AUTHOR'S NOTE: Though you haven't reviewed too diligently once again (hem hem), here's your new chapter. Yet if you don't feed me enough reviews… you know, my friend Dern and I are working on this new project currently. You don't want me to abandon this, or do you? (Erik: At last, the boy has learned to threaten people. Rejoice…)
Pertie: I won't say too much now to your comment, but I think you'll like what's going to happen to Delannay later on. (Erik: I like it, at least… I might just start cackling like my namesake, the one known as Chaney Erik…)
Beregond's Girl: General population and intelligence? Right you are, forget it. Say hi to Arien, and she can eat me for that table of contents if she likes, though there will be no more updates then. (Erik: Hey there, fellow Erik. A bit on the skinny and corpsey side, are you? Cheer up, there are enough girls who find that hot and who think noses are merely optional.) You see, yours isn't the only Erik who can sound like that at times, maybe he ought to go to the basement too…
jtbwriter: Well, Maurice does have some function, doesn't he? ;) So, on we go. (Erik: If you were going to spout spoilers, kid, then shut up.)
Dern: It's mah boy:D You certainly have a thing for coppers, eh? And you actually appreciate unpleasantness in larger quantities… (Erik: Want me to be unpleasant for a bit? I'm good at it…)

-.-.-

II. Stranger than you dreamt it

"It's you again." It was no question; she was stating a fact, a fact she saw before her eyes and recognized as reality. No, not a dream, then, despite what she had come to believe over those past five days. From her little window up on the third floor, just a couple of alleys away from here, she had watched the autumn rain wetting the pavement in the yellow glow of the streetlight before the house where she lived, had watched it darken and begin to gleam, to gleam like his eyes had gleamed, and she had felt it had been a dream, born of boredom and loneliness. A dream never to be real.

But it was. He was. There he stood before her, and she wondered how she could ever have doubted his existence.

Was she glad to see him? She could not say. When she had met him first, he had frightened her, but now there was nothing about him left that scared her. The rain had washed it away, together with her illusions. The rain had taken the threat away and left a mere man, his dark hair wet and dripping, and droplets glittered upon his black cloak like tiny pearls. A long strand had slipped out of the soggy ribbon that held his hair together at the back of his neck and now clung to his right cheek – except that this could not quite be called his cheek, since the right side of his face between forehead and upper lip was covered by a white mask that left only the eye exposed, an eye that seemed dark in the shadow of the corridor.

How odd. Why would anyone wear such a thing? Especially a good-looking man like this one… Though it strangely suited him, in a way, it gave him an air of mystery.

"I'm afraid I'm a persistent one, mademoiselle." His lips formed a little smile that did not go away anymore. "Your name is Valencienne, isn't it?"

She nodded, uncertain what to do. He must have asked her colleagues about her; how else could he know her name? This meant he pursued her, and she did not appreciate the idea very much. But then again… maybe she did. The fascination, the thrill of knowing that a tall, handsome man had inquired about her, and the knowledge that he was strong and impetuous…

Impetuous. Impetuous indeed! Actually she should be angry with him.

"That's not a very common name." He came sauntering towards her, still wearing this captivating smile from which she could not tear her eyes away. "Especially for a country girl, I think. But you secretly hope it will help you a little, don't you? That people will remember your name at least?"

He was close enough to touch her easily, but she hardly heeded that fact. "How do you know?" she demanded, vainly trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. Heavens, how could he? She had never spoken of this to anyone!

"Let's say I remember what I learned from you the last time we met."

Suddenly she realized that his hands were on her shoulders, that he was far closer to her than she would normally have let him come, but she could not back away anymore now; his grip was too firm, gentle but unyielding. Briefly the thought flashed through her head what would happen if anyone saw them now, what her colleagues would think, but then the dread pushed it back again, the dread of not knowing what had truly happened between them that last time. Had she truly told him of her inmost thoughts and hopes?

"Don't be afraid." His voice was very soft, very soothing, and she felt warmth spreading inside her, though she could not tell whence it came. "I can keep you safe from the world outside. No harm will befall you as long as I'm with you."

For a moment she was tempted to rest her head against him, but her pride kept her from it. She could not just swoon into a stranger's arms only because he was handsome and had a soothing voice! Especially when it was the danger he represented himself that made her need soothing. "How do I know it is not you who may harm me?"

His smile never faltered as he quirked an eyebrow, the one that was not hidden by his strange mask. "Do I look like a dangerous man to you?"

"Yes." It sounded forced and feeble to her own ears.

"Oh, really." His voice was tinged with amusement as he pulled her closer. "Then you'll soon find that I'm nothing but a tame predator who likes to play."

Lord, how tempting it seemed to simply huddle against him! "But a predator all the same." No, she would not give in to him. "I'm no courtesan. Go find yourself someone else to play your little games with."

As she said this, she raised her head to look him squarely in the eyes – and suddenly she felt how the world dimmed around her. His eyes were gleaming, fires of blue in the shadows, and their heat consumed her gently, devoured her in a caress. "But there is no one else I want," she could hear his voice from far away, like a thin, silky veil lightly stroking her cheek. "What do I gain from a courtesan's love? It is brief and as false as a hyena's. Your lips have stoked a fire inside me. Will you let me burn without granting me what you silently promised back then?"

"There is nothing I promised you," she protested weakly, unable to avert her gaze.

"I read it in your eyes." One of his hands was wandering up the side of her neck. "They leave your sweet little mind so unprotected…" His fingers stroked her cheek, then settled in her hair, at her temple. "They are gateways to your soul, my dove. And what a pretty soul you have, I might add." He chuckled gently. "Won't you kiss me again?"

"No." But already she felt her resistance melting away with the heat his eyes had kindled in her. Heavens, she would not give in! She could not!

"No? And yet you want to. I know you do." While still toying with her locks, he gently rested his forehead down against her head. "It's your choice, of course. I only hope you won't regret it later on."

"No," she repeated, as firmly as she managed to. She should pull away now, she knew, or at least try to, but she stood transfixed where she was, close to him, and even though their gazes did not meet any longer, she thought she could still feel his burning eyes on her.

"Then I hope you will never deem this moment wasted, this day, the past days, the times of your youth. Maybe the time will come when you look out of your lonely window with regret, wishing to see the stars glinting in the sky, and all you see is the dull gleam of the cobblestones in the rain, and then you remember… All those years the rain washed away, those long, dark, empty years you've spent alone in the shadows, dead to the world… The world does not care, and neither does the rain, because it will still wash the cobblestones when you're gone, and the stars care least of all. What does it matter to them what sorry excuse for a life you've led? What do they care when you look back on the ruins of a lifetime? For you're just a tiny dot in a larger pattern, a pattern you can't see and wouldn't understand even if you could, and there's no purpose in your existence save damnation, and no redemption to be found, and the dream of love you once harboured is long torn to shreds, broken to shards that cut you with their sharp edges… and finally the point comes where you hardly feel the pain anymore because you're bled dry, but still you go on, empty inside, heading nowhere, and when you watch the rain beating the street, when you watch those cobblestones gleam… then you sometimes wonder if it could have been the starlight instead, if you had just chosen differently, because you did have a choice back then, you only did not see it…" Suddenly his hands dropped away from her and he stood back, his head lowered, his features ghostly pale against the black of his cloak and his dark hair wet from the rain. For a moment he was silent, then he whispered, "Forgive me." And with a twirl of his cloak that conveyed an air of elegance yet somehow seemed very mechanical, he turned and walked away from her without looking back.

"Wait." Valencienne did not quite know why she said it. She had gladly felt that dazzling heat fading, and she was glad to see the stranger go, yet at the same time… he fascinated, positively enchanted her. How she wished for these eyes to be gone and stare through her no more, and how she wanted them to bore into hers again at the same time! Now he had turned away, the heat had gone completely as well, and all that was left was the usual chill of the corridor, and she was confused to find that she did not know which one she would prefer. "Who are you?"

He halted, but did not turn back to her. "Someone who has learned his lesson." His voice, so warm and melodious before, was toneless now, except for a clear tinge of bitterness.

She spoke before she had truly collected her thoughts. "Who was she?" Because she understood now whom he had truly meant when he had spoken of all that regret and pain and loss.

But had he truly wanted her to comment on it in any way, she suddenly asked herself. Should she not better have kept silent?

This time he slowly turned around, the floorboards creaking gently under his heavy boots. Never before had she seen anyone wearing boots in combination with an evening dress, but she found that it suited him. "Why would you care?" Abruptly he threw back his head, shaking a few wet strands of hair out of his face, and his bright eyes flashed briefly in the twilight.

God, what a scathing tone suddenly! Like a wounded animal, he lashed out when something touched him. All the same, he had no right to take that tone with her. "You began it, didn't you?" And she had meant to hit him, she remembered. "Why did you come here, in the first place?" She really should do it, just walk up to him and hit him, but now he was there, she could not quite summon up the courage. Besides, she felt there was something else hurting him already. No longer enshrouded by mists and mystery, he was nothing but a man now, nothing but a stranger like all the others who hopefully came to this corridor. He might stand out among them perhaps, but it did not truly make a change, not any longer. "I'm not her, even if I may remind you of her – it's that, isn't it?"

Only a brief tightening of his lips told her that she was right. His features were stone now, as cold and motionless as the mask he wore.

Who was he? Who was he really? Now it suddenly seemed to Valencienne that he was two men at once, one the enchanter, the one who had cast his spell over her and enthralled her with one glance, the other the victim, the broken man, soon too weary to search for a way to ease his pain. "I'm sorry I asked."

"Never mind." He tried to give his voice a light tone, yet he did not quite succeed. "You're not her, no, and you never will. But you please my eyes as you are." Before she could find any retort, he added, "Have you ever tried another place than this? Anything better?"

Confused, she shook her head. Were his eyes lighting up again, with that same fire as before?

"You have a chance. And I could help you there." Still he did not quite meet her gaze, but he smiled again. "You wanted to know who I am, didn't you?" Was it truly amusement she thought to hear in his voice? How could he have caught himself so soon? Was he really sauntering towards her once again? "I am the master over a place you picture in your dreams. I can give you everything your ambition might drive you towards, that and much more. Though I may be at war with the world at the moment", here his smile became a little ironic, "I will not let it detain me. There's always a new beginning, for both of us. Come." And he held out his black-gloved hand for her.

Drawing a deep breath, Valencienne tried to soothe all the questions whirling around in her mind. What did he want? How should he know of her dreams and ambitions? Who was he? Where did he mean to take her? And, unimportant as that was, how had he managed to put on gloves so suddenly? When he had turned to go away, probably, but still… Not, that really was not important. What mattered more was… could he truly read through her eyes what secret dreams she harboured?

And how had he known of the rain on the pavement one lonely night?

"Come with me," he repeated gently, and it seemed to her that the walls were whispering the words along with him. His eyes shone in the half-light, like pale stars in the morning…

Lord, who are you, who are you underneath that mask? Angel or demon, from Heaven or from Hell?

And then he took her hand, and she doubted no more.