Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Visits to Christine.

Warning(s):

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Thanks to reviewers and sorry this didn't come out sooner. You would think with so much in common with chapter 3 that it would be a lot easier, but surprisingly, it wasn't. That's no excuse on how late this is getting out though, so forgive me and I will try to make the next chapter come out faster… I really hope I can do it though.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 04

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Erik's POV

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Last Time:

I nodded to myself and shut the door reluctantly. I did not think clarity would be there the next time I opened the door. It already felt lost to me. I suddenly felt lost.

But I knew where I was heading. I was heading to Christine's room to find some inspiration. She was my inspiration, wasn't she? She was the reason I needed to finish this opera. She was my goal. She was my freedom… almost.

o.o.o

I arrived at her room and was surprised to find that someone was already in it. Christine usually left in the mornings to eat breakfast and to spend some time with Meg and the other ballet dancers. She would not be back until a little later.

I was further surprised when I saw that it was the Vicomte. I started to turn around because I did not feel like having to watch the Vicomte for who knew how long before Christine returned, but something kept me at the mirror. I had been searching for inspiration and what better motivator for the passion I was accustomed to feeling than my rival. Additionally, I knew for a fact that he did not come everyday until the afternoon. Something must have happened. I tried to get a better look at him, but he was facing the other way.

It was odd because I usually felt the urge to kill the Vicomte whenever I saw him. Right now though, I felt nothing but annoyance. It seemed as though my passion really was fading. I should have been infuriated. Usually the blonde's presence was enough to get me riled up with murderous rage. This was the man, not even that, he was a mere boy that had stolen my Christine away from me. He had taken what was rightfully mine, and I did not want to kill him. I did not feel that urge that usually rose, where my heart raced in anticipation and my hands twitched in repressed motions.

Killing was something with which I was familiar. I told myself that it was not who I was, but it came so easily for me. It was easy to kill someone who was in my way, who wrongfully spread rumors about me. It was easy because it was revenge. All the world was against me and it was only right to try to even the odds.

That was the old me that's talking though. I said that I would change. I said that I was not a villain and I was not a monster – not willingly at least. I did not know why I could not just force myself to stop. In my defense at the moment, I had made a deal with myself that I would do whatever it took until I was able to get Christine. I would be anyone I had to be to finish this opera and get what was rightfully mine. There was still some reluctance in me though. It held me at bay whether I was struggling against it or not.

I had not been struggling against that reluctance for a while now. It was all because of Christine and the Vicomte. Though, if I were being honest with myself it would be mostly because of Christine. She had been my only hope, but she would never be enough. I could now only see her as she truly was. Since that dream, I could not fool myself into seeing my image of her. She was manipulative and I above all else hated to be manipulated. I had been under someone else's control for most of my life and I would not willingly go back to that. Therein laid the problem. How much control was I willing to give up just to have someone who understood me, someone I could love? The price seemed too high, but for the right person, I was certain I would give anything up. I simply wanted to stop playing these roles. I wanted to not be seen as simply a monster.

I was trying to not make it easy for them to call me a monster either. It was not just about not killing though. I was more about not even wanting to kill. I was sure that most people's first urges when angry were not to kill people. It was understandable because that would be detrimental to everyone's health. I was making progress though because I did not feel like killing the Vicomte. That was indeed a good sign, but that did not negate the fact that I had wanted to hurt those chorus girls and the managers. If anyone's sins were worst, it had to be the Vicomte's. He was the one who had committed the worst crime against me. He had taken from me what I rightfully deserved.

However, it took too much energy to stay mad. It took too much effort to summon the amount of anger that was needed to hate the boy. At its base, his sin was the same as mine in a way. We both desperately wanted something. It just so happened that we wanted the same thing, and I wanted it first. I was getting tired of these mood swings. I was getting tired with these games. I just needed to finish this opera. I would take Christine and everything would be alright. Everything would change once this whole ordeal was through.

Except I had no more passion. Music had been my catharsis for so long and now that I could not play, I felt more trapped and confined within myself than ever before. I was stuck in my own role with nothing to act as a release. I had no inspiration to play. I had no inspiration to compose. I had come here to find inspiration and instead I found this boy.

I stared at my rival and hoped my light, my spark really had not gone out. Not yet at least. At least he had turned a bit so that I could see his face. Still, seeing him, I felt nothing. Maybe not nothing because when I really looked at the blonde now something stirred within me. Because the look in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, and the way I could see the sigh practically deflate the once vital man, were actions I knew intimately. I felt an odd familiarity, an odd connection with him suddenly.

I found myself empathizing with him. I had never empathized with anyone in my life because no one could even begin to understand what horrors I had gone through in my life. There had been no reason to empathize with others who did not even truly know suffering. The Vicomte would not understand what it felt like to be physically deformed, to be trapped in what others thought of him, to be physically and emotionally beaten down until the only thing that was left was survival. He knew merely a fraction of what I had experienced. He had everything: money, family, friends, and handsome features. I, on the other hand, had nothing to start with. Yet somehow, I had managed to thrive. I had lifted myself up from the dregs of isolation and pain, and I was able to create.

I should not even think that the Vicomte had anything with which I could empathize. He had no hardships in his life. He probably had everything handed over to him as a child. I could feel the familiar rage build within me. The injustice of it all.

Yet, it faded as quickly as it had arisen. I saw the boy frown. I had never seen that. I'd always seem him smiling and vibrant. Even a few seconds ago, his facial features had been neutral. I could see him relaxing into his environment. His body slouched a little more and his hand unclenched from its place on the table. I could practically see him thinking that he was alone. See him think that he could just relax for a moment. It was odd to see him frown. It conflicted with the image I had of him in my head. It was an expression that did not seem to fit him, but at the same time, it looked less forced than his smile. Now that I had something to compare his expression with, it seemed obvious that the smile was indeed strained.

Then, he blocked his face with his hair. I wondered briefly if he had started to cry, but I did not see the telltale sign of his shoulders shaking. He was just frowning, and it was with perverse fascination that I wanted to see that expression again. I stared at him intently wishing I could somehow make him face me without alerting him of my presence.

With both of us still lost in our thoughts, Christine entered the room.

Surprised, she let out a small yelp, "Raoul! I hadn't known you were here. Why didn't you call me?"

I saw him lift his head and give her a small smile. It was painful to see that smile. It was more sadness than joy, but I did see some lightness in his eyes upon seeing Christine. So, Christine was his reprieve as well. She was like sunlight sometimes. She could just brighten your day. Often, she spoke words you wanted to hear and gave looks you wanted to see. She was a brilliant actress.

He replied, "I hadn't planned to come here. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing."

I was glad that Christine walked toward the mirror because I could see the expression on the Vicomte's face again. He was no longer frowning as he was before, but his sadness was etched in his eyes and his brow. I kept getting drawn into his eyes. They were filled with such sadness, such desperation. I knew that look. I knew desperation. I did not think that the Vicomte had been able to even comprehend the emotion, much less feel it.

Christine was staring at him. She was calculating something again. She was gauging what her next step should be. I had seen the look before, but it was not until now that I saw it in person and completely understood what it meant. She walked towards him with a frown on her face. She said, "Don't be so sad, Raoul. You shouldn't let your lady-love worry about you in such a manner."

Had I not been staring at the blonde's eyes, I would have missed the surprise and betrayal that flashed in them. It was there and gone in a moment, and in its place, his eyes became guarded. It was the only way I could explain it. The Vicomte's eyes had drawn me in earlier, and now while they still drew me, there was not the depth I had seen before. He was guarding himself.

I was frowning now. Of all the responses to speak, Christine had chosen that one. I did not understand where she was going with this. She had a reason for all her actions, and this one seemed off. It was obvious that the Vicomte was in some sort of distress. Was she just going to ignore it? Did she not even want to pretend to care? I allowed myself a derisive snort. This subtle rejection was something I was familiar with. At least, my rival would experience some of the same responses from Christine. I was certain it stung as Christine's rejections had hurt me.

But the boy had a different temperament from my own. The Vicomte simply smiled brightly, and when he did, I could almost believe that he hadn't been sad at all. Only 'almost' because now that I knew what to look for, I could start to see his shiny veneer beginning to crack. The mask was so plain to see and I wondered why I had missed it. It was easy to believe that the Vicomte was shallow and had no care in the world. He made it easy to think that.

It was also disturbing in a way. I was no longer sure I knew what to expect from the boy at all now. I had not realized the Vicomte was a terrific actor as well. He had been able to completely cover up his pain that even I, who was an observer of all things and who considered myself a discerning individual, had doubted what I knew and saw. I was starting to wonder. The Vicomte was even more dangerous now. He was dangerous because now I knew him to be unpredictable. That person under the smile may be the real danger.

I somehow doubted that because the person that I had glimpsed earlier seemed as tired as I felt. He had seemed as dejected and worn down as me. It did provide some twisted sense of comfort for me, knowing that in the light, a creature was suffering as well.

Christine was just talking through all this. She was not even looking at Raoul anymore. I suddenly realized that I had barely spared Christine a glance once she had entered the room. How idiotic of me. I was supposed to be finding inspiration in Christine and instead I was watching the Vicomte. I looked at her, but my eyes felt drawn back to the blonde. I knew what to expect from Christine and right now, it seemed as though I would not find any inspiration in her. She was merely annoying me.

"You can't be sad. You are handsome. And having everything you'd ever wanted, and even now you have a fiancé. You should be joyous." She laughed lightly at her own words. She had been staring at the mirror, at me but turned to face him now. She often turned to the mirror when she spoke as though I was her only audience. I knew it to be false, but she still kept the pretense. It was her lie to me. I think it was her first lie. She had promised me many things when I had first started tutoring her in her singing. She had said that I was the most important being in her life. She had thought I was the angel sent to her by her father of course, but as time wore on, she still maintained that promise in words if not in actions. I was sure that it had become more of a habit than anything that she spoke to the mirror. I did not think I even needed to be there. The angel was in her mind, just as I would never fully be a real person to her.

In the end, she was always just watching herself. She could not face her tutor, so she had to watch herself. It was what made her brilliant. She knew exactly what expressions she wore and what effect she could create with them.

The Vicomte nodded absently and replied quite dully in contrast to the smile on his face, "Of course. I was just having a terrible morning. Nothing to worry about."

I scoffed at the statement. How gentlemanly of the Vicomte to keep all his problems to himself. If you bottled up emotions long enough, they would overpower you. The thought had flashed in my mind, but it made me wonder. Maybe that was what was already happening.

Christine nodded and turned away again. Then the Vicomte, with more energy than I thought he had, grabbed her around her waist and spun her around. Christine laughed joyously and I stared hard at the blonde when I heard him laugh. I had thought it was a sob. I looked at his face and I saw nothing but happiness. He looked completely happy. I was sure what I heard though. The Vicomte was breaking, and I could not believe I was the only one to really notice.

Surely his family would have noticed. I was certain Christine saw it. Maybe she thought it was not so drastic, but she had to have seen it. Maybe she did not care enough to mention it. I knew the managers would not notice. They only cared about money, and as long as everything looked good on the surface, they would not notice. However, I had to admit to myself that when the Vicomte wanted to hide something, he could do it extremely well. Maybe Christine hadn't been calculating earlier, maybe she had just been confused. I doubted the blonde often showed anyone his true emotions.

The biggest question that was plaguing my mind though was why did I even care? I did not, right? Once again, I forced my eyes to watch Christine.

She walked across the room and started to adjust her clothing. I felt my eyes drawn back across the room as the Vicomte sat down.

In some detached way, I knew I should be mad. I knew that I should want to be in Raoul's place and be able to hug her and walk about her room so freely, but in this moment, this particular moment, it seemed as though all the right or wrong components had come together: my lack of inspiration, my growing apathy, and the depression and hurt I seemed to share with my rival. I had no desire to switch. It looked as constrained as my current life.

"Now," the blonde started conversationally. He sat rigidly and properly, like a perfect attentive gentleman, "What are you up to this morning?"

Christine excitedly turned before replying, "The masquerade of course."

The masquerade. I did not know what I was expecting, but it was obvious Christine would be thinking about the masquerade. She loved parties. She liked the attention she received with large crowds. It was why she had been the perfect choice in making a prima donna.

"The masquerade?" I heard the blonde question, "Isn't that still a month away?"

That amused me for some reason. It was a stupid question. Christine had been preparing for the masquerade weeks before today. I doubted a month seemed like enough time for her.

She chided him gently, "Love, there's so much to do."

I flinched at the word 'love.' She would never call me that, but from the quick expression of disgust on the Vicomte's face, it seemed he didn't want to be called that. It was a good thing that Christine was talking to the mirror again or else she would have seen. It was odd though. They were to be married, were they not? Shouldn't he want her to profess her love so easily? At least she did not call him Angel. I would have been angered. I paused to think about that. Maybe she should have called him Angel. Maybe the passion I was searching for would have come back. However, I think I would have been more disturbed than angered if she had called him that. I knew she threw the word around easily.

The Vicomte smiled anyway and seemed to be truly excited for her, "There can't be too much. Andre and Firmin would have told me as much."

Christine rolled her eyes playfully, "Not on the business side, dear. We are all practicing the performance for the night. We're going to get new dresses," I rolled my eyes as she spun around, "and masks and we're going to learn a new dance as well."

She was youthful and energetic. That was what I had thought attracted me to her, but for some reason, it seemed incredibly immature. Maybe not so much immature as shallow. She was not talking of anything of substance, and I was becoming bored with her. The only thing that seemed to keep me at the mirror was the Vicomte's reactions. I hated to admit it, but he was intriguing enough to have and keep my attention. Not the bad kind of attention either. It was not the you-have-just-been-noticed-by-the-OG-and-therefore-will-die attention. Not many people interested me enough that I would pay attention to them. I think I could count the number on one hand.

"So you've been under Madame Giry's care again," he prompted. He was amusing, too. I could tell the question was just an encouragement for her to continue talking so that he would not have to say anything. I did not know how he could stand the drivel.

I watched as Christine walked closer to the mirror. She was very beautiful. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, they were all perfect. She should be the perfect person for me, but it wasn't there. It, that elusive feeling of ease and understanding was not there. An honest look would have been nice as well. Honesty was something that Christine could fake entirely too well. Fake honesty seemed laughable. Could two things be so completely at opposite ends and still exist together? Part of me wished they could.

"Yes, yes," she replied, and I stared as her mouth formed the words. She was talking to the mirror. I was certain that she was staring and talking to herself. It was almost as though the Vicomte were not even there. I watched in fascination as she looked at the mirror intently. I could tell that she was not trying to look past it. I knew what that looked like. She was just staring at herself. She was directly in my line of sight. Yet, somehow my eyes were drawn past her. The Vicomte was staring at her head. He had just noticed that she was not really speaking to him.

"Madame Giry has been wonderful. She is often mean sometimes though, Raoul," Christine spoke, but I did not think that the Vicomte was listening. His eyes had glazed over, and he was lost in thought.

I wondered what he was thinking about. What would normal Vicomte's be thinking about? They'd be thinking about women, conquests, money, hunting… I had no idea, but I was certain that this Vicomte would not be thinking about any of those things. This boy was no ordinary Vicomte. It was refreshing really.

"But everything will be splendid," Christine continued to speak, "I'm practicing with the ballet girls the new dance that will just be the hit. Everyone will be talking about it for days after."

I wanted to shut her up, but I had to admit. Now that the Vicomte was daydreaming, I could really just look at him. His expression was neutral again, but I had not expected anything less. Though I would like to see what was underneath that mask of his, I was not certain that would ever occur. How would I get him to drop his façade in front of me? He was quite handsome in a boyish manner. He stood out in a crowd, not only because of his personality, but physically, he was radiant. Radiant…

"It's such a shame that I'm not going to be the prima donna. Carlotta's back and the phantom's gone. I guess it just wasn't meant to be," she turned to see his reaction at this point. She frowned when she saw that he was not listening.

I shook my head. I had not been listening either until she had said phantom. Unfortunately, I was so used to people calling me that that I responded. I lost my train of thought, but I was glad for it. I did not want to follow where those thoughts were leading me. It was insane to think of the Vicomte in such a manner. I looked at the boy again. It was harmless to admit he was handsome, but what exactly did that mean? I did not like the boy, and just because I had a new-found tolerance for him did not mean he was no longer my rival.

"Raoul," Christine turned around. "Raoul, Raoul!" She yelled.

I looked between Christine and Raoul. What had I been thinking? I forced my eyes to only look at Christine. She looked truly annoyed, but I could find no humor in it. I was still stuck on that thought I had of the Vicomte. He was my rival. He was someone I hated. I hated him right. I could not think someone I hated was radiant. Who even thought of others in those terms?

"Were you even listening to what I was saying?"

I looked at him (only to see his reaction). He opened his mouth and paused. He replied, "Sorry, Christine. I guess I haven't been sleeping well lately."

I winced because I knew Christine would not appreciate that answer at all. He should've just lied. The Vicomte had to know that Christine loved attention and that fact extended to a rule that she hated it when people weren't paying attention to her.

As I knew she would, she looked affronted.

"If I'm so boring," I shook my head at her tone. She was beginning to remind me of Carlotta a lot, "then maybe you should just leave."

"No, Christine," the blonde actually replied, standing up. I thought leaving would have been a good idea. If I had stayed, I would have made her see she was being unreasonable. She was being a petulant child. "You are the only person interesting enough to keep my attention." He walked over to the mirror. He looked at himself, and I could have sworn he was going to hit the mirror. He looked at his reflection with such loathing I almost thought he had directed that expression towards me. It was a look I knew all too well.

"What were you saying? Please repeat it for me," he continued in a gentler tone.

At this proximity, the word radiant would not get out of my head. I was angry with myself for being so weak. It was illogical to have such thoughts.

Christine glared, and he pouted at her. My breath caught in my throat. That was one look I had never seen the blonde have before. I think my heart skipped a beat. Of course that was just because the way Christine reacted to that pout. She grinned at him and lightly hit his hand. She was being playful.

"I was explaining how everything will be so splendid and how the dance is just perfect. The music will be upbeat and I'm training with the ballet girls since I'm probably not going to be the prima donna anymore now that Carlotta's back and the phantom's gone."

He finally caught onto her train of thought. She wanted someone to deny that statement. "Christine, don't say such things. You will be prima donna again."

Her face lit up, and I was a little angry. I unfortunately was angry at her. She wanted to sing well, and I taught her. She wanted to be the star, and I made her one. She wanted to see me, and I showed myself to her. Would she never be satisfied? She seemed to take and take, and now she was going to start taking from the Vicomte. I broke the thought off. I would have liked the next thought to have been that I was angry that she was going to leave me, but instead I had been angry that she would be taking advantage of the Vicomte. He was not mine to protect. I was supposed to protect her from him, not the other way around.

The blonde, blindly allowed himself to whet her ego, "Everyone loves you, but the managers are too blinded by Carlotta's longevity here to notice that she has long since past her prime."

At least, the Vicomte had spoken true words. Christine was a brilliant singer, but he was flattering her too much. She would want more. Christine smiled brightly at him, and still she said nothing.

He then knelt on one knee and grabbed her hand, "You never needed the phantom to become a star. You will become one again. I'm certain of it."

Now I knew the blonde was delusional. Christine never needed me? What idiocy. He was just giving hollow flattery. Christine would lose touch with the fact that everything that had lead her up to this point was only due to me. I was her voice. I had opened up the position for her. I had given her everything she had ever wanted. Me, a 'monster' had been the only one to ever give her hope.

"Raoul," she said. Her eyes finally looked upon him. She had been staring at the mirror again, "you are too kind."

I noticed his eyes looking at the mirror in suspicion. So, the blonde had indeed noticed Christine's inability to look at anyone other than herself. He stared a little longer and it suddenly felt as though he knew I was there. He looked away and I suddenly felt myself relaxing when I hadn't realized I had tensed.

He had looked away when Christine touched his hair. He glanced back at the mirror and then focused solely on her again. I saw her frown at him.

"You should cut your hair, Raoul," she commented to herself. She caught his eyes and smiled, "I'll even cut it for you if you like."

The Vicomte practically flinched backwards, but he completed the action smoothly enough to make it look semi-graceful. He grabbed her hand out of his hair. It seemed he was touchy about his hair. I rather liked his hair long. I was part of his radi… I just liked it because I could not get my hair to grow like that. Christine always wanted to change people around her. Change them so that she would be satisfied. She did not worry about what they wanted; only what she wanted. Most of her fans had actually changed their clothes, shaved their beards, and cut their hair even shorter because she had requested it of them. It had amused me at the time, but it annoyed me now that she tried to do it to the Vicomte. I could just imagine her asking me to stop being deformed. I glared at her through the glass.

She was looking at him expectantly again.

He laughed nervously, "It's not that I don't trust you to do it, but I rather like my hair long."

Christine made another face, "It's childish, Raoul. I remember when we were younger, you had shorter hair. You looked quite dashing."

Now, she was flattering him to get her way. I wondered if the Vicomte would be like everyone else and give in to her demands. I had been weak enough to do so as well.

I had almost forgotten that they were childhood sweethearts. It seemed like they were barely mature enough as it were. How could children even begin to understand romantic love? I wondered if Christine even understood it now. She sometimes looked as though she was just playing a complicated game with everyone's emotions. The Vicomte on the other hand, looked as though he meant forever when he told her he loved her. He was wavering though. Just as his façade was wavering, so too was his will. I wondered if I could use it to my benefit.

"It's staying long, Christine," he answered resolutely, and I mentally cheered for him. His tone lightened as he continued, "Do you not think I look dashing enough as is?"

She giggled and the sound irritated me. He was smart to change the direction of the conversation. Had it continued, I was certain that Christine would be looking for a pair of scissors.

"You look perfectly handsome. Like a knight in shining armor," she commented flippantly. I scoffed at that. Of course, the Vicomte would be the knight in shining armor and I would be the evil monster that takes the damsel in distress. The metaphor did almost fit perfectly. I looked like a monster and the Vicomte was radiant. I did not know about Christine being a damsel in distress but it would lose its effect if the knight had to 'save' a manipulative witch. I looked at Christine with disdain.

Damn it if I was doing it again. I was supposed to be here to see what my goal was. Christine was my goal. Christine was my goal. If I had to repeat it a million times over, I would. I had to understand that she was my only hope. No matter how much I now could empathize with the Vicomte, it meant nothing because in the end, I would take Christine and only then would things become better. It would be better with Christine.

"Well, then," the Vicomte bowed to her, "Would you allow me the honor of being your escort on the night of the masquerade?"

She smiled and daintily held out her hand. "Of course I would love for you to be my escort. Who else would I take?"

The boy kissed her hand, and I was annoyed. However, it was amusing to see him do the double take at her hand. I had been wondering when he would notice.

"Where's your ring, Christine?"

Christine took her hand back quickly. She looked around suspiciously before saying, "Don't say it so loudly, Raoul! Someone may hear."

That was a strange reaction. He had simply asked where the ring was. Just because I had known of what he was speaking did not mean he had given anything away. Her reaction was a bit too large.

"We're in your room, Christine. Who would hear us? The walls are not so thin that merely speaking could be heard. I had merely asked you where your ring was."

The walls were not the problems, the mirrors were.

"The walls have ears, Raoul," Christine replied as she dragged him away from the mirror.

That was smart of her to move away from the mirror, but that would do them no good. It was futile to try to move further away, especially since the Vicomte was not whispering at all.

"Christine, you needn't worry about the phantom any longer. He has not shown himself in five months. Does that mean nothing?"

I laughed silently. Of course it meant nothing. Absence from sight does not mean complete disappearance. The Vicomte still had things to learn about the opera house it seemed.

"What nonsense are you talking about? If I do not see his body, then I will not believe that he is dead," Christine looked ready to stamp her foot, "Anyway, this has nothing to do with that."

I glared at her again. Christine was not making it easy for me to find inspiration. She was supposed to be my goal, but instead she talked about my death so easily.

She continued to speak when she saw that the Vicomte was unconvinced, "I just don't want anyone to know about it yet. Can't you understand?"

She just did not want me to know about it. I knew she had almost told Meg a while ago, but was stopped when everyone else had joined them. I already knew however, but that was beside the point. I was sure that she knew I knew. I did not know however, what her game was.

"No, I don't understand," the blonde replied heatedly. I felt a little badly for him. They had confessed their love for each other and now it seemed Christine wanted to take it back. It was good news for me, but the Vicomte looked like a kicked puppy right now. "You were so excited when I got the ring for you, and an engagement is hardly something any girl I've ever known hides."

"I'm not just any girl, Raoul."

It sounded like an old argument. It had been five months since they had gotten engaged, and she was still hiding the ring? That was a very long time. It seemed my prospects were still good.

"Yes, I know," the Vicomte sounded tired again, "You aren't any girl. You're my fiancé and I want everyone to know of it."

"I can't do that," Christine adamantly stated. She shook her head. "Meg and I were talking about it, and she suggested something that perfect."

The boy did not look at all interested. He was not even faking it anymore.

"She said that I should just wear it around my neck. I'll still be wearing it, but it will be…"

"… less obvious," he finished.

Yes, it was definitely an old argument. I wondered if I could manage to tear them apart completely so that I would not even have to worry about the Vicomte getting in the way. It seemed like a very plausible idea now that I had heard their argument.

I turned around, tired of hearing their conversation. The Vicomte was giving in and he no longer amused me.

That ring held an important symbolism, not only for the Vicomte, but for myself as well. It was our future. It was what we wanted. It embodied who would be the winner in our competition.

However, I knew what Christine thought of it. It was easy to tell once you knew where she kept it. I had seen her place it the first day they had gotten engaged. The ring lay amongst her costume jewelry in the dresser. It was just another play thing to put on when she acted.

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End ch04

word count: 6,148

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Some of those parts, I was in a strange mood, so if the tone seems off, I apologize. I was just amused and Erik being amused at Raoul and annoyed at Christine. :o)