My second post in a few days because I almost have no way to access the comp anymore :'D Well, at least I've resolved something, yet left it hanging. Ohoho. This is gonna end REALLY soon, and i'm so sorry I think there will only be a chapter or two more after this, and it'll end happily, no timeskips, nothing! I intend to write a sequel some day for this, and I don't think it'll up anytime soon, so sorry about that :-( Need to get back my muse, sigh.(Wrote this intro 6.11.13)

Chapter Twenty-one

Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.

-Dr. Seuss

Raoul sat across Erik, and both faces were locked in emotionless masks, glaring at each other. Neither was willing to bend, nor care for that matter. Sullenly, Raoul picked up the cup of tea offered to him, sipping it as he picked up a sugar cube, dropping it in as he poured the milk in silence. Stirring the tea slowly, he watched the other man, with face locked in a mask equally as emotionless as his, the only semblance of humankind in these being his darkly glinting eyes which regarded his every move coldly. Erik gripped the seat with such force he felt that he could snap it, as he watched the insufferable fop cross his legs and uncross them before rising to take a turn about the room. Neither man spoke, but both knew of the words to come. Erik blinked slowly, watching the Vicomte's form as it swept across the room like a woman, yet with the angular forms of a man, pacing the floor. He picked up his own cup of tea, sipping it slowly. Tea, for this Phantasmal being, was like his persona, black as night as he drank in the coppery liquid, not one to break the pregnant silence. He frowned at the teacup as he regarded his own reflection with a small inwardly directed sigh, blinking at the ripples forming on the otherwise calm surface.

Tension hung in the air, tighter than taut telephone wires, thicker than a tree trunk, and all ready to snap and unleash it's dark furies on both men themselves. Rising from his seat, Erik regarded the Vicomte again from the shadows, neither had spoken yet. Yet electric shot through the air as both pairs of eyes met in an electrifying death gaze of a thousand daggers ready to be flung. With the grace of a feline and the immense strength of a bear, Raoul would be no match for Erik in his dark domain, yet with his agility and the swordsmanship skills he had, Raoul was sure he faced a chance, after all, had he not almost killed the beast in the cemetery? Erik spun on his heel, the both circling as if in a death duel of the flamenco, to the unknown rhythm as both glared at each other, daring the other to speak. As Erik's parched lips opened to speak, he heard the boy's voice cut through the air, mingling together with his voice in a jumbled "Ah."

Ever the polite bastard, Erik noted, Raoul instantly offered to let him speak first. Very well, to hell with polite society, Erik thought. They were dealing with matters far worse than society itself now, were they not?

"I gave you no choice, admittedly, even if it to be polite whatsoever it did present itself as a choice, you should have known of my expectation."

"Am I to think like a beast then?" Raoul scoffed, feeling himself gain the upper hand momentarily.

"We share the same father who so lovingly sired you too, am I correct?" Raoul bit his lip, his father was anything but loving to him, always speaking of him as an afterthought. However this damnable monster had known must have been through his illicit, dark ways for certain! Nevertheless, Raoul bit his lip and continued.

"Well, it must have been the fact that you were a result of a one night stand with someone, some damn bitch on the streets! Else, there would be no other way to explain your...deformity! And your whole being. It makes me sick to even regard you as a whole!"

"Really, monsieur, tonight is then quite the contrary. Someone dashed here in the middle of the night, in pouring rain nonetheless for nothing? Of course, you could have come to kidnap my wife, but what purpose would that serve you?"

"Of course it wouldn't be in vain to rescue her, or would it?"

Erik bit back a slew of sarcasms as he took a sip of tea slowly, sinking back into the armchair.

"Vicomte, it is no use arguing. We are brothers, as annoying as it is to acknowledge, and she is my wife. You may stay in town, for I hear that Paris is under fire from the wars. However...Anything more than a friendly wave and simple chit chat to my wife would place you in the heat of the battle, understand?" Raoul cringed at the words, considering and reconsidering. Did he even have a choice with this madman? He bit his lip, rolling the words about in his head. One advance, even a hug was prohibited. But what if Christine herself initiated it? What would Erik have to say to such a display? But he no longer knew her, as he had to admit. The years and the sorrow had changed her from the little girl with a red scarf to a sad, downtrodden and world weary woman, only to be brightened up again by her Angel of Music.

Raoul nodded meekly, turning his head away that Erik may not notice his weakness, pretending to browse through the library of books. He picked one off the shelf, flipping through it. What he noticed, was a careful journaling of every single illness or happiness whatsoever happened in the little girl's life. As much as he was repulsed by it, he had found himself writing such things away into his own diary. It was then he noticed similarly bound books beside it, and realized, as strange as the man sitting behind him was, it was best to let Christine go. His heart was pained, torn into two as he realized the utter truth and utter damnation he had placed himself in. The days of old were over, and he was but a servant to their rule. He couldn't fight anymore, he felt too weak to. The silence broke with a soft yet harsh sob from his lips, and he turned to find Erik had gone. A faint glimmer of a smile crossed his lips as he ascended up the steps he barely remembered going down and exiting the house, hearing the mellow click of a lock behind him, and the gates yawning wide open to greet him. The thunderstorm of earlier had halted into but a downpour, and the sun had not even begun to rise. His eyes closed, wishing they would open and feel this was but a dream, an endless lie. Finding that he could no longer delude himself, he stepped forth on the stone covered path, out of the gates which closed with a resounding metallic clang. Broken was the man who left that night and resigned himself to a fate, remembering the incident where Christine had rejected him to his bloody face, right in the doorway of her husband to be's home. His feet felt weary and heavy laden as he called a hansom cab to lead him to his inn, spending the night ordering drinks to his room. The floor had been littered with numerous glasses and the innkeeper had all but given up on chiding him as he quietly scribbled in his diary, reliving the care worn pages of his childhood with the chocolate haired girl. Damn him, damn him, damn that demon to his death! When he found himself hollow, he set upon himself, hitting his skin that it bruised, before laying down to sleep...a dreamless sleep haunted with the echoes of his song...

That's all I ask of you...

Christine woke up, the pelting rain which had begun again outside making it hard to sleep. She rose from the bed, stretching. Erik grinned smugly at her as the coverlet lay around her, and he had the clear view of her bare back from his reclining position in the bed. Turning, she smiled at him, joining her lips to his again with a small curve to her lips.

"Good morning, Erik!" she sang, snuffling her nose in the nape of his neck, breathing in his scent.

"Good morning, Christine."

After sending the blasted Vicomte off, he had returned to Christine's side. Really, night time expeditions and the like drained him more than the day! If this was to continue, he would surely follow the light instead of the call of the dark! He managed a smile at his beautiful wife, grabbing his dressing gown as she did hers, ready to start a new day together. Thankfully, Christine had been a late riser lest he had been caught out, but the girl had slept almost until noon again, waking only at around half past ten. He smirked to himself as he remembered the night before, where he had sent that boy out into the cold, bedraggled and alone again. Yet a stirring inside him that Christine would feel sympathy for the damnable creature surfaced in his mind, and he chided himself for his stupidity as he reached over to the nightstand where the candle had burned itself out over the course of the night, following her downstairs.

Raoul woke to a throbbing head for the countless time that week. Not surprising, that he had drunk at least a gallon of brandy and whiskey last night. He groaned, rolling over in the bed, which creaked under his weight. Best to get a house temporarily until Paris was safe, the last he had heard was that they had taken to murdering the nobles. He suddenly thought of his mother, left alone with the servants in the house. Perhaps, they had fled after she had passed away. It made no matter, as far as he was concerned, the only two de Changys left in this small world were him and that man. Dragging himself over to the mirror, he ran a sparse brush he had procured through his hair, considering snipping his locks, which had through the days, months and weeks gone by turned an ashen grey in fact, caked with dust and grime, although the gentle golden coloration still showed through. He remembered but a year or two ago, when he had been to the Masquerade ball, and then fleeing the Populaire with Christine in tow, and his features had certainly been nothing like how they were now then. Sinking back to the bed wearily as the sunlight filtered in, he closed the shutters, understanding almost Erik's want for the dark. The darkness seemed to comfort him, to hide him away from the prying eyes of the world as he breathed the cold staleness of the room, calling the innkeeper for another bout of room service, this time, breakfast. He shoveled the Eggs Benedict into his mouth hungrily, letting the runny yolk coat the toast the innkeeper provided with it. He licked at the drips of egg falling from the toast, flipping the bread over to coat it again. Life seemed almost an endless cycle of continued ennui, feeling the cold from the window wash over him. He felt almost like a marionette without the puppet master, one that could not move. He groaned, rising and falling to the cold ground as he made the strenuous attempt to drag himself to the window. Damn everything, just when he thought he had the upper hand would such a thing happen to him! Fairytales no longer occurred in this world, he guessed. The days of childhood were over, his parents were probably dead with Paris under fire. The knock on the door startled him, as he slurred out a lazy come in, a postman entering with a letter. Hastily, he ripped it open, finding a sheaf of papers float out.

Monsieur de Changy,

I hope this finds you well. I regret to inform you of your mother, the late Madame de Changy, who perished in the fire that razed down your family home. The servants and I could not do a thing as the poor woman clung to her home and the last leg of her life. We however, managed to salvage a lock of her hair, which is enclosed. Also you may find enclosed her death certificate, and a daguerreotype of yourself, your deceased brother and your parents. There are other matters too, that you must settle, including the inheritance of the de Changy fortune, as it seems that there was the discovery of another de Changy son older than you were. It has been my pleasure serving you all these years, Master de Changy, and I do certainly miss the family with fine memories of your highbred ways. It is here that I must stop for the light grows dim, and my eyesight is nothing as it was in my days of youth. Should you wish to find me, I will be in the outskirts of Paris, near your house. I hope I will be able to see you once more, Master de Changy, as I am no longer young and my shadow lengthens, my life reaches its sunset.

Yours truly,

Your humble butler, Jarven.

Hastily, Raoul shoved his possessions into a few bags, not even trunks, as he glanced at himself in the mirror. The ashen face he descried barely felt anything but old and weary, his eyebrows knitted in constant sorrow. The rain continued to fall upon the streets in sheets, as Raoul packed his meager bags into a hansom cab to take him to a ferry, back to Paris, leaving the innkeep with money. Tears streaked his once fine cheeks, now weary and forgotten, as he slowly climbed the steps into the cab.

"To the port, please."

Is this what I'm going to say be drama but

I think someone may turn me into the police

Because I wanted to change him

And if he tells the police

That I'm a terrorist

I'm screwed.

I just need comfort now.

I wrote this comfort need thing 7.11.13

I need someone to kill him. Or I need to run. And either way, because of other things, I'm terribly distressed. I already wrote the end to this, the end of sorts and I will be posting it very soon in a few days or so.

I bid you all an eternal farewell...

You all (my readers) alone can make my song take flight,

But it's over now, the Music of the Night!

Your authoress is dead to her hell!