Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is owned by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Twilight Saga is owned by Stephenie Meyer. I own nothing and have no intent to profit off their intellectual property.
*BPOV*
As Edward led me through a throng of people milling around the doors of the Paramount Theatre, from behind me, a young man, one of three huddled around the valet booth, exclaimed "Fifty?! Aw man, you always get the good tippers!"
I shook my head and smiled. "You must carry around more cash just for tipping people in a single evening than most people earn in a week!"
Edward laughed, "It's all part of the ruse, Bella. People are more prone to not look too closely or ask too many questions if you grease a few palms, as they say."
"You'd make a good politician," I joked.
"Oh, I think there are enough bloodsuckers in politics," Edward smirked as he handed our tickets to the ticket taker at the door who scanned the barcodes and waved us through.
The lobby of the theater was packed with people talking at a dull roar. They milled around the vendors selling refreshments and souvenirs.
"Would you like anything to eat or drink before we take our seats?" Edward gestured toward the table selling overpriced bottles of water and snacks.
I groaned, still stuffed from dinner. "I don't think I could eat another bite."
Edward smiled, nodding once, and gently tugged my arm to follow him down a wide, crowded hallway with a series of double doors along the wall to our right. He seemed to have found the door he was looking for. Edward handed our tickets to an usher, who handed us our Playbills and then guided us down the centermost aisle to our seats.
The usher stopped at the fifth row closest to the stage and gestured to a pair of seats on the aisle. "Enjoy the show!" he had said with a small bow of his head, and then he was gone.
I took a step into the row of seats. I caught the attention of the man sitting in the third seat. He raked his eyes up my body before settling on my face, giving me a leering smile. I smiled back shyly, not wanting to be rude.
As I moved to sit down next to him, two stone hands grasped my hips from behind, lifting me up a couple of inches, and plopped me into the aisle seat instead. Edward glared balefully at the man and moved to sit between us.
"Everything alright?" I whispered as quietly as I could over the din of the crowded theater.
"Everything is perfect, love," Edward patted my knee reassuringly. "You are just far too desirable for your own good. It would seem I can't take you anywhere!" He let out a hard laugh.
It wasn't long after that before the house lights dimmed and an announcement instructed us to turn off our phones and refrain from flash photography. A hush fell over the sold-out crowd as the red velvet curtain raised.
The opening scene began in late 19th-century Paris at an opera house auction. An elderly man and a still older woman, who seemed to recognize each other, bid aggressively on an unusual music box that featured a monkey playing the cymbals; they said nothing to each other. The man outbid her. Then the auctioneer moved on to the next item, gesturing to an enormous object covered by a dusty old sheet labeled #666.
The sheet is then yanked off in a cloud of dust motes to reveal the most massive crystal chandelier I'd ever seen. It was the size of Jacob's VW Rabbit, and it was being hoisted by cables inch by inch up over the audience, illuminating the darkened theater and the thrilled faces of audience members below.
While the audience was distracted by the chandelier's ascent, the stage darkened, and the scene changed to the same opera house, but brighter and completely restored-as if from an earlier time.
It was harder than it should've been to keep my focus on the story unfolding on stage when Edward was sitting so close. My forearm and hand rested lightly on top of his on the shared armrest between us. My fingers curved over the cool, smooth, skin of the back of his hand, while his thumb curled up and around to grasp my fingers. Every so often, he would bring my hand to his face and brush his lips over the skin of my knuckles.
I smiled, catching Edward appraising my legs with my peripheral vision. The dress I wore exposed more skin than either of us was used to, and it should have made me feel self-conscious. However, the look of desire in his butterscotch eyes made it pretty plain that he didn't think I had anything to feel self-conscious about and that emboldened me.
I crossed my legs toward him, making the hemline ride up just a bit higher up my thigh. He sucked in a breath and I smirked at him. Our eyes locked, and he knew he'd been caught. He looked like he would have blushed if he could.
But then Christine took the stage to sing her solo, "Think of Me." It was a song I knew well.
Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me, once in a while
Please promise me you'll try…
The longing and heartbreak exuded in the lilt of her ethereal soprano voice made my whole body shudder from the chills running up my spine. It was not an unpleasant sensation, though the words took me to a darker place and time that I tried hard to forget.
Think of me, think of me waking
Silent and resigned
Imagine me trying too hard
To put you from my mind
I needed to stay in the present. I gripped his hand almost painfully to remind myself that he was here with me. That I was whole again. I refused to tear my eyes away from the stunning brunette on stage for fear of the worry I'd see in Edward's eyes if I looked toward the heavy weight of his gaze.
As the song drifted toward its conclusion, Christine nailed the painfully high note at the end. Her performance sucked the breath right out of my chest and forced a single tear to fall onto the apple of my cheek. Before I could wipe it away, Edward's wintry finger ghosted across my face.
When the crashing applause and standing ovation of the audience swept us both to our feet, I looked Edward's way. As I knew it would be, his face was twisted with concern. His golden eyes were anxious and the set of his mouth was impatient. It was the face he made whenever he was wishing he could read my mind. Through watery eyes, I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
*EPOV*
The sensation of Bella's hot little hand gripping mine so tightly that her knuckles turned white felt unbelievably pleasant, but I could imagine the strain it was putting on her joints.
It wasn't hard to guess what Bella heard in the words that provoked such an emotional response out of her. But half of the women in the audience were also dabbing at their eyes, I rationalized. It was not an uncommon occurrence for humans to be moved to tears by a musical composition.
Though, I feared her tears had far more to do with me than with anything going on onstage. The heartbreakingly sad smile she plastered on her face did nothing to quell my anxiety.
I spared a glance at the stage. The masked Phantom was stalking young Christine in the seclusion of her dressing room. Enraged with jealousy over the intentions of her would-be suitor, the dashing Raoul, Phantom locks the door from the inside and sings to her through a double-sided mirror.
Flattering child,
you shall know me,
see why in shadow I hide!
Look at your face
in the mirror -
I am there
Inside!
I scowled at the intruder. Who did he think he was? As if the revolting monster lurking in the shadows could ever deserve the affection of the pure, fair Christine.
The tall, tan, ponytailed Raoul (I gritted my teeth at the actor's vague resemblance to Jacob Black) knocked determinedly at Christine's locked door while the monster lured her to the dark depths of his world using the gift of his voice. And of course, she followed, naive, young, trusting as she was.
Angel of Music
Hide no longer!
Come to me, strange Angel…
The monster was taking her to his lair now, rowing her in a Venetian-style gondola deep in the steamy, shadowy sewers that lay beneath the Opera House.
The orchestra transitioned into the pining, adagio melody of the crown jewel in Andrew Lloyd Webber's catalog, The Music of the Night.
Christine stood dazzled by the bewitching power of the monster's voice. The entire audience was enraptured by the monster, sympathetic even!
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination
Silently, the senses abandon their defenses...
Turn your face away from the garish light of day
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night
The Phantom stood closely behind Christine now with his chest pressed to her back. His arm snaked around her neck, and he intimately trailed a finger from her temple down the line of her jaw to her chin, where his gloved hand fell to rest upon her shoulder. Christine leaned into his hold, cradling her head into the crook of his elbow, letting him rock her, lull her with his hypnotic serenade.
I remembered all those many nights that I spent watching Bella as she slept, stealing the unguarded thoughts from her head in the form of her unconscious utterings. I invaded her privacy, invaded her dreams, and when it became too hard to stay away from her, I selfishly invaded her reality, tainting her pure light with my darkness.
The Phantom took Christine by the hand and led her around his enormous grand piano lit up by dozens of flickering white candles. He showed her the peculiar music box with the monkey playing the cymbals and eventually led her to a likeness of herself donning a wedding gown and veil.
Christine fainted; it was a rational response to such a hideous display of his deranged covetousness.
What would Bella have done in her place, I wondered. Hired a band and sent out invitations? Would she have told him 'It doesn't matter' that he's a deformed, murderous monster who can't seem to leave her in peace with the man that deserved her?
The Phantom wasn't really a monster, though, not in the way I was in the truest sense of the word. This man was just a murderous wretch who had been dealt the unfortunate hand of being born with a deformed face and deemed unloveable by society. Not a monster, just a run-of-the-mill, down-on-his-luck terrorist.
Before her unconscious body could fall to the ground, the Phantom swooped Christine up into his arms and laid her gently into a pillowy, cloudlike bed adorned with scarlet and gold linens.
As Christine slept, the light changed, hinting at the break of day. The monster sat down at his piano, playing with intense concentration. He broke off intermittently to write the notes down on the parchment sprawled overtop his instrument. The music box placed beside the bed played on its own, as if by magic, as Christine began to rouse. The tinkling melody seemed to keep her in a half-trance.
Christine rose, unseen, approaching the masked figure from behind. Before he could stop her, she tore the mask away from the monster's face. He springs up and rounds on her furiously. She clearly sees his face, though the audience cannot. The Phantom is standing in profile, in shadow.
Damn you!
You little prying Pandora!
You little demon
Is this what you wanted to see?
Curse you!
Now you cannot ever be free.
I remembered being confronted by Bella in the hospital after saving her from Tyler's van. I vividly remembered the fury I felt (only at myself) for exposing my family to her incredulous, questioning eyes, and the guilt I felt for putting her in danger now that she knew too much.
This loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell
But secretly yearns for heaven
Cold, hard stone sculpted into hellish demons and unchanged by time, gargoyles were perhaps a less flattering metaphor for vampires than a heart-shaped diamond was, but still no less true.
Distracting me from the desolation of my thoughts, Bella reacted to something she saw onstage. Her hand fluttered to her chest and her face flashed with outrage, then softened. I could feel the compassion and pity emanating from her as strongly as if Jasper had conjured it.
Of course, Bella wouldn't be disgusted by his deformity or frightened by his rage. She would see it for what it was, his naked vulnerability roaring to the surface.
The scene changes again, and the new owners of the Opera Populaire are in an uproar over the missing Christine. The Phantom had sent a series of notes to the owners, the ballet mistress Madame Giry, the prima donna Carlotta, and the opera's patron, Raoul, who had come crashing through the door demanding to see Christine.
The notes, signed "The Opera Ghost" and sealed with a wax imprint of a skull, demanded that Christine be cast as the lead in the new opera, Il Muto, while the prima donna is cast in the silent role of the Pageboy. The note threatened a terrible misfortune if his instructions were not followed.
"Do not fear for Miss Daae'" Raoul read his note aloud. "The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again."
The fear and concern in Raoul's face were palpable. I'd felt that same terror when I'd read Bella's letter explaining how she'd gone alone to meet James, the day I had come far, far too close to losing her.
Needing to feel her next to me, I gave Bella's hand a gentle squeeze. It wasn't enough. I raised her hand to my face and brushed my lips across the back of her hand. I inhaled deeply letting the flames engulf my throat. As long as I burned, she was safe.
The Phantom was a killer, too. He'd hanged the stagehand from the rafters to make a point after the opera owners refused to meet his demands. In the next act, he'll kill the tenor, Piangi, so that he may step into the lead role of Don Juan Triumphant in an attempt to seduce Christine.
For the Phantom, killing was a means to an end. Conversely, for me and my kind, killing was the whole point. We didn't need air to breathe; we needed people to bleed. Or in my family's case, animals. The distinction didn't matter. I was still the bad guy. I was still the masked monster, stealing her from her life, from her destiny. There was no redemption in that.
As the orchestra played a lively interlude, the stage went dark. Though I could see with perfect clarity the stagehands dressed all in black pushing the various sets and props into place. The routine was every bit as practiced and choreographed as the elaborate dance number from moments ago.
When the stage lights returned, we were transported to a gothic rooftop where a fearsome-looking gargoyle loomed over the Phantom, who was hiding behind one of the massive stone wings. He was spying on Christine and Raoul having a private moment in the courtyard below.
Christine was confiding in Raoul that she believed the spirit of her dead father sent an angel of music to her. Who else but an angel would tutor her for years in the dark of night? She was drawn to his voice and his music but terrified of being swallowed up by the darkness around him. She longed for freedom.
Raoul was quick to comfort her. He sang to her while holding her in his arms.
Let me be your freedom
Let daylight dry your tears
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you, and to guide you
They were dancing now, waltzing in time to the rich, warm, lively sounds of the string section wafting out from the orchestra pit.
Then say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Let me lead you from your solitude
Say you need me with you here, beside you
Anywhere you go, let me go, too
Christine, that's all I ask of you
To the utter devastation of the Phantom, Christine pledged her love to Raoul and they plotted her escape. It's what the irrational part of me feared the most whenever Bella was away from me, unreachable at La Push.
Werewolves were dangerous and volatile; they constituted a real risk to Bella's safety, it was true. But if I continued to deny her access to the mongrel, she was either going to hurt herself trying to see him, or worse, I was going to drive her away and into his arms. It was a move of desperation on my part, and the only way I could bear to let her go.
That, and because some part of me-a very small part- never stopped hoping that Bella would save herself from what I was. It was the self-sacrificing part that had convinced me that leaving her was the right thing to do all along. So by clearing the way for her to go to Jacob, I could at least assuage my guilt that I wasn't somehow obstructing her if she wished to leave me.
As miserable as it felt driving Bella to the boundary line, watching her cross over to his side and into his arms, time and time again, it was doubly as satisfying and reaffirming when she came back to me, knowing she was with me of her own free will.
Again and again, she crossed back over to my side, choosing me. Each time felt just as powerful and as momentous as the first time. And whenever she saw me standing at the line, she always looked as relieved as I felt. That was what precipitated not only my proposal but more significantly, my willingness to change her.
I watched the Phantom's grief spiral into rage as Raoul whirled Christine offstage and out of sight. It was as close as I would ever come to being visited by Charles Dickens's Ghost of Christmas Future.
Luckily, I was better at seeing the writing on the wall than our friend, Phantom. According to Alice, it was letting Bella go and trusting her to come back that firmed up our future together to a near certainty, and now nobody would be dancing off into the sunset with my Bella but me.
You will curse the day you did not do
All that the Phantom asked of you!
**BPOV**
Without warning, the raucous chords of organ music crashed furiously through the theater. I heard myself shriek in surprise as the massive chandelier broke free from the gilded ceiling and swung over the screaming audience where it crashed into the stage in an explosion of light and sparks.
I felt Edward squeeze my hand then, and I looked over at him. He was grinning widely at me, reveling in my excitement and undoubtedly hearing the thrumming of my racing heart. With a relieved sigh, I felt my heart slow at the realization that the stunt was part of the show and not some unscripted catastrophe. Edward chuckled quietly beside me.
At that moment, the curtain dropped and the house lights came back on. A voice crackled over the loudspeakers announcing a 15-minute intermission. Most of the audience was already out of their seats, stretching, getting in line for the bathroom, or purchasing refreshments.
We had aisle seats, so about half the row needed to pass by us in order to exit into the center aisle. We stood up to let them pass but stayed by our seats. Edward met my eyes and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"Well? What did you think of Act One?" he probed.
"Do you even have to ask?!" I said excitedly. "This is so beyond my wildest expectations! It's such a completely different experience than just hearing the music from a CD," I gestured animatedly toward the red velvet curtain now concealing the stage. Edward seemed pleased by my response.
"You can't beat a live orchestra," Edward agreed with a nod.
I started to ask him something, but then I shut my mouth, remembering all the people within earshot. He frowned heavily, then opened his mouth to protest my reticence.
"I'll ask you later when we're alone," I promised, cutting him off.
He honed in on the word "ask," mouthing it questioningly. He frowned once more, but then let it drop.
"So," Edward said a moment later with my favorite crooked grin, "Team Raoul or Team Phantom?"
"Phantom, duh," I rolled my eyes as if it were obvious. His eyebrows shot up at the decisiveness of my quick response.
"How does that surprise you?" I asked in a tone that suggested he was being a bit thick.
"Well for starters, the Phantom is a murderer. That doesn't bother you?" Edward arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
"When the Opera Ghost tells you to leave Box 5 empty, you leave Box 5 empty!" I retorted matter of factly. Edward laughed at that, though I grew pensive.
"I suppose it makes sense that he has a cruel side when that's all the world has ever shown him. How would you know how to be kind, how to love, if you'd never experienced it before?" I asked softly.
Edward's eyes, the color of drawn butter, softened as he considered what I'd said. He tucked a loose curl behind my ear, but he left his palm lingering on the side of my neck. Edward drew me close to him and wrapped his arms tightly around me. Even in a theater full of people, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
"I didn't think it possible, but I might be even more attracted to your mind than I am to your blood," he whispered in my ear, kissing the hollow just below it.
As we drew apart, I became aware of the audience members clambering down the narrow rows back to their seats.
"We still have a few minutes if you'd like something to eat or drink. Or if you need a human moment?" Edward nodded his head toward the lobby where the refreshment stands were.
I shook my head, still full from dinner. "I'm good, but I won't say no to a trip to the ladies room." Edward nodded. Putting his hand on the small of my back, he guided me up the aisle toward the back of the theater.
"I'll just be waiting over there by the merch table," Edward pointed in the direction of a souvenir stand a few yards away.
As I swung open the door to the women's restroom, I heard his voice call out behind me, "Oh, and Bella?"
I lurched to a stop. I'd already crossed the threshold of the bathroom, so I awkwardly turned my body and poked my head back out the door. "Yes?"
"I don't need to worry about you escaping through any emergency exits, do I?" Edward said with a slight edge in his voice, nodding to the restroom I was about to walk into.
He was referring to the time I foolishly gave Alice and Jasper the slip by evading them through the emergency exit in a women's restroom at SeaTac Airport.
"In these shoes?" I snorted. "I'll be lucky if I make it to the stall without spraining something," I said, only half-joking.
"I can carry you if you'd like," Edward offered. His voice was unsure as if he knew it was a bad idea before the words left his mouth.
I blinked at him.
"I'm just gonna…" I trailed off awkwardly and used my thumb to point behind me toward the sound of flushing toilets. I don't know how I managed to keep a straight face, but I let the door swing shut behind me before I dissolved into a fit of giggles. Edward was always so flawless in everything he did that his awkward moments were extra funny and adorable.
I tried not to dawdle in the bathroom because I knew intermission had to be nearly over, but I did take a moment to reapply my lip gloss after washing my hands. I laughed when I first palmed the superglue that Alice left for me in case I broke a heel. I carefully stashed it back in my clutch and reached for the tube of lipgloss.
After I was lacquered in a fresh coat of Dior's "004 Coral", I smacked my lips together, checked the mirror to make sure there was nothing stuck in my teeth or that my dress wasn't caught in my underwear (wouldn't be the first time), and headed for the door.
Edward was right where he said he'd be, leaning casually against a wall. He smiled and stood up straight as soon as he saw me appear at the doorway. He looked just so damn sexy with his suit jacket draped over his arm and his collar unbuttoned. The wanton look in his eyes made it even harder to walk in a straight line when I was already having so much trouble remembering to breathe. He wordlessly offered me an arm and we headed back to our seats.
"What were you thinking about when you came out of the ladies' room? Your heart was doing backflips," Edward teased, holding the door open for me to reenter the theater.
"I was just thinking how drop-dead gorgeous you look tonight...and how much I want you," I breathed, using my best imitation of bedroom eyes. Edward gaped a bit at that but recovered quickly.
"You must be developing a mind-reading talent of your own, Miss Swan. Because that is what I was thinking...And every other male who has laid eyes on you tonight," he said that last part through his teeth.
"I guess the sensible thing to do would be to take me home and get me out of this dress," I suggested offhandedly, taking my seat. The man sitting next to Edward choked on his Mountain Dew. Edward glared at me and I bit back a laugh.
"Don't tempt me, love. I can just tell you how it ends," he offered, gesturing with an open palm toward the stage. There was a teasing gleam in his eyes and a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I'll get my things," I called his bluff with a grin, pleased that he was flirting back.
"But I guess it would kinda have to depend…" I bit at my lip, planting the bait.
"Depend on what?" Edward's eyes narrowed.
I leaned over, placing a hand on his bicep, and brought my lips close to his ear, "Whether or not a stranger's impure thoughts will make you want me more, or if it will just make you mad," I purred in a whisper.
Wearing his best 'You'll be the death of me, Bella' expression, he groaned, "Both. Always both."
I smirked, satisfied, and rested my hand high on his thigh, stroking lightly with my thumb over the material of his pants. I don't know where my confidence came from. Maybe it came from the dress or the way that Edward looked at me while I was wearing it, but if that was the case, I'd have to let Alice style me more often. My phone buzzed from inside my clutch and I stifled a giggle. I'd probably return home to a whole new wardrobe.
Edward leaned over to plant a feather-soft kiss on the bare curve of my shoulder. I could feel his lips curl into a smile against my skin. He then took my hand in his and placed our joined hands back on his thigh with a slight squeeze. I sighed contentedly.
Just then the lights in the auditorium flickered, a subtle reminder for stray audience members to return to their seats for the remainder of the show. The house lights dimmed once more, and the curtain raised.
The opera house was in the throes of a masquerade ball. Christine and Raoul were newly engaged, but Christine was still frightened of the Opera Ghost. To hide the engagement, she wore the ring on a chain around her neck.
The Phantom appeared in a costume that could only be described as a buccaneer from the fiery pits of hell. He was draped in yards and yards of blood-red fabric with puffy sleeves, brass buttons, and golden accents. His wide-brimmed hat, a matching crimson color, was something straight out of The Three Musketeers, with feathery plumes shooting out behind him. His mask covered his full face in the shape of an oversized skull.
He was utterly terrifying and in complete command of the stage. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
This time the Phantom came with a new set of demands and a brand new composition- Don Juan Triumphant. He requested once again that Miss Christine Daae be cast as the lead role.
Raoul chose that untimely moment to steal away to find Madame Giry in an effort to find out more about the Opera Ghost.
Left unprotected, the Phantom towered over Christine. His gloved hand reached out to grasp the chain holding her engagement ring and tore it savagely from her neck. He then disappeared behind a cloud of smoke.
It was like the alternate ending to the scene where Jacob gave me the hand-carved wolf charm at my graduation party. I remembered feeling the fleeting wave of concern that Edward would crush it into dust when he saw the charm hanging from my wrist. But unlike this disturbed shadow of a man, my always gentle Edward had never shown me an ounce of cruelty. Well, except that one time. I winced.
Interestingly, when Edward had left the charm intact, I had been relieved but also just a shade...disappointed? While I would never encourage Edward's tendencies toward jealousy, when I saw it flash in his eyes, when I felt the possessive grip of his hand on my skin, I never felt more wanted or cherished.
Be that as it may, my slightly more rational self appreciated how much more important it was that Edward had complete control over himself. After all, if not for his control...I shuddered to think of the grisly scene in Mr. Banner's biology class.
I sighed. However grateful I was for his restraint, it didn't stop me from wishing he'd exercise that control a bit less enthusiastically. As surreptitiously as I could, I angled my head toward the stage in a way that let me admire his perfectly chiseled features in profile. I was sure he could feel me staring at him, but if he did, he didn't show it.
Edward was always so gentlemanly with me, so appropriate. It was hard to believe that we would be man and wife in less time than it would take for the milk in my fridge to expire. And once we were married, we would try. I had every confidence in him that it would work out, but I'd never really tried to imagine it with much detail.
Leave it to me to daydream in the middle of a Broadway show, but that's exactly what I did. I thought of Edward carrying me over the threshold of a lavishly decorated honeymoon suite in some exotic, as-yet-to-be-disclosed locale. Still in our wedding finery, he'd set me on my feet and kiss me until I was dizzy while a deft hand made quick work of the dozens of tiny satin buttons at my back.
I imagined his lips blazing a frosty path across my heated skin. Down my neck, into the hollows of my collarbones, slowly peeling away the bodice of my gown like he was unwrapping a gift, inch by inch, with maddening patience. His eyes would burn black with desire, and he'd smirk at me, knowing exactly what he was doing to me.
When the booming organ music crashed through the theater, I was brought back to reality. When I looked again at Edward, he was staring back at me with the same pitch-black eyes I had just been fantasizing about.
A/N I would just like to take a minute to thank you all for your continued support and patience as I churn out this story. Your thoughtful reviews seriously make my day!
I can't tell you how many times I've cursed myself in this last week for committing to the Phantom of the Opera storyline because it was SO much harder than I thought it would be to (hopefully) do it justice while maintaining accuracy and keeping Bella and Edward at the center of things. And then it swelled to over 7,000 words, so I broke it down into two parts. So I hope you enjoy the bonus chapter and that you don't find it as tedious to read as I found it to write! /facepalm. Let me know what you think!