Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année!

Pardon this bit of giddiness, but OMG! I can't believe I left you such a state as last chapter! I fear this chapter may not be as satisfying as some have hoped, but, as you know from the letters you have seen, I must remain loyal to the resources that Monsieur O.G. has so kindly made available to me. To that end, said Monsieur has been rather slack in advancing his story, and the future of this story is apparently up to conjecture. If any of my readers have an idea as to what happened to Cecily and Erik, please include them in a simple approval or disapproval review. But I digress. You came to read a story, not hear me prattle on. Until next time, dear reader, pouvez vous entendez la musique de la nuit.

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Cecily stared out over the dark water. What had she done? Such an act was commonplace in the candid world above, but if there was one thing she had learned about Erik, it was that he was not of the world above. The dress was beautiful to be sure. She had been honest when she told him she had and probably never would own another of its like. But that should not have been enough to override her common sense. She berated herself for her slip of judgment.

Her face still burned where he had touched it when wiping away her tear. He had been so gentle, so tender that she wouldn't have realized anything was amiss were it not for his eyes. His eyes were not kind, not soft like his words. Some other motive was behind his actions, one she could not place.

She buried her face in her knees, the simple blackness comforting against the swirl of thoughts in her mind. The image of his face after she had kissed him had scored itself into her mind, aided by those burning eyes of his. His eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life, she knew. They had at first been only a glow in the hopeless dark of the dungeons where she was sure she would die. Then they had smoldered with an angered passion deeper than any she had seen before. It was the passion that made her realize that she could never forget.

She had seen him kill with that passion in his eyes; the body still lay where it fell for all she knew. No, he was too thorough. She shuddered with the thought of Erik disposing of that wretch's body. That passion had burned so deadly then, so hot she feared those eyes would scorch her with their heat. What frightened her now was that she had seen passion in his eyes again after she kissed his cheek. He could kill her easily, if he wanted, or do things much worse than murder.

But would he? He had so far shown her only kindness when not in a fit of temper, and why be kind to her when he only planned to harm her? No, unless she continued to anger him as she apparently had, she still felt safe with him. What an odd sensation, to feel safe with a man she had seen kill, but she did feel safe. She had never felt safer in her life, except with her father, and that was so long ago.

She heard him emerge, but didn't lift her head from her knees. She couldn't face those eyes yet, and the familiar darkness behind her eyes was comforting against his intensity.

He walked silently out of the bedroom. He saw her sitting by the water and had no desire to attract anymore of her attention. His anger toward her was still hot, but it didn't rage as it had moments before. Her body told him that she regretted what she had done. He had been correct, she had not meant to tempt him. After all, why would anyone with eyes want to seduce him? Still, the kiss had been another step in her allurement. Damn her!

He clenched his fists, but the pain that caused made him hiss. He looked down and examined the small tears in his gloves. There was blood coming from each one, places where the unforgiving stone had left its indelible mark. He moved to the drawer where he kept the bandages and alcohol. He fumbled for a moment, trying to find a way to remove the ruined gloves from one hand without causing pain to the other. After several botched attempts, he cursed and slouched into a nearby chair.

Cecily had heard him. She had watched him get out the bandages and awkwardly endeavor to remove his gloves. As much as she didn't want to go anywhere near him, Cecily knew she had to. He needed her help, and she would not let him down, not when she owed him so much. Reluctantly, she stood and walked into the room. He did not notice her, or at least showed no reaction.

She knelt before him and took one of his hands into hers. His head jerked up, and she felt him try to pull his hand back, but she held on to his wrist firmly. She raised his sleeve just enough to slip her finger beneath the edge of the glove. As gently as she could, she began to carefully strip the thin leather from his hand. It took several moments before she pulled the last of it off his fingertips, but she did it without hurting him too badly. She reached for the other and began on it.

Erik watched in utter fascination as she worked the gloves away from his damaged hand. The part of him that had just wanted to kill her was utterly silenced as she aided him. He had not asked her for help; indeed, he never would have. She had come of her own accord.

Cecily covered a cloth with clean water and touched it to his hand. His sharp intake of breath made her feel a bit guilty at causing the pain, but she disregarded it. She wiped his hands clean of the dirt that had embedded itself into the cuts. When she was satisfied that both hands were clear of debris, she held both of them up. "Hold still." He scoffed, but did as she said. She poured some of the alcohol over his hands and patted it with the cloth. He hissed and tried to pull his hands back again. Again, she grabbed his wrists and held them there.

"Calm down, Erik. I know it stings, but it had to be done. Here now," she said, blowing softly on his hands to cool the sting of the alcohol. He held stock still as she did, his teeth gritting together. She probably took it as a sign of pain, and he didn't care. He would never have wanted her to guess the true reasons for the action.

After several moments, she pulled back and wrapped his hands in a bandage. "There you are, monsieur. They're not bad, as I'm sure you know. A day at most for you." He flinched. He wanted to play the organ, but knew that he couldn't. Even a day without his music frightened him. "I know. A day sounds like an eternity sometimes, doesn't it?" Without another word she slipped from the room, a look that Erik read clearly as Now you know how I feel written on her face.

When he was certain she was out of hearing range, he looked down at his hands. He knew quite plainly that she suspected his motives, but still she was kind to him. This fell out of his range of experience, and so his range of reactions. In that single moment, his desire for her ceased to be physical, his loathing of her disappeared. His investment mentality swept away in a flood of confusion, he shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it. Staring openly at his bandaged hands, Erik found himself without a plan regarding the strange girl he had found in the catacombs below l'Opera.