Hello! No, contrary to popular belief, I AM NOT DEAD! No I am alive and well! Very well! I had a VERY VERY bad case of writer's block. Now I am back and better than ever!

To all of those who have been faithful through this story, I give so much of the credit to you! If not for your encouraging words, this would not be posted right now. Thank you all so much! Here we go1 back into the Music Of The Night!

My Mother's Beauty

Bethy's point of view

Dedicated to my little cousin, Beth. May your beauty always shine through! I love you so much little one!

I didn't stop to see my father. I walked past his sleeping form, gave him a silent prayer on the cross on the chain around my neck he had made for me at birth, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. I walked past his body to where my real destination was.

I tiptoed to the mirror and looked around. I slipped the mirror to the left, to find a door that my father had never told me about (I found it when I was four) that he used to get to my room quickly when I was still a crying baby. I had to get passed my mother.

I prayed to God (yes, so my father's a murderer, that doesn't mean we aren't religious) that I wouldn't give my father a heart attack when he found out what I was doing. He always found out what I was doing. It was like a law of nature. If he didn't find out I was doing something I shouldn't, I instantly checked to make sure he wasn't sick. But, he would always find out in time. It was part of the special bond we shared together.

In the safe comforts of my room, I set to work so I could complete the task I had set at hand. I took a quick cold bath, and set to work on brushing out my hair. That took awhile. When was the last time I brushed my hair? When I was nine I think?

I slipped my hair into an elegant knot at the top of my head and brushed a few natural dark curled tendrils to frame my face. EveryoneI knew saidthat i had my mother's beauty, butI had my father's spirit. I was happy with that.I didn't want her spirit.Then, I made a face at the next part. I walked over to the closet and found a beautiful dress that had belonged to my mother. I slipped it on easily with all the petty coats and even the blasted corset. The dress was a delicate, soft blue. It framed my body perfectly.

I slipped on a pair of pearl chandelier earrings and double stranded pearl necklace that my father had bought for me on my thirteenth birthday. I rarely got a chance to wear them. It made my father sad that I was a loner like him. He felt as if his past had condemned me. Though I don't blame him and though it is not fair, it is true.

Had my father not done some of the things he did, I would be a prominent girl in society because of his money. I hated that though, that the only thing that made a person worth anything or not was their money. I wouldn't want to be a 'lady' in society for the life of me. The idea is nice, yes, but I wouldn't do that for the world because of one thing; my father. They would shun him from society even if he were the richest man in the world.

It wasn't fair. My father was good to me. He loved me with his whole heart and soul. He raised me well and haled me learn to try and live each day like your last. He passed own his music and singing talent and perfected me everyday. He had a pact to himself to tell me I was beautiful at least once a day, it was oftentimes more. He had my Grandma Giry come over once a week to teach me ballet and civilized manner. (she said my father wouldn't be able to teach me that) The fact that I was an outcast from society broke his heart! I heated it. I don't care what anyone says, my father was beautiful.

I finally slipped on a pair of painful healed shoes and lifted the dainty mask from my face and sat it on the table. My face felt naked without it. It felt like my wall, by barricade was gone. Then, I left my underground home and slipped past my mother in the blink of an eye. God, she was thick! She was sensitive and slightly compassionate, and kind to say the least but thick nonetheless. Oh well. We all have our faults.

I walked out of the opera labyrinth with ease and stepped out to the warm sunlight of the crisp November day. I loved France in the winter. It seems as if everyone, I don't know, cuddled more in the winter. Everyone was shopping for Christmas presents for loved ones and everyone was in better spirits. The thought downed on me; this would be my first Christmas with my mother. I would have to get her something nice. I wasn't that heartless. What should I get her? I knew nothing about her. I was too much like my father.

(start flash back)

"Lunge, Bethy! Don't forget to lunge!" he yelled at me as we practiced sword fighting.

"Sorry, father," I said with my head bowed. I wanted to please him. His face showed a little frustration with me. We had been practicing this for a long time. Any frustration he had melted away fast and eased into a slightly crocked smile.

"It's alright, child. Here, let's practice again till you get it. I have no problem with practice." He slashed the sword in front of his face and body in an honorable solute. Together, with our swords clashing, we fought out the intricate moves and combinations he had taught me. He was a wonderful teacher. We finished, and I had done all the moved correctly. He gave me a deep and graceful bow. I giggled slightly at his joke. He lifted his head still in the bow. Suddenly, he leaped forward and grabbed me around the waist and spun me around.

When he put me down, he took me by the hand and we left the training room. When we walked out to the main living room, I saw the room had a huge tree in the center. Bright lights and candles were all around. There were several brightly wrapped presents under the tree.

I saw my Aunt Meg and Grandma Giry holding packages in their arms. I was shocked. I had never seen my house filled with so much color. I ran to the only other relatives and friends I had. My father bent down to my height and took me in his arms. When we parted he handed me a red package with a red rose with a black ribbon on it on top.

"Happy Birthday, and Merry Christmas, from all of us. I love you so much. You have brought me more happiness then I could ever imagine."

(end flash back)

That had been my tenth birthday, and my tenth Christmas. My birthday shared Christmas day. It was a very nice feeling. It was the happiest I had ever felt. That had been before I had started school. My father had been teaching me at home, but then he decided that I needed to go out in the world and make something of myself. He thought I would've done well in the world of people. He was wrong.

It had been the worst fight and only fight we'd ever had. I didn't want to go to a good school with snobbish rich girls and boys. I just wanted to be with my father. That wasn't an option.

In school, when everyone had found out who my father was and about my mother, I was ridiculed and was the main target at insults and laughter. People tried to make me ashamed of my father and where I had come from. I was told that I was a product of a woman cheating on her husband with a deformed murderer. For a long time, I hung my head in shame. Then, came the anger and hate. I stopped wearing dresses. I switched to pants and high boots and loose tucked in white suit shirts.

After a few of the girls taunted me and called me the rudest things I can imagine, I insulted one of the girls, Katherine, back, and started pushing her. Katherine instantly called her boyfriend. Without a second thought, he punched my in my right eye. He had hit me hard. I had never felt so much pain. Then, as I lay there on the school ground, hurting and trying not to cry, Katherine looked at me and said:

"A deformed face, to match your deformed father," and walked away from me. That was when my father had made me my first mask. It was made with dainty pearls and was made only to line my eyes and only to hide my bruised eye. I didn't have just a bruised eye, I had a permanently bruised soul. It was a wound that would never heal. I still don't think my father has gotten over that either.

When the boy had punched me, he had scratched me across the forehead and eyelid. The mark and scar was still there. That was when I was changed forever. The old Bethy that my father new and loved was gone, and when she died, I had broken my father's heart more than my mother ever had or could. I, like him, lived on hate. I still hear him cry at night. Does the pain of life ever stop? Only at death.

After walking a great distance, I reached my destination. I took a deep breath. I walked through the fence, and knocked on the door. I was greeted by a very lonely, and very deformed and sad Raoul de Changy.

A/N Wahoooooooooo! CHAPPIE 12! Don't you all love me! Course ya do! To prove that you love me you can review! It's good to be back!