I seem to be on a roll for writing today. I am writing this as a whole chunk, and it is in Word, all as really one whole chunk of about 29k words now :P I split this up in chapters randomly for posting as a fanfic, as such haha. You guys are lucky :) Two chapter updates in a day! :D Thank you The Newbie Phan for always reviewing. ^^ You can truly help to make my song take flight!

Chapter Seven

"Children see magic because they look for it."

― Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal

Raoul gave a leer of content as muscle made contact with muscle, and human with human, as Erik crumpled to the ground limply. He gave a short bark of dark laughter, his blue eyes dancing madly to a macabre tune of their own as he drew out a gun and pointed it coldly at Erik. He cocked the gun efficiently, as if to mock the fallen man before him as Erik gritted his teeth from the pain, knowing that one wrong move could mean his death. After all, his half brother, driven to madness, had barely missed his solar plexus. His eyes turned to the side, looking at Christine in worry. Mouthing a silent no, he began to think of a way out of this whole issue. Raoul had focused his wild gaze on Christine, a month or so being locked up by an assassin and fed lies of the horrors that Erik did to her had driven him to a level as low as when Erik had been possessed by the Phantom spirit. Today, it would be him and not Erik that would kill without a doubt… Christine did all she could as a woman, she wept but she did not take a step closer. Suddenly, she felt clammy hands around her neck, and the cold metal of a gun pressed to her temple. Two guns. The both of them unarmed, with the two females, the Girys upstairs. Praying for deliverance, she kicked the man straight at his crotch with a swift hind kick, grabbing hold of his hand before she did so. A wild bullet ricocheted off the walls resoundingly as the gun was fired. And now she stood before Raoul, tears in her eyes.

"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls, or goblins or of shoes? Or of riddles or frocks? Or of chocolates? What I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head, the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…" she murmured sadly, looking up to him. "Raoul, I'm so sorry. I should have never left with you. You deserve a wife, someone actually faithful to you. Not I, one who was divided."

Raoul's heart sank, feeling as if an anchor had dragged it down to hell to burn. Christine, I still love you, it cried pleadingly to her. He could feel the tears welling up, wanting to murder the man before him, but to see this reenacted before his eyes… it brought him back to a snowy day in Paris, where they had been a few months younger, and every single time, Christine would fight for this man. What did she see in him anyway, this distorted brute that was his half brother, a result of his father's illicit extramarital relations and sin? Like the person he was born as, he continued in a life of sin, killing indiscriminately, as Raoul was inclined to believe. So Little Lotte would rather love a murder who was dark even in the brightest light. So Little Lotte would rather love the Devil. Raoul drank in the revelation, never realizing it was perhaps, him who was in the wrong in this whole situation, and everyone was past the stage of dolls, frocks and chocolates but he himself. And yet he would still cling to his foolish ideals, for that was what he was respected for in this high society. Let scum be scum, let these dead bury their own dead, he thought to himself, but certainly, when Christine would grow weary of this monster, he was sure he would be the priest that would help her ascend to Heaven's glorious gates again, his own Angel of Music. And never, would he consent to this bastard-child who falsely called himself an angel, never would he consent to Erik and Christine's union, holy or unholy, legal or illegal, even if it meant defying the God he loved to the ends of the earth. Frowning deeply, his brow creased, he beckoned his assassin, who spat at Christine ungraciously, before they left. Erik's eyes blazed furiously as he watched their retreating figures mount their respective mounts and ride off.

"Care to explain, Madame Giry?" he asked, voice laced in poison as he watched the elder Giry descend from the upper floor, gracious as ever. Although he already knew the answer, the imbecile and his servant probably followed them. Something about that servant rang a bell, and he vaguely remembered threatening that man for something, although he could not place his finger on what it was. Probably some simplistic double crossing, he mused, putting it out of his mind. He jerked himself up from the floor, groaning slightly at the tenderness he felt in his stomach area, as he staggered over to the west wing to continue checking on the proceedings of the construction. That boy, dead or alive, was still such a bloody threat to him… a thorn in his side if he ever had to say so. He almost laughed at his own pun, thinking that how he would carefully remove the thorns for every rose he gave to Christine, thinking it would remove the thorns in her life, and yet, here was the greatest thorn in their love, one that really poisoned their relations more than his face ever did, most likely, and he could do nothing to remove it, except to kill him, or perhaps, to convince him that his and his protégé's union was for the best. Either way, it presented to him a complicated and ponderous problem he would require tons of thinking to get through and resolve. The only question that lingered in the air, heavier than gold was, now, how?

Antoinette strode quickly after him, used to him and his rants. As a child, she had seen him without a mask a few times, purely by accident and no other way, and each time he had hurled something at her, be it stacks of paper or even candlesticks. As a child, his temper had flared wildly, and his little tricks of stealing food from the kitchens led to the tale of the Opera Ghost flaming in their tongues to spread like wildfire. In the days post her marriage, she found a new Erik as she returned to stay in the ballet dormitories following the death of her artist husband whom he immensely disliked. She found a man broken and scarred, and yet refined as a king himself. She found a person as foreboding as dark, with secrets he would eventually come to confide in her unwillingly, his dark tales of Persia and the Shah. Judging by the way Christine was so devoted to him, she had either heard those dark tales and not bothered or perhaps pitied Erik, or she had never heard of such tales at all, not at all. Madame Giry was more inclined to bet on the latter of Christine never hearing such tales. Either way, as she hurried after her Maestro, she felt her heart wrench, wondering if to console his dark moods were really best left up to her? Or was it best that she should send Christine into the path of Erik's destruction? She knew how much Erik loved Christine; he would never harm a single hair on her head no matter how angered he was. And yet, with the worries of taking the child as his bride and the worries of her former suitor appearing once more out of the blue...Madame Giry truly wondered also, if he knew the truth of his birthright, and that his half brother had almost murdered him again at his doorstep.

Christine was in the hall with Meg, and the maid had kindly brought tea for them on Erik's orders. She told Meg of her journey through the woods, and how she had inevitably come to a realization that she could not really live without her dark Angel. With eyes that spoke volumes of her want for him, she leafed through her diary again, flipping to a page she had written as a child, the day Erik had first appeared to her.

Dear Diary,

I am so delighted and glad and happy and, oh Diary, if you could even begin to imagine my happiness in receiving this delightful gift of an Angel! Papa had promised me when he died that he would send me the Angel of Music, and he has finally arrived! Not a tad bit too late at all. I love my Angel he is the best. His voice is such a delight to my ears; I wish I could sing with him one day. Is he for real, sometimes I am so scared he will leave me? I am not a very good child, you see, Diary, for today I stole a bit of Madame Giry's makeup to play with. Meg was with me, you see, we snuck into her Mother's room to steal the makeup. I'm sorry, Angel, if you knew that I am an ugly thief child. Please forgive me my unholy sins. I love you all the more, my teacher. Please continue to teach me. Ah, Diary, are you jealous that I love my Angel so much? You see, I never had much of a friend when I came here. I think Meg was forced by her mother to befriend me; I don't want to have a friend like that. Lilly keeps pulling my hair, and Chanel says I look as ugly as a toad. There is a diva, La Carlotta, they say she is the lead soprano but I don't think she sings very well. Today we were forced to attend a concert that she sang at, and I think her voice grates on everyone. All the little ballet girls were laughing at her today, and she made a rude face at us. I don't think I like her very much do you, Diary. You were in the ruffles of my long dress today, so I wondered if you heard her. Halfway, there was a crash and a loud sound, and we realized that Carlotta had fallen into a bucket of paint. There was then a letter to M. Lefevre that he should not have even brought in Carlotta. Everyone thinks it was from a ghost, but as far as I know; there are no ghosts in the Populaire, only angels. Is there really a ghost? I hope my Angel protects me. I must go now; Madame Giry is calling us to dance.

Love,

Christine Daae.

Christine shut the book, smiling at Meg. They had read this paragraph of words a thousand times as children, and suddenly in light of what they were now, it seemed almost childish. She gave a small laugh and rose from the seat to find Madame Giry. Erik's green eyes bored into her as she carelessly rounded the corner in her haste, bumping into him. He clicked his tongue, as if chiding a small child. Christine frowned, looking up to him, having fallen flat on her bottom when she had collided with him.

"I am not a child, Erik! Stop treating me like one. Where's Madame Giry?" she asked, her eyes looking behind him to see if she was there.

His eyes glinted playfully at her as he helped her up. "I believe she's back in her room. However, as to the matter of me treating you like a child…I will stop when you stop rushing around corners like a child," he said, a small, deep and rich musical laugh bubbling up from his throat.

She gave a gasp, trying to act annoyed. "Erik! I am already eighteen, and no longer a child!" she cried, hands balling into fists and hitting him playfully as he carried her bridal style, almost like a young girl. Changing her pose to spin her around playfully, he decided that he must act sooner or later before the Vicomte should threaten them again, and walking to the living room to settle her on the chairs, he took a deep breath and slowly slid the silvered band onto her ring finger. Not daring to see her reaction to it, he turned tail like a kicked puppy and ran, ran for his life to his own study, which he had placed five levels below ground, a den of sorts for his own. For him to hide away, for he was painfully shy in addressing the topic of love. Was it too sudden, or was it too late? He would never know, he thought to himself, sinking into his piano bench with a sigh. Melodies flowed forth as he commanded them, taking the form of a shunned child, sold to gypsies at a young age. His tragic tale and his fear of love. The alabaster skin of Christine. All mocking him as his creations and his music was. He could not write this melody down, as simple as it was, for it was too terrifying, too much pain to do so. Instead, he closed his eyes and slept against the cool ivory keys of the piano, not noticing the silent little click of the door as he slept. Nor did he notice the black hair ribbon, once on Christine's head, lay next to his pen and paper, with a note in it, a simple yes on parchment.

Outside the door, a young woman of eighteen wept for the heart of her childhood friend irrevocably broken by a wench and chit with their mind so fickle. As hard as it had been, she had expected this, and consented. For the weeks and months of travelling together had conditioned her heart into deciding. Yes, yes, and yes indefinitely. Mon ange, fate links thee to me till forever and a day…the very lines from Faust he had taught her to sing rang in her head like the pealing bells of a chapel as she was linked to another again till forever and a day. And then her eyes opened from the sorrow into a new land of music. And that was when Christine Daae realized, that was when she woke up, no longer a child of Little Lotte.

Hey~ Hey~ Look! Its not a cliffie but its a GOOD END :D After two cliffie chapters and all. Hoho, I have more plot twists coming up to abuse all our characters I must say. Including some unexpected characters that emerge hoho and all from Leroux and ALW and everywhere~ So excited to share this love with you all! Any new readers? Monsieur I bid you welcome~~~

Hohoho~ /evil lets torture all characters in the future face and runs