A/N - Heeeeeey! ) Another update for you guys! I hope you like it. Woot woot. It will probably be Tuesday before I update. Sorry.

Thanks for all of the reviews. I enjoy them immensely.

my-echo - are you sick again? NooOoooO. Give me some OW! Some Reviews! You're like my muse, and you're gone. sob

The dreaded time was at hand before Elizabeth realized it. Forced to make such a decision, the young girl relented to the pressure of all those around her. Without the support of Nicholas, it was difficult to struggle so fiercely against everyone in her life. Elizabeth consented to accompany William, though she did not know where.

A fine gown had arrived early that morning, a completely unnecessary gift. Her family was plenty capable of giving her fine clothing, but William had insisted that it was a gift and should be accepted graciously. Grudgingly, Elizabeth consented and was now dressed in the gorgeous attire. The gown was a golden color, with intricate adornments upon the bust. The delicate embellishments continued the length of the skirt, and the color accentuated the milky tone of her flesh and the deep chocolate of her curls. She was breath-taking.

William arrived at the precise moment he said he would, and to any other woman – would have looked amazing as well. Curiosity stirred within Elizabeth. Where could they possibly be going?

"You look…" William began, as she descended the stairs toward him. "Magnificent."

He was smiling, and although he reached for her gloved hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles as a true gentleman would, she could see the glint of lust in his gaze. It made her shudder.

"Thank you," she forced the sentiment quietly, gaze lifting hopefully to the rotunda about them. Perhaps her father would step in and save her from this charade. There was no one, save her own servant girl.

"Please tell Papa I've gone," she addressed the girl, who only nodded and then scurried off. With that, Elizabeth allowed William to lead her from her home, into his waiting carriage.

"Elizabeth," he began, once they were settled and on their way. "Please forgive me. It was the effect of the alcohol. I would never harm you. You will be my wife, I will love you and care for you. No one will ever hurt you again. Only please, forgive me my mistake?"

For a moment Elizabeth was almost fooled into believing he was sincere. A glance upwards into his eyes and she found the same sort of maliciousness that always seemed to lie dormant there. She simply pursed her lips and diverted her gaze.

"Where are we going?"

William sighed, obviously feeling dejected. He settled into his seat once more, lifting his hand in an expressive gesture.

"It is a surprise, Elizabeth. Something I wanted to give you. Think of it as a wedding gift, my dear."

He could feel Elizabeth tense at his words. Their nuptials were looming, only days away now. With a bit of a smirk, William consented his companion her silence. It would not be long until she belonged to him, he could tolerate her indifference that long.

"Tell me again, Christine. I am not sure I am following you."

Raoul was pacing again, while Christine sat rather calmly upon the divan.

"DeGent is apparently not as wealthy as they let on. One reason they were so desperate to procure Elizabeth's hand in marriage. It is all a farce, a ploy. Apparently Monsieur DeGent took a chance on some venture many months ago, and was taken for a fool. Most of their fortune is gone."

Christine seemed so cool, and calm about it all. On the inside, however, she was trembling. She had nearly forced her daughter into a marriage of convenience merely to keep her away from a peasant. One that Christine had been convinced would ruin her daughter's life, much as her own had been. That thought had horrified Christine the moment they had returned to the surface. Nicholas had disappeared, strangely. Christine did not know if the young man would ever return, but she did know that she could not force Elizabeth to marry a man she did not love. In the delicate balance of aristocracy, however, one did not simply cancel an engagement such as this. Half of the Parisian upper-class had wound weeks of their life about this marriage! And so it had not taken long for Christine to find the conniving edge within, and hire a few men with colored pasts themselves to peer into the accounts of DeGent, looking for something. Anything.

Raoul was harried, and his hair was mussed from the way he constantly ran his hand through it.

"And so she must not marry him! Not that she should have to begin with. I've been telling you…"

Christine stood, and approached her husband. A finger upon his lips silenced his retort.

"You've been telling me many things, for many years, my love. I did not hear much of what you have said, admittedly. I am here now, though. I hear you. I trust you. You are right. Please forgive my ignorance of before. Forgive me for seeming cold, distant, cruel, and anything else I may have inflicted upon you. I apologize, my dear husband. I love you."

Crystalline tears filled Christine's eyes, but did not fall. She smiled upwards at her childhood sweetheart, her husband of so many years. Lifting up to tip toe, she pressed a kiss to his lips – attempting to smooth the shocked expression from his handsome face.

Raoul was moved by his wife's words. His precious Christine. What had happened, in the depths of those cellars, to bring her mind and spirit back to him? Raoul decided that this was not the moment to pose such an inquiry, and so instead he kissed his wife. Deeply, passionately. They had not shared a kiss like that in many, many years.

It was Christine who finally pulled away, breathless. Her lips were swollen from his kiss, and she looked for all the world like the young girl he had rescued in the Opera House so long ago.

"Elizabeth," she muttered, in attempt to bring the conversation back on topic. "You must speak with Monsieur DeGent. Convince him that his secret is safe, so long as we peaceably cancel this whole affair."

Raoul was quite distracted from the topic. He only nodded mutely, his gaze lingering upon his wife's lips. It had been years since they had been intimate, his emotions finding it more simple to ignore that aspect of his affections. Now, he felt as though he could not resist her a moment longer. He dipped his head to taste of her lips once more. Christine laughed.

"Raoul!" She complained lightly.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, stepping back again. "What about the affair? The flowers, caterers, the entire debacle we've spent a fortune on?"

Mischief sparkled within Christine's gaze. "All we lack is a groom."

It was Raoul's turn to laugh aloud. "Oh, and where do you suppose we attain one of those?"

"I will handle that.." Christine murmured, reaching for her husband once more. In between feverish kisses, she murmured.

"Until then…"

They both laughed, and lost themselves in one another's. Christine did think of Erik. Only this time, unlike before, it was a soft prayer of thanksgiving whispered in her heart. Simple words that expressed a lifetime of pent-up emotion. Their encounter in the bowels of the earth had finally solidified Christine, easing the confusion. She would always love him, yes, with a part of her. But he had given her freedom, though she could not say what moment it had come in. Freedom to live, and to love.

"Thank you for letting me go."