I lay upon the bed, unmoving, staring into space, for some time.

Now that he was really gone, I could finally give in to the crying fit that had been threatening to spill over since our fight. But nothing happened. I just felt horribly numb as if I were dead.

I had to think on what to do next. The sensible course of action would be to wait out the rain, get dressed and find the innkeeper. Then I would make my way back to Paris.

Perhaps I would supervise rehearsals of Beauty and the Beast. No, I wouldn't want to do that. I never wanted to see that cursed opera nor the Paris Opera House again.

I would return to my writing. After all, I was a renowned author in Paris now. And this time, I would write on my own. Perhaps a play or a novel. Anything without music.

Yet the world of make-believe that I had depended on for so long held no more charm for me. I had spent most of my life making up storybook lovers and heroes. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending. Indeed, during my stay with Erik, I had become lost in fantasies. Some of them were erotic, but others had been more meaningful. I had started to fancy that we had been good for each other. Just the romantic fantasies of a woman desperate to forget who she was and where she came from, I thought with bitterness.

I had run so far away in order to escape those memories of my life before Paris, had made great personal sacrifice to do so…and yet I felt as if my old enemies of the past were laughing at me, taunting me for daring to dream that my life could change. My destiny seemed to be the same no matter where I was. I had to accept that I would always be that wretched girl from Tennessee. I had to accept the fact that I must accustom myself to being alone with nothing but my writing to sustain me.

Usually, I preferred to be alone anyway. Often, other people would annoy me anyway with their silly chatter about insignificant matters. I should be very glad to be left alone.

I should be glad to be without Erik. At least now I would no longer have to constantly fight for his approval. I would no longer have to hide my feelings. I would no longer be tormented with unanswered questions. I should be glad not to have to suffer any more of his moody temper tantrums, his criticisms, his expectations, his torments…It did not matter now. I could just let it all go.

If only the memory of those stormy mismatched eyes would leave my sight…If only that magical voice would leave my ears…If only I could be free from him…

The small room of the inn was closing about me. I felt as if I couldn't breathe. And the quiet was driving me mad. I missed the city sounds of Paris where no matter how miserable a person was, one could always depend upon the sound of life, of horses and carriages, of street vendors, of children at play…Here I could only hear that infernal rain!

Throwing on my cape over my nightgown, I left the room, descended the flight of stairs and passed by the innkeeper's wife who gaped at me in surprise as I walked outside.

The sky was a bleak gray with dark ponderous clouds all about. I did not mind the tempest that soaked me to the skin nor the mud collecting on my bare feet. Allowing my hood to fall back, I turned my face up to the heavens, worshipping the cold pouring rain that brutally struck my face. Let Mother Nature do her worst! At least the pain meant that I could feel something.

Walking aimlessly and near blinded by the fierce storm, I felt as I were watching myself in a dream. A well appeared before me. Sinking down against it, I rested my cheek against the hard stone. Everything steadily seemed to recede into a sort of twilight world.

Suddenly I was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled onto my feet.

"Good God, Angelica, what am I going to do with you?"

At the sight of the masked man before me, my tears began to fall like rain.