Raoul bit down into a browning apple that had been sitting into his hand for at least ten minutes, his jaw sore from being clenched so tightly while he was in thought. Day after day, week after week, Sergeant Lamar had come up with nothing fresh. No leads, no clues. Finally, Raoul had to admit defeat, finally beginning to accept the idea that Christine might very well be dead by now…dead.

The word rang painfully in his mind, cold and untouched to be connected with her. His beloved fiancé, dead… her body lying cold and soulless somewhere in the sewers of Paris. But surly if she were dead as such they would have found a body? OR perhaps she had been buried hap-hazardly, unceremoniously dumped into the ground, her lovely body falling limply into the unmarked grave…

He bit down so hard once again into the apple that his teeth clashed in meeting despite the fruit between then. He fought tears desperately, chewing harshly, grinding his teeth. A small sniffle escaped him, and he threw the apple in anger at the world for what it had done with his life. It was a cruel thing, the world, tearing his life apart so young. To force him to loose the one he loved so desperately. He had given everything to see her safe and secure, to hold her and cherish her. She was a shining jewel that had graced his life with her love, but now his heart ripped away with that jewel that had disappeared into the mists of the night. What was there to live for now that Christine was gone?

Christine kissed Margareite's forehead lovingly, brushing a stray tendril of brown curls from her face. The girl stirred slightly, her eyes opening heavily.

"Christine?" even as the genius she was, her childly actions when she was half awake reminded Christine of the sweet girl that lay beneath the brains and scars.

"I am going now, Margareite," Christine whispered, glad that her shaking voice was disguised by the quiet breathy tone it carried. "I must go. Remember that I love you dearly and that you are free to find me, and ask me for help at anytime." A tear slid down her cheek in the darkness, and she sniffled. Her heart rang with the longing to stay with this child, but Erik had dismissed her and she could not stay where she was not welcome. It would cause strife between all of them and she would not be the cause of that.

"What?" Margareite asked sharply, now fully awake, but still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What do you mean leaving? Why are you leaving?" Her eyes became stern suddenly. "It is Erik's stubborn heart isn't it? He's sending you away."

"Yes, he is sending me away, Margareite," Christine answered, her voice cracking, even as a whisper. She could hear the girl take a breath to speak ad shushed her. "Margareite listen to me. I believe when he took me, he was still rather obsessed with me and had nothing else to love for. But now he has you to live for, and your love, I think, is all he needs to survive. I must go, before I cause more complications then I already have. I must return to Raoul. He is, after all, my fiancé-"her voice choked again, and a small sob escaped her. Raoul. Oh she did miss him desperately…despite Erik's words, which she had push from her mind, keeping in her thoughts his expression of ultimate sacrifice to save her that night down the Lair. He did love her. Erik's mind had found itself another route o explain to himself why Raoul was less deserving of her then he, and was he not once a mad man? A mad genius was what he had been, and even with Margareite leveling his sanity, Christine worried that his madness teetered on edge, and if she did one more thing to cause him pain, that madness might tip over and fill his mind once again. Better to leave as he asked and return to the man she loved… or thought she loved. What of the kiss that she had returned without thought? She had been numb at the touch of his lips and her body and met his in the kiss willingly after a moment, almost… wanting. Christine physically shook herself, forcing her body to compose itself. "He is my fiancé, and I love him. I must return to him. Stay with Erik, Marareite, keep him happy. He deserves it so much."

Margareite stared into the light so dim it barley outline Christine's slender form, at a loss of words. Christine? Leaving? Now? After she had revealed so much to her?

"You can't!" she expelled, throwing herself to Christine's body and wrapping her little arms around the frail woman. "You can't! You know too much!"

"What?" it was Christine's turn to be aghast now. 'What do you mean?" Margareite was pleading now, desperately.

"You can't leave! You know what they did to me now! IF you let it slip, if they find out, they'll find me I know they will! They'll take me again! And they're hurt me again! You can't go!" she was babbling, making no sense to Christine.

"What are you talking?" she asked, grasping the girl by the shoulders and pulling her away, lowering her face so that they're brown gazes was level. "Margareite, who? Who will hurt you again?"

"Them! The ones that did all this to me!" Christine could feel her gesture to her scarred body. "Father, and Uncle Andrew, and Uncle Françoise, and Grandfather! And all the others! Others I didn't know, others I didn't recognize!" the girl was sobbing now, Christine's eyes wide with shock and fury, nearly gagging. Biting her lip to stop the reflex to vomit, she pulled Margareite to her with a will, hugging her tightly to her form. Margareite was muttering incoherent thoughts now, in between sobs.

Sighing, Christine forced her own sobs to subside to give the child a firm body to lean against. As much as she felt for the girl, she could not let this lessen her resolve. She must leave. Erik could care well enough for the girl.

"Margareite, I won't tell a soul," she assured her, running her hands along the bed tousled hair. "No one, not even Raoul. I swear to you, none shall find out and she shall live happily with Erik. I will never tell anyone, and Erik will forever love and protect you. If you ever need me, though, are ever in need of any assistance, come to me, and I will do the best I can." The girl's sobs were subsiding now, and she looked up, the light for a single tiny candle reflecting her brown eyes. She nodded.

"Promise?" she asked, pleading.

"I promise, my little Oak Eyes."

Raoul's tears had quickly subsided, high culture upbringing having taught him to hide his emotions well. Now he sat with a brandy in one hand and a book that his eyes uselessly scanned over in another. He had found that if he drank enough of the harsh brandy, he could force his thoughts away from Christine….

"Raoul."… or so he thought. Even in a drunken stupor her voice haunted him. He shook his head and turned the page even though he had never actually read the previous length of words.

"Raoul." That voice was so real, like it was just in the doorway… curiosity got the better of him, and he looked sharply at the door way, expecting to find it totally deserted and empty…

…but it wasn't. Before him stood a simply dressed Christine, the flush back I her cheeks, her hair done up pleasantly, but not in a complicated style, her eyes shining brightly.

"Raoul."

"Christine!"

Bolting from his chair and dropping both book and glass, caring not from the brown stain that spread upon the expansive carpet, he bundled her within his arms, kissing her desperately, longingly, sobbing once again with the relief that flooded through her.

"What- how?" he stuttered, his drunkenness slightly slurring his words.

Christine frowned slightly at the taste of heavy brandy on his breath as he kissed her, but rejoiced in his jubilant reaction to her return and kissed his back hungrily.

"Don't ask me, Raoul, please. I am well and that is what matters," she assured him. "I have returned to you."

Raoul nodded dumbly, wrapping her in his arms once again, sobbing into her neck.