Raoul crossed his arms across his chest; his glare was sceptical as Madame Giry sat stiffly in her chair. She was not very convincing when she explained that she had no idea where their mutual friends were. The Phantom of the Opera was a ghost but he never seemed to vanish.

"He said that he had been contacted to compose music, he never gave any names."

"You knew that he had my wife and yet you let him go without a second question?" Raoul growled, balling his fists at his side. "

"He said that he was to stay in Paris. I have learned that you do not question the Opera Ghost."

"Even when the madman has taken my wife?"

"He did not seem interested in the subject. He was genuinely unconcerned about Christine."

Meg stepped further into the room from where she had been standing and listening to the discussion, "He said that he hated her so furtively. They had seemed so in love when they stayed here. How quickly love can vanish."

"Christine still held a flame for that hell spawn demon. She denied me the rights of my marriage." Raoul snarled, ignoring the pain he felt in his head.

"Then the child?" Madame Giry covered her mouth in shock. She knew that Christine and Erik were romantic physically, but she had not imagined that they had slept together. How many years had she yearned for the strange creature she had brought to the Opera House? He had never seemed interested in giving her even a note of music much less his full attention.

"The child is the bastard's!" Raoul snapped, "As you see he has surely lost all caring for the little damned slut."

"Raoul," Madame Giry said firmly, rising to her feet. "I do not approve of words like that used in my house." Meg gave her mother a sceptical look, knowing that those words were used frequently enough.

"How else would you like me phrase it? My wife screwed the hideous murdering Opera Ghost and denied me the pleasures of my marriage. She chose a disfigured madman over a handsome Viscount." Raoul felt sick to admit what his wife had done.

Meg stepped forward slowly, placing a calming hand on Raoul's shoulder. "I am sure Christine did not mean to hurt you the way she has. The blame for all of this can be placed in my hands."

"How?"

"I knew she had some childish crush on her Phantom tutor, but when he became patron." Meg shook her head, "I convinced Christine to try to rekindle her flame with her childhood sweetheart. You came to her dressing room after Hannibal and it seemed that my fantasy for the two of you was fate."

"You cannot be blamed for Christine's mistakes. She alone is to blame for this madness she has drug me into." Raoul shrugged away from the blond ballerina's touch. "She alone made her mistakes and will pay for them when I find her."

"There is one place where they could be." Madame Giry said quietly, deciding that it was time to abandon the protection she had sworn her life to. They had given Erik their all and they were left with nothing in return. He deserved whatever Raoul intended to give him.

~o~

Christine held the mirror up and glanced at her reflection, reaching for her brush next to comb through her hair. There was no one to see, no audience to entertain, no one to impress but she still couldn't help but want to make sure she looked her best. No matter how she looked Erik still stared at her like she was a goddess. She could never tell if his gaze was adoring or honoured. Sometimes she could see the amazement in his eyes when she would touch him or kiss him.

There were so many details to the man. So many flaws and so many twists and turns in who he was that mirrored his marred skin. She would never understand him completely, no matter how hard she tried. Every time they had a breakthrough he hid himself again. She understood that everything that had happened with Raoul had broken the trust she had had with him. Trust that could never be rebuilt, because he saw her as unfaithful. She had never meant to hurt him or Raoul.

She had seen the pain on her true husband's face when he discovered she was pregnant. How had she hoped that he wouldn't guess that she was? When would he have realised when he sought to make her his wife when he returned, took away her clothes and saw the swell? Or perhaps she could have got away from his advances and let more time pass, when she was even more prominent? She had never meant to hurt him or drive him to where he now was.

Christine could remember his father all too clearly. She had made his image into the villain in all of their childhood stories. Raoul was the splitting image of the late Count. She had never seen Raoul's brother – not even at the wedding. Phillipe had been sent away when they were children to some prestigious place and where he was now, she couldn't be sure. She could never imagine the older de Chagny looking like his father and brother, she pictured him more frail like their mother.

The Count de Chagny was a sever man, despite his more effeminate features. He was not spindly or frail, instead he was well muscled and proud looking. Much like Raoul looked. He was a cold man who spent long hours in his parlour drinking away the day. On occasion she had seen him lay a cruel hand upon the Countess de Chagny and even Raoul.

Raoul had hated the man with every fibre of his being, but now – no thanks to her – he had become him.

Young Raoul had always been full of youth, beauty, a tender heart and a kind spirit. He cared for Christine like she was his own sister. Her father had warned her against be to gracious of his affections, their time was quickly fading from the manor. With Gustave growing more ill and the Count was growing less patient with the frail violinist.

Their time had been cut short, for some divine reasoning she hadn't seen until now. Had she stayed the daughter of Raoul's violinist she could be assured that their childhood romance would have blossomed into something desperately romantic. But at the same time lacking. She would have never known what being with Erik was like and she would have lived her life as Raoul's wife feeling empty.

"Christine," Erik started, startling her from her thoughts. "What has got you so lost in thought?"

"Nothing honestly," Christine laughed, setting the mirror down beside her on the bed. "What are you reading?"

"Greek mythology."

"And what do the Greeks have to say?"

"Perhaps you will find this interesting," Erik opened the book, flipping through a few pages until he found the page he wanted. "The first humans frightened the gods. They had created a creature that had four arms, two heads, two mouths, four eyes, two noses, four legs. Out of fear at the power they harnessed, Zeus decided to split them into two beings. He cast them to separate ends of the earth to keep them from joining again as one being."

Christine smiled at the story, "But I believe we have been joined together."

"Perhaps my face is not an act of the Devil cursing me, but Zeus's cut burning my cheek." Erik sat the book down on the bed beside her mirror and brush, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. There was no other explanation for the way he felt with Christine, besides soul mate. Even if his soul was black and rotten, she still wanted to share hers with him. The light in his never ending void of darkness.

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him down lower. She pressed her lips against his, melding their lips together. "Two lips."

"One and a half noses," Erik quipped, letting his lips dance across her nose.

"Four eyes." Christine planted tender kisses against his eye lids, careful as she kissed the nearly translucent skin over his sagging eye.

"Four arms," Erik rasped, pushing her back against the bed hungrily. "Four beautiful arms." Erik resumed kissing her, running his hands along her arms. She gracefully wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Four legs." She pulled away from his lips, kissing her way across his twisted cheek. Erik pushed her further back against the bed, turning them so they weren't awkwardly stretched across the mattress.

"Two people made one." Erik swallowed hard as she stared down at her, wanting to feel their passion consuming them. He hardly heard the shattering glass as the mirror that had sat on the bed crashed to the floor. He could only hear the roar of desire drumming in his ears, coursing through his veins.

~o~

"He has mentioned Notre Dom before," Madame Giry said as they stared up at the church, "This may be an empty lead, but it is all I can give you."

"Thank you." Raoul snapped as he headed towards the building.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eye."