Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, or Corpse Bride. The latter is a bit freaky, so maybe I shouldn't own it until I get used to it. Meh.

Moonjava: Ah yes, I see what you mean. Don't worry, you don't have to do too detailed reviews – it just gets a bit disconcerting when you say the same thing over and over again. Variation is a wonderful thing! Thanx for the great chapter thing!

MetalMyersJason: I love ghost stories as well! My favourites are M.R. James – so good! I do know what you mean – I believe everyone should be free to practise what they believe. Even Wicca, if that makes them happy. Except the KKK. They are bad. Very bad. I've never seen Hellboy. Is it good? I heard it was good. I wanted to go see it, but no one would take me, and I didn't have any money myself. Cruel, heartless family! And yes, I know I can rent it on DVD or something – but my mum might start giving me weird looks if I asked to rent it. Then again, she let me rent 'Dracula 2000'…yeah, maybe she would let me after all.

SimplyElymas: Good! I'm glad she has spunk! Like I've said before, I'm not really a fan of Christine being a ditzy airhead – otherwise why would the Phantom be attracted to her? For her ditzyness? Carlie and Chris – what a double act! Yes, Raoul and Christine got into some real trouble when they were younger, I assure you! My Buquet is nice! Ah, I have achieved niceness for Buquet! He owes me one! I thought it would be funny to have him impersonate Raoul – I got that line from the Leroux book, when Raoul was thinking about their childhood. I also got the line about the fairies form Chapter Three from there as well! I'm really mixing in the book with the film and musical here. Tales of Erik are good – though I don't think this is quite so cuddly, since they were talking about him being an avenging ghost who's fought his way out of his grave and had his face rotted off. If you think that's cuddly…well, it's up to you, luv. Thanx for the review!

Lydiby: Ah, thanks for forgiving that which I did not commit! There's a flaw in that logic somewhere…but thanks anyway! I don't think you're making yourself unpopular – from the reviews I've read on your story, people seem to like your writing. I'd 'love' to find out how I'd react to his face as well – probably scream and faint. I mean, should I jump for joy at the sight of a moving, talking corpse – assuming I don't know what an interesting personality he has? Or worry that he's going to eat my skin? You're not unpopular – I like you, so stop worrying! And if they don't like me – well, we'll deal with that when the time comes.

Mominator124: Ah, glad it's not boring! Then again, the boring chapters often explain more. I wasn't thinking of Harry Potter myself – but now that you mention it, it is sort of like that. I love ghost stories too – try M.R. James's. The best one is 'Casting the Runes', but 'Oh whistle and I'll come to you may lad' and 'The Ash Tree' are good as well. Oh, dear. You don't like hinting at future events? Then, to keep you, my nice reviewer happy, I hereby swear I shall do my very best to foreshadow, but not to spoil the story. I won't say I won't because I might slip up and then you might chase me and beat me over the head with a kipper, or something. I don't want my hair to smell of kippers! Even though they're kind of tasty. Anyway, I promise I will do my best not to do it. You will soon discover what happens next…(Subtle enough for you?)

Phantomette: Welcome aboard! When my sister Lucie and I saw Corpse Bride in the cinema for the first time – and let me tell you, seeing it on the big screen is a lot more freaky than watching it on your computer – we were a bit freaked out as well. I mean, for one thing a lot of the trailer takes place in the dark – not the dark of the cinema, but the events in it take place at night. And rather creepy stuff when – no! If you're reading this and you haven't seen the trailer, I'm not going to spoil it for you! I'm glad I don't have any plot holes – plot holes are bad. Has anyone seen in some editions of Philip Pullman's Northern Lights, for example, at one point the head gypsy woman has an eagle or some sort of bird for a daemon, and then later on she has a wolf? That's what I mean. It just ruins stuff for you. As for the non grammar errors and spelling mistakes, I must confess that I cheat – I write this on my computer, and it warns me if I've made a spelling mistake or a grammar error. So I don't really have to do any work. I hang my head in shame. But I have a rare gem! Thank you, my faithful reviewer, thank you!

Kat097: Yeah, can't wait for that to come out! Christopher Eccleston was good; but I kept remembering him in Elizabeth, and shuddering…never mind, Christmas is only about six months away…oh, I shouldn't have said that, should I? Never mind, September is only about two months away – only now I think it's out in October! Curse these American films! How come they always come out over there before over here? Not fair! Not fair! I don't practice my religion much – for one I don't have much time, what with going to school from eight of the clock until six, and going on Saturdays as well – Sunday really is a day of rest for my house. Then again, chapel is compulsory on Saturday mornings for most of the school; but unfortunately, since I go to a Protestant school, it sort of defeats the object. Darn. Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

Willow Rose: Anything for the one who ensured I would get more reviews! Life is very good, especially since my GCSEs are over, and holidays are coming. I do take it for granted sometimes – other times I praise it. Nope, it's definitely 'oblige the seamstress' at the bottom. Let me explain; when Random Battle-cry started writing 'The Further Adventures of…' (a truly excellent phic, by the way; a worthy sequel to 'Whose lair is it anyway?') I was overtaken by excitement, and asked her, in one of my reviews, if I could be a minion. As my selling appeal, I told her, among other things, that I was very good at sewing – which I am…modest little flower, ain't I? – and that I could stitch people up when they got hurt or something, or stitch clothes when they got ripped in all the sucker punching and stuff. She took me at my word; and if you go to her profile and scroll down to her list of minions, you will see me there, besides being in the list of people who are currently featured in her writing, as 'seamstress'. Filled with gratefulness, I now view myself as an official seamstress – a real one, not a Terry Pratchett one – and consequently urge people to review and oblige me, as 'she who sews up all the problems in the world – including some people's mouths.' Not that I've ever done that…though I may, in time…Blessed be, indeed! I bless you, as a seamstress, my faithful reviewer! Oh dear, all this 'divine seamstress' business is going to my head! I must go off and read the work from some of my idols, and be consequently humbled!

So, now once again from the viewpoint of little Miss. Daaé – a whole chapter of it, if relatively short! Our favourite ingénue has, I feel, been a little neglected, so it's time to put that to rights. Now we shall see what dear Christine thinks about it all since yesterday's reflections.

'The most happy.'

Anne Boleyn

Proposals

Christine sat on her bed, her amethyst coloured silk skirts piled up around her; the real amethysts still at her ears and throat. But she cared nothing for the splendid clothes and jewels she wore – she looked only at the ring upon the finger of her left hand, sparkling in the candle light, gleaming against her pale skin.

A beautiful thing; a simple circle of gold, but studded on one side with diamonds, around an central, larger diamond, with the faintest hint of blue – not showy, but somehow seemingly perfect. "The most beautiful ring for the most beautiful bride," Raoul had said solemnly, as he has placed it upon her finger, in front of everyone in the Louis Philippe room, and kissed her just as solemnly; a chaste brush of his lips on her cheek.

He was not nearly so solemn but a little later, her mind whispered, as she saw herself reflected a hundred, a thousand times over, in the many, many facets of the ring.

No, he had certainly not been so solemn – he had been anything but solemn, when he had caught her only a few minutes ago, when she had been making her way up to her room, alone, up one of the great marble staircases; when he had pulled the ring off her finger, and dropped to one knee on the marble step beside her, and clasped her hands in his, and proposed again – only this time, he had asked her.

"Christine, will you marry me? Not because we have been betrothed since we were children; not because of the alliance between our families; not because of any of that – for me. Will you marry me for myself?"

And when she had said yes, he had whooped like the little boy he had once been, and jumping up swept her up in his arms and whirled her around, so that she squealed almost like a little girl herself, half in joy, half in fright, both rejoicing in his delight and her own, half fearing that they would both fall over, or that he would loose hold of her and drop her.

Silly girl…he's never dropped you. Even when we were little, he never did…

And when he had finally set her down again, as he had slipped the ring onto her finger once more, his lips had caught her own…she, who had never expected to be kissed in such a way, until the day of her wedding, and then only after her husband had lifted her veil and looked upon her as his bride for the first time. And she had looked into his eyes, and she knew she had seen love.

And she knew she loved him. She knew she loved him, ever since she had first seen him entering the drawing room the previous day; even though she denied Meg's protests of love at first sight she knew it was true – knew this was meant to be the same way she knew that when she began a certain song, she would sing it beautifully, surpassing anything else that evening.

This was meant to be.

For the last few years, her impending marriage had been a source of dread, but also resignation on her part. She had been 'getting married' for so long now that it had lost all savour and meaning to her.

It is nothing special. Even with all the gifts and trinkets and trimmings, it is nothing special.

But to be married – to be married to such a husband as Raoul – that was another thing entirely; and she felt no adversity to it at all. How could she? Her walking, hertalkign with him, even with the addition of the others, had bridged the gap that six years had created. Many years had gone by, but Raoul was still the same; still sweet, still slightly nervous, still a little under-confident; still the same, cherished playmate, only now changed as well; into a mature, slightly more confident young man, that any young woman would be glad to wed.

And I want to marry him. For himself…

So why did she feel the way she did? As she looked at the ring, she now felt no euphoria, no joy, nothing but an odd feeling, deep in her gut – an old feeling, which had come to her in her younger days, and had come to her again, now, of all times, when she should be feeling so happy.

What was it? Reluctance? No. Resentment. No, not that either. What then? And why did she feel it? She should be feeling happy – she knew she should be feeling happy. What then was wrong with her?

There was a sudden tap on the door, and a whisper, that could only belong to one person out of so many in the household. "Christine?"

Quickly straightening, she rearranged her skirts, saying as she did so "Come in, Meg."

The door creaked open, and the younger Giry appeared, arranged as she was in all her finery – far more richly attired than anything she had worn in Paris; and if Genevieve or Celandine had noticed that she had filched much of her jewellery from the trinkets that had been sent to Christine, they hadn't mentioned it. But the dress was her own, bought in Paris by Madame Giry and fashioned from the finest egg-blue silk, made specially for her; and accentuated by letting her golden hair fall down her back, and with diamonds and sapphires adorning her ears and throat; in short resembling a sort of angel. And right now her blue eyes gleamed with delight, as they espied Christine.

"There you are!" she whispered, sliding into the room and shutting the door behind her. Not until the last action was completed did she dare to raise her voice; a reflex born of years of sitting up during the night and risking Madame Giry discovering them while they chattered away together; and with a rustle of silk she quickly made her way over to the bed, to sink down beside her best friend and seize her hands.

"Oh, Christine; that was so romantic!" she blurted out.

She sighed, a small smile tracing her lips. Once again, Meg had lost her. No change there, then. They could be in Paris or in Portugal; but Meg would always be Meg. "And what would that be then, Meg?"

Meg looked at her as if she was not a little affected in her wits. And perhaps I am. "Raoul proposing, of course! It was so sweet!"

She allowed herself a chuckle. "Oh, yes; very sweet. A brief exchange of vows, and a kiss on the cheek. Very romantic indeed."

Meg waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, I don't mean the one in the Louis Philippe room! I meant the one afterwards…" She lapsed into a giggle.

What? But how?

As calmly as she could, she managed to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Don't get mysterious with me, Christine Daaé. I saw you on the stairs. I saw him go down on one knee. I heard him ask you again – and the way he asked it. I heard you say yes. I saw him whirl you around; and you two kiss. And what's more," the little Giry went on, nestling still closer to Christine, and putting an arm around her waist so that she could not edge away, "I saw that you liked it. Quite a lot, actually. Am I right?"

She bowed her head, to hide the flush she knew was breaking out over her cheeks. "Yes," she admitted. "Yes, I did."

"Well, why were you looking like you'd bitten your lip or something just now? As if you had something to be worried about." Meg's sky blue eyes were fixed on her now, she could tell; though she couldn't see them she could practically feel them boring into her, like augers.

"Christine…are you worried?"

She bit her lip, willing herself not to speak, not to say anything, for fear of saying the truth.

"Christine," Meg's voice came again, and now all the playfulness was truly gone, to make way for both concern and interrogation. It was at times like these that Meg really resembled her mother, much as she disliked to admit it. "Is everything all right?"

She shut her eyes, wanting her to just go away, and leave her alone, in a sudden savage burst of emotion. Meg's hand came up to clasp her shoulder; she held firm, firm as a rock, an iceberg in a frosty sea; she tensed, as if to throw her off if need be.

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…

"Christine?" There was something of the child in Meg's voice again; but this time used as a type of foil; a bait to lure out a statement of sorts. "What's the matter?"

Still she said nothing. Her hands, clasping into the mattress like claws, were going numb; she could feel the coolness of the ring becoming rapidly warm. Still she would not speak.

"Do you want this marriage?"

There. There it was. As simple as that. Who would have thought five words could undo a person in such a way? Suddenly her iron resolve was gone, as was her ice; hot tears flooded out from her eyes, and down her snow cheeks; her support was lost, as her hands came away from the edge of the bed. Her head was on Meg's breast, she knew not how it came there; and Meg's hand was quietly smoothing down her unruly curls, and Meg's voice was whispering in her ear, as the former childlike of the two now comforted the one who had been an engaged woman, but now sobbed like a infant who had cut her knee or broken her crown.

"There, there," she heard the whisper. "Ssh, ssh, ssh. It's all right. It's all right." Again and again the mantra rang in her ears, trying to soothe her, to calm her, to cease her tears. Eventually, she felt the words somehow begin to take effect, as the lump in her throat slowly decreased, and her eyes ran out of tears, and were now simply sore. Gradually, her sobs melted away.

The first time…the first time anyone's ever…

There was silence between the two for a while, as she breathed and Meg kept stroking her head, seemingly desiring to do nothing else – nothing else at all. But at length the golden haired girl said, softly, "I am sorry, Christine. I should have seen it before."

"See what?" Her voice was harsh from sobs and tears, and cracked a little as she spoke.

"That you're unhappy," Meg said fiercely, abruptly. Just as abruptly, she released her head, and pulled her gently up by the chin, to look into her own eyes. "That you don't want to marry him. Well, you don't have to. We'll run away. We'll go somewhere, anywhere, as long as…will you stop laughing like that, you senseless girl?"

She was suddenly laughing so hard now, it was hard to believe she had ever been crying at all, even for herself. She wasn't quite crying again, but she felt she was quite close to tears, if she had had any left after her weeping fit. She clutched Meg's hands, as she laughed and laughed. Meg, from what she could see, looked both confused and indignant, which was better than looking upset and scared – though a little fear was emerging in the blonde haired girl's features as well.

Better stop that at once.

Getting a grip on herself, she said gently – or as gently as she could, considering the circumstances – "It's all right, Meg. It all right. I'm not unhappy. I'm very, very happy indeed."

"Then why the simultaneous crying and laughing fits?" the other girl asked, still looking as she expected her to faint or something.

"Oh, Meg. It's just that…" She squeezed Meg's hands, trying to think of the right thing to say, the right thing to convince her of her own thoughts. "It's just that…please believe me, I do want to marry Raoul. I really do. I love him, despite all I said about love at first sight." This managed to win a grin from Meg, and she smiled back, before she ploughed on. "But…you are the first person who's ever asked me if I actually wanted the marriage. The very first. Not even Papa…" she tailed off.

Don't think about that. Don't think about it.

There was another silence, before Meg said, slowly, as if trying to understand a rather cryptic riddle, "You mean, your own father never asked you if you wanted to marry Raoul?"

"Well, it wasn't quite like that. He certainly asked me if I liked Raoul, and he was glad when I told him I did – he didn't want me to marry someone I couldn't even like, let alone love. But when that issue was resolved, all such questions ended. Since I liked Raoul, he had no qualm about letting the marriage go ahead." Christine smiled softly, her cheeks awkward from the stickiness of her tears, as she looked down at her hands holdings her friend's. "Papa was very loving – but he was also very eager to make sure I would be well provided for."

"But even so – to arrange the marriage without knowing if you wanted it or not!"

"It wasn't just Papa – it was everyone in the de Chagny family as well. They seemed to think I should be happy for the privilege of marrying their golden boy." She sighed. "They treated Raoul in much the same way. I don't know if he was in the same frame of mind as me – he certainly never asked me if I wanted the marriage myself."

"And do you want it now?" Meg ventured softly.

She considered. Her opinions had changed a lot from yesterday afternoon, when they had first arrived. Then, she had been apprehensive, and resigned. But after only a day or so of being reunited with Raoul, her outlook had quite changed.

To get married…that is nothing desirable to me. But to be married…that is something quite different…

"If you had asked me that when I was twelve," she replied at last, "even in the wake of Papa's death, I would probably not know. But now I can safely say yes. I do want to marry Raoul. Not because I am obliged to. Not because there is no other course for me to take. But because I want to." She squeezed Meg's hands in hers. "And I am happy. Please Meg, believe me. I am happy."

She was rewarded by the smile on Meg's face. "I am glad," the other girl said softly. "I couldn't have born it if you were not happy, Christine. I would not have been able to stand it." She leant forward, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "But now I know that you are."

"Meg?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell anyone about the – other proposal, will you? I have a feeling Philippe the Elder for one would not approve."

Meg giggled, finally dispelling the gloom that had settled on her face. "Never fear, Princess Christine, your secret and Prince's Raoul's is safe with me, the humble handmaid."

"I'm not a princess, Meg."

"You are, whatever you say," Meg said briskly, pushing herself up and off the bed, her diamonds – or rather her diamonds, if she thought about it – glittering in the candlelight. "And now the princess must get ready for bed. You've had a logn day, and I think you're still a little dizzy from that crying and laughing." There it was again; underneath her cheerful exterior, she was still worried for her, worried for her health, and her mind. She felt both a wave of love and affection towards her for her devotion and care, and annoyance that she couldn't expect her to take care of her self now.

I'm not a child anymore. I don't have nightmares or headaches. Well…not often…

"And her faithful handmaid will help her undress." She gestured with her fingers for Christine to stand up and turn around.

Grinning ruefully, she did so. "Don't think you're always going to be doing this, Meg," she shot back.

"I know that," Meg replied cheerfully, as she began to undo the fastenings on the back of the gown. "Soon you'll have lots of maids to help you dress and undress everyday. So I might as well make the most of it, while I still can."

"You mean take the opportunity to make me feel faint whenever you can," she called over her shoulder, as she slipped her earrings out of her ears, and began to undo her necklace. "I swear you lace my corsets so tightly I can hardly breathe sometimes."

She didn't touch the ring, though. She kept it on her finger.

It was only later that night, when Meg was gone after tucking her into bed, and she had blown the candle out, that she allowed herself to consider again, without the interference of her friend. But nothing had changed for her in that time. Nothing at all…

I love Raoul. I do love him. And I want to marry him.

To get married is nothing special. But to be married…to him…

She snuggled down further under the embroidered covers; feeling the by now warm circle of gold on her finger.

I love Raoul. And I am going to marry him.

I am happy. I am so happy…

The most happy…

She felt herself drifting off to sleep, even as she thought those words.

The most happy…

Ah, yes, more R/C fluff – even thought Raoul wasn't there in this chapter. So I stuck in some interaction between Meg and Christine instead. Hey, we need to see the relationship between the two girls. I mean, they've been best friends since they were both twelve, so now Christine has a shoulder to cry on. Or a bosom…any way, I believe this may be…no, wait! I promised Mominator124 I wouldn't do stuff like that anymore! So you'll just have to wait and wonder, people! Sorry, but a promise is a promise!

READ! REVIEW! OBLIGE THE 'DIVINE' SEAMSTRESS, PEOPLE! (You have Willow Rose 3 to thank for that, by the way.)