A/N: Alas, I wish I had a good excuse for not updating sooner! All I can do is blame it on the nefarious writer's block. I shall have to invoke the Muse:

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course…

Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,
start from where you will—sing for our time too.

There, I think that shall do nicely. Never mind that it was about Odysseus – pretend that it refers to Erik.

Also, my inbox has been flooded with emails asking me for the Kay book… and although I have no problem whatsoever sending it to whoever wants it, please remember that everything will be explained in the end! Even if you haven't read the book, it will all eventually make sense and nothing will be left unanswered. :)

Also, be sure to check out my other new fic, a one-shot called The Ghost's Lady. Apologies about the shortness of this chapter!

phantomann: I hadn't seen that movie before, but once I read your review, I actually went out and rented it, just to see that part… and you're totally right!

Nicole Gruebel: Dammit, I hate it when I make mistakes like that. :smacks forehead: But hey, I haven't done it much. :still smacks forehead:

Noni-Noelle: I'm a fencer, too... I would never have expected any others to read this fic:)

Pirates are a girls bestfriend: Yeah, my brother spilled soda over the keyboard and the keys keep getting stuck. I thought I had fixed all the mistakes… :sigh:

Emily singing reflection: Let me tell you, men in fencing whites can be quite sexy… ;)

Ethalas Tuath'an: Glad you liked it!

You're obedient servant O.G: So, have you been working on any of those drawings you mentioned? I'm so anxious to see them!

LilyEvansPotter4456: I really do fence. :)

Nade-Naberrie: Christine: "Eureka!"

jpink: Of course Erik fences, lol… how else would he have been able to pull off that swordfight scene with Raoul?

Chapter 24

Christine revisited the hotel only to find the room empty. She returned to Marie's home frustrated and in tears, the condition worsened when she had to pay off the saucy young parlor maid to keep quiet about Christine's unaccompanied expedition.

Was it possible that she had angered Erik to the point that he had simply washed his hands of her? She somehow could not believe it. For the sake of her own sanity, she refused to believe it. But he had left without a word of his whereabouts, or his plans for the future. She felt stranded.

Later that afternoon, Marie returned with her husband, Francois. He was sweet and affable, his soft brown eyes twinkling when he greeted Christine. "It is so good to see that my brother-in-law has finally found himself a young lady to settle down with."

The thought made her blood run cold.

Time was slipping away like sand through her powerless fingers. Raoul was planning to announce their engagement at the ball, and if she begged him not to he would be upset and confused. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt somebody else.

Raoul himself visited for dinner that evening. The presence of her childhood friend did not put her at ease, like it used to. He seemed to sense her restlessness and inquired as to the source of it. Of course, she wouldn't speak of Erik; she instead talked about another subject that had been a mild worry to her, to distract him from her real problems.

"Raoul… I admit, I feel a bit anxious about this ball," she said as they walked together in the back garden after finishing the sumptuous roast dinner. "I am just an opera singer, and I've already seen the way many of the society women look down on me. I must say, I am anticipating a number of snubs!"

Raoul took her arm comfortingly. "Dearest, don't fret. Marie and I will be with you all the time, and nobody will dare offend you while we are at your back!"

He grinned confidently in the dusky twilight. Christine gave him an empty smile, but it seemed that guilt permeated every step she took with him across the manicured lawn. She felt a soul-deep tugging, to which direction she did not know; she just knew that it was away from here. A sisterly bond had grown between her and Marie, and she was content at the house – but Christine felt an urge to just disappear and take flight with the one with whom she truly belonged.

If he would have her back, that was. The thought of the other alternative made her shiver. She feared losing him like she had feared nothing before… if it hurts this much for me, how much more did it hurt for Erik? Her eyes prickled with tears for a moment. Erik had suffered by her hand far more than he had ever deserved. And all because he loved her…

He loved her.

That very thought made her suck in a deep breath of hopeful longing. She could not believe that Erik would abandon her. He loved her; she had no doubt of that. She could see it in his jade eyes, the quirk of his mouth, in his mellifluous voice and every nuance of his body language. She knew that he had poured his heart and soul into making her love him – and that he had succeeded! He knew that she loved him! He would not – could not – cast it all aside so easily.

Raoul must have noticed the smile bloom on her face, and he squeezed the tips of her fingers. She gave him a brief smile, but instead his usual sunny grin, he returned a perturbed frown.

"Christine, is everything quite alright?"

She was a bit taken aback by the abrupt question. "Of course! Why do you ask?"

He glanced away and shrugged. "You seem very distracted. You were hardly paying attention to anything anybody said at dinner. A servant asked you if you would like more wine, and he had to say your name three times to catch your notice!"

"I apologize – that was rude of me." She fumbled for something else to say to fill the awkward pause. "I have just had a lot on my mind today."

"Not just today!" Raoul protested. "Well, especially today. But you often have a strange faraway look in your eyes, a wistful expression that makes me wonder what it is you are pining for."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and was glad for the concealing light of dusk. "I am not pining for anything, Raoul. It is just… memories, that haunt me from time to time."

Raoul's expression grew sober; he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her brow. "Dearest, feel free to confess all your sorrows to me," he replied in earnest. "I will be a good listener."

"Thank you, but there are some things I must deal with on my own."

He let out a little cry of frustration. "Christine, I cannot stand by and let you sink into melancholy!" He pulled away from her, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "Please, reassure me at least of your health and happiness."

There was a heavy silence as he kicked at a clod of grass; she chewed at her lip, her heart panging in guilt at deceiving poor Raoul this way. After the space of several heartbeats she set her hand tentatively upon his shoulder.

"Raoul, I promise you, I am happy. I am safe and healthy, here with your dear sister. The past just takes time to fade."

He looked up at her undecidedly, his brows furrowed. "I just worry for you sometimes, Christine."

"I know, Raoul. I know." She looked away for a long moment, so long she thought she wouldn't speak again; but when she did, the words came tumbling out.

"Whatever happens, always know that I am grateful. And happy. And that I love you very much." She smiled reassuringly, albeit a bit hollowly, and he grinned with relief and embraced her.

Those words are genuine, she reflected as he held her. She did love him, but not in the way he believed. She was grateful to him and Marie, and she had been happy during her time spent at the house. But those short sentences somehow left her with an empty, restless feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why does it seem like I'm saying goodbye?

XXX

The next morning, an esteemed seamstress arrived at the house to tailor a pre-made gown to Marie's measurements. "I have finally decided!" she gushed as she preened in the mirror, pulling at the sky blue fabric swathed around her and yelping as the seamstress accidentally poked her with a needle.

However, she could not persuade her husband to have a new suit made for him. "It will not be finished in time!" Francois argued, "And besides, I have perfectly good suits already. Why, I have a coat that I have only worn once, to the Boucher's dinner party, do you remember that?" Marie huffed and sighed and pouted prettily but could not convince him; Christine and Raoul watched on with great amusement.

Raoul, for his part, had bought a deep yellow and gold waistcoat to match Christine's dress. She thought it a bit silly, but deigned not to say so, especially since he was so pleased about it.

The week seemed to fly by, punctuated by the delivery of Marie's gown and their frequent walks in the park. And though Christine's thoughts returned to Erik a frustrating amount of times, there was always yet another aspect of the ball to distract her. Marie chattered incessantly about the latest fashions in shoes and jewelry and hairpins – it was a wonder she did not tire. She also listed names of all the young and handsome noblemen who would be attending.

"I am a married woman," she said with a sly smile. "And this is your last ball before you become one. So you had best make it worth it!" The comment made Christine blush, but she couldn't help but laugh.

The day of the ball dawned bright and early. They weren't due to arrive at the Chagny mansion until quite a bit later that evening, but Christine was awakened prematurely by Marie's shrieks of dismay cutting through the languid morning air.

Alarmed that some accident had occurred, Christine didn't wait to dress but merely belted her robe and rushed down the hall to Marie's room – only to find Marie in tears over the broken clasp of the necklace she was planning to wear that evening, weeping in a frustrated heap on the end of her bed. Christine was a bit puzzled by the extreme reaction, but decided that it must be stress. She patted her soothingly on the shoulder and assured her that she would fix it – she located a needle and was able to wedge the clasp so it would work again. And the matter was solved.

There was no point in dressing for the ball at seven in the morning – although Marie did not quite seem to understand this concept – so the rest of the day was spent in eager anticipation. Marie sat for an hour with various lotions on her face and a strange smelling concoction in her blonde tresses. She insisted Christine do the same – "your last ball!" she kept saying – and although Christine insisted on foregoing the hair treatment, she let herself be cajoled into the lotions.

Marie fluttered about like an impatient bird until sunset, fussing with her hair and calling for her lady's maid to help her attempt yet another elaborate style. The clatter of hairpins could be heard every few minutes, accompanied by a perturbed "Try it again!" while Claudette helped Christine dress.

A few minutes after eight the butler announced that "Monsieur le Vicomte" was waiting with his carriage – Marie strung an elegant single-strand choker of pearls around Christine's neck and pronounced them both ready.

Christine took up her little mask and held it for a long moment, staring down at the black and gold satin before slipping it inside her cloak and following Marie and Francois out the front door, the pale golden fabric of her gown swishing behind her as she swept down the stairs towards the carriage.