This is probably the longest Chapter I've written since I restarted this project. Thank you all for your lovely, engaging, and critical reviews. I appreciate them all with gratitude. This Chapter means a lot to be because I am attempting the establish the relations between the two brothers – It is important to me to make it so that neither one nor the other is bad; on the contrary, they are just both devastatingly disadvantaged men, needing the support of more than just one woman.

I thank you all again for reading.


When she emerged in the doorway, I was just prepared to step out.

"Where are you going?"

I looked at her standing quite unsure of herself, her voice trailing at the last word as if confirming it would really make me go. How strikingly beautiful she looked, I noted; the dress fit her like a glove, molding their silk threads against ever soft curve of her body.

"I must fetch a priest for the ceremony," I replied evenly, "We'll need one for the wedding, my dear."

"The w-wedding?" Her hand traveled up her left arm, squeezing it as if it would give herself the strength to speak. "What wedding do you mean?"

I did not reply and went into my room and retrieved a new cloak from the closet, wrapping it around my shoulders as I walked back into the living room to find her sinking desperately into the chair. She watched in dumbfounded horror as I went about preparing a small meal for her in the kitchen, then coming back and setting the tray on the coffee table in front of her before gesturing towards the thin pieces of toast and butter with a motion of arrogance. "There is more bread if you like, but you must eat and chew it slowly. Don't swallow it all at once; I don't care how hungry you are. Or you should find yourself with a vengeful stomachache and unable to breath, do you hear?"

She nodded without hesitation.

I fetched the tea from her room and heated up the pot upon the samovar. I walked out of the kitchen to find her still sitting, staring at the food with disinterest of a child forced to study during her play.

"I don't intend on leaving until I'm assured that you will be eating," I replied honestly, "If you refuse, I'm afraid I will have to make you take the food down by force. And I warn you, that shan't be very pretty!"

Her eyes lowered and she lifted a piece of bread and bit into it slowly. Then swallowing it with what seemed like all the effort in her body, she took the second bite more forcefully.

Pleased by her wary obedience, I sighed and reached for my hat. "That's good, my dear—I won't be very long. I shall expect you to have finished that plate by the time I get back."

I left her like that, defeated and alone while I rowed across the lake and locked the gates of La Rue Scribe behind me. Luckily the hood on my cloak covered me, for it was raining terribly tonight! The rain beat down upon the ground in drumming torrents, flooding the streets with filthy pools of water. There was no way I could make my way to the church by foot, and I halted the first brougham in sight.

"The nearest Cathedral, quickly!" I ordered, and the carriage sprung with lightening speed. As we road, I began to recognize this path, one that I've taken man times by myself before. Only when we neared the grand estate did I realize I about to pass the house of the Vicomte de Chagny, and for once, unintended! But why not? I thought, curiously, why should I let this opportunity go, when fate has obviously forced us to meet again in this manner? The light in the boy's room was still on; no doubt of it he must be counting miserably by himself for the next moment he would see Christine. What a pity he should miss our wedding…

"Stop here!" I commanded suddenly. The brougham came to a halt; tossing some coins into the driver's seat, stepped out of the cab and made my way to the door of the grand estate. With a fervent hand I lifted the gold handle on the door and knocked soundly.

A maid opened the door. The house was dimly lit, and she could not make out my face under my hat and cloak in the dark.

"Monsieur?"

"I have a message for the Vicomte de Chagny," I said just loudly enough so she could discern what I was saying, "Regarding, Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

"But the Vicomte is already resting," the woman replied nervously, "I think it's better you come back tomorrow morning, Monsieur."

"I think it better you let him know that I am here to see him, ma'am," I said with measured menace, "Or tomorrow shall be too late."

The woman studied me with squinted eyes, before sighing and motioning for me to wait a moment. She returned with a surprise expression on her face, gesturing for me to come in. "Monsieur le Vicomte shall take you in his room. Come Monsieur, follow me."

"That won't be necessary."

I made my way up the stairs, down the corridors of the house that I've studied so well, and paused before the half opened doorway where the yellow light seeped through. An almost excited feeling crept over me as I reached for the knob and entered the chamber.

The boy sitting at his desk, a letter clenched in his hand which he held out curiously under the candlelight. He looked at up at me quickly, and then as if struck by lightening, jumped to his feet in a jolt and reached for the pistol protruding from his jacket pocket.

"Shoot me now, and you will never find her," I said grimly, completely put off by his lack for better reasoning. I walked towards him slowly, removing my hood and hat, setting it on the large wooden desk between us as if I had been prepared to shake his hand.

He stared at me dumbly, his lips trembling in the clenched and uncontrollable manner of a man who was not unsure if he'd just woken from a nightmare or seen a ghost.

I waited as his hands began to steady and slowly lower the weapon he so brashly pointed at me and drop it back into his jacket pocket. Sighing, I gestured for him to sit down.

He did so dully, as if relieved I'd given him the leave to rest for the moment.

"You must be wondering why I'm here, of all places," I said. I looked around his room, noting how it was tastefully done, from the brown quilted bed to the large innocuous clock that hung on the cream wall behind him. "I'm pleased to see your family has such tight security against visitors," I remarked sarcastically, "I suppose you don't except thieves to raid the estate often, do you?"

"What do you want," He asked with a frown in his voice. "What do I have to do to get Christine back?"

I shot him a glare of antagonism and sat down in the chair across from him. "You don't seem to understand, Monsieur le Vicomte," I said heavily, "that you've already had your chance with Christine! I thought growing up with Phillipe de Chagny would have taught you to share!"

"Don't mock me, you devil!" He slammed his fist down upon the desk in anger, and leaned towards me with maddening eyes of a lost boy, "I cannot share her with you—I will not!"

I frowned at him grimly, and sat back into the chair. His temper was oddly familiar—rather endearing really. The similarities in that enraged gaze and mine were quite unmistakable, and it was bothering me greatly. I did not come to duel verbally with the temperaments of myself…

"I'm curious…Has your mother ever told you of her life before she married in Paris?" I clenched my fists a little.

"What do you mean," He boy looked at me confusingly, "What does my mother's history have to do with Christine?"

"It has to do with me, you thick-headed boy," I snapped. Standing up irritably, I stood and walked over to his nightstand and picked up a silver frame which contained what looked like a family portrait. Examining it with enraged anxiety, my eyes searched for the delicate face of the woman who had borne me, but there was no vain face to glare back…

"She hadn't wished her portrait to be painted," Raoul's voice came softly from behind. It was tender, an sad whisper almost, "Mother hated seeing herself in pictures; She took down all the mirrors in the house once she moved in."

I spun around to face him, advancing towards him rapidly with a speed that sent him retreating backwards into the curtains.

"Why?"

"Why does it concern you?" He cried, gripping at his revolver again through sheer reflexes before I sent the pistol across the floor with a wave of my hand and pressed him quite tautly against the window.

"Did she ever say anything of her past—must you force me to pry it out of you?"

Raoul shook his head without struggle, obviously taken aback by the urgency with which I spoke. I released him and walked back around the desk and retrieved my hat.

"You don't except me to allow you to leave so easily, do you, Monsieur?" He followed me around the desk and stood before me, blocking my exit with all the courage of a warrior about to charge on his first battlefront.

"No, I don't," I sighed, fatigued suddenly by his determination, "But I'd rather expected you to be more helpful. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other important matters to attend to."

I turned around and opened the door to the balcony—too many nights, I've stood on this ledge watching the boy go about his normal nightly rituals. Reading his books, writing his love letters to Christine, and now this place looked as if it was my only way out, away from this house that still smelt of her—of Madeleine.

"If you don't take me to her, I'll shoot!"

I heard the click of the pistol. Without a doubt, the trembling hand that held it was doing so with unnatural candor.

"Fifty years ago, I knew a woman in Bosherville. On my fifth birthday, I severely severed my veins by breaking my bedroom mirror, and she promised me, that if I never took this mask off, the monster would never come back. She took off all the mirrors in the house and threw away even her own…But the monster still came back." I lowered my head, closing my eyes to the image that rose before me, "You see, it was not my face, but hers which haunts me…"

"Do you know her name, Raoul?"

His hands still trembled. "No…You're insane."

"Her name was Madeleine."

A popping noise instantly followed. A jab of pain grazed my left shoulder as I leaped over the balcony and landed in the grass. As the blood flowed down my arm, I did not look back, marching on as the rain beat steadily in the darkness.