Disclaimer: Wouldn't it be funny if I ACTUALLY tried to tell you guys I owned Phantom?
So sorry it's been a while, darlings! I still love you all…sniffle VictorianDream, where are you?
Having said less then a full sentence to the woman, I sent her to the Louis-Philippe room and after a few moments heard the sound of the dead bolts being pushed frantically to the opposite wall panel.
I walked furiously to my library, knocking over an end table in my fury. For the first time in my life I was confused as to what to say to this woman. 'Who are you?' and getting more of an answer besides two names that mean nothing to me would have been useful. 'How are you?' was certainly more suiting…. I certainly did not make a mistake…I saw her leave that house… she stepped out of the de Chagny carriage…!
I turned on my heel and began walking furiously back and forth the opposite way, a familiar spot. The Persian rug under my feet even had began to show a sign of wear from years of frantic thoughts.
I realized I was avoiding the truth: I had never seen her face. Oh…a face! I had never thought to see her face, I believed I had known her…beyond her face. Her soul. To the depth of her very soul. It caused me physical pain to know it had been a manifestation of my mind and not an unearthly bind.
One question loomed: Where was Christine? That was undoubtedly her daughter, her carriage with their crest. What had become of Christine Daae?
My mind dwelled on all the possibilities. The most probable reasons were the reasons I attempted to push to the back of my mind, however, they were ever-present. The more unlikely were, however, becoming more and more plausible as I tried to piece it together. Perhaps it was only because I so wished it to be true as opposed to the original, realistic, ones.
She was the young fellow's mistress. Of course. Often young nobility took mistresses, almost for sport, without ever having to try to hide the matter. Only another reason to be sickened by society. Yes. She was his mistress enjoying all the benefits of a favored wife. However, remembering the loyalty and morals of the young Vicomte I had known almost ten years ago it seemed more impossible no matter the desperation I had to make it plausible.
The only way I could confirm my fears were to ask the lady herself. I walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to the Louis-Philippe room.
I would let her rest for this evening.
The following morning, my curiosity was starting to suffocate me. My hatred towards this mere whore was building at an extraordinary rate. I knew the infidelity of her husband would cause her heartbreak. It was still hard to convince myself this was the plausible explanation. After hours of pacing a familiar trail in the library, I knocked, gruffly, at her door.
I expected her to call a response, or to not respond at all, however, she opened it to me only enough that I could see her blood-shot green eye.
"Monseiur?"
Looking away, I asked if she would step out to eat.
I do believe I heard her begin to cry again, for her voice cracked when she said, "Momentarily."
I set out a piece of bread and cheese on a small platter, and next to that a glass of wine. The sound of the oak door clicking shut surprised me, as I had never heard it open. My little prisoner stepped out, her hair knotted up in a half-hazard bun and a white dressing gown loosely tied around her willowy frame.
Mademoiselle Burnett slipped into the wooden chair, being quite careful never to leaning back. Her table manners were impeccable. She kept her eyes intently on her plate, never once glancing up at me. I stood to her right, arms crossed. Finally, I knew I had to ask.
"You could make this difficult, Mademoiselle, or you could make it easy," I sneered. "Tell me what I need to hear and we will make arrangements based on that."
Her head shot up and her eyes starred at me with such intensity I had to check myself before I faltered.
"I am going to ask you one question. Answer to the fullest."
"Can I ask you one?" she snapped. Her eyes widened when she realized that had escaped her mouth. Looking back down at her plate she nodded her head in agreement. "Ask."
"Who are you to the de Chagny family?"
