Well, hi guys. The more the updates the shorter the chapters, the longer the chapters the longer it takes to update. I wish I was like Mandy the O (to all those who are familiar to her story)! She updates every day, along with long chapters. I envy her! turns green

A bunch of my beloved reviewers want to know the following: more about Manon's past, what's in the bag, why the hell Erik can perform surgery ( I tool right of my artistic license on this one (hint: they said he was a genius)), and why he saved her.

My answer to these questions is this: They will eventually come up! Every thing will happen in good time! (except from my updating rate! growls in frustration, bangs head on table and shouts "I need you muse! ")

Ah, yes, almost forgot. Thanks to those who corrected my French in the first chapter! I have slightly abandoned the idea of writing in French sentences now, but in this chapter Manon does curse in French. I don't know if I used it correctly, however. I just saw it in my French dictionary and just shoved it in here.

Well, here we go,

Chapter seven

He tried to ignore Moreau when her face grew dark with pain. He picked up the catiling, a flat silver instrument, somewhat like a shaving knife. Stretching the skin around the wound, he began to pick at the skin red that was torn unevenly. She shuddered as he began to peel off a dead layer of skin, blood beginning to flow again. Putting the catiling down he picked out the sounder, a long thin implement with a curved sinister hook.

His hands were steady, skilled as any surgeons.

Manon had certainly felt physical pain before, but this, this was terrible. The wound and the skin around it throbbed and burned. She would have thrashed and screamed if it her past had not bound her to a manner of fortitude. She clamped her eyes shut, not wanting to see the long curved instrument as it neared, hoping that it would never reached the wound.

She could feel nothing for a moment,

Then she let out a strangled gasp,

Pain.

"Merde," was the quiet clenched curse that came from Moreau's mouth. He could see that Moreau tried to keep from writhing, but she shuddered constantly. He began to open the now bloodying hole, stretching it. Not only was the blood already making the handle of the sounder slippery but her trembling made it even harder. Hesitantly, he lifted the instrument from her wound and looked up at this woman, watching her pale face suppress a pained expression.

She opened her eyes, slightly bloodshot as they were. Except from Moreau's ragged breathing, the dark room was silent.

Then Moreau reached out and clasped his bloodied hand in hers, pain and a new softness clashing in her red eyes. She gently drew his hand to her wound, the sounder in his grip.

"Please," she whispered.

Without a word, the Phantom continued.

Moreau was as pale a marble as he finished tucking the ends of the fresh linen bandage he had wrapped her waist in. He followed her gaze to the bedside table and onto a single gory bullet that lay beside his numerous blood-covered implements. She seemed to be in a throbbing daze, but he was relived to see that her ragged breath had lessened and her eyes were clearer.

He stood up, dipped his bloodied had in the jug to clean it, and began to gather the instruments in a tough linen carrier.

As he turned to leave she spoke,

"I appreciate…this, monsieur "She said quietly, tired eyes still on her bandages, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded politely,

"Sleep now, Mademoiselle."

And she did.

Slightly lame ending, is it not? But hopefully it'll get better.

Galasriniel: I'll send for a repair-man to repair that chair!

writing-impaired: Thanks for your review! You really boosted my self-writing-esteem.

And LOVE to all those magnificent others who reviewed.