Author's notes: Aargh! Luciana the Brat returns! I had to put her in somewhere and I decided to base this scene on her encounter with Giovanni, though this takes place later. Those awaiting a jealous scene or her reaction, here it goes. Please don't kill me!

Anyhow, brace yourselves for an Erik-less chapter! But I promise he will be back in the next one – this dialogue just got too long and I didn't want to cut it. And there will be singing lessons later, don't you worry!

Purgatory will be updated soon!

starnat– thanks & read on!

SimplyElymas – heh, thanks. The interaction was tough – I didn't want Christine to seem too much of a prodigy – she's smart, but not a know-it-all.

Enrinye – no jasné, keďže som to viac-menej stiahla z netu… ale hej, bolo to skvelé! Anyhow, back to English! Ahem.

longblacksatinlace– your wish has hereby come true. Read on!

X X X

Chapter V

X X X X

Waking up thirsty in the middle of the night, Christine decided to see if they had anything to drink. She preferred tea, but was willing to accept almost anything at this very moment. That, of course, required a journey downstairs in the dark. For a moment, she tried to shun away the dryness of her throat, but then decided to risk it.

Christine was afraid of the dark. It was childish, she knew it, but she always reasoned that there could be frightening things hidden in the shadows. She held her hand against the wall as she crept quietly to the stairs, since she didn't want to wake anyone by lightening a candle. Besides, she didn't trust herself not to drop it right now – she was way too tired.

On the way down, however, she noticed a figure curled on the stairs, alone. Her feet were bare and she seemed to be on the verge of shivering due to the thinness of her nightgown, but nonetheless Luciana sat there on the cold stone, listening with a fierce intensity, with a fear that something would happen if she would miss one note, one sound.

"Luciana?" Only after that did she finally notice the presence of another, startled at first, but then managed a weary smile.

"Oh, hello, Christine." There was a sadness in her voice that she had never spoken with before, at least to Christine's knowledge. "Papa got used to me sitting here sometimes, I didn't know you were up."

"What are you doing here at this hour?" Christine asked, half-demanding the answer, half-wondering what bizarre explanation her cousin might have for this odd ritual.

But Luciana raised a finger to her lips quickly, her eyes widening with an excitement that was almost morbid. "Listen­… the melody is changing… he is playing another song now…"

Music surrounded them, flowing from the distance and Christine could vaguely sense it was coming from the cellar. It was a… spinet, if she was still able to identify instruments correctly. There used to be a spinet in the house, she remembered, but no one played it anymore. A single instrument in the house – it was only logical that Erik would wish to study it and play it whenever possible.

Fascinating, in a way – she was beginning to wonder if he was mortal at all, because he didn't seem to be bound by the physical needs of a human being.

"Every day, he plays." Luciana explained, continuing, "His music is so wonderful, but also sad… compared to what he does, I feel very insignificant." A sigh. "I am insignificant to him."

Finally, Christine decided to interrupt her. She didn't like where this was going. "You are wrong, you aren't insignificant to him."

How could a persistent pestering child be insignificant? Christine quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. True, Luciana could be a menace, a nuisance, even, but that gave her no right to think like this! She promised to herself that she wouldn't mess with this! It wasn't her concern, not her concern at all!

Luciana's almost dreamy eyes sobered a bit when they finally found Christine's. "You aren't insignificant to him, Christine. He likes you."

She didn't know whether to splutter or laugh at the very idea. Absurd! Unthinkable! There was no reason, no proof for such a childish statement – Luciana was either very tired or very confused. Most likely both. And when you add the pain because of continued rejection and wounded pride, it almost made sense. It was logical that she would be jealous at each and every person Erik talked with without the guarded politeness he used with her and all others he expected nothing but ridicule and cruelty from. Not without reason, mind you.

"You're tired, you have no idea what you're saying. Come, I will help you get back to bed, you must rest." She made a move to touch Luciana's arm, but stopped the moment she saw the strange wariness, passionate devotion to her observation and a flicker of jealousy that passed through Luciana's chocolate eyes.

"He came up when he heard you sing. He never comes up unless he needs something and that isn't very often." Her persistence was immense.

"Liking a voice is different from liking a person!" Christine almost wanted to slap herself after that. In her impatience and eagerness to end this discussion, she almost yelled the words at her cousin, who was to be pitied, not shouted at.

"And he uses your name." Luciana finished, her voice bitter. "I heard him talking to Papa once. He uses your name."

Christine sighed quietly. "You know I asked him to do that. If you would politely ask, he would probably oblige."

Even though she seemed to consider it, Luciana shook her head defiantly. "It is the sound that matters, the way he says the word. When he says your name, he speaks it softly, deftly, like a prayer. He calls me mademoiselle, but it is so cold and distant, I want to cry." And she did cry, large tears dropping on her nightgown, her eyes wider and redder with each moment. "Why can't he love me like he loves music and the metal gadgets he makes? Why?"

Openly crying now, Christine embraced her, but Luciana found no comfort in the gesture. It was almost impossible for her to comprehend the fact that Christine could be that oblivious to the affectionate way in which Erik spoke of her, the sudden spark in his eyes she viewed as empty when they bore to her. Empty like a starless sky.

She was overjoyed to see the change, yet grief-stricken that it wasn't because of her, that she did nothing to make him happy or at least comfortable in the house. She realized well that she must be causing him pain with the way she treated him, but, unused to not having what she wanted, it was the only way she imagined he would ever notice her.

Unexpectedly, at least in her eyes, it had the opposite effect of what she wished. Though it was painfully obvious that Erik, aware that he was falling in love with a spiteful, shallow child that could give him nothing of what he desired – no love, no true affection, was trying to escape from the emotion, trying to cure himself from what he must have viewed as a tormenting sickness, Luciana remained ensnared by the mystery of him, by the sensuality and grace of his every gesture and the hypnotic power of his unique voice.

She might have been the first to view him this way…but she certainly wouldn't be the last. Giovanni knew that now. And Christine was slowly beginning to realize it as well.

She had come to realize that the depressions that were slowly claiming Luciana were creeping into her mind as well. Fighting them was easier for her, being able to see that it wasn't healthy to latch on to this dream, but in the end, she knew that when the inevitable parting would come, it would be much harder for her to get over all of this, to escape the shadows in her mind in which he always lurked.

Mature, at least inwardly, she was beginning to realize that her heart was slowly betraying her, though her mind maintained its defenses. Her cousin was a prime example of how easy it was to succumb to Erik's subconscious charms and she feared above all other things that there would be a point in her life when she would realize she had succumbed as well… and a moment when she would know she didn't really care.

It wasn't a good idea to accept the voice lessons she had agreed on, but at that very moment, overcome by the returning grief and a new need for someone to guide her, she couldn't find the strength to refuse.

Luciana tore herself from the embrace, trying hard to smile. She succeeded in creating a grimace that was frightening and yet sorrowful.

The sound of the spinet had faded.

"I suppose I should go to bed now – I know Papa doesn't like that I keep listening here. Sometimes I think he doesn't want me around him… but I want to be around him! I begged him not to send me back to the sisters. I would die, Christine, I know I would die if I would leave… I would miss him too much… and when you return to Paris, I will miss you as well… he will miss you too, I know… he will not smile again when you are gone…"

"Luciana…"

"When… when you leave, do you think he will be as nice to me as he is to you?" Luciana's whispers were almost hysterical, in their sad way. "I want him to be nice to me, Christine. I really, really want that."

Managing a weak, almost frightened smile, Christine nodded. "I know."

"What does he say to you?" The hungry nature of the question, passionate, was a great change from the sad babbling she was expecting to continue for some time.

"Why does it matter to you, Luciana?"

"So I can know what to talk to him about!" It was almost snappish, with an why-else-would-it-matter undertone. "Once he finishes the bench I wanted, I want to be able to sit there, watering the flowers occasionally, but most importantly, I want him to talk to me…" she sighed, "I am running out of ideas."

"Do you know anything of architecture? History? Music?"

The laugh of a response was almost full of self-pity.

"Is that what you speak of?"

Christine nodded, not quite understanding what she was getting at. "What else did you think we would talk about? When I come to seek him out, it is mostly because one of the workers at the site needs something, but they are too afraid to tell him." She realized too late she should keep her sincerity in check.

Luciana almost gasped. "You never told me that!"

"I left you notes when I left the house."

"I noticed those and read them, but I didn't know you talk this much… I thought you just wanted to go see Papa, he said you were drawing some pretty things with him, helping him… you didn't mention this to me." she frowned, "Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why didn't you tell me this? You knew I would have liked to know!"

Christine closed her eyes for a moment, relaxing. This was getting out of hand… too much out of hand. She might as well accuse her of being coquettish and doing this on purpose just to sadden her. When she finally opened her eyes, she faced the accusation calmly.

"Luciana, pardon me, but I had no idea I am supposed to tell you everything that is happening around me, everything that I say or do and everything I speak of. If you must know, I never spoke of you when in his presence, because like your father, I am aware that he isn't comfortable with that. Don't you see that you are driving him out of his mind with the constant demands?"

She was taking sides now, but it was mostly because anger was building up within her. The conversation was taking a wrong turn… she could see Luciana's eyes widening, but not with rage. Her cousin was too delicate to be angered. It seemed that only now did she realize that there could be some truth in the cruel accusation and that not everything is as dreamy as she pictured it.

"You… you don't mean that." she objected weakly, "That isn't true."

Christine sighed, "Luciana, please think about it. He isn't avoiding you because you aren't pretty enough."

For a moment, excitement reached her glassy orbs. "He isn't?" her voice was still meek.

"No, but that doesn't mean he finds your presence desirable."

"Why?"

"Because you insist upon it."

Luciana lowered her eyes, her chin laid on her knees. It was true, she knew, but she didn't want to know. She didn't want to see. Was it a crime to like someone, to want to be in their presence? This was the only thing that messed up Christine's theories. No, she wouldn't stop… she wasn't able to stop. Perhaps after the summer, there would be a change in the house. Christine was blind to it only because she wasn't there for very long. And it would be a change for the better, Luciana hoped. Maybe now, Erik would acknowledge the need for company. And if Christine wouldn't be there… no, those were bad thoughts. Her cousin meant no harm. But she did it, no matter how unintentionally. Yet maybe it was just the kind of harm she could use.

The spinet suddenly began again, soft music echoing from the darkness. It was a new tune, one Luciana hadn't heard before. There was a loving nature in it, something that she didn't hear in any of the previous compositions. It wasn't lonely and broken anymore.

She sighed. It was beautiful music. And a tiny part of her mind had to acknowledge that it wasn't meant for her or inspired by her. A part of her knew that if she would be listening to music that described Erik's impression of her, it would probably be cold or enraged.

It saddened her more than anything.

"I sometimes wish I were you, Christine." she said suddenly, "You can sing so prettily, you saw more of the world that I ever will…you are far more educated than I… and, deny it all you want, you mean something to him."

"Do not…"

But Luciana shook her head. "There is no point." She didn't finish the thought. Then, "But I don't think you came here looking for me, did you, Christine?" Finally, after an eternity of bitterness, she managed another smile, this time slightly happy. And she felt better to get part of her troubles off her chest.

"No," Christine tried to return the smile, but didn't have the strength. A yawn overcame her. "I came for something to drink."

"There should still be some tea in the kitchen… I will fetch it, I want you to listen to the music. No, I want you to stay." She commanded as Christine opened her mouth to object. "Listen." And she was gone.

But she returned ten minutes later, when Christine was already worried what had happened to her, with the tea she had promised. Most of those minutes were spent watching what effect the music would have on Christine.

The longing she thought she saw in her eyes wasn't what she was hoping for, but it was what she had been expecting. And hidden jealousy stung her heart again – she had guessed that it was their guest that had managed to change the music and its composer so dramatically.