From that day forward, Christine had made a point to visit the Girys as regularly as she could. She'd made a goal to visit at least once a week, usually on Sunday just after Madame and Meg had returned from church. Occasionally she would bathe there, other times they would give her a bit of food to take home with her. Now and then Meg even invited her for lunch over her free hour during the week, and she would go then carefully make her way back to Madame Deniel's shop always avoiding eyes and moving quickly.

Even after all this time, she still felt that the less time she spent out on the streets in public the better. Her paranoia very nearly dictated every movement for her. Every step was taken with such care, every glance made with caution to ensure that she wouldn't catch the eye of someone who would stop to ask themselves where they had seen her face before.

The unsuspected rendezvous with the Girys, while it had been rather comforting to finally be able to associate with a familiar face instead of always thinking that she was going to be alone for the rest of her days, had made her aware of just how easy it was to make a small mistake that would lead to someone uncovering her secret. While the encounter with the Girys had not exactly been her fault, seeing as she had essentially been led to them because of a dress delivery, it was still unsettling to her.

All of these conclusions lead her to decide to avoid as much time on the streets as possible. One chance encounter had created an entirely new dimension of insecurity, and ultimately she felt that the more she wandered around the city the more she was putting herself at risk for yet another person finding out who she really was.

However, sometimes when one goes to great measures to prevent something the only thing they accomplish is unknowingly leading themselves directly back into the trap.

She was finishing lunch in the Girys home, sitting with Meg at the small table and conversing about the older days in the Opera, perhaps arguing about a certain event that had transpired during one of the shows, or which girl had butchered one of the ballets and had therefore received a harsh scolding, and trying to sort out who it was that had been at the center of it. Madame had finished her lunch and retreated to her bedroom. She looked up at the clock. She needed to leave if she was going to make it back to the shop on time.

"I must go, Meg, or I'll be late," she said. "Thank you for inviting me for lunch once again." She gave her a quick hug. "I will see you soon, I promise!" And with that she began towards the door, opening it before calling behind her, "And I know it was Cecilia!"

She closed the door before Meg had a chance to reply, giggling slightly and descending the steps to begin her walk back. It had been at least three weeks or so since she'd been reunited with the Girys. It was time that she now considered invaluable. The feelings of loss and grief were still very real, but having something to keep her mind off of such things was helpful. But in the inevitable moments when nothing could keep her thoughts away from Raoul, their friendship was just as priceless for her. It was relieving to know that she was no longer grieving alone, even if part of their grief had been for her. The one common grief they shared now was Raoul, and having someone who could legitimately comfort her in her distress was something that she'd only realized she'd gone too long without once she gained it again.

It would have taken her twice as long to be able to think of smiling again had she continued by herself. Meg's laughter was infectious, it was impossible to stop her joyful moods from spreading. Christine found herself laughing more often, something that even spread to her work in Madame Deniel's shop. For the longest time she had been able to laugh along half-heartedly with Madame Deniel, but now as she grew accustomed to the life, she found that it was acceptable to try to feel happy again in the midst of her always being on her guard. And, as if to top it all off, that horrid bell in the shop was becoming more and more tolerable every day, much to her surprise, and even more so on the days when she passed under it after visiting Meg and Madame. She felt that it would be soon that she'd be able to pass under it without cursing it in someway. Perhaps soon she would think of it with delight. Perhaps soon she would be completely happy again, completely free of worry.

Raoul would have wanted that for her, wouldn't he?

While Raoul wasn't always the forefront of her thoughts, he was always there. There were moments where she would see a woman with her hand on a man's arm and her heart would ache for him. When she lied on the musty mattress in her dressing room at night she found herself wanting his arms around her, his voice in her ear whispering softly. It was hard knowing that she would never hear him tell her that he loved her again, she would never hear him say that he was the happiest man alive as long as she was with him. The absence of his presence was more real at this moment than it had ever been - a month and a half without him had made it startlingly prominent.

More than that, when she really thought about it, she had no one else that fully understood the extent of the events that had occurred in her past at the Opera besides Raoul. No one except him... And who knew when she would see the likes of him again, or if she ever would. He could be gone for all she knew. She wasn't entirely sure whether he would be a source of comfort or not, either. It didn't matter. She wanted Raoul back. Nothing was going to change that. She would always want Raoul back.

Perhaps that was the naivety of loss. It led her to become childish in her desires, to be fussy and rather selfish, but justifiably so. That in turn led her to be unable to understand why she couldn't have Raoul back, why life had been so unfair to her in its decision to so suddenly take him away from her. She refused to think that her desire to have Raoul back would ever change, that she would ever miss him less or be able to move on from him.

Granted, all of this was probably true. Why should she stop missing her husband? Why should she ever stop wanting to have him back? This was the only thing - the fact that he was her husband - that made her consider what could be called her "childish tendencies" of demanding that Raoul suddenly be alive again and back in her arms even remotely justifiable. If he was alive she could be living in the comfort of their home, knowing that there were days where if they didn't want to leave each other's arms in the morning that they wouldn't have to leave the bed instead of creeping through an old, destroyed Opera house to find a place to sleep knowing that she wouldn't have that option the next morning.

Since her visits had begun with Meg and Madame, however, she found living at the Opera to be more tolerable than it had been before. Perhaps because now she had something that she could look forward to the next day after the sun sank below the horizon. Life didn't necessarily have new meaning because of this event, but it had given her something that she could cling to. It was yet another sense of familiarity, a sense of security. If things became worse at the Opera, if she needed to leave for some reason, she could go to the Girys knowing that they would take her in.

She walked along the streets, keeping a keen eye out for anyone that she might have to attempt to avoid. She turned the corner, stopping and glancing up for a moment, looking about before continuing on her way.

That was when he saw her.

He almost ran to her, it had taken everything within him to restrain himself. It had been virtually a month and a half since he'd seen her last, he couldn't ruin it again. He was standing across the street from her and had seen her stop. In truth, had she kept going, he wouldn't have noticed her in the crowd of moving people. He let her begin walking again, then crossed the street and chose to slink along behind her at a safe distance, his eyes never leaving her cloaked head.

Perhaps he could use this time to uncover things about her that she was apparently going to avoid telling him. If she wouldn't even stop to give him directions, he doubted he could stop her to talk long enough to make any sort of acquaintance. He would have to play the sleuth until he was capable of finding a way to make contact with her.

Damien felt no shame in doing any of this, if it meant learning something about this young woman he felt that he would go to the end of the earth and back to make sure that he wouldn't fail.

It also didn't occur to him just how much his well-being depended on her. If he had known the way that his face had lit up in the moment that he had picked out her face amongst the others, he perhaps would have been a bit embarrassed. How could his happiness depend on her, how could he love her so deeply when he didn't even know her?

He didn't even know her name!

He wove in and out between the flow of bodies walking past him, occasionally struggling to keep up with her. At one point he had thought he lost the sight of her form on the sidewalk and had been stricken with panic, only to realize she had paused at a window while the rest of the sidewalk's population continued on. He stopped nonchalantly and pretend to look in a window as well, making sure to watch her out of the corner of his eye. When she began again he waited several seconds before continuing after her.

Turn after turn he followed her down the streets until he saw her stop at one singular door, only to let herself inside. After a few minutes he continued down the sidewalk, stopping to look at the name.

A dress shop. She must work there, he thought. She couldn't be making too much working in that shop. Probably barely enough to live on. She had looked as though she was wearing a rather poor frock, if not the same one he'd first seen her in. If she wasn't even making enough to dress herself in a comfortable frock, she couldn't be living in the best conditions either.

He wandered a ways away from the shop, not wanting to alert the woman inside of his presence. She'd surely think him so maniacal man that was after her, wanting to claim her for his own. Truthfully, that was essentially what he was. Now that he had located her, he would stop at nothing until he had her for his own. He began pacing on the sidewalk, deep in thought.

Ultimately, he decided that she needed a way out of that dead-end job and into something that would pay her more, and if it didn't do that, it had other benefits to ensure that she wouldn't be struggling. Now that he knew where she worked, he would know where to look for her. If he continued to watch her day in and day out emerging from that shop in an old, tarnished frock, he felt as though his heartstrings may pop.

Typically, Damien was not an empathetic creature. He wasn't one to sympathize with others, except when the other being happened to be the object of his heart's delight. There was no doubt that this woman had ensnared him with her beauty, with that subtle charm that he already felt he knew she held. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to make sure that she was provided for, to make sure that she wouldn't be subject to a life of poverty that she looked as though she was heading for. Perhaps then she would love him - though he needed to make her willing to give him the time of day first.

If he could just find a way to speak to her...

Almost as if it were a gift from the heavens dropped right in front of him, he heard the jingling of a bell and looked in the direction of the shop just in time to see her leave with several boxes in her arms, seemingly reading over a list on a piece of note paper.

That was when the idea struck him.

He waited until she was around the corner to go into the shop in case she turned back for anything. It would do no good to be caught in the act, she would surely become hysterical, assuming she even remembered who he was and that he had stopped her so many weeks before.

The bell seemed to sing with joy as he walked under it, approaching the counter boldly through the sea of mannequins adorned in various garments as he was greeted by the woman who appeared from the small back room.

"Bonjour, monsieur! What can I help you with today?"

"...I'm looking to order a suit..."