeared before my heavy eyes, his features contorted in triumph. He mouthed something at me, but it flew straight past my ears without my mind interpreting exactly what he was trying to say. Instead, my head bobbed dumbly at his every word until I felt him tighten his grasp about my arm and slap my cheek harshly so that I was forced to look up at him and to try to understand his words.

"Well, that was stupid," he chuckled, shaking me slightly so that I was aware of every fraction of an inch that my flesh shifted. "You nearly succeeded in killing yourself." Here he twisted my arm roughly as if to emphasize my literal brush with death, but by this point my arm had gone limp and lifeless and the rest of my body had lapsed into a state of utter shock. It was not that the wound to my arm would cause me any lasting harm, but the fact that there was so much blood scattered about me. It even stained the soft white fabric of Bert's dress shirt, which was peaking out from beneath his heavy coat as he shook me.

Noticing this, Bert pouted with distaste and rubbed against the red with a shirtsleeve. "Filthy stuff," he declared, still holding me with one hand.

Still struggling, I bent my head forward and bit his arm with all my might. He hissed in pain and let go more on account of surprise than hurt, but I was free nonetheless. I scrambled to gather myself on the floor and collided straight with a body, tripping back on to the ground.

"Erik…" I breathed harshly, my fear so great that I was unable to raise my voice to a normal level. Before I could fully take his condition into account, however, Bert seized and threw me away from Erik so that I landed agonizingly against a row of pews. Once again, tendrils of pain shot out from my wound and I hissed at the unwelcome sensations.

I saw Bert aim a harsh kick to Erik's prostrate form. "Get up, you," Bert snarled, seizing Erik by the collar and spitting directly in his face. Before Erik could retaliate, however, Bert thrust another knee into his side until the man was once again gasping for breath. My breath caught completely in my throat when I saw the flood of liquid soaking Erik's side, for the bullet had indeed hit him. I could not tell exactly where he had been hit, however, for there was too much blood from all of us. I only prayed that God had been merciful and diverted the bullet away from both his stomach and lungs, and that hope was not already lost…

His eyes were shut tightly in pain, but I saw his lips move as he fought for air. Bert continued to shake him much as he had done me and Erik was powerless to do much, for he was very aware of the fact that Bert still had the gun and the upper hand.

"Stop, damn you!" I screamed, finally finding my voice. I supported myself shakily against the pews, forcing myself not to give into the fear.

Bert quirked a corner of his abominable mouth in amusement and turned so that I could still see the flash of the silver weapon. "I do believe that I have you both at a disadvantage," he commented easily. He glanced back down at his quarry, who now slumped against the ground with the most profound look of hatred upon his face. I understood that the only reason Erik did nothing was because he feared for my own life and knew that at his slightest movement, Bert could and would shoot me.

"Stop…" I repeated, although now I whispered the single word hopelessly.

Bert snorted and knelt on the ground beside Erik, frowning into the face of the unmasked man. "I always did wonder why you wore a mask," he remarked, tracing a contour of the scarring much to my surprise. "How can you even bear to show this face to a beautiful woman?"

Erik sat perfectly still and I knew it took all his strength not to lash out at Bert for both the contact and the insult. I recognized the hints of rage engraved in his weak form, but he was still unable to do anything as Bert elbowed his side roughly, finally eliciting a groan from the man.

I saw that Erik was growing more and more pale by the second, while the amount of blood was increasing just as quickly. When he shut his eyes for just a second, Bert snatched up his face and forced him to look again. "I want you to watch her die," he told Erik firmly. "After she dies, I can collect my reward."

Hatred finally overcame his weakness and Erik thrust the man away from himself with a savage kick. Bert stumbled backwards, but he regained himself quickly and instead reached for me. He hooked my arms behind my back and pressed me against his loathsome body so that my back was to him.

Erik coughed several times, but he stood up unsteadily. He supported himself with one hand against the railing before the altar, and to my alarm I saw his other hand go out to his side where he had been kicked repeatedly. I saw the change in him as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply, willing the rage inside him to still before Bert decided to sacrifice both of us.

"Why?" It was the single word he could manage before he sank against the railing and let his chin fall against his chest. His eyes were closed, but he forced himself to keep talking; "What motive can you possibly have for this?"

Bert allowed his hand to travel lightly over my stomach, his fingers exploring my body indiscreetly. I stiffened and twitched away from him, but he merely tightened his grip on my arm and I was moved to submission. "Patience, Comtesse," he murmured, soothingly. "I plan to enjoy myself much more thoroughly with you than just a simple touch."

Erik's head snapped back up at that and the sudden light of unrestrained rage flared in his clear eyes; "You wouldn't _dare_."

"I would and you know it," Bert licked my neck quickly, chuckling at my shudder. "This girl has possibilities. It would be a shame to kill such a creature before she were properly…used."

At that, all weakness seemed to fall away from Erik's shuddering body and he started to rise. But Bert merely twirled the gun threateningly, pressing it almost mockingly into my side; "If you try anything, I'll just kill her right away. It would be a shame, so don't provoke me."

As quickly as the strength had come into him, it dissipated. Erik had become entirely white and I saw the unhealthy glistening sheen upon his tortured skin. He still had one hand clutched protectively against his side and I knew how it pained him to move. His eyes caught mine briefly and I shook my head slightly, willing him to be still. I looked at him helplessly, turning my mind over and over in search of a solution to all of this.

"Karine was once my lover," Bert said suddenly, twining a length of my messy hair about his fingers. He pressed the lock up to his lips and I tried not to shudder, shutting my eyes furiously against the contact. "Until she met you, that is," he told Erik, dropping my hair. "I suppose you could say I became a trifle jealous."

Erik shook his head; "She was using me, you fool."

"Is that what you think?" Bert swiveled me around in his arms so that I faced him. He raised an eyebrow and sighed approvingly as he examined my features; "Beautiful, I must say." He traced a line from my nose and down about my lips, smirking; "At first, I admit it was only a means to an end. But later…"

I resisted the temptation to chomp down on his hand once again and gritted my teeth against the unwelcome feel of his skin against mine.

"Later," Bert went on, "it turned into something more. I had never seen her so fascinated by anyone… I had never seen her so…obsessed."

Erik snorted behind me, but Bert ignored him.

"She had always been possessed by the idea of avenging her brother," Bert elaborated. "But when she finally met his murderer, she became infatuated with him instead. You see, she was entirely enthralled with you. I almost wonder if she ever would have killed you in the end."

I began to cry when I felt him slip my cloak off my shoulders to investigate my figure more thoroughly. He slid his hands over my sides, pausing just at my hips.

Then he went on talking, frowning at the corset which I wore; "I was beyond jealous, but I did what was asked of me. I wooed that foolish girl, Adelle, a close friend and confidante to the Comtesse."

"Then Adelle is not involved?" I inquired breathlessly, praying that my friend was innocent.

"That stupid girl? She has no inkling of how I used her. Loneliness is an easy thing to exploit, as I'm sure you both know."

At that, I almost slapped him for a variety of reasons, but I knew the danger that we were all in. Instead, I murmured; "Why be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" Bert grunted; "Is it so hard for you to believe that I loved Karine? Love makes one do foolish things, didn't you know? That man killed for you, Comtesse. How can you question me?"

I quickly silenced myself, almost crying out that Erik was different -- but was he? It was true that he had killed for me, but hadn't he changed? Hadn't we all learned from all of our past mistakes?

Shaking my head, I willed the questions to abate. I had already been through this and we had come too far now to let the words of an insect like Bert raise doubt in our hearts. I squared my shoulders against his touches and bore the sting of Bert's fingertips without comment. A reaction from me was exactly what he was looking for, and if he wished to hear me whimper and scream, then all he could do was continue to wish.

"I'm rather surprised, Comtesse," Bert said to me, tilting his head. "Aren't you going to try to resist me?"

I didn't speak and merely stared at him. Perhaps he would lose interest if he received no reaction from me.

He frowned and slapped me across the cheek again; "Speak, damn you! Tell me how cruel I am! Tell me how you hate me! I'm hurting you, aren't I? Degrading you; mocking you; making you less than human! I'll have my pleasure with you; there is nothing more to say."

I blinked, surprised at the outburst. Yet, despite the hideous fear in my chest, I remained silent.

It seemed that Bert addressed Erik this time; "As you took your pleasure with Karine, so I will do with your lover."

I shut my eyes against his face and his words.

"Stop!"

The cry did not come from me this time, but from Erik. I twisted my head over my shoulder and saw that he was looking wildly at Bert, his hatred plain and unrestricted upon his tortured and malformed features. "It's me you want, not her! Do what you want with me, but let her alone!"

Never before had I heard him plead for anything in front of anyone else and I saw that even Bert was surprised at the shameless begging.

Erik fell to his knees once more and turned plaintive eyes upon Bert; "Please. Don't put her through this."

Bert frowned, confused by this turn in Erik's behavior.

"You've achieved your goal," Erik whispered, still staring straight at the other man. "I am upon my knees before you."

For a moment, Bert looked thoughtful. Then, he shook his head with a slight sarcastic smile; "As satisfying as this is, it's still not enough. Besides, I want my reward after this. Karine was a generous woman in more ways than one. Why not allow me to have a little fun along the way?"

He slipped the first lace of my bodice out of its knot, turning back to me. I closed my eyes again, for I did not dare to look in Erik's direction. Even if we somehow lived, how could I ever face him after this? I breathed softly in protest when I felt the gown loosen upon my shoulders.

"You would not dare to violate a woman within a house of God," Erik snarled behind us. "Unless you're fully prepared to face Satan and his Hell."

"You're one to talk," Bert almost laughed right before he kissed me roughly. "You must know all about Hell, monsieur. You seem to have been damned from birth." He kissed me again, biting my lower lip almost teasingly and drawing more blood with a soft laugh deep in his throat.

I could not restrain myself; I screamed and spit back at him, trying to force myself out of his grip. All it took, however, was a firm hand upon my wounded arm and I whimpered slightly at the reminder that Bert still held a weapon that could end all hope of survival.

He forced the top of my gown off my shoulders and handled my corset roughly, fighting to loosen the laces. I buried my face in my hands and allowed him to turn me, praying to God that Erik would turn away.

_Dear God, don't let him see…Just make it end_.

"How does it feel to see your lover in the arms of another? How does it feel to know the pain I felt when I saw you with Karine?" Bert pressed me up against himself and allowed a hand to run lightly over the curves of my chest until I shuddered anew.

"The two situations are incomparable," Erik hissed. I could not see his face, but I knew that his hatred was once again unmasked; "I would never shame a woman so; you seem unable to make subtle distinctions. She went _willingly_ with me. How does _that_ feel? How does it feel to know that your precious Karine preferred me to you? How does it feel to know that she came to me without fear because she _wanted_ to? I didn't have to force her -- I did not have to threaten a woman to bring her into my bed."

I went rigid with astonishment at this new tactic, but Bert instead became inflamed. He tore the last remnants of my dress from my body and slapped me roughly; "Your words only serve to hurt her more!"

"But they are the truth," Erik murmured quietly. "Aren't they?"

"Does it matter?" Bert slammed me against a pew and inspected my wince with what was evidently pleasure. "I seek only to hurt you through any means possible, monsieur. That is what Karine wanted me to do; that is what _I_ want to do." He cast one final look back over his shoulder at Erik; "I want you to see her face as she struggles against me; I want you to see her pain. And remember, if you make one move to save her, I'll just kill her."

If only he could somehow be distracted and the gun kicked out of his reach! I knew that Erik was slowly growing far too weak; he could never hope to move quickly enough to disable Bert and to free me. I trembled and lifted my chin, even as I felt Bert reach behind my waist and slowly begin to work at the laces of the corset.

I began to pray for a miracle, my lips moving silently. Was this the end? Would I be shamed before I was shot? Would Erik die too? Oh God, was there no hope left for us? Just when we had reconciled! Just when we had learned to accept love in place of fear!

A sudden crash resounded in the gallery and all three of us turned impulsively toward the source of noise. Somehow, a statue of a weeping angel had managed to fall from its place upon the altar and to shatter into tiny fragments upon the frigid stone ground. I stared when I saw a small shadow swing through the rafters, quickly escaping to safety.

Bert noted it as well, but before he could react, something swooped in over his head and a harsh _clang_ was heard. He winced and spun away from me, tottering in both pain and confusion as he looked for the source of the injury. In that moment, I gathered the last of my strength and placed a well-aimed kick at the hand that held the gun. Perhaps all those days of ballet had done me a trifle of good, as my foot connected directly with its target.

When he stumbled in surprise, I saw that Alma stood behind him with a silver candelabra grasped firmly in her hand. I did not have much more time to think, as she raised it above her head and clocked the man once more, her aim strong and precise. Hissing, Bert moved toward her, but failed to reach the old woman and found himself sprawled on the ground with a heavy weight upon him.

Erik twisted Bert's arms behind his back and seized the man by his hair, pulling until Bert's neck began to arch backward crookedly. "How pitiful that you seem to have been outmatched by an old woman with a candlestick," he snarled into the younger man's ear. Erik tugged on the man's hair abruptly; "You befoul the air with every breath you exhale. Why should I let you live?"

"Does it matter? You're dying anyway." Bert managed to gasp out the words despite the pain.

"No!" I cried out despite myself.

Even as I shouted the denial, Erik began to cough unforgivingly. He hunched suddenly and clutched his side with one hand, momentarily loosening his grip on Bert's head. Seizing his advantage, Bert flipped the weakening man off his back until their positions were reversed. Now he held Erik up by his collar and pinned the wounded man firmly to the ground.

Bert grinned and dug a hand into Erik's side, his hand coming away slathered in thick, red substance. Although it was clearly painful, Erik continued to fight him, twisting away and encircling Bert's neck with his last remaining strength. Bert began to kick and lash out, but his hands were now occupied with attempting to free himself. The two men struggled on the ground, but I knew that it was hopeless the moment that Bert loosened himself from Erik's grip and kicked the other man's side one last time. Erik finally gave in to the pain and his head snapped back with a groan, until Bert once again held him firmly to the ground.

Deprived of his gun, Bert took the opportunity to reach inside his jacket and extract a simple dagger. He held it up against Erik's throat as a threat, daring us to come any closer.

Taunting us, Bert made a smooth slice upon Erik's unmarred cheek with the edge of the blade. "First, let me carve out your flesh so that it matches the rest of your face." He applied several more cuts to the once-smooth cheek, smiling as he did so. "I loved to sculpt in my youth, but this is infinitely better." He drew the blade about Erik's left eye, which was pressed tightly shut against the metal.

"Damn you!" I screamed for the second time. "How can you be so cruel toward another human being like yourself?"

Bert paused and eyed me curiously; "Human, you say? You above all should know that this creature is less than human. He merely masquerades as one of us and I seek to bring a symmetry to his face that will expose him for what he is."

I gaped openly at his words, but Bert merely shrugged and tapped the blade thoughtfully against his palm.

"Karine always said that I had a bit of a mad streak," he murmured off-handedly while he reapplied the blade to the skin of Erik's forehead.

"God, why won't you stop?" I screamed, fighting against Alma's surprisingly firm hold.

A movement behind the pair of men attracted my attention and I lifted my head to see Lucien crouching by a pew and eyeing a silver object upon the ground. The gun glinted by his foot and he glanced between the weapon and me in inquiry, as if unsure of what to do. I met his eyes and nodded to him to pick it up. The boy seemed to understand and he crept softly forward, picking it up so that Bert would not notice.

When Bert shifted and Lucien saw Erik's condition, he could not restrain his shout. "Stop hurting him!" He shouted, causing Bert to turn his head in surprise. Lucien's eyes widened the moment Bert turned his crazed glance on him and he skittered backwards, hiding the gun behind his back.

Bert quirked his head in interest; "Well, what's this? Little Lucien?"

Lucien bit his lip and looked to me for help. Bert remarked upon this and waved at Lucien with his dagger; "Go on, join the girl and grandmother. I'll deal with all of you after I'm through with this monster. It's an improvement upon his face, don't you think?"

I accepted Lucien into my arms, tilting his face into an embrace and away from the sight of Erik's newly-mangled face. I could barely see his features through all the slices and the blood. Bert had created such precise cutes no doubt aimed at inflicting as much pain as possible without directly killing him. Erik was still coughing, but he could not move for the weight upon him and the hurt from the bullet buried deep inside him.

Lucien snaked an arm about me and I felt him tap my back with something. I freed one arm and felt him drop the cool metal of the gun into my palm. "Thank you," I whispered into the boy's hair, pushing him toward Alma.

Bert was wiping his dirtied blade upon a leg of his pants, frowning over his handiwork.

"Bert," I called out his name.

He looked up at me, his mouth opening in what was undoubtedly the beginning of another taunt. Then his eyes set upon the gun in my hand and he froze. "How did you…" When his eyes set upon Lucien, realization crossed his eyes and he shrugged easily. "Well, no matter." He twirled the blade in his hand and moved quickly before I could react, repositioning the metal beneath Erik's throat. "You wouldn't shoot me, would you, Comtesse?"

I stared at him determinedly, my fingers tightening shakily about the trigger. "I would. I will."

Bert laughed, raising a single eyebrow. "Would you now?" He ran a fingertip over one of the fresh cuts he had applied to Erik's face and inspected the blood upon his own skin. "You truly love this thing? You wouldn't shoot me for such a wretched life, would you?"

I closed my eyes, but willed myself not to back down. I had never taken another life, but if it meant saving Erik, then I would.

"Just let him go and I promise to spare you," I told him, still trembling.

From the ground, I saw Erik crack one bloodied eye open to stare directly at me. "Kill him," he mouthed softly and I was sure that I was the only one who heard the cruel words from his beautiful, broken voice.

I looked at him helplessly, but when Bert pressed the dagger more firmly against Erik's throat, I gave no more thought to it and forced my fingers to give that last, final squeeze. I thought of what he had nearly done to me; of what he had done to Erik.

And I knew no remorse.

Bert was thrown off-balance, but I had merely hit him in the shoulder. In that moment, Lucien rushed forward and knocked the dagger out of his hand, making sure to kick the man soundly in the face. Alma then made her move and beat him soundly over the head with her candelabra once more. She hit him twice before his eyes rolled back in his head and he finally passed out.

I shuddered at what we had done and dropped the gun in horror, a hand flying to my mouth. Fighting away my nausea, I rushed to Erik's side and knelt by him, staining my dress with more blood. Beside me, Alma sat down and brushed some hair back from Erik's face. It was nearly unbearable to look at, for now one could not tell where the deformity ended and the newly-carved flesh began. There was just too much blood and I moved to turn Lucien away from the sight, worried that the child might be disturbed.

But Lucien fought me and fell to his knees on the other side of Erik, grasping the man's arm. "Monsieur?" He whispered, shaking the limp arm gently. "Wake up!"

"Lucien, don't!" I reprimanded him, but the boy ignored me.

I reached for my dress, which was still resting in a messy pile upon the floor and tore off a rough white square of material. Trembling, I began to dab gently at Erik's face to clear the blood away. "We have to find help," I told Alma, turning to her.

She nodded abruptly and stood up; "I'll go look."

Before she could move away, I heard Erik give a shallow gasp for breath. Startled, I jumped before I reached forward and lifted his head slightly to help him breathe.

"…what?" He inquired, his eyes still shut.

I sighed in relief and cradled his face against my chest, not caring that blood was now spattered everywhere. "Where are you hurt?" I whispered, still dabbing at the cuts upon his skin.

He grunted and motioned absently at his middle; "In the side, I think. It's…it's hard to tell." Here, he was once again taken by a fit of harsh coughing. For a time it seemed as if he would never stop, but at least he was not coughing blood. Lord knew there was already enough of that about us.

I continued to work, ripping apart more and more of my dress. He remained silent for a time, his eyes open and unfocused as he tried to observe what I was doing.

"Are you all right?" He barely whispered the words to me, his voice but a breath of air.

Nodding, I forced myself to smile down upon his distorted features. "Yes," I told him soothingly.

"Good." He cast one last glance at me before he coughed again and shut his eyes, growing still.

Alarmed, I caught up his hand and shook him lightly; "Open your eyes!"

He did not obey and merely shuddered, his head lolling against his shoulder to the side. I cried out again and pressed a feverish kiss to the bloodied mess that once was his face. Not caring that more blood came away upon my lips, I began to cry, allowing my salty tears to fall into his open wounds. I could not stop myself and continued to dab at the cuts.

"Wake up, wake up," I whispered through my tears, the world becoming one mass of red. Lucien had gravitated away to the side and was looking away determinedly, rocking back and forth on his feet in a crouch.

"That's not him," he was whispering to himself. "It can't be, it can't be."

I lamented that a child had ever been forced to see this, but I could not find the strength in myself to comfort Lucien. All that I could think about was the fact that Erik had ceased to respond to me; I swore that his breathing was slowly becoming more and more shallow. Beginning to lose hope, I nevertheless continued to wipe at the blood and waited anxiously for Alma to return.

Occasionally, I stole a glance at Bert. He lay on the ground, unmoving and passed out completely from our attack. I called Lucien's name softly, wishing to distract him from the horror at my hands; "Lucien, watch this man and make sure he doesn't wake up."

Lucien bent and picked up the candelabra where Alma had left it, nodding at me with an ashen face. "Will monsieur be all right?" He asked quietly, settling himself by Bert's head so that he could clock him again if the need arose.

I looked away and did not answer.

We sat in silence for a time. Although it could not have been more than a few minutes later, it seemed an eternity before Alma reappeared. When she did, I saw that a priest trudged behind her with woolen cloak draped across his robes for warmth and a bulky bag resting in his hand. He looked around at the four of us upon the floor, once again peering to Alma for explanation.

He saw the gun and frowned angrily, but he could not be distracted from the sight of Erik. Alma pushed him toward us, shaking her head when he looked at Bert. "Leave him," she instructed. "This one needs your attention more."

The priest looked at me quickly and then back down at Erik, frowning all the while. Alma placed two hands on my shoulders and guided me back to my feet, drawing me away.

"A priest?" I inquired in disbelief. "He needs a doctor!"

Alma clucked at me in disapproval; "This man is well-trained in medicine. Let him help us. He is a man of God and is bound to ask less questions than riffraff on the street might."

I allowed myself to be drawn away, but I would not leave the room with Alma. The priest rifled through his bag, maintaining his composure impressively. He still had not said a word, nor did he seem inclined to make conversation at any point in the near future. Drawing out a rack of vials from the back, he began to mix various substances and reached for the remnants of my dress.

To my surprise, he spoke for the first time and addressed me; "Can I use the dress?"

I nodded quietly, clutching Lucien's hand and drawing him up beside me.

The priest shook his head over my appearance and threw off his cloak, handing it to me. "Cover yourself," he instructed. The way in which he said it sounded harsh, but by this point I could not be bothered to care overmuch. I accepted the material and threw it over my shoulders, grateful for the warmth. Lucien continued to hover by my side, burying his face into the material of the cloak.

I watched in a sort of morbid fascination as the priest calmly and rapidly sliced through Erik's clothes, tearing away the fabric that had once been so rich with quality, not blood. When he revealed the bare skin underneath, it was difficult to tell where exactly the wound was beneath all the caked blood and that which still flowed.

Undeterred, the man motioned to Alma and instructed her to fetch a basin from a room behind the main gallery. She disappeared into an antechamber and presently re-emerged with a large bowl filled with clear water. Setting it down beside the priest, she remained at his side without a word.

The priest cleaned the wound efficiently, until he revealed the place where the bullet had hit. I shut my eyes against the messy hole, willing myself to be grateful for the fact that the bullet had indeed managed to hit Erik in the side and not directly in the stomach as I had feared.

Noticing the relieved sigh which I gave, the priest looked up at me; "Don't look so happy. He's still lost a lot of blood; I don't know if I can get the bullet out." He pulled several instruments from his bag, including several metallic objects that bore a passing resemblance to tweezers. I shut my eyes again as he picked one of the implements up and poured alcohol over it before he leaned over the wounded man once more.

I turned away when he began to rummage through Erik's torn flesh. The priest worked intently and I heard him clucking to himself as he searched for the bullet. Presently, he gave a satisfied sigh and grunted as he had undoubtedly found something. Chancing a look back, I saw him draw his instrument back out of Erik's side and drop a small bloodied mass into an empty basin with a hard _cling_.

Thinking I might be sick, I looked down and saw that Lucien was staring straight ahead with a type of fixation in his eyes. He did not blink and I was compelled to shake him slightly to bring him out of his stupor.

The priest began to clean Erik's side once again and tore more of my dress into long strips. He looked to the three of us and motioned; "I need one of you to hold him up while I bandage his side."

Swallowing deeply, I stepped forward and obediently held Erik's dead weight up in my arms so that the priest could wind strips of cloth tightly about his patient. When he was finished, he nodded at me and instructed; "Hold his head in your lap."

Obeying, I pulled Erik to me and pushed matted hair away from his torn face. I prayed that the priest would not abandon us the moment he cleaned away the blood and discovered the original deformity upon Erik's visage, but I knew that I should probably prepare myself for the worst. I watched as the priest continued to work, diligently mopping at the blood until it had ceased to flow. When he saw the twisted marks knobbing into the semblance of a rotting skull on the right side of Erik's face, he said nothing. He merely frowned and continued to wipe away at the fresh wounds.

"He'll scar," he informed me dispassionately.

"I know," I whispered.

The priest nodded and spoke again. "I have to bandage the entire left half of his face."

I continued to stroke Erik's messy hair, sighing. "How bad will it be?"

"Who can tell?" The priest inquired. "You should be grateful for the fact that he still lives. But who knows for how long?"

Alarmed, I turned to him; "What do you mean?"

The priest began to bandage Erik's face calmly without looking up at me. "I've stopped the flow of blood, but he's already lost so much that he may die in the end anyway."

"Don't say that," I snapped at him.

The priest continued without emotion. "He may die of an accompanying fever or infection. Then again, he may recover, but perhaps he will be too weak to travel about much if he can move at all. I honestly can't say at this point. All we can do is wait for him now."

He rose and left us for a time. When he returned with two additional priests, I still had not moved from my position by Erik's side. I could not imagine a life without him; I did not want to. I would rather have been dead than alone.

I looked at Lucien and could not envision myself living for him alone. How could I do it? Turning my eyes back to Erik, I shook my head and murmured; "I can't. I just can't."

Alma took my shoulders and steered me away from his side to allow the three priests to hoist Erik in their grips so that they could carry him out of the gallery.

"Where are they going?" I inquired in panic, fighting Alma's hold again.

She restrained me admirably and informed me; "We're to stay in the cathedral until he is well enough to be moved."

"How?" I asked softly.

Alma held me gently and led me out of the gallery behind the retreating men. "I have known one of the priests here since childhood. He will allow us to stay because he trusts me and my word."

I nodded and then inquired, "All of us?"

"All of us."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Just as the priest had predicted, Erik developed an intense fever the night after Bert shot him. He lay in the fever for days and no one knew whether he would take a turn for the worse or the better. I sat with him throughout the days, napping in my chair restlessly during the nights so that I could awaken at his slightest movement. At times he would stir and cry out my name; sometimes he cried out other names, while occasionally he slipped into dialects that I did not even understand.

Bert was locked in a room next door, which was guarded regularly by both Alma and Lucien. The priests at first had been adamant in their refusal to lock someone up within their walls, but the three of us had fed them the story that he was my deranged brother and not to be allowed to roam freely. It was a sad fact, indeed, that they would lock someone up so hastily at the slightest hint of madness, but at least our deception worked to our advantage.

Every time that Bert awoke, Alma would feed him some sort of concoction that she brewed daily. It acted as a sedative and she gave it to Erik to soothe his nightmares in the fever, but it also worked to knock out Bert when the need arose. We decided that we would deal with him later, for to bring him to the police would be utterly unacceptable.

As had become my custom, I sat now with Erik in the sunless room, watching him for any hint of a change. Every night one of the priests would visit us to check and change the bandages, frowning over the wounds. The tear in Erik's side had begun to heal and was free of infection. It appeared that the bullet had been removed cleanly, but I struggled not to weep every time I beheld the fresh scarring upon his face. Every cut had developed into a rigid red welt with angry purple edges. The priests muttered and worked over the marks and I prayed every night for them to heal.

Lucien sat across from me now, yawning tiredly but deliberately forcing himself to stay awake. I sensed that the hour was late, but I could not name it for the life of me. I had begun to judge time merely as distinctions between light and dark and knew that it had been ages since I last slept deeply. I wondered when Lucien had managed to sleep last, but was prevented from asking when I saw how thoughtfully he was looking at Erik.

The boy had crawled up on the other side of Erik's bed and was sitting on his knees with the most melancholy expression I had ever seen him wear. His eyes roved over Erik's face, taking into account both the deformity and the new bandages that littered the other half of his mentor's face.

Without looking up, Lucien asked, "Why is he so ugly?"

He asked the question calmly; even disinterestedly. It was the first sentence he had spoken to me in days and it took me by surprise, although I was too tired to allow much emotion to show anymore. I leaned back in my chair and drew my knees up to my chest, shivering at the shadows that played oddly in the lamplight upon the uneven ridges of Erik's face.

"God made him that way," I offered the words to Lucien quietly.

The boy shook his head and peered more closely at Erik, leaning over the still man. "Then I don't believe in God," he declared. "Why would He give anyone such a face?"

Lucien had never before cast eyes on Erik's deformity, I realized, and it was the first time that he had gathered enough courage to ask about it. I was glad for the fact that the boy seemed unafraid, but I saw the disturbed light in his eyes. He did not appear to be frightened; instead, he looked sad.

I quirked my head at the boy, resting my chin upon my drawn-up knee. "Is that what you think, Lucien? That people should be judged only by their faces?"

He frowned and looked back at me; "People don't care about anything else."

"What about you? I don't see you judging by his appearance."

Lucien bit his lip in thought before he shrugged. "It's why he wears a mask, isn't it?"

I nodded. Then I added; "But God gave him so much more in place of beauty, Lucien. Have you not heard him sing or play? You know his teachings; you must know his accomplishments."

"Maybe that's why I am not afraid of him," Lucien commented, turning his attention back to Erik's face. "Then I suppose that I do believe in God…just a little."

Laughing softly, I repeated, "Just a little?"

Lucien nodded twice and then hesitantly prodded Erik's shoulder. "When will he wake up?"

This was one question I could not answer, so I murmured the only words that I could. "I don't know."

His eyes glistening with the tears he refused to shed, Lucien crawled over to my chair and forced me to lower my knees so that he could climb into my lap. I accepted the light child up without any protest and the two of us sat huddled, simply watching and waiting.

After some time, Lucien finally fell asleep against my side, his sleep appearing quiet and peaceful. I knew that the child was tired and should not have been staying up so late every night, but I could not refuse him.  
At length, Alma entered the room with a tray of steaming cups full of tea for all of us. She set down one in front of me and I shook my head, telling her not to wake the boy.

Alma sat down in another chair across from me and gave Erik a look. She shook her head sadly at the lack of improvement and turned back to me with a sad look. I sighed and lifted my own tea to my lips, resolved not to lose heart.

To break the silence, I asked, "How did you find us anyway?"

She looked at me, clearly confused. "How did I find you in this room?"

"I meant, how did you know to look for us in the cathedral?"

Alma gestured toward the sleeping boy; "Lucien just guessed. He couldn't bear the thought of staying at home and waiting for you to come back, so he made me go out with him to search as well. It's a good thing I listened to the boy."

I nodded and ran a hand through Lucien's hair, causing him to shift slightly in his sleep. He mumbled something wearily, but I could not make it out and soon he settled back more closely against my side. I looked at Alma again and inquired, "What about Bert?"

"Knocked out and locked up," she muttered. Alma stood up suddenly and leaned over Erik to press her lips to his forehead. "His fever's gone down slightly," she informed me, looking back up.

I tried not to look too hopeful, but could not help myself. "Does that mean he'll be all right?"

Alma tried to look at me gently, but she shook her head. "I still don't know. The fever is still quite high and he grows weaker by the day because we are unable to feed him much."

All I wanted to do was to snatch up Erik's body and to breathe life back into him so that he could be well. When I saw him shiver lightly in his sleep, I motioned to Alma to take Lucien so that I could stand up. I forced myself out of the chair and knelt by Erik's side, picking up his hand again and resting my head upon the covers.

Alma arranged Lucien as comfortably as she could in a chair and withdrew silently from the room, taking the tea with her. When she was gone, I lifted my head slightly and rose to my feet. I saw that Erik still shivered, and although I knew that Alma would not like it, I perched on the edge of the bed and curled up against his unhurt side. He shifted nearly imperceptibly at the contact and I molded as much of myself as I could against him, seeking to lend any warmth that I could without hurting him.

After I do not know how long, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep. I was exhausted and it was the first true rest I had had in days. Perhaps it was the fact that I had become so used to Erik's embrace during the night that I could not help but need it now to sleep at all.

When I woke up next, the lamp had long gone out and thrown the room into cold shadows. I blinked my eyes open and rose slowly, wiping the sleep from my face and wondering how long I had slept for. Looking down into the darkness, I was very startled when I saw the unmistakable light of two open vivid eyes looking up at me.

My heart did several leaps through my chest and I bent forward to make sure I had not begun to hallucinate in my weariness. When the two eyes blinked, I knew that I was not dreaming, and now I only hoped that he would respond to me.

I tried his name hesitantly. "Erik?"

"Yes?" He asked. His voice was weak and not at all rich with its customary soothing quality. I touched his throat lightly, willing him to be quiet while he was still ill.

"You've had a fever for days," I told him, checking his forehead once more. "How do you feel?"

My question went unanswered and he squirmed under my touch, obviously unused to people fussing over him. I resisted the urge to remind him of all the times I had taken care of him in illness at the Opera House, suddenly feeling rather irritated that he appeared to be resisting my help.

"Stop moving!" I reprimanded snippily.

Erik stilled under my hand and I moved to light the lamp on the bedside. His hand snaked out and batted at my own clumsily as he shook his head; "No, leave it off."

I looked at him curiously for a moment, but shrugged and decided to allow him the darkness. It was the first time that he had been lucid in almost a week and I felt the first surge of hope in my breast. He tugged on my hand twice, just as a child might, and pulled me back down next to him. Even in the darkness, I could make out his features and I trembled to know what would be under the bandages when we removed them. I did not wish to know his reaction.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, ever perceptive.

"No," I lied calmly. "How do you feel? Are you hungry?"

"Where's Madame Giry?" He asked instead.

I frowned; "Madame Giry? Erik, she's in Paris."

He tossed his head in confusion upon the pillows; "What? Aren't we in Paris?"

"No - ."

"Where are we then?" He rasped, seeming to grow more alarmed.

"Hush," I told him, placing a cool hand on his forehead.

"Why aren't you singing?" He went on, his eyes growing unfocused once again. "You should be practicing for the role of _Comtesse_…"

"Shall I sing for you?" I whispered, kissing his forehead lightly.

He stilled at the contact, growing suddenly afraid. "Why did you do that, Christine?"

I knew a sudden fear in my heart. Had he somehow forgotten? Had his mind returned to the Opera House and left behind years of memories? I forced myself not to cry yet again and repeated, "Shall I sing for you?"

Erik's eyes began to see a time wholly different from the one which we were in. He slumped back and murmured, "The morphine, Christine. Fetch it for me."

"I don't have any," I told him softly.

"There's some on the shelf by the encyclopedias," he waved his hand in an arbitrary direction. "Right next to the music box."

"Erik, there is no more morphine," I whispered. "You don't use it anymore."

He glared up at the ceiling and away from me, "Don't presume to tell me what I do and do not do, my dear."

Before I could reply, his eyes fluttered shut again and he murmured something incoherent to me. He fell back into a sleep and for a time I watched his chest rise and fall evenly as it had not done since he had been shot. Perhaps it was a favorable sign, but I was still disturbed by the fact that it appeared his mind had wandered back six years.

The door opened to admit Alma bearing another tray. I looked up at her gratefully; "He was just awake."

She blinked several times; "Awake?"

"He spoke to me," I said, touching his face gently. "Although he seems to have forgotten many things."

"Perhaps it is still the fever talking," Alma suggested. She set her tray down and touched his forehead, pursing her lips. "It's gone down considerably, but it's still there."

"Does that mean…?"

"The priests say he should recover," Alma nodded.

I looked away at the ground; "What do you mean by 'recover'?"

"He'll live."

Before I could ask her to elaborate on what exactly she meant, one of the priests burst through the door and stopped before us breathlessly.

"Dead!" He gasped, looking around at us crazily. "He's dead!"

"What?" I rose and went to him; "Who's dead?"

"Your brother," he replied, beginning to wring his hands desperately. "I do not know how!"

"Stay here," Alma ordered me. She strode forward purposefully and pushed the man out the door, but I disobeyed and followed her into the room next door. The priest flung upon the door angrily and revealed a sight that I shut my eyes to.

Bert lay twisted on the ground with his eyes wide upon and froth drying freshly upon his lips and chin.

"How did it happen?" I asked, trying to look away from the sight. I had had enough horrors to last me a lifetime in the past week.

"Leave us," Alma instructed the priest. He looked between us uncertainly, but I nodded and indicated that he shut the door behind us.

Seemingly unfazed, Alma picked up her skirts and knelt by the body, closing his eyes so that they did not gape up at us blankly. "It looks like poison," she murmured quietly. She tilted her head and caught sight of something glistening underneath the bed. Reaching forward, she extracted a small bottle and hefted it in her hand curiously.

"What is it?" I could not bring myself to step any further into the room.

Alma read the label with a frown. "A mix of chemicals," she informed me, "to clean the altar with."

"He drank it all?" I almost choked and found a seat quickly.

"Enough to kill him at any rate," she supplied unhelpfully.

I looked away and thought quickly, knowing that the priests must not know the truth of what had passed here. "We can't tell anyone else about what happened," I warned Alma. "We have to try to have a burial for him here in this church."

She seemed surprised for a moment at my quick recovery, but then she nodded in agreement. "Of course."

I stood up; "We have to bury him tonight." Reopening the door, I looked up and down the hall for the priest. When I peeked into Erik's room, I saw the priest kneeling by his bedside, gently unwinding the bandages from about the man's face.

He looked up with a sad expression; "Your brother?"

"He was very ill for some time, both in mind and body," I supplied the lie effortlessly. "I wish to have him buried; tonight, if possible."

The priest bowed his head in acknowledgement, but then he remarked; "Somehow, I sense that there is more to the story than you wish to share."

I drew a deep breath. "There is no story."

Sighing, the priest once again nodded. "Very well." Then he turned back to Erik and continued unwinding the cloth, working as softly as possible.

"Will he be all right?" I asked, although Alma had reassured me earlier.

"Physically, he seems to be healing. Still, it's impossible to tell the extent of the damage."

I knelt on the other side of the bed and watched as the priest took off the last of the bandages.

"I think he can heal without these now," he told me, wrapping the soiled cloth into a ball.

Ever so hesitantly, I ran my fingertips over the new scars on Erik's face and tried not to mourn for him. Although not nearly as horrid, the cuts were a shadowy echo of the scars that he had been born with. All, however, were a fierce red and there were so many lines criss-crossing the once-smooth half of his face that they were impossible to miss. I touched the slight roughness and lamented more for him than for myself. I knew that I did not care about this new patchwork of pain upon his skin, but how would he react?

The priest rose. "Shall I begin making funeral preparations for your brother?"

"Yes."

When he shut the door behind him, I rested my head on the covers wearily. I did not care that a dead man lay in the next room; I did not bother to think of why he had killed himself. All I could think of was my exhaustion and that undeniable need to sleep.

And sleep I did.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_Christine…Christine…_

I stirred, my hair tumbling across my face and tickling my skin lightly. I felt slightly damp as if I had stood within a mist on a dewy morning and I slowly opened my eyes to admit the world.

_Christine…_

"Christine…"

I lifted my head and encountered fingertips playing at my hair clumsily. Almost automatically, I stretched forth my own hand and grasped the lost hand, guiding it to my lips with a smile. The slender fingers relaxed within my grip and I raised my face with a smile.

Erik had rolled over on his side and was looking at me curiously, as if still half-lost. I gave him an encouraging smile and cradled the offered hand close to my chest. He smiled at me softly in response and I understood very suddenly that he knew me. I allowed his hand to pass over my neck and to push my head closer to him.

Parting my lips, I accepted the invitation and kissed him silently.

"You're alive," I whispered after I leaned back, half-laughing at the absurd sound of the statement.

"Clearly," he murmured, resting his face upon my shoulder and sighing as only a content man would do. I crawled up and allowed him to rest against me.

We sat in silence for the time, utterly alone. Sometime during the night, Lucien had risen and left us alone, it seemed. I did not know where Alma was, but I hoped that she had taken care of all the burial preparations.

"Bert's dead," I said very suddenly into the silence.

"How?"

"Suicide."

Erik's tone was neutral and I wondered if it was still the weakness within him or if he simply did not care.

When he was silent, I dared to ask, "Why would he do it?"

Still, Erik said nothing. I looked down at him and saw that he was staring straight up at me.

"He was mad," was all he said at last.

"What?"

Erik pulled me slightly by way of invitation to rest against the pillows next to him. When I obeyed, he pulled me close as we had often done and stared straight at me. "Driven by greed for a reward and mad with jealousy, Christine."

"That's absurd --."

"Oh?" Erik's mouth quirked in a small smile. "Was he so different from me?"

I poked his chest lightly, shaking my head. "Of course there was a difference, you fool."

"I meant in general, Christine. I would become equally as mad every time you were with the Comte."

"But that was different!" I protested, although I suddenly remembered the body of Buquet thrashing from a noose and Raoul fighting to breathe as more and more air was cut off from his lungs. At last, I forced myself to put it all from my mind.

"Stop comparing yourself to him…" I pleaded, remembering the cuts upon Erik's face. Bert had harmed him in the one place he knew would hurt the most.

"Shh," Erik silenced me. "You do not believe it was possible for someone like Bert to love another?"

"No." I replied defiantly, hiding my fact against his chest.

Erik sighed and I felt his limbs relax around me. "Have you learned nothing, Christine? As detestable and Bert and Karine were, perhaps it was still possible for them to love."

I shook my head feverishly. Not after what they had done to him! If only Erik could see the new scars upon his face…then he might understand.

"You truly are a foolish child," he remarked, although the words were spoken fondly. "Bert learned to love as any other man might and unfortunately he was not as lucky in that love as others have been." He ran a hand down from my shoulders and let it rest gently over my waist. "I always had you to live for, Christine. That is the difference. Even when you were with another, at least I knew that you were alive and could one day perhaps learn to forgive me."

When I opened my mouth to speak, he hushed me quickly. "In the end, Bert had nothing left. His lover was gone and he had failed in avenging her death - ,"

"But it wasn't your fault!" I interrupted.

"Christine."

"What?" I muttered at his conciliatory tone.

"I fear I'm still too weak for such discussions," he commented quietly. "Especially when you're being stubborn."

"I am not being stubborn! You're not like him!" I shouted before I realized that I had raised my voice to too high a level.

"Of course not."

"_I'm not stubborn!_"I repeated, sitting up and glowering at him as he smirked up at me from his pillows. If I hadn't feared for his life but a few hours ago, I might have smacked that impudent grin right off his face.

I mellowed at the idea of doing anything to his face, however, when I once again took in the full effect of the new scars. Unable to help myself, I looked away and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

Erik's voice was confused behind me. "Christine? What's wrong?"

I looked back at him and offered my best smile. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just being stubborn."

Slowly, I felt him force himself to sit up. I swiveled back around and helped him, at the same time as I admonished him, "No, you should be lying down!"

He ignored me and sat up straight until we were eye to eye. "What's wrong, Christine? I am not blind to the way that you look at me."

I deliberately averted my face, although it was the wrong thing to do. "There's nothing wrong."

"No…what is it?" He absently lifted a hand to the right side of his face and rubbed at the twisted skin there. "I thought you didn't --."

"I don't!" I turned back to him swiftly. "No, it's not that! I don't care at all. Just, go back to sleep. We're both tired --."

He was looking at me entirely unconvinced. There was a type of hurt in his expression and I trembled to see it, angry at myself for causing it.

Erik sighed and passed his land loosely over his face in an exasperated gesture. Then he stopped, stiffening suddenly when he felt the harsh skin upon the left side of his face.

I got up as if nothing had happened and attempted to push him back down into a resting position. He resisted my attempts with a snarl; "Stop it, Christine!"

I moved away at the sudden harshness in his voice, biting my lip and twisting my hands anxiously in my skirts.

His voice was low as he spoke and he fairly growled an order at me; "Light a candle."

"No, I…"

Erik stood up slowly on trembling knees, almost slumping back down to the ground but catching himself in time against a post. I tried to help him, but he swatted away my hand impatiently and shook his head. "Light one."

Shaking, I went to the dresser and found the candlestick that Alma had presumably abandoned earlier. Striking a match, I lit it and remained hovering by the dresser. Erik slowly made his way across the room to the great paneled mirror which hung against the wall. He waved me over absently and I hovered in the shadows behind him, trying to place the candle as strategically as possible.

He halted before the mirror and frowned. Then his voice floated over to me, even and composed. "Bring the light closer."

I obeyed hesitantly until I stood beside him. Meekly, I held the candle in my hand and watched his face for a reaction. To my surprise, he snatched the candlestick from my hand and brought it up close to his features, first illuminating the right side and then slowly beginning to travel over to the left. When he saw Bert's handiwork, he merely stared for a time. He brought his other hand back up and slowly placed his palm against the fresh scars, tracing their paths across his skin.

Abruptly, he raised the candlestick and thrust it at the mirror with his scant strength. The glass shards shattered as the light went out and the room was thrown into darkness. I cried out and jumped back to escape the falling glass, stumbling in the sudden dark.

"Leave me," his voice came as my eyes slowly began to adjust to the dark.

I heard him pick his way back to the bed and sink on to it heavily. When I did not move, he repeated, "Get out. _Now_."

Instead, I stumbled over to him as my eyes were less accustomed to the dark. I sat down beside him and forced my arms around his shoulders. He fought my grip for a moment, but I overpowered him due to his weakness and tightened my hold until he subsided.

"I thought I asked you to leave," he whispered, although the words were soft and surprisingly devoid of anger.

"So?" I whispered back, still clutching him. "We've already had this conversation! More than once, I might add."

"I need some time, Christine."

"So do I," I replied. "That means we can spend our time together."

"_Christine_ -- ,"

"Erik, you could have snails growing out of your head and I wouldn't care."

There was a pause.

Finally, he asked, "…snails?"

"Yes, _snails_!" I repeated.

The door popped open to admit an eager Lucien bearing a bright lamp. The boy bobbed up and down, exclaiming, "I thought I heard you! You're alive!" He repeated my phrase of earlier, much to Erik's annoyance.

Erik suddenly remembered that he had never been unmasked before Lucien and his hands flew up to shield his face. "Lucien, leave us, please."

Instead, the child skipped over to the dresser and set his lamp down. He peered at the broken glass on the ground in interest, but merely shrugged and hopped up on the bed beside us. I unwound myself from Erik slowly and gazed at the child, wondering what he would do next.

Lucien sat back on his heels and forcefully pried Erik's hands away from his face, frowning at him all the while.

"You're really ugly," the child commented. Then he jumped right into Erik's lap and flung his arms around the man's neck, "Will you tell me a story tonight?"

Erik stared. He swayed under the impact, for he was nowhere near recovered, but he caught his balance and tried to pry Lucien away. The child, however, clung more tightly than a barnacle and pouted; "I want a story! You've been asleep for _ages_!"

Looking at me helplessly, Erik said, "Christine, I can't. Not now. We still have to leave this place; we must leave Sweden. We have to -- ."

"Nonsense. You're not healthy enough to travel yet," I shook my head. "What's the harm in telling him one story?"

Defeated and still not entirely sure as to what was going on, Erik shifted so that he once again was sitting up against the pillows. Lucien resettled himself in his lap and I leaned against his shoulder wearily, shutting my eyes and waiting for the powerful voice to lull me to another land.

"There is a story that tells of a rose and a nightingale…"

I smiled and allowed the meaning of his words to fade, for it was a story that I had heard many times before. After a time, I was only aware of the sensation of Erik beside me and the steady hum that was his ethereal voice.

All my worries and my cares began to fade away. Slowly, I found that it did not matter that we would have to attend a funeral later that night. It did not matter that we would have to flee yet again. It did not matter that Erik's face was scarred beyond repair or that I could possibly never have children.

I opened my eyes once more and just focused on the way Erik's features changed as he spoke. I indulged in the light that existed within his eyes despite all the pain that we had all gone through. Lucien's expression was equally as blissful and he sprawled contentedly in Erik's lap, listening to the story eagerly. His eyes were closed in a gesture of utter happiness and he listened with delight evident in his upturned lips.

Erik caught me staring and looked down at me while he continued the story. Smiling brightly up at him, I leaned forward slightly and kissed his cheek several times, indulging in his presence. His voice stuttered for a brief second, but he regained it quickly and simply pulled me more tightly into his embrace.

I marveled at how I had ever won the heart of such a man. There was gentleness and adoration etched into every single touch that he gave me. I fairly felt the warmth radiate from him when he turned eyes, which had once been so cold, upon me. I closed my eyes once more and allowed myself to fall into a pleasant rumination.

I knew we might never entirely be free from the nightmares that had plagued us, but I had learned to settle into a type of content and accept my lot.

And what a fine lot it was. I finally belonged to a man who loved me and I had even gained a child who, although he occasionally had odd ways of showing it, seemed to love me as well. It was all that I had ever wanted and more. Through it all, I had learned to shave away the jewels and the promise of fine gowns for something that was even more precious.

I knew that life would not always feel as pleasant as this. But in this one passing moment, it was ideal.

. . End . .

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** Well, there you have it. The final chapter. I just felt that this story couldn't go on any longer, so I ended it here on a part that made sense. Before they had a chance to fight and tear each others throats out again, anyway.

Thank you so much for reading! I can't gush enough over every single person who has given me encouragement and support throughout this! It's been a long journey, so thanks for making it amazing!

**P.S.** Epilogue to come. So it's not completely over.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Angst, Romance