Edit Note: Sorry guys, new chapter coming soon, but I had to edit this one before I went to the next. One, I had to change the appearance of Erik's coffin, and two I had to fix a few spelling errors. I promise I will be back with a brand new update in no time. Lots of hugs and thanks, and I should have a update at least by Friday. Thanks everyone,

-Olivia N.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And finally after two weeks of being buried up to my nose in projects, three all day Marching Band Competitions (which we got all One's and Superior's on. Woot!), endless chores, bouncing in between families, and trying to retain a social life, I have finally finished another update! Ah, I will literally cry if no one likes this chapter just cause I am proud that I have managed to get this done even with my schedule slammed pack. Hey, I know there are others who do more (I thankfully don't have to balance a job too) but I am darn proud of myself... and extremely tired, but that isn't the point. The point is, here is a new UPDATE! Yes! Let's celebrate! Sumner, throw a party! I'll bring the food, the Erik, and the rigged empty Yoo-Hoo bottle that no matter who spins it will always land on him. This will be a blast!

A Few Thanks

surf with music- AP Science, uhhgg, that has to be painful. I'm thankfully done with all my Science, and will not be taking anymore... until College... darn. Thanks with saying we got Erik pretty good... he's difficult to write properly and I'm glad you think we are at least doing slightly well. I really enjoyed that chapter, especially the peas part... I really am obsessed with peas for no reason what so ever. Lol, yea, it's odd, but hey, who doesn't have at least one weird obsession? Thanks for the review, good luck on your exam, and even if you are waiting, good luck with being Drum Major. I bet you'll make it.

shimmeringtears- Ok, first, let me celebrate at your return- here is the Erik and the Yoo-Hoo bottle- have at it. Second, I understand what you mean by the year that ate your life away, that seems to be happening to a lot of people recently. I know it's hard balancing classes and band at the same time, but just keep at it- it's hard, not impossible, as my band director always says. And don't worry about finding the time to review, I know you enjoy this story and that's all I need, don't push yourself to do something there is no time for. Rest first. Hugs, and here, take this Erik as a comfort- he works well.

Anaethken or Dernhelm- I bring you your coffin dear Dernhelm. Lol, and I have never been compared to cotton candy before, but that was a great way of putting that. Do you mind if I borrow that for future use? I will most certainly give you credit, that just really cracked me up. I do seriously wonder how randomly hugging Erik would go over though, hmmmm... possibly something to work with in the coming chapters? Maybe. Thanks for the help with the coffin. I changed it just for you. I hope you approve.

Alright yall, well, I heart you all but I think we should get this party started, so here you go. Enjoy!

-Olivia N.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Opening Night is often viewed as the worst night in theater due to nerves, and sheer luck-mostly Murphy's Law, representing the actors' talent under stress, which ironically, is exactly why some people only go to Opening Night. Nerves ran high at the Populaire on Opening Night-as they usually do. The show went off with the Opera's normal scurrying for lost props, missed lines, and practical jokes that pissed everyone off. Yet as usual, the Opera Populaire did extremely well, leading the audience to rave about the Operatic rendition of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream for days to come.

Hours after curtain fall, once most of the crowds had diminished, Vits made her way down the halls towards the Opera's kitchens, her teeth grinding to keep from screaming in pain as she strove to keep the limp from her step. She longed to get ice to relieve her throbbing knee, which was the size of a grapefruit from her latest encounter with her stove top. The night before it had swelled to the size of a melon, but her constant icing had brought it down in size-thankfully.

She managed to hide her injury from everyone but her workers-they knew her too well. Captain Dres had led her men into forcing her to keep it under ice-and do absolutely no work while healing. She had spent the day fidgeting-trying to do something without them instantly yelling at her to sit down. They were a tight knit group, and her men deeply cared about their stage manager, not wanting her to cause further injury by straining herself. Respectfully they had accepted her story of 'falling' only because she refused to offer any other explanation, however no one missed the look of utter hatred when the Patron checked in on them. Many guesses were going around to what really happened, and most weren't that far off.

At that moment the last thing Vits wanted to deal with strode up to her, watching her estranged daughter with a cold, cruel eyes, her nose turned up with a haughty smirk. The set had been terrible not nearly up to par with what she was used to-what she deserved. Things would have to change if she was going to set foot on that stage again, and Vits had no doubt that 'mother dearest' would make certain she knew this.

Malorea came valiantly forward, stopping mere inches from her daughter, her hands resting assertively on her hips. The lioness waited, poised, and ready to pounce on her prey-unsuspecting or not.

"I thought you did very well with your set, especially with such limited funds, and quite a time crunch." The lioness danced her lure tantalizingly with a sweet innocent voice while waiting the chance to spring her trap.

Vits stopped short; a look of confusion crossing her face. She treaded ground carefully, unsure how to respond, sensing a trap, but unable to define where it lay with in her mother's words.

"Thanks..." It came out uneasily, showing the evident tension between them.

"However, I did sadly over hear some of the most affluent audience members complain about the inadequacy of the set, and how the design had many flaws, and looked extremely flimsy-they were afraid that dear Carlotta might fall. That would be just awful. And the paint job was an absolute disaster! They claimed that their servants could do a better job. Can you imagine? Being compared to servants? And not in the best light," The trap sprung, the lioness pounced securing her prey to her petty whims, but to her utmost surprise, the prey side stepped easily, parrying the attack-the battle beginning.

"Really, who did you talk to? I heard quite the opposite from Monsieur Rochelle, the most affluent member of the audience. He purchases box one every year, prior to the season's opening. And attends every opening and closing night-like clock work. He sought me out specifically to congratulate me on how well I designed the set, and how sturdy it looked particularly since I used such a low amount of lumber.

'He also informed me that since I became stage manager the quality of the set had increased greatly. He also wishes that I spend several more years. And if I don't, I have an instant job within his household to design his summer homes, and anything else he sees fit. The Paisley Spinsters-a great supporter of this Opera House, commented on how well I used Shakespeare's description within his text, and how true I stayed to it, unlike our performers. They made a great contribution to your room, and dressing room," She struck with expert skill, making it even more clear that she was not one to be messed with. Her tone was cold, delivering her comments sharply and deftly without raising her voice.

Venom seeped into her mother's blue eyes followed by hatred. "I talked to a different group; unfortunately, I did not have a chance to converse with everyone," She replied stiffly, arching her back. Neither liked to be cornered.

"You know, I didn't see you out in the audience tonight. And I looked. Where were you? You certainly didn't sit with the Patron and his followers, nor the Managers. And Jacques looked lonely sitting by himself in the box you reserved for the two of you," Again Vits struck, deadly accuracy to deliver the most degrading of blows.

Malorea paused, unable to answer. She chose a different tactic; a look of pure shock came over her. "How dare you! How dare you of accuse me of not being there! Just because you didn't see me doesn't mean I wasn't there! I am truly appalled that you would have the nerve, the audacity to say such a terrible thing! I was perfectly friendly to you! That is entirely uncalled for. Honestly! I was merely going to ask for directions back to my quarters. But now I must speak with Claude about this. Your manners are absolutely terrible!" She shrieked, feigning injury.

Vits leaned back, taking her weight off her injury with a tight smirk. She saw through this whole charade. "Why the hell didn't you ask in the first place? And go ahead, tell the stupid Patron-see if I care," That was not the answer Malorea had been looking for.

She expected her daughter to cower and beg forgiveness, but of course the girl was entirely uneducated, and thus she could not be expected to act civilized. "I had hoped for a little friendly conversation, you know, to be civilized, but obviously that is not possible," She settled for her last resort: guilt trip. It is a given law that all mothers are excellent guilt trippers, and so are women in general. Yet again, the plan fell through.

"You cannot guilt someone you don't have a hold over," Vits replied tersely. Vits then roughly shouldered past her mother in the narrow hallway and disappeared into the darkness beyond, leaving her mother standing there, with her defeat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erik leaned back in the dark ebony chair, pausing for a moment to stretch and gather his thoughts. Since the new inhabitants moved in, inspiration soared through his finger tips and on to the paper through the magic of a quill. For now his fingers rested, instead going to itch at the mask that hid the hideousness of his soul, the green eyes glancing around his private quarters.

Black was the theme, a rich ebony floor, his walls hung with black, furthering the feel of a dead man's quarters. Instead of the normal white trimming about the room it was instead covered by embroidered cloth, repeating over and over again the notes of Dies Irae. He knew it well. Few other things furnished this room of the dead, with the exception of the fine ebony desk he was presently seated at, scattered with notes, parchments, finished and forgotten pieces that the world would never see.

Finally his eyes fell to center of the room where an enlarged coffin lay, his bed raised upon its black polished platform, the casket half-open for all to see inside. The coffin was large enough for two people to sleep peacefully in, though he doubted seriously the chances of his bed ever being filled with two living corpses. Red silk bed linen, red velvet pillows, and a hidden mattress filled the inside of the polished casket, complete with blood red curtains that surrounded it like a canopy, practically camouflaging his sleeping quarters into the darkness. He found such arrangements, comfortable, and suitable for the likes of him. Tidy, mysterious, richly dark in almost a romantic sense... yes, it fit him. It harbored his nightly world he had come to understand, displayed the shadow's he had become known for. Here is was truly his world, his nightly Heaven and his dismal Hell.

Suddenly, noises echoed in through his cracked door, unmistakably laughter that was quickly muffled. Erik leaned forward, staring through the crack straight across the alcove to where he had placed Raylan. He could see the lights from her room, flooding under her door, just beyond the light of his own candle. It was a peaceful, calm light, with no bodies casting shadows to interrupt its glow, but their laughter however, said much more.

Anger raged through his veins, boiling as their rich peels of laughter echoed over his ears, the intruder's deep supporting, and countering her bright silvery tone. Yes, three definitely was a crowd. Irritated, his fingers twitched, the train of thought lost, hours of work wasted because of their insensitivity. A gloved fist slammed on the polished ebony desk top, reflecting a washed out yellow from the candle's poor lighting. Blood red ink spilled, meeting the pristine white of his glove, and seeping into the grain of the table. His teeth ground at what they made him do. The Imbeciles!

What a sound, what a retched and insufferable noise. Hers, her laughter was like creme, sweet and smooth, but his... the damned boys presence soured everything. Infuriated, Erik rose from his seat, his hands coming to fold behind his back as he began to pace anxiously. What were they doing in there? What act were they playing that would cause such a sound? His mind flew with images, ideas that raced through his imagination, each one worse than the next. What on Earth was going on?

Curiosity, certainly one of the strongest emotions, over came him. He had to know what they were enjoying. He was their host, their master. It was his right to know... wasn't it? Besides, they might be planning their escape, or worse, mocking him. The rage seethed back through his body. He needed to know, but how?

On silent feet, he crept from his room through the halls, needing no guiding light other than that of their door. In short time he stopped within the shadows of the door, waiting with baited breath, listening.

Finally, the noise came again. "And what are you planning to do with that?" Raylan's sweet voice chimed up in light surprise, followed shortly by a muffled giggle.

Almost instantly a deeper chuckle trailed her voice, a curiously playful reply of, "You'll see..."

Again the suspicious laughter echoed through the great alcove, slithering across the cold stone and rippling over the lake. Nothing followed this great laughter, several agonizingly long moments of utter silence the only thing that filled the pause between.

So quiet, it was almost like a tomb again, and then again her voice rang, clear as a bell squealing gleefully, "Oh, you're mine now!"

Ideas cursed Erik's mind once more, these even more shocking than the prior thoughts. God, what were they doing? He had to find out. But how? He couldn't just barge in. That would most certainly destroy her trust in him, but curiosity and rage stabbed at his insides like poisoned needles. Curse him, was all he could muster, his teeth grinding in frustration, curse his foolishness for letting that insolent boy stay here!

More laughter silenced Erik's thoughts, low and sultry giggles and then there came a loud, surprised female yelp. Ethan's voice followed roughly, "Oh yes, that's how I thought you'd react."

"Good Lord, I didn't see that coming," Raylan said, her voice at first sounding perplexed and then she continued playfully, "But don't prepare your thrown yet cowboy. I got a few surprises of my own."

What! The Phantom was mystified by the sounds being emitted through the door. What was going on in there? Now, was the time to find out. But how? What was a good enough excuse to enter? He stared into the flame of a nearby candle, while he thought. Then it came to him. Candles! Of course.

On cat's feet he deftly walked through his halls, gathering spare candles. Erik had only been capable of finding two unused ones is such short notice, but it would have to do. Then he returned, pausing before her door and taking a deep breath. He didn't allow his foot falls to become audible, or anything to announce his arrival. He wanted to catch them in the treacherous act, to see the betrayal for himself. His black leather gloved fist curtly rapped upon the door. There would be no more secrets between them. He had made that clear. 'Quoth the raven "nevermore". And there wouldn't be.

And there they were, the two of them, seated upon the bed he had arranged for her just as he thought he would find them as he swiftly swung the door open. Their prudent giggles came to an instant halt, the awkward silence he had been expecting settling heavily over the room, but things were not as he would have guessed.

Ethan sat with his back to the Phantom, his body crouched and tense but still covering almost all view of Raylan. The odd thing though was that there was no sign of what he was expecting about the boy. Ethan was fully clad, his hair neatly brushed and free of signs of rough housing, and although Erik had yet to see Raylan it was fairly obvious that he had made a terrible mistake.

This was confirmed when Raylan slipped from the bed, coming to stand in plain view, entirely clothed and still fresh looking. Despite his entry, she still smiled at him as if his presence were a pleasant surprise. Ethan shortly followed her example, moving from the bed to stand opposite of Raylan. Upon the bed was the cause of their noise, something far from what he had expected. Upon the bed sat a small, portable board, mounted by old, carved chess pieces. A game of chess.

Erik froze, unsure of what to say, or do. Lord, how could he have let himself get so worked up? It was nothing, he should have known this, he should have rationalized, but no. Again his rage had gotten the best of him, and for what? Some insolent girl? Why fret, why fret over her? She was not Christine, she was not his Angel, so why had such thoughts angered him so? Look at where it had gotten him, standing there, looking like an idiot appearing in such a manner. What to do now?

Then he remembered his hands. Oh yes, I had forgotten. After a few stutters, the words came out, and his hands appeared with two candles cradled in his palms, "I-I brought extra candles."

Raylan paused, looking at him curiously and then about her already well lit room. She ignored questioning this though and smiled, offering her hand out to receive the sticks. "Thank you, that's very kind of you," She said softly.

He handed her the red candles, and dipped a nod in return, "You're welcome."

Again that moment of awkwardness fell upon them, but it was quickly interrupted as Ethan began to clear his throat. "Get curious huh?" Ethan questioned, his tone cocky and mocking.

Erik's eyes fastened upon him, the idiot. Yes, it was a mistake that he let that-that thing intrude upon his space... but it was a correctable mistake. His tone was cold to him as he replied, "I'd rather not leave her in the dark." With that Erik spun, his cloak twirling around him. He left, disappearing into the darkness of the basement in his usual unexplainable nature.

One gone, Ethan scoffed aloud, watching as Raylan closed the door. "Yes," He mocked bitterly, "He's just as you said... one real dignified and respectful guy. Phfft, I don't know what you see in him."

"I think he's a gentlemen," Raylan grinned, stroking the candles fondly with her index finger, "Very considerate."

"Oh yes," He rolled his eyes, "Such a polite man."

Raylan frowned, shooting in their host's defense, "Much more than you ever were."

Ethan simply rolled his eyes, "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Oh well, enough about him. Let's finish the game. You're King is mine."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following afternoon the Patron stormed into Vits shop outraged, slamming through the doors, practically frothing at the mouth.

"How dare you?" He screamed, "How dare you! You filthy, little, thankless, uncultured, lout! How could you? Do you know what she's threatening? Do you! She's threatening to walk out! And take half the cast with her!" He screamed his voice shrill like a little girl.

Vits leapt to her feet as her men stopped their repairs upon the set: a few necessary changes. She leaned gingerly upon her injured knee testing her weight. Her tone was cold frost upon the window of her soul.

"When she treats me with respect, I shall return it," Her sea green eyes focused upon him, daring him to cross her.

Surprisingly he advanced, shaking his finger threateningly. "We had an agreement!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, "We had an agreement! You can't go back on it! I will tel-"

Vits narrowed her eyes, a throaty growl rumbled through her, cutting him off. "No, I made an agreement to do as you said. You have not specified any grounds yet. I am at liberty to do as I please," She curtly reminded him of the exact limitations of their contract.

The words rang though the deafened room, shock registered upon the faces of her companions. Her words startled Claude Burke; he had hoped that they would be an easy way to keep her in check. She was well experienced at dodging orders and rules; he would have to be extremely explicit with her.

"Well! From now on, I expect you make pleasant with your mother. She is a guest here and sacrifices must be made," He settled with a long glare for a warning prior to turning on his heel and leaving.

Vits men stared at their leader, all watching with baited breath as she sunk into the chair, her shield crumbling. Dres was the first to walk forward, leaning against the desk as he tried to appear casual. In all his days of knowing her, he had never expected this. Ever. His voice was gentle and soft, a father concerned for his adopted daughter, "What's wrong lass?"

She looked at him, a pitiful child lost in a high sea. Her gaze shifted to the men that gathered around. They knew her best. She had to give them an answer. They deserved it. But what? She sighed, swallowing.

"I made an agreement, I'm to do as he says. I have been forbidden to tell," She spoke hesitantly brokenly piecing her words together. "I must protect-" She stopped herself. That had slipped out, she hadn't meant to say that.

One of the men asked quietly, "Raylan, you mean?"

She flashed him a look of surprise, providing the answer.

The man continued lightly, "You were very close to her. Rightfully so, she was always nice to us. You don't let just anyone live with you. Besides, her brother helped deliver my son... of all people you would put your dignity on the line for, I'd hope it to be them."

Vits looked at them sadly with a small nod. She couldn't hide it from them, she couldn't hide it from herself, and she wondered just how long it would be until everyone knew. How long would they have before things got worse, again?

Thanks everyone, and don't forget to leave a review on your way out. Ciao for now,

-Olivia N.