All right readers, its time for another one of my harebrained plot changes. I was looking over the material I've got written so far, and I need to make a change to a previous bit of the plot before we continue with the story.

In chapter forty three, Eric informs us that the relationship between himself and Leah had involved kissing. This must be changed. There are a few important reasons for this later in the plot, and obviously the most important is that a previous experience with kissing would dull the splendorous importance of Christine's kiss at the end of the book.

I have gone back and edited that chapter, and for now I shall simply say that in the best interests of the plot, the kissing has to go. Here's what happens instead:

During their 'relationship', Leah allowed Eric to touch her, and this was what impacted him so profoundly, as she was the first sane woman to ever do so. Leah in turn was impressed and touched by his petrified inexperience and leeriness of touch, thinking that he was being chivalrous and 'moving' very slowly so as to be a gentleman with her. Even now, this is still an endearing memory for her.

In short, all hail my most beloved of betas, Fish. She forecasted this immanent need to nix the kissing long before I would admit to its necessity.

All hail Fish!

...

Quiet confusion
Strangled illusions
Holding back the tears from falling

Drowning inside me
Cover what I see
Let Your light wash through my soul

Burn out what I see
Blind my eyes
Tear this painted black sea
I'm losing myself in my search for You
I'm reaching through the flames of truth

-Flames of Truth, Sarah Masen

Chapter Fifty Nine: The Blinding Flames of Truth

Leah

Walking away from the sound of his voice, my head began to swim.

Recognizing the all too familiar signs, I ducked into a dim, narrow hallway before the migraine could impair my vision. Over the years, these stress induced head aches had proved to be a frustrating side effect of my old injury. Even the physician did not know if I could ever hope to be rid of them.

As the painful pounding began to pick out a tempo in my head, I could not stop the thoughts from flowing in.

It had come as a shock to learn of the ghost's intentions regarding Tina. After hearing the depth of the conviction in that miraculous voice, I could no longer doubt his motives.

That voice had held all of the burning need and longing that I come to associate with love in fairy tales and penny novels. Yes, the ghost loved my hermana and would not harm her. Despite every logical notion that I had ever possessed, I knew that it was true.

As my shock began to fade into understanding, a tiny weight was lifted from my shoulders. I would have done anything –anything!- to protect Tina, even knowing that it would be almost impossible to bring her away from him unscathed, and it was a relief to know that I would not have to.

Yet even as the load was lifted from my back, troublesome questions began to fill my stomach with a heaviness that nearly outweighed the first.

My fretting did little to sooth my strain, and the awful throbbing sensation pulsated like lighting bolts through my temples. It felt as though there were a thousand tiny men with pick axes attempting to burrow their way out of my brain with little scissor like taps.

Why did my heart feel as though it had suddenly dropped to my toes?

I knew without bothering to answer myself that the sensation had little to do with my physical condition as I continued to recall the anxious plea of the man I had once felt so much for.

"…You must love me!"

Why on earth should my lungs contract in such an uncomfortable manner when I remembered his desperate cry?

What possible reason could there be for the twinges of jealousy that I felt whenever I thought of my little Tina?

And once again, I knew without a second thought that I could not kill the seed of emotions that the man had once planted in my soul with his gentle manner and timid kindness. Memories of endearing moments traitorously filled my head as the pain grew steadily worse.

I thought of the first time he had held my hand, the first time he had been able to look at me in the eye without flinching away. He had always been so reluctant, so unsure. It was as though he was a terrified mouse seeing a vicious cat whenever he was within a few feet of me.

A hungry cat.

Yet even if frightened, Señor had been sweet and infinitely gentle, a far better man than Philippe in every way.

Knowing the tiny scrap that I did now, I finally understood why he had been so uneasy around me, around people in general. At the time, I had thought it a bit odd, but assumed that he was being genuinely chivalrous and slow in his advances so as not to impugn my honor.

Now I saw them for the truth: he had been injured by people all of his unfortunate life, mistreated and abandoned and scorned.

Though I felt a little rush of anger for his tormentors, I still could not think of what I had once seen behind that mask without shuddering.

How could I still feel such emotions, retain such traces of tenderness for a man who was a monster?

Wasn't this the same man whose face left me sleepless with gnawing horror?

Wasn't his ghoulish appearance one of the reasons I had been infected with the need for the bottle?

The silent mention of my addiction only worsened my need for it, and heightened my growing discomfort at the same time.

Pain ricocheted inside my head, crashing like waves on the shore. The little gnomes had abandoned their pick axes in favor of sledge hammers, and were now proceeding to bludgeon their way out of my skull.

The sight of the dim wall in front of me began to grow unclear, and darkness crept into the corners of my vision.

Eric

Horror consumed me.

Two acts had all but murdered my soul in one night. (Such a soul as a monster was capable of possessing at least.)

The first, and most painful, I could avoid thinking of if I set my mind to the task, but the second…

The second glared up at me from the pocket of my waistcoat like a coiled serpent waiting to strike, its transgression not but five minutes old. Even my hands accused me as they silently screamed of my guilty and monstrosity.

"Monster."

"Inhuman."

"Murderer."

"Murderer!"

I could not deny the truth, though I regretted it deeply. Joseph Bouquet had been a useful cog in the great machine of my opera house, a quiet, determined man who brooked no nonsense and did his job well.

At least he had done his job well.

Until I killed him.

What kind of a monster was I, to take another life even after my promises to the dargoa? I had sworn to put that old life behind me, yet the first instant that an intruder discovered my house, I had killed him without a second thought.

"Is Eric still the magician from Azadeh's court? Is he still the black angel?" I inwardly cringed. How I hated the man that I had been in the days of Manderzan, and yet he was the inmost part of my being!

"Are we a monster or a man? Oh my angel, forgive Eric!"

How could I go on loving her as a man when I was still no more than an animal within?

How could I long to walk in the sun with the rest of humanity when any human would condemn me on sight for my unpardonable sins?

It was the first and most painful thought, and try as I might it would not leave me. How could I deserve such a goddess when I remained a demon?

"Eric is a monster!" I wailed in despair.

"No! I am just a man. Just a man, damn you!" I sobbed, collapsing where I stood as tears blurred my vision.

"Just a man." I whispered and curled into a sobbing ball on the elaborate Persian carpet.

Leah

Several moments passed before my vision ceased to shimmer and dance.

As I walked away from the little hallway where I had hidden during my headache (Mme Jules often called them 'fits'), I inwardly cursed the man who had caused them.

He had engineered my fall and taken away my life, and for that I would never forgive him.

I repeated the accusation over and over in my head, trying with all my heart to convince myself to believe that I could carry through with my sentence of unforgiveness. If only I could have ignored the tiny pinpricks of other irritating emotions that surfaced when I thought of him!

Why couldn't I manage to separate the man who called himself opera ghost from my memories of a man known only as Señor? The two people could not be any more different, and indeed, could not be one person. It was inconceivable, yet it was the truth.

Occupied with my thoughts, I was caught unaware as I rounded the corner.

I could barely silence a scream.

JPT- puzzle away dear, and good luck! Even I am not one hundred percent sure about the outcome for this story. I actually have a few different endings in mind, and it is yet to be seen if anyone ends up happy. Don't hurt me because I'm secretive. I know just what you are talking about with the last page thing though. Maybe I'll tell you what the last sentence is or something …

Tigger- Pie? Pie? PIE! (hugs you excitedly) Bring on the freshman 15! Leah just might end up doing some 'excellent to behold' confronting, especially after she sees what's around the corner…

Songstress- NEW REVIEWER! WELCOME! (hope I don't scare you off with all this shouting.) Yes, chapter and cheesecake –double chocolate in fact- are yours for the taking. Thank you so much for commenting, and I hope you keep it up, cause it always brightens my day to hear from you guys. As for the line breaks, look on the toolbar on the editing page. I hope this helps.