A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! Knowing you're still out there, waiting patiently for my overdue updates, keeps this story alive. As promised, you didn't have to wait as long for this one, I do apologize for it being rather short. Have a head start into the next chapter, though. Bon Appétit!

"You who ridicule the poor, the grieving, the lost, the fallen, the inarticulate, the wounded children in grown-up bodies: May you look into each face, and see a mirror. May all your cleverness fall into the abyss of your speechless grief, your secret hunger; May you look into that black hole with no name and find…the most tender touch in the darkest night, the hand that reaches out. May you take that hand. May you walk all your circles home at last, and coming home, know where you are."—Morrigan. ..

I decided I'd calmed down enough to go rejoin the masses. Erik hadn't returned yet, but I didn't have to wait long. Christine came trotting down the stairs with the Vicomte right behind her, a look of sheer panic etched on her pale features. I watched as she and the Vicomte exchanged a few hurried words before Christine pushed him towards the exit where I was still standing. He left, then Christine spotted me and seemed relieved.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

"Erik's been following us. I had to talk to Raoul, privately. We hid in a private box. When we came out I saw Erik coming our way, so I raced back here before there was an unpleasant scene." She wrung her hands in frustration. "He promised to leave me alone! He doesn't trust me."

"I have to say, you don't give him much cause to."

Christine looked fit to break down in a waterfall of tears, so I softened my tone and told her she ought to just go home and get some rest. She didn't really want to go home however, but compromised by choosing to go lay down in her dressing room for awhile. No sooner had she decided this when Erik came gliding down the stairs, searching the crowd in a furious frenzy. Once he spotted Christine with me near the exit he picked up speed, determined to reach her before she disappeared again. I smelled a confrontation and tried to buy her some time.

"I'll stall him as long as I can. Go through the exit and come back around through an employee entrance or something. Stay in your dressing room."

"Maggie, No! I can't let—,"

"Go on!" I shouted, practically shoving her outside. Quickly moving away from the doors, Erik followed me. I didn't stop until I almost reached the Grand Stairs when I was grabbed by the arm and jerked back. Already peeved, I spun around to face a very irritated Red Death.

"What is going on? What did you tell her?"

"None of your business."

"Be careful, mademoiselle. My patience is waning."

"And mine reached its max long ago. Dammit, Erik! You promised to leave her alone, you promised not to do anything stupid."

"Promises are for fools."

"I guess that makes you one, then."

The look in his eyes was positively venomous and I knew we were back to the tug-of-war phase in our relationship.

"Where is she?"

"Just leave her alone for one day in her bloody life!" He moved in front of me, blocking my escape. "I'm in no mood for your games." I hissed.

"You detect me in a playful mood?"

"I detect an abrupt end to this conversation. Now, get out of my way."

"You try my patience!"

"No, you try mine—you'll last longer."

I feebly attempted stepping around him, but he didn't budge. I suppose I could've just shoved or groined him, but the last thing I needed was to cause a scene.

"Don't push me, woman. You, more than anyone, know better than to test me."

"Ohhh…shut up! I'm sick to death of yer ridiculous threats. You're so full of shite!"

I hardly noticed the few bystanders starting to whisper and stare. I was incredibly miffed and wanted nothing more at that moment than to get far away from Erik before I said something deplorable. Again, he made a grab for me, gripping my wrist so tight I was sure it would leave a mark.

"Let go."

"You little chit, tell me where she is," he growled, "I need to talk to her."

"She doesn't want to talk to you. Get it through you're thick skull!"

Infuriated, he released my wrist and turned to leave, not before muttering, "I knew it was a mistake bringing you, tonight."

"Why, because I won't let you get your way? How childish, how typically Erik."

I'm not the one hiding behind a ridiculous façade of oversized trousers and testosterone, because I'm too cynical and afraid of what people think—,"

"—Says the man in the mask. You're one to talk."

"They know what I am," he jerked his head towards the throng of opera members, "I know what I am, I don't pretend otherwise."

"Stop justifying yourself." We'd crossed the floor, leaving a ripple of stares and whispers in our wake. "You're the one cowering in dark corners judging everyone else because it makes you feel better!"

"Oh, I hardly think I'm alone in that!"

"This isn't about me. I know what I am, and I'm not ashamed of it."

"Yes, you put on a fine show, sauntering in here with your swaggering superiority and fancy street tricks! Queen of the world and an authority on what makes it tick."

"What a load of horseshi—,"

"I'll tell you what I see—an ignorant, cocky, prejudiced little brat, with no direction in life, and no desire to seek one; afraid to face her past, frightened to death of her uncertain future…even too scared to sleep on your own at night without big brother to protect you. Who is the real child, here?" Erik sneered before turning away. It's been a rare occurrence to let my resolve fall victim to another's opinion of me. But it did, now. My pride was wounded.

"Prejudiced? Afraid? So what if I'm not a huge fan of cruising down memory lane? Wouldn't you say some these terms apply to you as well?"

"I face every fear, every ugly memory head-on, whether I want to or not. Images quite beyond your imagination."

"Yeah, poor you. You're the only one in this entire world who's had it rough."

"You're still just a child, what could you possibly consider to be "rough"—going a full day in a corset?"

"How about working for the man that killed your brother?"

"If I recall, there were no qualms on your part when I bought your loyalty as my henchman."

I gasped at his ruthless attack. Dirty son of a bitch. He leaned in close, inches from my face and cut me off before I could even think to spit the curse at him.

"I offered you protection, employment…money. Face it—you sold out, betrayed and kissed your 'savior' good-bye for a few measly coins."

Injured beyond words, my hand rose to strike him, but he anticipated it and caught my wrist before it brushed his mask.

"You've witnessed a death. However, I have quite a head start in that category."

"You have no idea the things I've witnessed in my life!" I cried. He thrust my hand back down to my side.

"And you will never have any idea what I've witnessed in mine! I haven't had that many pleasantries in the outside world due to the face God so graciously granted me. Be grateful, little girl, that you'll never know the burden of wearing a mask."

Still shot down from his earlier accusation, the spark behind my rage had dampened somewhat, ashing into exasperation and a throbbing ache somewhere in my gut.

"No. No, with my perfectly sculpted features, I'll never need a mask. And it's so much easier facing the world without one, is it?"

I will not cry in front of him, I will not cry, I will not cry…but I couldn't fight the tide much longer. So, I swept past him, facing away so he wouldn't chide me for being a crybaby, hiked up my skirt and ran. I kept on running until I ended up on the rooftop: my only escape from the stuffy, melodramatic world of opera…my throne on top of the world. On top of the world…Erik's words drummed over and over I my head. Prejudiced, running from life and all the people in it.

But really, what made him any different from me? I couldn't imagine how painfully hard it must be, infinitely trapped behind a mask. Yet, I don't think he could imagine facing the world with nothing more than a perfected poker face would be any easier. I was the wild child—spoke my mind. What did I know about keeping a stoic or blasé face? I did know it was necessary when facing your nemesis in the midst of battle; I knew it was preferred when being questioned by the gendarmes; it was essential when lying to Christine, Meg, Jacques, and countless others; And I knew it was required during a funeral. Indeed, I'd had a score of opportunities in my lifetime to walk empty-handed and emotionless amongst mine enemies: starvation, authorities, society, death…and Russians. 'Prejudice.' 'Scared.' A simpering child at heart, really—terrified, and this disgusted me. Weakness disgusted me. I growled and kicked a clump of snow.

The tears Erik had inspired were forced back and swallowed down again. I didn't cry. I was too angry to cry. Besides crying was just another weakness I detested. It was something I did more of since Jo's death. I'd never been so sickeningly emotional in all my life. 'Just a scared little brat.' Damn Erik. Damn him, because I knew he was right.