A/N: Hope you all weren't expecting me to drop the melodrama. Based on where my brain is, it's not going anywhere any time soon. And... holy crow... this chapter took a turn even I didn't expect. I might not NEED the darker elements later on. I might not even need to draw the story out for ages and ages! We'll see! (Arabella has control of this situation - not me. I just do what the Gypsy Princess says)

And Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! I hope you had a great time with family/friends and good food! I had ham. (yeah, I know. Ham on Turkey Day. It's a travesty!)

Days had passed. The bath had occurred without much in terms of awkwardness or embarrassment, and Erik had returned to a bed that Arabella had taken the time to freshen while he soaked. She'd brought him another bowl of stew, although the second one was much smaller, and a very small amount of wine to enjoy with it. There had been very little conversation at first; neither knowing exactly what to say since so many other sentiments had already been expressed.

Arabella had desperately wanted to tell her husband about the voice that had spoken to her while he slept… but hadn't wanted to worry him while he was still so weak. Then, there had been the hard emotional punch in the gut of knowing he couldn't bring himself to admit any present feelings on her behalf. It wasn't as though she'd expected any differently… but it had still hurt. And of course… what if he thought she was only imagining things? Even being faced with spontaneous resurrection, Erik was far too skeptical about things that couldn't be explained to simply understand the fear the voice in her head had created. Unless he heard the voice himself… she didn't believe he'd be able to think she was anything more than a little crazy.

Believing in her physical, tangible resurrection was not anywhere near the same as believing the voice in her head was real. People heard voices that weren't actually there all the time, after all.

So she'd told him nothing. She didn't even try very hard to have a conversation of any kind with him for the following three days. They spoke about his comfort, whether or not he could accomplish certain tasks as they arose, and, if he was bored; what she could bring him to alleviate the tedium of slowly regaining his strength. The last pieces of conversation had been easy enough to solve – he had told her what he needed to implement as a desk while sitting upright in bed, and she'd brought ink and paper for him to compose with. He didn't work with frenetic passion; as though he'd been inspired to write… but he did toy around with some melodies and themes.

When she was tired, she curled up on the divan in the parlor and napped. Smaller than even the least accommodating of cots, it wasn't easy to get particularly restful sleep. The exhaustion began to make her clumsier; and her thoughts were more fragmented. But if she appeared tired in any way, Erik didn't seem to take any notice. He didn't even ask what she was using for a bed. Surely he must have assumed she was using the divan. The large black sofa by the coffin bed in his room was no longer whole enough to lie on.

Her weariness also kept her reticent, not wanting to fight for him when her head wasn't clear. She knew she could overstep the boundaries he'd already set just by not thinking clearly. Deciding to suddenly play a psychological game of flirtation wouldn't end well under such conditions.

"Erik…" she found herself saying on the fourth day; when he was finally strong enough to leave Christine's room for a long stretch and sit by his piano to work. He'd been fiddling away at the piano keys for over two hours, occasionally jotting down a note or two to keep in mind for future, more developed ideas. Nothing that she could consider real music had escaped him yet. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He responded instantly, looking at her sideways – as he so often did now.

"Are you having trouble thinking of music you want to play?"

"It's nothing like that." he murmured, gluing his eyes quickly to his hands as they sat poised over the ivories. "The music I can think of hurts…"

"Hurts?" Her brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Do you mean like when your music used to make my dancing more passionate?"

She could remember the dances she used to perform as he sang or played an instrument – often both at once. He'd always been able to inspire the most intimate emotions within her during those times. She'd personally seen just what his music could do to others, and how he almost seemed to hold people in thrall like a master hypnotist. Maybe the music he was composing or thinking of was a violent type… a kind that lashed out specifically at him…

"Almost." He admitted with a weak smirk – a terribly sad expression. "But I'm more worried about you feeling its effects. You don't need the pain I can create."

"I always feel your pain." Arabella stated immediately. "Music has nothing to do with it. I always feel your pain – because I hate the fact that you have to feel it at all."

"No." Erik shook his head quickly in denial. "No, that isn't right. You shouldn't do that to yourself."

"I don't do it to myself. I can't control what I feel when the man I love is in pain, Erik."

"Stop saying that."

His voice had gone suddenly raspy, and Arabella's curious eyes realized he had pressed his fingers down on the ivory keys of the piano so hard that what little color existed in his body had isolated itself into specific pressure points. It had drained from the rest of his hands. He'd done it quickly; but not with enough immediate pressure to make his piano sing.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Don't say what, Erik? I don't understand."

"Stop giving me so much." He nearly hissed. "I don't want you to give me what I cannot return!"

"Erik; the fact that you have concern about whether or not I'm in pain proves that you do have something to return. You do care." She argued.

"Of course I care!" Erik's voice rose from a rasp to a sudden thunder. "I spent years caring! Why didn't you come back then?"

"I didn't know how!" she desperately tried to explain; her mind thrown into instant confusion over what seemed like a shift in topic. But Erik wasn't really hearing her. Apparently the pain he was trying not to unleash on her was spilling over; coming out as Erik's emotions so usually did as anger. But she didn't understand why he was suddenly so irate over something thirty years behind him.

"Why didn't you come back when I had every reason to remember you, standing in front of me, in Italy? Why couldn't you be there to take away the revulsion Giovanni's daughter caused merely by looking so damned similar to you?"

Arabella had gone cold at the beginning of his outburst. His anger was so out of control at times that she had every reason to be nervous when it showed itself. But instead of shrinking away or letting him remain in silence, she slowly stood from the divan that had become her nightly bed and stepped closer to the piano. Erik wasn't looking at her, and she doubted he even knew she'd risen. Carefully, she placed a steadying hand on the black glossy surface of the piano.

"I don't know what you mean." She said quietly; her voice quavering slightly. "Luciana… reminded you … of me?"

He glanced up sharply, but didn't seem overly surprised at her nearness. She'd been taking time to get closer to him physically over the past days whenever it was strictly feasible. She hadn't leaned overly close as she had that first time; or flirted… but she had tried to accustom the both of them to once more being near together. So far, it had had less than satisfactory results. Erik kept pulling back as though she were going to burn him with her touch.

His eyes were burning now behind the mask he'd insisted on wearing when he stepped into the parlor. He'd not yet been ready to walk around the entire house without it; although she hoped that would change. Granted, he'd lived alone for years, but he'd never hesitated to walk around unmasked before she appeared – except with Christine around, of course. It was almost as though her teasing that he'd forgotten his mask had made him decide to prove her wrong.

"Of course she did! The darker olive-toned skin, the slim build with budding curves – although hers were far less noticeable than yours. Then there was her dark hair, even though it had no real red or brown in it. She even had your eyes, Bella!"

Arabella began to blink furiously, trying to recall the Italian girl that had caused such tragedy in Erik's life. As far as she was concerned, Luciana had stolen far more from Erik than she ever had. Erik had finally had a father – a home and sort of family. He had honest work; even if his time was troubled. Then Luciana had begun to nearly throw herself at him in her own way; and had insulted and harassed him until her tragic death… which had cost Erik everything he'd gained.

"s that why you were so interested in her?" she asked breathlessly.

"What? You think I enamored of her?" He gave another of those harsh laughs that sounded painful. "She was a lovely little creature – physically at least. There was plenty to be interested in… but the rest of her? Bella… the only thing about her I liked was how much she reminded me of you!"

"But you… You seemed to like her."

"No!" he denied vehemently, rising to his feet and pacing a little away from her. "How could I? She would open that lovely little mouth of hers; and I'd have to remember just how different you were! I could never pretend – even for a moment – that she was you. Not once she came into a room! Her spoiled little – she ruined everything!"

Arabella's mouth dropped open, and she stared at Erik in utter shock. Knowing that Erik had been remembering her when looking at another girl had been a little touching. It had made her feel as though she might have actually been cherished a little by her husband. But she had never guessed for a single moment that he'd been trying to fantasize her back to life. To put all that pressure onto a spoiled but mainly innocent girl who had no inkling of the darkness in Erik's past already… it wasn't something she could wrap her head around.

"Why?" he pleaded again. "Why weren't you sent back to me then?"

"I… I don't know." She scrambled to collect her thoughts. "But – Erik – I am here now!"

"It's too late!" Erik bellowed, pressing the heels of his palms to his temples. "Don't you understand that, Bella? I am not your husband now! I'm just a stupid old fool with blood all over his hands, living in a goddamned crypt!"

Scowling, Arabella strode around the piano and the bench he'd vacated. She placed herself firmly in front of him and reached up to seize his arms, yanking his hands down from his head and shaking him. Her strength was nothing to his, so she achieved very little in her efforts – but the simple fact she tried made Erik's eyes go enormous behind his protective mask.

She had never wanted to shred that cloth from his face so badly before. That simple physical thing represented so many of his emotional and mental walls that his merely wearing it kept them solidly in place where they didn't belong. After this tirade, she was completely insulted by its' presence.

"I know who and what you are!" she shouted back. Her voice sounded angry, and she was sure that this startled him even more than her bold shaking of his body. But she didn't feel angry. She still felt cold, and now she even felt drained. "But I'm still here!"

Erik slowly lowered his hands, staring at her as though she'd spoken a foreign language that had had yet to master. No… it was worse. He was staring at her as though he couldn't hear any sound she made. She felt like she was only mouthing her words at him, with no reference for him to properly translate her message.

"Erik…" she whispered painfully. "I'm here now. I'm sorry I wasn't there before. I wanted to be! I truly did… I'm so sorry you had to go so long thinking you were alone… but even without me, you weren't always alone. I know she was an inane brat… but Luciana was there, and she really was doing her best. And you had Giovanni, and Nadir."

"They were never you…" he admitted in a barely audible breath.

"Neither was Christine." She pointed out as gently as possible.

"Don't-"

"-I have to." She pressed. "I can't stand here and pretend you aren't going to compare me to her… that you won't look at me every single day and wish I were her."

"I don't-"

"-Just like you didn't with Luciana?"

"-I didn't-"

"Yes, you did."

She could feel his body literally thrumming beneath her clutching hands. His own fingers were bent into claws at his sides by this point, and his head was shaking slightly – frantically – from side-to-side. She cautiously took a step back, realizing he was close to snapping and not knowing exactly what kind of emotion had brought him so close to what edge. Considering almost all of his emotions manifested as rage… it wasn't wise to give him so little physical space when also giving him so little emotional space.

"You said it yourself – you wanted to pretend that she was me. You were comparing her to me, Erik."

"No. I was trying to replace you! She couldn't be you – but I'd have taken what I could!"

The silence between them when Erik bellowed that was … a terrible form of awesome. She had no idea how to respond to such a blatant truth… and clearly Erik didn't think he could break the silence, either. He stood panting before her, his body shaking and threatening to give out so that he might have to return to the bedroom and rest again.

I am replaceable? She thought in bewilderment. Not just someone who's loss could be gotten over… but replaced with the next best substitute?

"Using her?" she found herself whimpering.

Erik opened his mouth, his eyes dancing behind the mask in such a way that suggested even he wasn't sure what his response would be. But he was spared the necessity to speak when a buzzing suddenly began by the front door – one of the alarms Erik had set up years before to alert him when someone was on or near the lake. Their heads jerked in the direction of the noise, and Arabella used it as an excuse to step even further away from him. It would only go off for a few seconds – something Erik had set up long before meeting Christine. Long and obnoxious noises hurt his head – just as they hurt anyone's – and it was the kind of grating sounds that could carry to otherwise unaware intruders.

"That's… probably Nadir." She murmured. "It's been a few days. He said he'd come back."

"And you encouraged him to do it?" Erik demanded.

"I'll go across and get him."

"No." Erik snapped, stalking by her when she headed for the door. His gruffness all but knocked her out of his way. "I'll do it."

"You don't need to irritate anyone else today."

He paused by the door, his shoulders stiffening before a heavy sigh allowed them to slump.

"I'll try to be civil." He muttered before ducking outside.

Arabella found herself staring at the doorway for what felt like hours, not quite able to find a way to soothe the pain Erik had left behind.

You want that monster? Honestly?

"No!" she hissed; more in response to the voice returning to her head than anything else. "Go away!"

Why? Because I'm trying to help?

"Help?" Arabella scoffed. "You never did anything to help!"

Without my help, your precious husband would have died in my Uncle's cage. I fed him for you, and brought him the medicines you wanted me to. And all it cost was some friendly conversation.

"You slimy…" Arabella shook her head violently. "Get out of my head! You tried to rape me! You have no right to judge him! Don't you dare tell me it cost us nothing!"

Is that why you assume I'm just taunting you? Because your dearly devoted monster murdered me?

Arabella shuddered, hugging her arms to herself and turning to the fireplace for warmth as the front door finally opened again. She wanted – desperately – to shut the voice out. She knew she couldn't continue reacting to it with Erik and Nadir around to hear. She hadn't even told Erik about it yet. Now, it was obvious she'd have to, since it had returned. But she didn't have to do it immediately; or in front of Nadir.

She glared at the fireplace, her body as tightly wound as a spring. Her hands balled into useless little fists at her sides and she struggled to breathe evenly. The last thing she'd needed was that voice in her head; taunting her and mocking her choices when she was already angry and hurt… and questioning the wisdom of whatever had allowed her return in the first place.

"Mademoiselle Arabella." Nadir murmured from near the door, as Erik silently played a halfway decent host and hung his friends' cloak. "It is lovely to see you again."

Taking in a steadying breath, Arabella forced herself to turn with a small smile.

"Hello, Daroga." She greeted; her voice briefly catching. "I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

Nadir had stepped closer to greet her; but now hesitated as he took her in. Erik brushed past him, momentarily blocking his view as he stalked toward the piano without daring to look in Arabella's direction.

"…It's been a few days. Perhaps longer than you even realize. I understand living under the Opera can be disorienting. Are you all right? You look…"

"Don't you dare say tired." Arabella mock warned quickly. "I already know I look terrible."

"No…" he shook his head, taking another step forward, glancing at Erik with a slight glare. "That isn't it."

"It's been a difficult few days." She admitted as lightly as possible. "But you – you look well."

"Thank you…"

"What stimulating conversation." Erik muttered.

"You aren't helping any." She pointed out brusquely. "Excuse me. I'll go make us all some tea."

Erik's groan of disapproval almost made her laugh. She had been getting better with the tea – particularly since it didn't need to be the black and sugary concoction of her first day there. Erik had actually seemed to approve of her efforts just that morning. Surely his reaction was pure sarcasm; mocking the disgust he'd shown at the start. But she couldn't quite bring herself to laugh. She was still too tense.

"I see you've been working on your charm." Nadir accused as the kitchen door shut behind her. "It's one thing to be short with me – I'm used to it. But that poor girl?"

Arabella shut out the ensuing conversation, concentrating the best she could on the task at hand. She didn't need to hear an argument between two stubborn old men. She had enough of her own issues to work through. Erik' insult still stung; even though she thought by now that maybe he hadn't meant exactly the words he'd spoken. He hadn't tried to clarify his meaning, though, so how could she know? Erik had done what Erik always did. He ran away from an uncomfortable topic – one made invariably worse because it had been circling around an even more painful subject – his precious Christine.

You don't like her much, do you?

Oh, please leave me alone! I don't need your help!

If you say so chavi. But I'd say anyone who wants Erik would need all the help they can get.

I am no little girl!

Arabella nearly slammed the kettle she'd been filling in the tiny sink down onto the stove before remembering that she needed to start a fire in the little wood stove. Erik had suspended an air duct over the fire so that the smoke from his cooking would rise into the ventilation system of the Opera House; needing only a few dozen yards of material to let it connect to a shaft directly overhead. His shortcuts and inventing ways of cheating had always astounded her. It was just too bad that head didn't fall very well, so forcing air from the furnace to his house below the basements had not been overly feasible and option.

I'll bet you are to him. He was having enough trouble seeing Christine as more than pretty flesh with a potentially golden voice if you ask me. She was so young… but you're even younger.

You… no… you can't have been watching him this whole time!

Of course I have. I've been here since the day your Frenchman took my life.

It's your own fault!

Did I claim otherwise?

This drew Arabella up short. As frightening as having Adnah's voice in her mind had been, she had never stopped to truly try and interpret his words or the tone they were spoken in. She heard him in her head, and automatically she presumed he meant her ill. What else was she supposed to think; given their last meeting? But… he hadn't claimed anyone was responsible for the way he died – other than the fact that Erik had been the one to kill him… and that had been true enough. He hadn't done more than ask her questions and make comments that she herself had been on the verge of thinking.

Are you haunting Erik… or me?

Adnah decided to keep that answer to himself. Of course, the distraction of Adnah's annoying comments and questions was suddenly gone; and she could again hear the two men in the parlor having a somewhat heated but low – and apparently still civil – debate. She didn't want to know what it was really about… but she was also morbidly curious. Still… she tried for a very long time to resist listening in. She knew the old adage about those who eavesdropped on conversations, and was quite certain that what she heard would only bother her further.

"… no way of understanding."

"If you would just help me understand, Erik-"

"Leave off, Daroga!"

"But-"

"-Has there been any news of Christine or the Vicomte?"

Arabella shuddered, closing her eyes with a weary shake of her head. She tried to tell herself that it had only been a few days since her return. Erik had already told her that he didn't know what they could ever be to each other after such a loss. He hadn't encouraged – nor discouraged – her affection. She had no right to expect his love of Christine to fade after such a short time. When Erik loved… he loved with all he had, and all he was. Love like that couldn't just fade overnight.

But you didn't believe him when he said he hurt over your loss for years, did you?

Leave it to Adnah to try and pour salt in the sores covering her soul. She refused to acknowledge him; not even to wonder just how he was able to hear her thoughts and speak to her mind. There were too many ways in which it would open up a labyrinth of doors to other questions. She didn't want to wonder about the world – or worlds – beyond life. She hadn't even really thought there was one… but if Adnah had been haunting either her or Erik since his death and she hadn't even sensed him after her own death, then that surely implied there were a great many levels; with rules she couldn't hope to understand.

Please… please go away…

I can't.

Then just be silent! I don't want your opinions or questions!

"…gone." The Persian was continuing from something she'd missed in the conversation.

"So… so…" Erik sounded thoughtful; his voice at such an octave that Arabella's curiosity immediately became riveted on him again. "What is she doing now? Where will she live? What will she do?"

"I don't know. I would at least tell you if I did. Honestly, I don't think you should care."

"How can I just not care?"

"Do you really think I'm that blind and stupid, Erik?" Nadir's voice rose angrily. "I didn't press you before because you were sick. But even when you refuse to answer my questions, I'm not a fool! All I had to do was step into this room, and I saw something is between you and this new girl who has taken such attentive and gentle care of you!"

"You were here for five minutes!" Erik thundered. "What do you know of it?"

"I've seen similar looks on other faces!" Nadir pointed out. "There may not have been many people offered the chance to be in love in the circumstances I lived in; but I experienced it. I witnessed it. Even given her youth; that girl loves you! However – whenever – you met her… she loves you!"

"And why wouldn't she?" Erik retorted. It wasn't ego speaking, though. Arabella could hear the self-hatred and angry mockery in his voice. "I'm Don Giovanni, aren't I? I'm Don Juan – no - I'm Casanova! I'm every last one of them all rolled up into an irresistible recipe of passion and romance! All the women I run into instantly want me!"

"You are insufferable." Nadir sighed wearily. "I am trying to tell you to open your eyes and appreciate what's in front of you instead of what's in your past, and-"

"-Arabella is my past."

Oh, she could just imagine Nadir's reaction to that phrase. If she weren't listening so intently, Arabella might have giggled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Arabella is my past." Erik repeated – slowly and distinctly. "I knew her… once… further back than you can even conceive."

Arabella turned away from the door to find the kettle of water sending up billowing clouds of white steam. With a low curse, she hurried over and quickly started digging around for a small towel so that she wouldn't burn herself lifting the copper vessel. She nearly burned herself anyway; but this time she at least managed to avoid it. Within less than two minutes, she had the three cups on a tray with milk from the ice box and sugar from the pantry. The milk she'd gotten after venturing above into the Opera House during her sleepless hours the previous evening. She doubted Erik even realized she'd left – and nearly gotten lost twice on her journey.

"…can't figure out how to-" Erik was ranting as she pushed her way into the parlor.

He must have seen the door move before she even stepped from the kitchen, for everything went quite suddenly still and silent. She felt heat and color creep up into her face as she placed the tray down on a low table by the divan, and began to dole out the tea and appropriate sugar or milk as Erik and Nadir said they would take it. The entire time, she felt Nadir's eyes boring curiously into her.

Erik didn't seem even able to look at her. He didn't even take the tea once she'd made it to his specifications; and she'd had to leave it on the tray to cool.

Once she was sitting on the divan beside Nadir, she dared to take a slow look at him from the corner of her eyes. When he realized she was seeing him stare, he nervously cleared his throat and offered an uncomfortable chuckle.

"I'd ask if Erik has been behaving himself; but we both know he never does."

This caused Nadir to break out in a genuine smile – particularly because Erik's response was a roll of his eyes and an annoyed groan.

"So… how much has he told you?"

"… Not much…" the Persian admitted slowly. "He says you've known one another for a while; and that you only very recently found yourself in each other's lives again."

"That's a fair enough assessment." Arabella sighed and lifted her eyes to Erik. "For now. Did you mention exactly –"

"-No." her husband barked quickly. "After the conversation we already had about that… I don't see the point in telling him those specifics yet."

"Well… I suppose it's better to simply say that I'm not here to take Christine's untouchable place."

Erik flinched, and Arabella instantly felt guilt crawl down her spine and into her gut. Although Erik had hurt her before with his thoughtless words of frustration; this retaliation was simply beneath her. It certainly wasn't going to help her get any closer to Erik, and earn his real love again. She'd been holding back from touching him or offering words – even insinuations – of love until their fight had begun. To suddenly throw her non-existent status into his face was cruel.

Sometimes we need to be cruel.

Oh, go away!

"Did I hear you talking about Christine?" she asked curiously, desperate to change the subject. But then she realized how, again, she'd picked one of the worst possible topics … and began chewing on her lower lip.

"Yes…" Nadir admitted. "It turns out the wedding has not happened yet. The Vicomte was ordered onto a ship heading for the North Pole…"

"He was?" Arabella felt a cold in the pit of her stomach, but it was distant. The very fact that the rest of her abdomen seemed to become a stormy, frothy sea did not help her state. "I thought they were going to marry immediately. That's the impression I was given about everything that happened."

"I suspect his family could have had something to do with that." Erik mumbled. "Not a single one of them would appreciate his marriage…"

"And… Christine?" she ventured uncertainly.

"No one knows, really. It is assumed she is either living in her future home with her future brother-in-law as a more-or-less ward… or she's returned to her flat in the city."

"No one knows if she's being supported by them, or if she needs to find work, then?"

"She would not need to find work." Erik murmured. "If that fop left her to fend for herself; I'd give her what she needed."

"I'm sure you would." Arabella agreed; trying very hard to keep her voice even. At least this was exactly the kind of response she would always have expected from him. Even years from now, if they were madly in love with an actual family, Erik would still feel enough tenderness toward Christine to help her if she needed aid. "But no one knows where she is."

"I'm sure Mademoiselle Daae will be able to care for herself just fine." Nadir assured them both. "She's quite a bit more resourceful than you seem to have ever given her credit for, Erik. One thing I do know is that something happened with the Opera management. It seems they had lunch with the Vicomte and his fiancé before he left on his ship. There was an article about it in the paper, with all sorts of speculation as to whether or not she would be returning to the stage."

"But?" Erik pressed.

"But…" Nadir sighed. "There was an unknown third party that the reporter couldn't identify. That doesn't sound like something encouraging Christine's return."

"It sounds like a lawyer." Erik grunted

Arabella stood slowly, chewing her lower lip in order to move around the small table to stand by Erik.

"What if she did return?" she asked quietly.

Erik didn't miss the slight quaver in her voice. In spite of their heated words earlier, and the continued tension between them, his eyes snapped over to her face to examine her as one hand snuck out just long enough to brush the back of his hand against hers. It was a brief moment of attempted reassurance that didn't quite succeed at making her feel any better – but at least he made the attempt.

"I am sure she would have a successful career." He murmured. "My days manipulating her career are over… she can… handle herself now…"

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"You don't really feel that way."

Arabella and Nadir glanced at each other in surprise, and then burst out into soft but genuine laughter at their simultaneous words.

"I like this woman." Nadir told Erik simply after a moment. "She knows you. Pretty words aren't going to be enough to fool this one."

"Thank you, Daroga."

"You're most welcome, Mademoiselle."

She was surprised when Erik's hand brushed hers once more. Experimentally she twisted her palm to see if he would let her twine their fingers – and he almost seemed to let her. She could sense the very deep need in him for that connection – even if it didn't amount to acknowledging their marriage and his love. But, in the end, he jerked ever-so-slightly away and averted his gaze further from hers.

He admitted that you could be replaced – and you still-

This time, Arabella somehow managed to shove the invading voice from her mind.

He loved Christine and me differently. She mused. He had the versatility of mind when I died to search for someone new to soothe his grief. And I was not replaceable. He only wanted me to be.

Chavi – Romani for Little Girl