Thanks you guys very, very much...Thank you, you brighten my day.

Alright, um, yeah...Sorry to say, it's going to be a few installments of filling in the past, but it involves Erik and just MAYBE Erik getting shagged eventually, so I'm sure you won't complain, haha.

I'm sort of in the middle of uni exams and my last one's on Tuesday, so HOPEFULLY there'll be another instalment on Wednesday or Thursday. I suppose I should study and put that first before my fic...

Please leave a review...


Chapter 3B.

"Oh for goodness sake Chara, pull harder!"

Chara sighed, continuing to tie the laces of her sister's corset but adding a bit more pressure, "Why are you even wearing such a thing anyway?"

Marianne giggled and took some fruit from the breakfast tray the maid left. As she bit into a cherry she said, "Isn't it lovely? The blue matches my eyes, and the little pink rosebuds embroidered on it are so beautiful. Paulus said he thought of me straightaway when he saw it, he brought it all the way from Paris on his trip, just for me."

Chara dropped the laces in burnt shock and through the reflection of the mirror Marianne could see her look of moral horror and was thoroughly amused by it, "Oh Chara, you're such a prude. You really should see your face, you look as outraged as that nun that reprimanded me for holding Jacques's hand on the street last year."

Chara spun her sixteen year old sister to face her, "Why would he buy you a corset? Marianne, stop laughing! Marianne!"

"Because my lovely sister, he wants to see me in it. Oh you're such a sweet one, no man has ever dared kiss you, has he?" she wriggled her hips, "Oh do hurry, I need to be ready by ten."

Chara stood frozen and shook her head, "I'm not going to help you dress when this disgusting pervert just wants to rip it off tonight when he's succeeded in giving you too much wine!"

Marianne sighed impatiently and went over to a drawer, opening it. She pulled out a dark blue velvet rectangular box then came back to her sister. She then opened it, "Look Chara."

Chara gazed down at the amethyst and crystal bracelet and touched it lightly with her fingers.

"Look at it. Real Venetian crystals Chara. He's going to marry me, as soon as he talks to Papa. He promised. Why would he spend so much money on me if he didn't love me?" she smiled and then squeezed Chara's hand, "I really do love him Chara and I know he loves me too."

Chara pondered her sister for a moment. She seemed to exude beauty. While other girls spent hours primping their hair, Marianne had natural tight golden curls that encased around her heart-shaped face and fell down her back. She had such a pretty smile and light-blue coloured eyes, the shade of forget-me-nots. The trouble had begun when she had turned thirteen. All of a sudden the little child had nearly completely blossomed into a woman, but the naïveté had stayed the same. Their Father was always focusing on business and so it was left to Chara to chase away the unfavourable men that only had one thing on their minds. The problem with Marianne was that she thought the one thing they wanted was her heart. Chara had tried to ask for her Father's help, but even he was bewitched by his youngest daughter's sweet smile.

"Ah Chara," he had smiled touching her cheek, "It's unfortunate you didn't take after your Mother as well, for then you'd understand the need to have attention when you've been so blessed with looks. But we mustn't be jealous, mustn't we?"

She had looked at him in astonishment, "I'm not jealous! Papa, I'm worried for her!"

His smile had deepened, "It's alright to wish you were as pretty as your sister Chara, but you have good points too and don't you forget that. You run this household as efficiently as a proper little lady of a house and I couldn't have survived after your Mother passed without you taking care of both your sister and I and comforting her. And as much as I adore your little sister, it is nice to be able to talk on subjects that have more depth than birthday parties and gowns. She's an innocent little thing Chara, you don't have to concern yourself over her, she's not interested in men's affections, just in being admired. And how can that hurt?"

So she looked at her sister's hope as she held the gift this man had given her. Perhaps her feelings were of mere jealousy? Marianne certainly looked the part of the typical French young woman, beautiful and very social, appreciating fashion and pretty things. She had that touch of foreign mystery that drove the Dutch men wild. Chara definitely did not approve of men taking advantage of her body, but he did buy her this bracelet and many other gifts. What right did she have to stand in the way of her sister's happiness if he wanted to marry her as Marianne had said he did?

"Alright, fine," she conceded and went back to tying her sister's laces, "But before you go we need to have another word about proper decorum when it comes to behaving around handsome men."

Marianne giggled some more, "Yes Mother Superior."

Chara wondered if she was as bad as that nun that had been harsh with Marianne those months ago, and something pained her in the pit of her stomach, that she had never been given the spark that was needed to enjoy life because she had not been born as beautiful as some.

It had been a week or two that she had been with the musician. A fortnight of spending hours with him each day, talking to him, caring for him, supplying his food. It was odd, he still seemed surprised each day whenever he saw her, the look in his eyes almost confused at her appearance. Soon he could sit up without feeling dizzy, propped against pillows and the wall. On one particular occasion while she mended his blanket with thread she brought and a needle, he was well enough to play his violin. Not for long of course, but she enjoyed the little amount of music he offered her.

She was not an exquisite woman, she knew this. Her sister had been given every single drop of beauty in the gene pool, and she was just left with the dainty figure her Mother had had. Her light straight brown hair fell down her back without the waves or elegance Marianne had and she would never think to show off her body in the shameless way her sister did. No perfume, no rouge, no face paint would ever adorn her body. But she felt herself blush whenever she was close to the masked stranger, she could sense his eyes flit over her but she had no idea what his verdict was, if she was favourable to him or repulsive. And why should it even matter? She had never cared before, why did her sister calling her a prude with such pity and amusement mingled together bother her so much? Why –?

"Something is bothering you."

She turned to the masked man, propped up by pillows and watching her. She blushed at his look of thoughtfulness and continued with her sewing.

"It's nothing, really…" she tried to lighten her tone, "I just…My sister called me something and it troubles me."

He tilted his head curiously, "You have a sister?" then he paused, "What did she say to you?"

"Yes I have a sister. She's every man's dream, she's exquisite and flirtatious, but she's my nightmare. She's only a child, with childish dreams of meeting her Prince. There's going to be trouble, I can sense it. She called me a prude and I believe she may be right," she explained.

He said nothing to this but reached for his violin and for a few minutes played what he knew was her favourite piece. As he paused he said absentmindedly, "Tell me Chara, why should you be troubled over a virtue – and yes, chastity and modesty are virtues – your sister has accused you of having, when she seems…Rather insignificant."

"Modesty has never given me any favours," she could not hide the bitterness in her words so she tried to balance it out by adding, "Nobody ever notices me. I know that may sound selfish or childish, but to be admired just for one moment…" she finally gave up and shrugged.

"Chara, I am much older than you so heed my words. Frivolous people without a thought in their heads have never served any purposes. But the compassionate people, they are the ones to unlock cages and recognize a poor soul," for some reason he laughed quietly at this and rested further down in his pallet, "I would rather feel the softness of your hands as you tend to me than gaze at your sister's pretty face. Any man can be afforded that luxury, but your…" he fidgeted nervously as if he had said far too much and closed his eyes. The conversation was finished.

She watched him for a little while as she sewed, then when she had finished mending the blanket she moved forward and sat beside him, on the mattress. She went to pull the blanket over him but firstly touched his forehead. She set the blanket aside when she realised he was still hot and her hand caressed the half of his unmasked cheek. She gently straightened the wig that had gone askew

He liked her hands. He liked her gentle, cool hands. She had never thought them particularly impressive before. They should have been smoother, but the years of darning and mending had entrenched small scars into her flesh. Her Father was not poor, they had a maid, but she had liked to do her share of the work. Every pinprick was a fond memory – sitting by the fire and sewing a button onto her Father's waistcoat while he read her Homer's Iliad or the story of Helen of Troy in his scarce moments of free time, or making readjustments to a gown Marianne bought for a party as she excitedly told her about the details.

She unbuttoned the masked man's shirt to decrease his heat but her hand clasped over her mouth when she saw the abundance of scars over his chest. Her hands traced them as tears rolled down her cheeks, then without thinking she bent down, her lips tracing the marks. She knew by instinct that his scars were not the same as hers. They were not from fond memories. Had he ever experienced fond memories?

She raised herself back up, and humiliation flooded through her when his eyes were open and he was staring at her. He had not been asleep at all!

"I…I'm sorry…I…" she tried to stutter.

But he ignored her pleas and said angrily, "I am not some broken toy that you can pity girl." He tried to move away from her, but she held his shoulders firmly.

"I don't pity you,"

"Oh of course you don't," he spat back and rolled his eyes at her confusion.

"I don't pity you," she repeated firmly, "I pity an injured dog that is hit by a carriage, I pity the widow who has no money so she works all day every day and barely has enough to feed her children, but I don't pity you."

She continued to trace his scars gently and he closed his eyes as if giving in and allowing this affectionate contact, "When was the last time somebody has been kind to you?" she rested her head on his chest and stroked his dark hairs spattered with hints of grey. She could hear the beat of his heart, and she let it lull her into a doze, barely sensing that he himself was stroking her hair.

She jolted awake much later, his arm limp around her waist and he stirred awake himself when she moved.

"I must go," she said softly as she gathered her things, "You're getting well, you just need to make sure you rest and soon you will be performing again. I'll come by tomorrow."

He looked up at her and with his hand he took hers and gently kissed her knuckle. She smiled down at him and then bent down, to give him a peck on the mouth. But…Well, for some reason as their lips met she lingered. She had never before kissed a man and she was surprised at the softness of his mouth. She tilted her head hesitantly, and they deepened the kiss. Her face was pure crimson as she finally pulled back and muttered, "Till tomorrow…"

The next day she returned to find he was not under the cathedral. Worriedly she waited around and asked a priest who walked past if he had seen him. The priest answered that "Erik" (she had tended to him, fed him, kissed him and only now she knew his name!) had gone to the park with his violin.

She fled to the park but could find no sign of him. She rushed up and down the pathways, ignoring the flowers and the gay passerbyers until she was worn out. Images of him collapsed somewhere haunted her as she slumped on the park bench. It was too soon, he had made that mistake before when she first found him. He had come back too soon!

She blinked as a flower suddenly fell on her lap, a tulip of baby pink and she turned her head in startlement when the familiar violin sounded in her ear. She stood at once and wasn't sure whether she should laugh or be angry as he performed behind the park bench.

"You had me worried to death!" she accused.

But with a smirk he continued to play.

"You shouldn't be picking these!"

But still he continued to play.

"Don't ignore me! You should be resting still!"

She threw up her hands in exasperation when he continued to play. "Fine, we'll I'm done with you." She raised her chin and walked off purposely. But her musician followed her and she rolled her eyes, ignoring him as he circled around her.

"I am very much obliged to you, Mademoiselle, if you would do me the honour of letting me cook dinner for you," he said.

"Oh, so now you can talk. Favours, favours, favours, that's all I ever hear from you," she frowned mockingly, "I will have to check my schedule."

The lively music he had been playing suddenly turned melodramatic and dismal, as if all the colours of the world were bleeding onto the pavement. She laughed, "You'll get no sympathy from me!"

"Oh come now girl, be kind to the poor man," an amused passerbyer called out and she turned around alarmed when she saw a small crowd of laughing people had amalgamated together, watching this merry interlude from their usual humdrum.

She bowed her head in embarrassment but could not contain her laughter when from the melancholy music of rejection, a tremor of hope passed through.

She turned to her devoted musician and murmured, "Dinner would be satisfactory," she raised her eyebrow when the music began to increase in cheerfulness, "But don't get too excited for you will have to meet my Father." She shook her head in surrender and mirth when this did not seem to dampen the music in the slightest.

"We will talk about the details later, I must go," she stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek, whispering, "I am glad the musician has returned and is well again," and she quickly turned on her heel, rushing to the gate of the park to exit.

Chara turned before she left and raised the tulip to her nose, smelling the sweet scent and curtsied after he bowed to her from his small distance away from her. The small crowd clapped and cheered at this happy ending and she quickly disappeared.

Her footsteps felt light and a warm feeling rose in her stomach, one of hope. Things were going to change.

She twirled around as she entered her home with a smile on her face she could not conceal. Erik's voice was articulate, intelligent, he sounded well educated. He and her Father would have plenty to talk about and her Father would admire a war veteran.

The pink tulip fell to the floor forgotten when she heard sobbing from her sister's room. She rushed up the stairs and entered without knocking.

"Marianne!" she said at once as panic flared through her when she saw her young sister huddled by her bed, her hands covering her face as she cried brokenly. She went over at once and knelt down beside her, scooping her into her arms.

"It's – it's ended," little Marianne sobbed, "He laughed at me, he said he was never going to talk to Papa and that he couldn't believe I ever thought he actually would. Chara, he said he loved me! He did!"

"Oh love," Chara held her close comfortingly, kissing her hair softly, "He's obviously scum, he doesn't deserve you."

But this only seemed to make it worse and Marianne started to hyperventilate, "He has a wife…He has a wife…"

Tears started to prick Chara's eyes - her poor, foolish beautiful sister. She had feared something like this would happen. Anger surged within her at her Father's blind oblivion to the situation. Yes, Marianne was innocent, that was exactly the whole problem!

Marianne shuddered, clutching her stomach, "I feel so sick…I've been vomiting all morning…" she quickly lunged to a pail she must have had sent up and was sick at once.

Fear had frozen Chara and she stared at her, suspicions arising. Marianne was barely ill…

"There, there," she heard herself saying soothingly and her spirit seemed to hover over the room as she stood and led Marianne to her bed, pulling the blanket and sheets down. She helped her undress and ignored the scratches and marks on her flesh from a cruel lover's frenzied desire as she helped her into her nightdress. She pushed her gently down and crooned softly that she would take care of her and to just sleep. Marianne obeyed like a child, at once pleased to know that her sister would once again solve everything.

Chara sat cross-legged on her sister's bed, brushing her sister's hair as she dozed. Marianne held the pink tulip in her sleeping grasp that Chara had dropped downstair and brought back up when she had gone to fetch some water. Pink was her favourite colour and she had spoke of a gown in a boutique she had seen that was the same shade. From time to time she emptied her stomach, but that was alright, because Chara was here to clean up and offer soothing words and a gentle hand. While she thought of gowns and parties in her ignorance, Chara thought of what to do with the baby that possibly grew within the girl's womb. She was barely a woman. She had begged her Father to buy her a kitten the other day for God's sake.

All thoughts of Chara's war hero were banished from her mind.