a/n: Thank you:

wolfegurl006: I know you love this story! thanks none the less!

inkie pinkie: um... i think this was based about a year or two. I went with an earlier date of Christine's death, so I think it's been about a year. You can yell at me if in the story you find that I'm lying to you now:) thank you so much!

Lil-Hikki: I realize it was rushed, but it does slow down, don't worry. The whole thing should slow down a bit in this chapter. Thanks!

Samyo: as always, thank you so much for the support. and you will love the movie!


I wake up to the pleasant sensation of fingers running softly through my hair.

Opening my eyes I see Raoul, his head on my chest, face tilted upwards to look at me, a light smile playing across his lips.

"Good morning," he laughs a little and kisses me.

"What's so funny?" his smile grows.

"You moan a lot when you wake up," he turns over and dances his fingers lightly across my chest.

"I guess I don't usually have to worry about people hearing me," I shrug.

He moves closer to me, curling against my body like a cat, "They say that people who moan when they wake up have been dreaming. What do you dream about?"

"You first," I'm reluctant to admit such horrors to the boy, he is too innocent.

He look up, "Well, last night I dreamt about you. Most of the time it's about home though, like dreams of my childhood with my brother, Philippe. Now you."

I frown. His warmth comforts me though, a pleasant change from the cold that I'm used to. I sigh and bury my face is his soft hair before replying, "My childhood as well. I dream less pleasant things though. The look of horror upon my mother's face, the whip that the Gypsies used while I was in their cage, and especially the look of horror and the sound of laughter that resonated through the tent as the man took the bag off my face, showing the world my face, and leaving me no where to hide."

I feel a tear slowly run down my cheek. I hadn't realized I was crying.

I wrap my arms around his chest and stomach, pulling him closer to me, kissing the back of his head. His arms move to cover mine, his thumbs gently massaging the skin on which they rest.

"I'm sorry," his voice is choked by a sob.

"Don't be," I whisper.

We lay in a comfortable silence for many minutes, laying in the others arms.

His eyes start to flutter closed again, but shoot back open.

"What time is it?" the words are so fast they blend together.

I look to the clock on the far wall, "Ten to nine."

"Damn it!" he continues to swear as he jumps out of my arms, sitting up.

"What?" I laugh lightly, sitting up as well.

"My brother was to be here for a meeting at nine o'clock! He'll except me to be there as well!" in his panic he finds himself on the ground, half way across the room, trying to distinguish the ruined clothing from the still good ones.

I get up and gradually assist him in his frantic search. We find that only the shirts are in ruins.

I move to a drawer and pull out an extra shirt, "Here."

I extend the shirt but he shakes his head, "I couldn't."

"Take it," I insist, "before your brother really does suspect something."

He looks at the clock: 8:58.

"Where do you need to be?" I ask calmly.

His answer is barely audible, "Christine's room."

I nod, sighing, "Follow me."

I lead him up one of my many passages, the fastest path of the two that lead to Christine's room. We reach the mirror within a minute, and I look through confirming the room is empty before opening the mirror.

He steps through and I take one step out.

I make sure he's alright before turning to leave, only to be stopped by his voice, "I'll be done in an hour, two at the most. Please, meet me somewhere, you can choose the place."

I think and the safest place comes to mind, "Box five."

He smiles and I place a gloved hand on his cheek, which he leans in to.

"I better go," I whisper, turning from him and closing the mirror before he can protest.

Before another word can be said I am half way down the tunnel.

I'll be done in an hour, two at the most.

His voice remains in my thoughts. What can I do for an hour?

I close my eyes and see his face, bright as sunlight and perfect as darkness. I find myself inspired by the beauty and I look up, already back in my home. I move toward the organ bench, move my one piece, and place fresh paper in its place.

My fingers take over from there, producing notes correctly, faltering slightly, and fixing the mistake, then writing all of it down before it is forgotten.

I stop after a short while and look back to the clock. Ten minutes left.


a/n: please review! this chapter was a little long, so i chopped it to leave with a bit of a cliff hanger ot the next part, hope you don't mind.