Hey everyone. I am back from my trip and with a new chapter for you all. Oooo Excitement! As always, please comment and thank you for popping in.

A Few Thanks

Mademoiselle Phantom- As always thank you...but where you been? I'm missing your wonderful comments.

Priestess Of Anubis- I'm glad that the story inerests you, and thank you for the compliment. It means a lot to us that you think we are doing well instead of crashing and burning.

WildPixieChild- Awww, thanks! Here, look, we have written more for you. Enjoy!

Thanks you three. You all have made my day.

-Olivia N.

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Vits started her morning ritual, walking down the famous streets of Paris. She meandered towards the Sine, her final destination-as it was every morning. Without thinking about it, she passed the Cervantes Inn. She didn't pay any attention to it; its residence she believed had yet to awake and therefore could cause her no harm. Instead she kept walking, past a bakery with fresh bread for sale, the smell drifting out, filling the air with its sweet temptation.

Through one of the room windows of the Cervantes Inn however a man had been watching, eyes fixed on the horizon, awaiting the magic of the rising sun. His focused eyes had indeed caught the movement below, and in seeing the young stage manager pass he moved with a sweeping motion through the inn and out into the chilled, shaded Parisian streets. His steps were light, inaudible to those with common, untrained senses. He trailed briskly after this unusual woman, making sure not to disturb her concentrated thought until absolutely necessary.

Vits felt eyes watching her, there was a slight pause in her step as she momentarily debated what to do about it. Her fingers curled around the hilt of one of her knives she had tucked into her belt that morning, taking the advice that Raylan had given her earlier that week about protecting herself. She kept her slow, meandering pace, and made a wide circle, pretending to be looking at a flower shop. While smelling the roses her eyes swept across the street, looking for her stalker.

He was crafty though and swiftly dodged her view by gracefully bolting into an alley between two shops. He kept his body pressed to the brick of the building, awaiting the sound of Vits steps to begin following again.

Vits was thorough, she did two sweeps, and a carefully drawn out pause before continuing on. Her pace didn't increase though, however her step did. Her step held more purpose and care. She walked on the balls of her feet, ready to spring into action, and it was a bit shorter, to be ale to maneuver, if necessary.

The man followed just as he had planned, his steps going in time with Vits's. However his steps were not poised and alert as Vits's were; they became leisurely as if he was aware of the hostility he placed between Vits and himself and was entirely accepting of it.

Vits slipped both knives out of their hiding places, but kept them well concealed. She didn't want to let whoever was following her know that she was armed. She made her way to her usual spot on the Sine, but instead of merely looking at the water, she used her peripheral vision to watch the people behind her, to see who followed.

He kept his body aligned with her, making sure to stand precisely behind her. When she had stopped, he stopped, and waited, silent and still as a statue.

Vits turned her head slightly, allowing a better view behind her. Her grip on her knives tightened, as she spotted a man standing too still to be an idle on looker. He was almost too obvious.

When moments had passed the figure grew restless and taking a few steps forward he dared to utter a greeting, a warm friendly tone as he said, "Good morning Mademoiselle."

Vits swung around, a blade spinning in her hand. The blade was polished, a gleaming threat with a few nicks from use. Vits almost launched an attack, but stopped herself just in time. "You're the one who followed me," Her voice started with the anger she had from expecting an attack, but that calmed down.

There was a look of absolute shock flowing over Ethan's face and although the blade had not struck him, he found it hard to recover his voice. Several times he stuttered a yes, although it usually came out sounding more like a word mixed with a moan and a whimper.

Vits looked at him, with a slight look of confusion. She then glanced at the blade, spun it in her hand and slipped it back into it's hiding place, the other shortly following. She muttered something sounding like "sissy" under her breath.

Despite his shock he growled at her assumption of him and cynically remarked, "I am no coward miss, just startled that's all."

Vits raised an eyebrow. "I pull a knife, and you lose your guts?" Her tone blatantly told him, that in her eyes, he was definitely a full blooded sissy.

Ethan glared but refused to continue the subject further. Instead he tried a lighter form of conversation, "Out here again I see. Do you always visit the Sine so early in the mornin'?"

Vits turned back to the water, with a fond gaze, "Yes."

Ethan nodded and moved to stand by her side. He waited for some time in silence, taking in the moist air with long drawn out breaths and only when comfortable did he speak. "You look at the water as if it was an old friend," He said warmly, "It bring you comfort, doesn't it. It used to do the same for me."

Vits looked at him with a far off look in her eyes, she was remembering something with a gentle smile. "It is"

Ethan sighed, a sound of woe but he continued on cheerfully, "Did you spend much time on it or somethin'?"

Vits chuckled, "I grew up on it"

"You did?" He smiled and looked her over curiously, "You a sailor or somethin'?"

She nodded, "My father was. I spent my first ten years on a ship."

He smiled and gave a small, longing sigh, "The best years of your life right? So why'd you come here? Why leave the sea?"

Vits looked down at the water, double checking the locks on her emotional doors. She looked back at him, straight in the eyes. She couldn't hide the pain of her past from them. However she kept a perfectly straight face. "Two days ago was the tenth anniversary of my father's death," She managed to keep most of the pain from her voice, which gave it an odd, forced quality of someone trying to hide what they were truly feeling.

"Oh," His voice was comforting and kind, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you lost someone so... dear to you."

Vits shrugged, closing the mental doors. "It happens. I take a great deal of satisfaction in the fact that the man who did it had a nice slow trip to the bottom of the ocean after his crew mutinied," Her tone was blunt. She had locked the doors, the wouldn't come open any time soon, "The hard part is making a living after being orphaned at eight."

He nodded, "I can't imagine...it must have been awful."

"It's life," She glanced back down to the water then to the sky. She rarely kept her gaze on one spot, but that didn't mean she wasn't listening. Vits shifted, more out of habit than nervousness. She turned around, leaning her back against the rail, letting the breeze ruffle around her. She was actually relaxing. Flawlessly Vits changed the subject, obviously having experience in this area, "So what 'bout you? You said that you grew up on the Mississippi, right? Obviously you aren't a Parisian. What's your past?"

He grinned and also leaned against the railing, "I said I've seen the Mississippi, and that much is true, but I ain't never lived there. Raylan and I hail from a small town in North Georgia, and I just traveled a lot after I got of age to live on my own."

Vits nodded, "Must've been hard sticking to one place. I've been here way too long myself. Getting ready to move on."

"Oh?" He looked at her curiously, "Where to?"

"Back home. She keeps calling," Vits vaguely gestured to the water behind them.

He smiled and nodded, but his mood had quickly changed to disappointment as he spoke, "I wish I could go with you, but I'm due to move further inland. You're pleasant to be around though- when you go, I'm going to miss these mornin' talks."

Vits looked at him, with a raised eyebrow, "In the last one, I was a total bitch...and you'll miss it?"

He chuckled, "Yes, I will. Strange as it is, I enjoy spendin' time with you. You ain't like other woman, and that's refreshing."

"No, I'm not, and you're of the few who don't want me to change,"

He smiled again, one of those heart throbbing grins he so often flashed, "I hope you never do, I kind of like this Vits." He laughed a little and then pushed himself away from the railing, stretching a bit before tucking his hands in his pockets. "Well, I gotta get goin' and I'm sure you got work to do. Listen, maybe I'll drop by some time and see you. I should check up on Raylan anyhow," He grinned and offered her his hand for a handshake, "It was real nice talkin' to you."

Vits nodded, "Sets to build, and Shakespeare to butcher. Drop in if you want...do keep an eye on Ray, I won't be able too." She shook his hand, with her usual hand crushing grip. She wasn't trying to show-off, it's just how her grip was. Her hands were extremely hard and calloused from years of climbing ropes on the decks of ships.

He smiled and massaged his hand when she released it, grinning although it ached from her grip. "I'll bee seein' you soon," He smiled, and with a sweeping bow he departed, walking back the way he had come, whistling a merry song to himself.

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Raylan had finished her project early, Madame Dacio allowing her leave after she had cleaned her work station and endured a few more verbal beatings from the others who still believed her to be the Phantom's new subject. She had grown used to this abuse though, instead of fretting she would now role her eyes and curse at them. After two weeks she had finally grown a back bone and dared to challenge these people. She was still relieved though when she was finally allowed to escape the abuse, releasing the pent up sighs as she traveled down the hallways, headed for the apartment she shared with Vits.

Raylan stumbled in with a yawn. At first she had not seen Vits who had returned to the apartment to fetch her plans, which were sprawled all over the pathetic worn down table. She screeched at the top of her lungs when she finally caught sight of her, releasing an ear shattering scream. Vits spun around, jerked out of thought and released her own high pitched squeal that neither of them could have guessed her low range could reach. When they finally realized who the other was they both froze, crimson blushes crossing their cheeks in embarrassment. "Vits, dear god you scared me," She said, laughing to try and ease the tension of the moment.

"Ray," Vits responded softly, "What are you doing here?"

Both stared at one another for a short time, almost unsure how to act before Raylan broke the silence, "Uh...I got out early...finished Carlotta's dress for Act Three. Madame Dacio let me go. No new projects yet for me to take."

Vits nodded and forced herself to ease back into her normal actions, "Not bad, not bad. I bet everyone else is jealous."

She grinned, "Probably...so...why aren't you at work? I missed you this morning."

"I am...I just forgot to pick up my plans," She shrugged, "Your brother decided to accompany me on my morning walk. That put me a little late."

Strangely at the mention of her brother Raylan's gaze jolted suspiciously at Vits, and her voice was somewhat cold as she questioned, "Really? And what did he have to say?"

Vits was confused by her sudden change. She almost backed up, but stopped herself. She kept her tone neutral, "Not much, mostly hi, how are? Good to see you...usual stuff you say to people you don't really know that well." She paused, making sure she got everything, "Oh yeah, he said he'd drop by sometime, but I don't think he said when."

"Did he say why he was going to drop by? Any particular reason?" Her tone was still peculiar, a firm, demanding question.

Vits thought again. She finally shook her head, "No, he just said that he should check in on you."

Raylan released a relieved sigh, the type like a gigantic weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her tone had returned to friendly and calm as she said, "Thank you. That is good... I'll be looking forward to seeing him."

Vits nodded seeing her friend relax, "He seemed pretty happy about it." She gathered up her plans, rolling them quickly and efficiently with practiced movements, and only paused to say, "I have work to do, if you're bored, I can always use another man."

Raylan laughed, "Me and wood working don't mix. Besides, I think I'd like to take this time off to catch up on a little writing." Her eyes for a second glanced over to her two suitcases and the one that held her journal, then returned to Vits with a small grin, "Thanks for the offer though."

Vits nodded, "I couldn't pay you for your work anyway. Have fun." She walked off then, without a goodbye as usual and muttering her to-do list to herself.

Raylan shut the door after her, sighing again before walking calmly over to her sofa bed. She slumped down upon it, shifting until comfortable and then reached for her larger suitcase. Once again her eyes avoided contact with the smaller of the two suitcases, even avoided touching it as she reached for the other. She brought the larger one into her lap and opened it, pulling out the red journal placed carefully on top her neatly folded clothes and then closed the luggage, replacing it on the floor.

She had spent nearly an hour sitting there, staring blankly at the journal placed open in her lap, her quill held limply and inactive in her hand. At this moment she was finding little to write about, nothing of particular interest to occupy the precious pages of her life. Slightly agitated with this sudden writers block she began to flip through the pages of the last week, indulging in her memories in hopes of inspiration. She did stumble across one page she had written when she had first discovered the mystery of the Opera Ghost. It was a small investigation, a list of supposed sightings and places he was usually seen. The list was made of two columns, one for the places he was said to be seen and the other for saying whether or not she had experienced the truth in this. One check was marked in the second column beside the word Box Five.

Instantly she thought back on the first night she had watched Vits dance and her meeting with the supposed Phantom following it. She could still remember seeing that harsh half mask staring at her through the dark, the lights illuminating it in such a way that it seemed to float there without a body to be attached to. She had to remind herself that this was not so though and that she had confirmed that the mask had been attached to a man when she had met him upon the roof of the Opera Populaire. Raylan smiled at the thought; it had almost been a friendly moment. Scanning once more she began to realize that questions of this Phantom had occupied a good portion of her pages since she had entered the Opera house- questions of which were nearly all unanswered.

This was irritating to her; she did not like knowing nothing of those around her- especially one that was entirely capable of watching her and discovering her secrets. If he was to learn hers, she almost felt compelled to learn his. Slapping her journal closed, she seemed to have made up her mind, tucking the journal under her arm and rising from her sofa. After checking that her two suitcases were indeed secure she strode across the room and out into the hall, closing the door to the apartment firmly behind her.

Raylan's walk was brisk but silent. She avoided each person's glance, dodging any contact with anyone who might try to misdirect her from her target. Few took notice of her, most too busy preparing for the upcoming show that was to mutilate Shakespeare's art. Although she was indeed eager and in some what of a rush, she had come to a halt when passing the prima donnas room, stopping only to look at the several flower arrangement placed about the singers quarters. Her eyes shifted left and right, making sure that the area was clear of onlookers, and then her hand flew to one of the arrangements, snatching up a single red rose into her grip and then continuing on her journey. If the myths were indeed true than she would find use of the delicate flower.

At her pace it had taken a short time to enter the amphitheater and although the stage was covered in practicing ballerinas, Raylan slipped nearly unseen through the shadows of the aisles and in no time entered the ghosts box. It was quiet there, an almost eerie silence about the completely empty grand tier box. Her eyes scanned thoroughly over the area, the red velvet carpet and hangings, its ledge out over the lower aisles and its respectable arm chairs. She noted that it was quite ordinary, with nothing of any abnormal air about it. With a slight sigh of disappointment she began her walk towards the chair stories said was supposed to be his, an ordinary seat as the others. After careful examination and determining that there was no magic about it, she gently placed the delicate rose upon the velvet cushion of his chair, running a finger over its smooth petals before lifting her hand away and scanning once again over the box.

How did he do it? If the stories were true, this was indeed his box, but no one had ever seen him in it, although some had heard him...but she... she had seen him. She had seen his mask standing there in the dark... or was it another of his illusions? She had to admit that this man was indeed a master at his tricks, but like all onlookers she was curious as to what this magicians secrets were. How could he vanish at will? How could he hide his form but project his voice? She wanted to know, and if things went wrong, she reminded herself gravely, if things went wrong she needed to know. She paced the box several times, searching for his secrets but with no avail. When she had finally convinced herself that she could do nothing more she headed for the exit, giving one last glance to the rose she left behind before slipping out of his box. Once again she entered the auditorium, this time pausing momentarily to watch the young ballerinas practice upon the stage. Hardly any of them held the grace that Vits did when she danced, and none stirred the emotions that her heart withheld. With a longing sigh she continued her walk, mulling over in her head the next place she would go to attempt to understand this Opera Ghost.

She had directed herself to the stage, being careful to not get in the dancers way as they pranced about. Working her way in to a dark corner she leaned against the wall, opening her journal to stare at her unfinished list of places the Phantom was said to be sighted.

Madame Giry watched them all with a well practiced eye. She gave a few brisk instructions, occasionally showing a move or a sequence of moves herself. She was graceful, almost as graceful as Vits. After a few minutes she seemed satisfied and told them to take a break. Her eyes glanced over Raylan with a slightly amused look. The girls, as usual, gathered in a group and began their brainless chatter, and of course, the talk turned to the Phantom, most of the older girls stayed out of it-they knew better by now than to believe in Ghosts. However the adolescents and the younger girls seemed truly interested. Boastful stories were passed about how so and so had seen him, talked to him, touched him etc. A few mentioned Christine Daae's dressing room and a 'ghost' that haunts it regularly, occasionally wailing, or singing softly in the middle of the night.

Her ears had followed their chatter only slightly, but with the mention of this Christine's room that he was to supposedly haunt, she found herself suddenly enthralled in their conversation. She had barely sensed herself moving towards them, too intent on listening, and it was not until they all went silent and stared questioningly at her that she realized she had pushed herself in to their gossip circle. "...uh," Raylan's voice caught in her throat and once again she blushed with embarrassment, "Uh... good day ladies."

The girls looked her over critically, she was an outsider to their group, and new to the Opera House in general. One of the older adolescents, still obsessed with the mysterious Phantom gave her a look saying "what" while she said, "Yes?"

"Um..." Raylan paused, trying to collect her thoughts and words, "You... you were all talking about Miss Daae's old room. I was wondering, does... does the Opera Ghost really haunt that room? Has anyone ever seen him in it? How...how does he get in there without anyone knowing?"

The group collectively looked at her like she was stupid. Another of the adolescents told her in the same tone of voice as the look, "He's a ghost. He's capable of all sorts of things."

"Oh...right...because that's the only logical answer," Her tone was just as theirs, labeling them as foolish through her voice.

One of the younger ones piped up. "He's the Phantom of the Opera. Of course he can enter rooms and his private box any way he wants. He can fly."

Raylan raised her eyebrows at the younger one, her cheeks bulging up as she tried to withhold laughter. "Fly?" She said after she swallowed down the snickering, "Tell me, has anyone ever considered that maybe this is just a man who is trying- no succeeding- at frightening you all?"

The look of haughtiness returned to their faces, "You're new, so obviously you don't know about what happened."

She gave them a cocky grin, "I think I've heard every story you all have to share, several times over and each in a different form. I have no doubt that there is a Phantom but whether or not he is actually a ghost I have yet to believe."

They all sighed, like an adult trying to convince a small child of something beyond its grasp, "You didn't see him. He certainly isn't human, anymore."

"Anymore?" The last bit confused her and she looked at each of them question written on her face.

"To be a ghost he had to be a man sometime," One said matter-of-factly.

Raylan relaxed and allowed a true smile spread across her face. "Touche," She said, allowing them to think they had won although she still refused to believe he was anything but a man. She continued on then in an act, pretending to agree although she thought it remained obvious that she did not, "Well ladies, you have convinced me- he's got to be a ghost. It's the only logical answer. Now...if someone can direct me to Christine Daae's old room, I'd still like to experience this phenomenon for myself."

They gave her quick simple directions as Madame Giry ushered them back to practice. The room wasn't all that hard to find anyway, nor was it very far.

Raylan's travel to the old singers room was indeed short, just as the ballerinas had told her. Standing outside the girls room though, staring at her name engraved in to the fine wood of the door, she felt her bold curiosity beginning to wane with doubt. Certainly he would be angered if he found her there, in his beloved's old room, going through her things and the possessions he cherished the most. She could not begin to imagine what such an action would cause someone so mentally unstable to do. An icy shiver ran down her spine as she reached for the doorknob, her fingertips hovering with hesitation over the chilled metal. Was it worth it? Was discovering this magicians tricks truly worth putting herself in danger, again? Yes, she could practically hear Ethan's voice in her head, Anything is worth it if it offers survival. She nodded in agreement to the words he had so often repeated to her, reminding her of her problem and responsibilities. If the worst were to happen she could fix so many things if she only knew the ghost's tricks. Coming to a decision her hand finally rested upon the doorknob and after several deep breaths she finally willed herself to open the door.

The moist and musty air of an abandoned room graced her nostrils as she pushed herself in to the dark atmosphere of Christine Daae's dressing room. Raylan left the door open behind her, using the light from the hallway to see about the singers quarters. The first thing she had caught sight of was the wall height mirror at the opposite end of the room, the same enormous piece that seemed to be placed in every room she had seen in the Opera house. She stared at her reflection for a moment, imagining what it must have been like for dear Christine when she had heard that looming voice singing to her here. He must have terrified the poor girl, Raylan had so arrogantly assumed before moving on to the rest of the room. It was set up just as any other dressing room with its simple dresser, side room, small table and chairs. There was an elegant lamp that once probably radiated this room with golden light, but now it sat in its sorrow, abandoned to collect its dust along with the rest of the room. No one had dared to use this room after Daae's unusual disappearance, all too afraid that the ghost would come and sweep them away into his underworld from which no one returned. Raylan scoffed at the silly superstition as she walked about the late singers room, her eyes tracing over every inch of the quarters that she could find. Her fingers ran through the dust that had collected on the dresser, slightly revealing the glorious maple that shinned beneath. She performed the same action upon almost everything within the room, caressing each piece of furniture with the tips of her fingers, comforting the lonely instruments that had been left to the solitude of darkness. Slowly she paced around the room and it was only until she had touched everything that she came to settle before the mirror.

She stood mere inches away from it, staring deeply into the eyes of her own reflection. Her lips thinned as if biting something back, and her eyebrows creased to hint frustration. Silence had grown thick; it froze as if awaiting to see what actions she would take, eagerly watching her. Raylan showed no sign of discomfort though, in fact she made no movement except to continue staring herself down. People say that eyes are the windows into a persons soul and if this is true than Raylan's true self was indeed broken for the longer she searched her image the more her eyes began to swell with tears. She did not blink them away, did not dare to leave the gaze of her image. Her hands were the only thing that moved then, one that clutched harder to her red book and the other of which she slowly rose to the image of her face, covering her reflection with the palm of her hand. Her eyes remained staring as that hand lifted slowly to curl into a fist, her nails digging in the soft flesh of her palm. She continued to stare, blankly staring, ignoring the pain. What did it matter this pain? Physical pain could never compare to the ache inside. "It will never compare," She repeated in muttered words, fiercely staring at her fist, "It can never compare."

Suddenly her fist flew back, and just a quickly returned, slamming full force against the reflection of her face. Tears fell in waves; in the moment her wall had broken and years of misery came flooding down her cheeks as she continued to mercilessly pound the mirror. She would hiss between hits, "I hate you," each time staring into her eyes, into her damned soul. Each time she would hit a little harder, a little faster, paying no heed to the blood that began to seep down the side of her hand. It did not matter to her, this pain was but a scratch on the surface of agony. No, the real agony was in those eyes, in that soul that taunted her through them, in every memory. The agony held her to those eyes and she had not even heard herself when she screamed at her image, screamed with the complete rage that this action could not begin to describe, "I hate you!" It was then that she ceased her blows, her fist coming to rest on the now blood stained mirror. She could no longer see her image through the thick crimson she had spread across the glass, could no longer stare into those eyes that she so loathed. Her eyes grew dry, ending the tears that she so rarely let fall, but she still remained there, staring to where her image should have been.

Madame Giry heard the screaming, from down the hall, and something hitting glass. She feared to know from what room the sounds came out of. Her fears were correct. On silent feet she rushed into the forbidden room. Her room. She walked in upon the new girl, staring at her reflection in his mirror with tears running down her face, her fist smeared in blood, as well as the mirror. The mirror was broken, not all the way through, but it was definitely no longer whole. The Ballet Mistress rushed into the room, taking the girl's injured hand. She paused looking wildly around the room before whispering in a rough French accent, "Come. You are no longer safe here" Without another word, she dragged Raylan from the room, down through the labyrinth of the Opera House to her room. Madame Giry's room was larger than Vits, much larger, and carefully decorated in the old style. She turned on the gas lamps providing adequate light after which she promptly ushered Raylan into a chair, which held a straight back with minimal padding over it. Her room, like herself was meant for use and function, not frivolities or excessive waste. Madame Giry forced Raylan to open her hand, and wordlessly began to clean the various wounds, carefully removing the glass shards.

Raylan carefully placed her journal in her lap, freeing her clean hand to wipe away the tears that still remained on her cheeks. Her voice was somewhat choked as she said, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry... I didn't mean to loose control like that... I didn't mean to."

Madame Giry paused, and looked up at her, "It's alright. You won't be the first. I closed the door so nobody should find it for a while. However, he won't be pleased."

"The Phantom you mean?" Her eyes clenched shut as if it just dawned on her what she had done, "Oh lord, this is not good."

Madame Giry nodded. Most of the girls cuts weren't big enough, or deep enough to sew, so she merely wrapped Raylan's hand tightly in bandages. Her voice was filled with concern when she said, "No it's not. Whatever possessed you to go into Daae's room?"

Raylan gave Madame Giry a guilty grin and said while she nibbled nervously on her lip, "Curiosity."

Giry nodded and finished tying off the bandages. She then sat back in her chair and sighed, "What do you want to know?"

Raylan looked shocked, taken back that this woman would even offer to answer her questions. She first uttered a thank you for Madame Giry cleaning her hand and then gathered her thoughts. "I want," She mulled it over for a second, "I want to know how he does it. How he keeps hidden, unseen and never caught. Its foolish, but I want to know his ways... I want to be able to disappear."

Madame Giry watched her, with knowing eyes, "Only the Phantom can answer that. I know that he lives below, deep in the bowels of the Opera. How he disappears, I can not answer."

She nodded and muttered with soft disappointment, "I know... I didn't think you could... and he will never tell me will he? It's his little secret. He is allowed to know everyone's secrets, but no one may know his." The last statement was bitter and cold.

"He has more secrets than you know child. And he has every right to hide as you do, maybe more," Her tone was gentle.

She nodded solemnly, "I have no doubt of it... and you wont tell me why he hides, will you? I suppose that too I will have to discover from him, although I can not see why he would wish to talk to me now after what I did." Raylan glanced viciously at her hands, "After ruining something important to him. He would probably rather kill me than talk to me... I almost wish he would..."

Madame Giry looked firmly into her eyes. Her tone was of steel, "Death solves very little."

"Believe me Madame," Raylan said with a malicious tone of amusement, "For me, life can solve no more than death."

"So you wish to take the easy way out?" Her tone was cold, and harsh.

Raylan laughed harshly, "I would if I could, but I have a slight problem with hurting myself... except for today... today was the first time in years I've been able to inflict damage upon myself."

She nodded, "The body cannot stand to impose pain on itself. It will refuse to hurt itself. Instinct."

"Figures," Raylan laughed and then she spoke gently as she asked, "What do you think he'll do when he finds out? What would he do?"

She shrugged, "I do not know. From what I have seen, he seems to like you, so I doubt you will find a lasso around your neck. But with him, you never know."

"Well... I deserve what ever he gives me... so many times I should have been punished for my actions, but I was never found," She was almost speaking to herself then, talking of things she knew Madame Giry did not understand.

Madame watched, silently mulling over thoughts in her head. She spoke softly, "He will give you what he feels you deserve."

Oddly, Raylan simply smiled at the thought, saying softly, "Good."

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Next Update coming soon! Please review! Thanks everyone.

-Olivia N.