Hey there everyone! I felt so bad about the cliff hanger in the last chapter that I bunkered down and finished this one early for you. And once again I would just like to stress to everyone, so you don't worry too much, that this is not the end of the story. With that in mind the ending of this chapter may not be as stressful. Tehe.

A huge thanks to Juliana for once again getting this back to me so quickly. Hurray for Juliana! And once again another thanks to all of you who have been reviewing my story! You guys rock!

Chapter 33: The Shadows of Grief

Outside the library window a nest full of baby robins screeched noisily when their mother returned with a fat worm clutched in her beak. Brielle could just make out their gaping mouths over the brim of the nest from her spot in the window seat. Normally she would have smiled at the humorous sight of their waving bald heads, but as of late she wasn't sure if she could ever smile again.

April and May had come and gone in an endless procession of miserable days. Early summer had always been her favorite time of the year. It was a period of new life, of green trees and baby animals. Her birthday was only a few weeks away in July; she would be twenty-six. Yet despite all these reasons to celebrate, Brielle could not stir herself to feel anything but bitterness. Life was going on all around her, passing her by as if nothing had happened, as if her life hadn't crashed to the bottom of a deep, black ravine shattering into a million pieces.

Brielle had learned to tell time through a mourner's eyes. The days had come to be measured by the hour, the hours by the minute, and the minutes by the number of painful beats from a broken heart. Erik had left more than two months ago. In her mind Brielle knew this; she knew that he had now been gone nearly as long as he had stayed in the first place. But somehow that did not prove to be comforting. She was inconsolable.

Tilting her head slightly Brielle pressed her forehead against the window pane, the chirping birds blurring as her eyes focused on her own reflection inches in front of her face. It is not that he left, she told herself for the thousandth time that day, but it is the way he left. Why did he say those things…I thought he cared about us. I know now that I was wrong…I was a fool to let a stranger into the house…I was a fool to begin to think that I could lov…care for him. I was a fool…

With a sigh Brielle brought up a hand to rub at her red rimmed eyes, resting her elbow against the top of her bent knee. Every morning since the day Erik had left she had come to sit here in the library, watching the lane with a tired gaze. Even as her anger built against the man who had trampled her feelings casually under his boot, she still came to sit for hours watching, waiting. She no longer knew why she bothered, only that she did not have the strength to ignore the road, or face the possibility of him never returning.

Sudden hatred burned within her chest, beating off the fog of misery clogging her lungs for one blessed moment as she went over Erik's final words to her. She welcomed the anger. She welcomed the bitterness which went along with it. Embracing any emotion besides the despair in which she had been drowning. Slowly, Brielle could feel herself climbing out of the inky darkness of misery. The bastard…the bastard…how could I have been so stupid? What is the point of knowing the future if I cannot even see the true nature of those around me? Hate him Brielle…Hate him for what he did to you…but hate him even more for what he did to your daughter!

Aria had taken the news of Erik's departure with an oddly stoic reaction. The child had stood perfectly still, her large wide eyes downcast, as Brielle had knelt before her. Taking the child's silence as a good sign Brielle had thanked God that at least her daughter would escape the shocked misery she had felt even then. Once again she had been deceived.

For many days Brielle had watched her daughter's every movement carefully, searching for any sign that the child was not as unconcerned as she appeared. Though Aria had been quieter than normal, she did not seem to be as disturbed by Erik's absence as her mother. But slowly, after several weeks of this mindless acceptance, the child's veneer of calm began to crumble.

Brielle had awoken one morning to the familiar opening notes of the duet Erik had taught Aria. Jumping from bed, ridiculously ecstatic over the prospect of the man's return, she had run down the hallway to the front parlor. Skidding in stockinged feet around the corner of the door she had stumbled into the room, a trembling smile just beginning to curl up the corners of her mouth. Brielle stood in the doorway for several moments, like an idiot, before she realized something was wrong with the music floating through the air. Only half of the melody played for her ears and as her eyes fell to the piano bench, she realized why.

Erik had not returned. Aria had sat alone plucking out the first two stanzas of the duet, her tiny feet dangling over the pedals, before halting for a split second and repeating the same notes over again. The child's half-hearted stabbing at the keys was mechanical at best. She couldn't seem to get past the part in the song when Erik's practiced hand had usually joined her. It was at that moment, as her daughter played the same notes over and over again, that Brielle had given up hope of ever seeing the second man in her lifetime that she cared for. It was like a death in the family, that final acceptance, or a death in herself.

Every day for a week Aria had played those same jarring notes repeatedly without stopping. It became maddening, that stupid song. Brielle could honestly say she hated that damned piano by the end of that week. Finally she had taken to stuffing her ears with tufts of cotton in order to muffle the sound. She didn't have the heart to tell Aria to stop her playing. She didn't have the heart to do much of anything anymore.

Because the child had spent so much time at the piano it had taken Brielle a great deal of time to notice the other symptoms of her daughter's quiet grief. At the dinner table each night Brielle slowly became aware that Aria's stuttering was growing worse. Even answering simple questions soon became beyond her daughter's ability, every word drawing out to painful lengths. She could sense Aria's growing frustration, could feel the child's hurt and confusion mirrored in her own breast. But no matter what she did, nothing helped. Erik's patient lessons had evaporated completely in his absence. It was worse than before he came.

The situation deteriorated until one day Aria simply stopped talking. Brielle employed every trick she could think of to cajole even a single word from the child, but to no avail. The day the young Irishwoman last heard her daughter speak marked when the hate began to eat away at Brielle's heart ache. She could hate him for hurting her daughter, it was easy, it was natural…but damn it, why couldn't she stop the pain paralyzing her every thought?

A series of heavy footsteps sounded behind her then, distracting the brooding thoughts flickering about her skull. Raising her face from the glass, Brielle turned her head around to see her brother come strolling across the library towards her. His normally humorous demeanor dampened to the point of unrecognizable sobriety. The poor dear has been worrying to death about us, she thought absently as she tried and failed to muster a smile for him. As soon as he heard what had happened he raced back here. If it hadn't been for him and Andrew I know I would have gone mad.

"Bri, that new cook which Andrew sent over says she has made some stew for the midday meal. Would you like me to bring some in to you?" he asked quietly.

Frowning slightly as she stared up at her brother, Brielle shrugged her shoulders. "I am not very hungry Conner, but thank you for offering," she stated, turning her face back to the window.

Shifting uncomfortably, Conner crossed his arms over his chest. "You should eat, Bri. You have been losing too much weight. It isn't healthy."

"A woman can never be too thin," she fired back, a little bit too defensively. "That is why we wear corsets."

His uncertainty quickly transforming to irritation Conner advanced toward the window seat, green eyes flashing under frowning auburn eyebrows. "Do not hand me that load of malarkey. You know he isn't coming back, Bri! Do not punish your body because of that fact."

"Of course he isn't coming back! He threw this family away without a second thought! Never in my life have I ever been as wrong about a person as I was about him!"

"Brielle, there had to be some sort of misunderstanding," Conner began slowly as he ran a hand through his curly hair. "I just cannot believe that…"

Leaping to her feet in a violent burst of energy Brielle pounced upon Conner's startled figure, shoving the man back a step with both her hands. "Believe what you will! I was there! I heard his words! He used everything I ever told him to hurt me as best he could! DO NOT DEFEND HIM!" she finished on a scream, her cheeks darkening to a furious crimson.

Conner took his sister's blows stoically, the irritation slowly draining from his face. Raising his hands up slowly the redhead took hold of Brielle by the shoulders, giving the girl a slight squeeze to still her angry thrashing. His dark green eyes flickered with what could only be pity. "Hush, Bri…stop fighting. I am not the man you are angry at."

A tense silence followed his words as Brielle stood stiffly, staring up at him with a dry eyed hatred which was meant for someone else. Slowly, the fight left her gaze, leaving her eyes as stark and expressionless as old silver coins. The pain behind her anger rose up within her, slumping her shoulders and weakening her knees. Stepping into Conner's arms Brielle rested her snowy head against his shoulder, suddenly too tired to stay upright on her own.

"I know you aren't. I am sorry I have been so terrible to you over the last few months. I just can't seem to get back into the swing of things. One minute I am sad and the next I am angry. It makes me so tired sometimes."

"I know, love, I know." Conner murmured soothingly against her hair. "You are grieving. I understand that. You lost someone very close to you."

Feeling the tears beginning to burn the back of her eyes Brielle clung to her brother, desperate to stave off the onslaught of black writhing pain burning up the back of her throat. "I miss h-him," she whispered in a broken voice against Conner's shirt. "I think I would have missed him even if we had never met. How is that even possible? Why do I still feel this way? I want to hate him so badly, but it is like he is under my skin. I just cannot get rid of him."

"Give it time, Bri. Just give it a little more time."

Raising her head from Conner's shoulder, Brielle looked up at her brother with pained eyes. "I am tired of waiting for these feelings to go away," she stated, her voice picking up speed with each word, the bitter hardness of anger flickering behind her eyes once again. "I am sick and tired of letting the men around me control my life."

Easing away from her brother's comforting hold Brielle straightened her shoulders, smoothing her clammy hands down the front of her shirts. "I think it is about time for me to make a few decisions of my own," she growled before stepping past her brother and sweeping out the library door.

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Erik lay perfectly still upon a catwalk high up in the rafters over the Opera Populaire's stage. The board under his chest swung ever so slightly as he raised an arm to rest under his cheek, his eyes staring fixedly down at the empty stage. There is nothing else in the world more depressing than an unoccupied theater. Not that I need any help in that department. This place could be bursting full of people and I would still feel just as rotten. Sighing, Erik picked idly at a splinter sticking up from the edge of the catwalk inches in front of his face.

The vast emptiness all around him rang with the echoing silence of the late hour. Even the dregs of the opera's work force had long since gone to bed, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. It was his least favorite time of day, when all was quiet. At least in the harsh daylight the relentless pounding of the work crews repairing the fire damage on the stage could beat against the darkness clouding his mind. Daily he came to this spot over the stage to watch the men as they hammered and sawed, listening in on their common complaints and rowdy conversations. It was the one connection to the human race he still clung to.

For more than two months he had prowled the familiar halls and corridors of his beloved theater like a man possessed, looking for easy targets to release some of his fury upon. Those unfortunate souls who had stumbled across his path unknowingly had been promptly tormented by the vast repertoire of his trickery, the poor wretches receiving far harsher treatment than perhaps they deserved. He was punishing them for a betrayal they knew nothing about.

And yet, even as the anger ate away at every waking thought, Erik knew he had to be very careful. He could not be as lax as he had once been; it was no longer acceptable for the residents of the opera to catch even a glimpse of his presence. The once audacious Opera Ghost now kept to nasty accidents and hair raising noises to terrify those around him. How he loved to hear full grown men gasp and shiver in fear. It helped to distract him from the memories beating constantly within his skull, and he desperately needed the distraction.

Even the few familiar faces that had chosen to remain under the opera's employ were not safe from his secret and silent wrath. Old stage hands and seasoned chorus members where all sent running from odd howling or loud bangs. One day, however, that changed when he caught a fleeting glance of the severe features of his old savior Madame Giry and her pretty daughter Meg. The overpowering need to make contact with the older woman had nearly blocked out all his senses. His time at the Donovan household had made him weak, made him rely on human contact and conversation. He missed the simple action of communicating with another person, missed it terribly.

From that day on he avoided all those he recognized, purposely withdrawing from the sight of them, from the urge to make contact. Since that day he had not seen either of the Girys again, and he was glad when the elemental need to speak to others faded. Other projects soon overtook his time, drawing him deeper into his self-appointed solitude.

For a long time the daunting prospect of rebuilding his home far beneath Paris's bustling streets had filled his free time. The marauding crowds which had hounded him the night of Don Juan's premiere had made off with or destroyed most of his possessions, leaving little behind which could be put to further use.

All the books he had collected over his long and lonely lifetime were gone; a few scattered pages decaying under the black water of the underground lake were all that remained of his library. The furniture was likewise missing or in pieces across the cold stone floor, leaving the chambers of his old dwelling sadly empty. His breath had puffed out before his face as he had bent to stiffly pick up a stray sheet of music laying trodden into the ground. If there had been any room left in his bruised and blackened heart he would have hated those who had disrespected his belongings, but as it was he was far too busy hating one person in particular to make the effort to hate strangers.

Slowly, for many, many weeks he had quietly pilfered the bare necessities which he needed to live in relative comfort. Old discarded curtains were transformed into wall hangings to protect him from the dank chill of the stone vaults; set pieces were dismantled and rebuilt, according to his specifications, into new furniture. The costume department filled his closet once again with warm, if not fashionable, clothing. Food was simply stolen from the kitchens at night. Without the large budget he had once been accustomed to Erik made do with the opera's hand-me-downs, glad for everything he could get.

Somehow, even with the Spartan appearance of his existence, Erik felt comforted to be back in the underground tunnels he had come to know so well as a young man. The Opera had opened her arms to him, accepting him in her bone chilling darkness once again. Though his mind constantly beat with fury, his blood boiling within his veins, the Opera remained his one true companion. What did he need with a gray eyed girl when he had the mothering stone of his one true home concealing him from the hateful eyes of humanity? Soon I won't even think about her at all. She will fade from my mind as the years pass. The Opera will open again and there will be music in these halls and I will forget those blasted beguiling eyes. I will forget that dear child and that redheaded buffoon. But I will not forget the hate; that I will keep close like a lover. I will not forget those words which have twice ruined my delusions. 'I love you…I love you'

Raising his head and climbing quickly to his feet Erik walked casually down the catwalk, ignoring the great gaping distance between his feet and the floor below. Moving without sound he swung with amazing ease from one rafter to another, slowly making his way down to the stage level. The hard soles of his pilfered boots made a quiet thump when they hit the wooden floorboards, the sound overly loud in the silence of the darkened theater. Slinking between the shadows Erik made his way backstage, coming to a stop at a point near a back wall. With a quick gesture he tapped against the stone and a secret door slid open before him. Stepping into the welcoming darkness that lay within, Erik scowled as he turned to look back over his shoulder.

I wonder what she is doing right now…

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Pushing her shaded spectacles further up her nose, Brielle stood outside in the balmy summer wind. With a quick glance down at her wedding ring Brielle pursed her lips in thought. Slowly, purposely, she raised her right hand and took hold of the plain gold band between two fingers. With a few forceful twists Brielle successfully pulled the symbol of her commitment to her beloved John from her finger. After gazing sadly at the ring for several moments the white haired woman tucked it into her pocket. Behind her, Brielle could hear the young cooking girl Andrew had sent to her shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"I gave the messenger your letter almost an hour ago, Madame," she rushed, for the third time that day. "I don't know what could be keeping him. I even told the man to hurry, that it was important. Lord Donovan no doubt is already on his way."

Without turning to look at the hovering servant, Brielle waved a hand dismissively in the young woman's direction. "Do not worry so, Adeline," she said calmly, her face carefully blank as she watched the road. "We cannot bring him faster by wringing our hands, and you cannot help the speed that the messenger chooses to go."

The girl sighed in assent, calming after the assurance from her new mistress. A shy smile infused her voice as she stepped up beside Brielle. "Madame, I am glad to have been put in your service. You are kinder than most I have worked for."

Snorting Brielle glanced over at the servant. She can't be much older than eighteen…how odd. "I just don't think a person has to treat those that work for them badly. You have an honest job. If people had any brains they would respect their servants rather than look down their noses at them."

When Adeline stared at her, thoroughly shocked by her unconventional opinions, Brielle almost had the urge to smile - almost. The moment soon passed when the sound of pounding hoof beats reached both their ears. "Adeline, thank you for waiting with me, but could you please check in on Aria for a moment?"

Recognizing that statement as a polite way of asking for privacy, the young servant nodded her head and retreated back into the house. Alone now on the small porch, Brielle watched the flashy figure of the young lord Donovan's approach with cool, determined eyes. There was purpose now behind the emptiness in her gray gaze as she waited for Andrew to pull up before her and leap to the ground. His clothing in disarray and his hair standing up at wild angles, the dark eyes man set out toward her. Apparently he had left in all haste upon receiving her urgent letter.

Concern strained the lord's handsome face as he advanced across the yard toward her. "What is it Brielle? What is wrong?" he demanded as soon as he was within earshot. "You only said that I should come right away in your letter."

Pressing her hands against the butterflies in her stomach, Brielle waited for the dark eyed man to get a bit closer before answering. "Nothing is wrong, Andrew. I simply wanted to make sure you would come quickly."

A flash of irritation flickered across his face at her words before quickly being hidden. "Brielle," he began slowly. "If it wasn't important you should not have made me worry so. I nearly broke my neck riding over here. I thought something terrible had happened!"

For a moment the Irishwoman felt a bolt of guilt stab through her. He really does look worried. I haven't made his life easy over the past few months, the poor man. "I am sorry I made you worry, but in a way it was important that you come."

Giving her an exasperated smile, Andrew smoothed a gloved hand through his wind blown hair. "What is it then? Why did I need to be here?"

Pausing at his simple question, the butterflies in Brielle's stomach suddenly turned into a herd of stampeding elephants. Am I doing the right thing? Conner was so angry when I told him what I plan on doing today. I don't know if I can do this…is it fair to Aria…to Conner…to even Andrew? But I am tired of letting others make the first move. I am tired of moping around this house waiting for a man I shouldn't give a second thought to. I have to change something. I have to give Aria some stability. I have to…I have to get HIM out of my mind.

Stepping closer to the man who had looked after her family for years, Brielle brought a shaking hand up to straighten Andrew's white silk cravat. Keeping her eyes at his throat she cleared her throat. "I thought it important that you should be here when I accepted your marriage proposal," she stated hollowly despite the little voice in her head screaming in protest. You don't love him! You don't love him!

Stunned into stiff silence at her casual words, Andrew could only blink down at her, his mouth working the air like a fish out of water. "What did you just say?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"I said I have decided that I would like to marry you," Brielle repeated, trying to muster up some show of enthusiasm.

Slowly a smile curled the edges of Andrew's mouth upward, his black eyes taking on a luster Brielle had never seen before. He had never looked happier than at that moment. "God, Brielle! If you had included that little tidbit in your letter I would have been able to practically fly over here!" Laughing, Andrew took her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. "You have just made me the happiest man in all the world!" he declared, his teeth flashing in the sunlight as his grin widened even more.

Soothed by the boyish elation of the man before her, Brielle let out a pent-up breath. Perhaps it won't be so bad after all…perhaps I have been unfair to him over the years. He is the one man in my life, besides Conner, who has stayed by my side. Who has not left me. He is the only one…that should mean something, shouldn't it? "I suppose that means the offer still stands then," she said, a shadow of her old humor winking to life momentarily.

"Absolutely! Always!" the young lord laughed. "I can't wait to tell everyone. They will be so delighted to hear the news!" Calming slightly to a more subdued level of delight, Andrew caught Brielle up in a quick embrace. "I will be a good husband to you Brielle. You will never have to worry about anything ever again. I will take care of everything…I will make sure no one ever hurts you again," he murmured into her ear.

Closing her eyes tiredly, Brielle turned her head towards his welcoming words. That is exactly what I was hoping to hear. "Yes, no one ever again," she mouthed silently on a sigh. "Ever again…