WOW. I am actually done with part one in less than a month :'D Thank you for you all sticking with me through this! I don't think I'll split it up though, I will continue to update from this story itself, because well, the title Incomplete has always been sticking to me. Incomplete is my baby, its E/C and its the way that they are to me, they are like two parts of a shell, incomplete without each other. Part one ends on a happy note, although many parts are unresolved, such as that fop and etc. I actually have it all in my computer, but I'll update in sporadic updates, so I can begin on Part Two also. Part two will up the rating to M, be forewarned, it contains their wedding night etc. Although I could easily write it into another document? Should I? Leave your reviews to tell me what you think okay! I just need to look for quotes to fill each chapter, I am a quotes addict lol. Yeah, most of my titles are lines from Angel of Music, but nah, that ain't my favorite song. xD Guess which is mine? Hint: ALW said that this was one of his most sensual songs, and there are only two. Quick quick, guess, it makes me happy lol. Eh, in any case, I present you Chapter Eight.

Chapter Eight

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Was waking such a bliss? Could waking be such a pain? Two souls in the same building within proximity of each other awoke both metaphorically and physically, yet one felt as if her heart would break with the complexities of what love really was, yet one felt as if he could ascend to the heavens to be the creature he had long pretended to be. Christine sat at the bureau she had been presented with in her room, flipping open her diary to write again. She was sure she was no longer the lost and wandering child she was, and yet she did not want to lose a dear childhood friend. Writing to her diary her sorrows and fears again, she turned, her cheeks stained with tears both happy and yet also sorrowful, to a man she had given her life to. Would he understand that to leave a childhood friend in such despair also left her in despair? But she had made her choice at the door of this house today. The man that stood in the doorway was to be her husband, not the one she had coldly turned away. And she knew that this was right. She would be a songbird; she would never be caged up. And yet, she wished that Erik would tell her, tell her that he could renounce the de Changy name, for as much as she disliked being on the run, the fears that she had of him, the heightened sense of being, she wanted it all. She wanted to tell him the secret she knew of his actual birthright, and for the last barrier to fall before they would marry, before they passed the point of no return.

"Erik," she said, rising from her chair, wiping away the tears of mixed feelings. She gave a wan smile, as the other looked down and wiped away her tears.

"I didn't mean to make you cry." He stated plainly, a worried frown crossing his face.

"No, no," she smiled, looking up to him. "Erik, I always dreamed of a fairytale wedding with my Angel. Even after all of that.," she stated pointedly, referring to the events of the Populaire, "I still felt in me when I saw you, the undeniable…fire. I burn for you, Erik, with a fire that consumes. But when I saw Raoul today…I knew. I knew I had to let him go, I could never love a man like that."

Her voice and her words hung in the silence, as she strode silently towards him. The mask he now wore, the white half mask, made it hard to judge his true emotions. She frowned at the barriers that still lay between them, and looking up to him for permission, for the first time in her life, she noticed him give a weary nod, before she removed the mask, as he slowly bent down to capture her lips. Time had slowed to a painful crawl for them, but it was bliss as she returned the gentle pressure, noses gently bumping each other. In the house, she but wore soft slippers, so she tiptoed slightly to reach her tall lover's lips. Blushing as she pulled back, she frowned slightly.

"Erik, can you promise me that there will be no more secrets between us?"

He gave a soft chuckle, nodding.

"Anything, anything for you."

"First, who is that man at the door with Raoul? You seemed to recognize him. And then the matter of your surname…Erik. You never told me that you were my childhood friend's half…brother."

Erik gazed at her with a wild, frightened look in his eyes.

"How did you find out, my Vexing Venus? Did you peer through my items while I was away? You were never supposed to find out. Not until we were married…"he finished lamely. At that point in time when he had discovered the truth of his name, fearing it would only cause problems for her, and for her career as a opera singer, he had decided to keep it silent and under wraps. Besides, he had no wish to associate himself with that boy that had almost killed him not once, but TWICE, and at his very own doorstep. No way would he associate himself with that family that would abandon him as a hapless babe, to a woman as cold as his heart had been. No, he could not, and would not. It would be an infallible blow not only to his pride, but to his soul as well. He failed to notice, however, the sparkle in Christine's eyes as he acknowledged that fact.

"Erik, why wouldn't you associate with him? I know you were ill treated as a child, and as well as sent away, but I swear, if you did get to know Raoul perhaps this whole issue would be solved."

"Did you not just see my own half brother attempt to kill me at my very doorstep?" he said dryly. "I am pretty sure that with his talent and genius, he already knows of his relations to me and wishes to wipe the sins of his family away."

She slowly nodded, understanding the severity of Erik's sins, but also wanting for the two half brothers to be reconciled. Knowing her want to sing, Erik could never come out into proper society, for it was improper for a Comtesse to perform in public like a common showgirl. However, if Erik were to reveal the truth of his birth to the gendarmes and keep it all hush-hush…an alternative opportunity presented itself to Christine in her mind as she looked up to him.

"Perhaps then, you could let the authorities know but the public kept in the dark? Then I could still perform. And you want me to perform, don't you? You are my voice, Erik, I fear your years of tutelage will never allow me to let go of that," she conceded with a sigh. Erik gave a hint of a smile, a barest ghost of it as it flashed past his lips.

"Perhaps, but I am not one to compromise." Moving past her to get to the bureau, he tripped the catch to open a secret drawer where his papers were kept. Drawing out a sheaf of papers, he waved them in front of Christine.

"Do you know what these are?" he asked with quiet intensity. When she shook her head, he continued. "These are the clippings of ever murder reported in the headlines, every murder I have committed. There is no sum of money that can bring these people back, nor for the law to forgive me. Also…"he murmured, rummaging in the drawers, "These. Are your headlines. Every performance you gave, which received stellar reviews. And every performance you gave…I attended. You asked for there to be no secrets, Christine. Can you face the gravity of this? Can you hope to comprehend what I am?" Catching her face in his hands, now ungloved, with their callouses, he stared straight into her eyes. "Tell me," he said brokenly, "that you are not afraid. Tell me, that this doesn't make you repulsed. Lie if you must but, Christine, ah, mon ange, you can never leave me."

The papers had been scattered on the floor in a haste, and Christine could see little scribbling of music, scores all over it. Reading the scores, she realized these were the very first few drafts of Don Juan Triumphant. And then the realization hit her that Erik had been planning for their life together, probably since the first day they had met. Finally gearing up the courage to open the wardrobe she had never touched, she was amazed at the dresses inside. All this while, she had been wearing the few, ill fitting dresses she had brought with her on the journey, along with her measly possessions of the red scarf, a music box, and a toy bear, all from her father. She also had hair ribbons and various other fineries bought for her by other suitors and Raoul from her days at the Opera Populaire, but she had never brought them, nor really worn them. All in all, the most treasured possessions were far and few, and she only had a few dresses to her name, along with Erik's black silk ribbons when the roses had withered. Why had she never explored her room more, she never knew. Perhaps it was the assumption that it was a guest room. She gasped, feeling the soft gossamer silks of the dresses in her hands, some of them for night balls and some for day visiting, some for wearing at home, but all well befitting a Comtesse. Breathless, she turned to thank Erik but found him gone.

Erik had retreated to his den again, sobbing like a child. Finally, he would let her decide. But it was not much of a decision, he thought to himself, as he looked upon the matter in its entirety. She had accepted his proposal, but she had never known of his obsessive side. She had only known at most of the wedding dress he had in his lair, but as a fugitive, he had houses all over the countries, including this. In every house, he had it stocked with the best fineries, for her alone. All she had to say was the word, they could pack up and head to another house, or he would order a new set of clothes for her. Twenty thousand francs a month was quite the monthly stipend, he realized, with all the endless luxury he lived in now. With other art jobs on the side he had, in addition to composing simple tunes for some famous composers, all through middlemen and Madame Giry of course, he had accumulated a fortune enough to last him at least five lives over, should he live at least until ninety. The door to his study clicked again, and he growled lowly. "Get out, Antoinette."

"Stop being a child, Erik. You and I both well know you are throwing a temper tantrum," she said with a firm tone, as if speaking to the younger ballet girls. "Erik, I owe it as much to you to bide you through this. Courtship is never an easy process," She gave a wry smile, remembering when she was younger and she was being courted herself. "Henri used to visit me in the dead of the night, when all the ballet girls were asleep. We used to escape to the roof, until the previous ballet mistress, Henri's aunt, caught us. I remember until now how Henri was whipped by his aunt. He was crying and yet he smiled at me. And then…I returned from my marriage, to find you had changed beyond my recognition in terms of your temper and the likes. Erik, why? You never really properly explained it to me. All you said was Persia, and you left again. And then when my husband died, you comforted me, you told me you loved a girl, I was so afraid it was me, Erik. And you begged me to stay, so I took up the job as the ballet mistress. Because of you. So Christine was the mystery girl, I now see it. But Erik, tell me. Where did you go?"

"Persia. I went to Persia, I was an assassin."

"An assassin, Erik? Tell me. Do let me make this up to you, Erik. You let me cry on your shoulder, now I will hear you out to cry on mine."

"No," he said, with quiet, dark intensity. "Never will I speak of those times again if I am to be a changed man, Antoinette. You cannot force me, I have spoken of them to Christine and that will be the final time I ever do so, for scaring anyone into fear or anything. You asked me to change, Antoinette Marie Giry, and yet you speak of the EXACT things that made me as such. If I were to lay myself bare before you would you realize the extent to which I suffered as an assassin? Would you see beyond the scars that I have as an exhibition? You rescued me once, Giry, but you cannot hope to do so again. For in those years you left, the void which you left, perhaps, yes I did love you then as a sister and to some extent more, but Giry, you will never be able to understand as Christine did. And that is what I feel. No more on this matter, Giry, please," he said hoarsely. "No more."

"Very well," she said, with steel in her voice and her resolve, as she rose to leave. "I guess I am but your physical aide, but I cannot be more. Forgive me, Maestro, for not understanding you sooner. I must leave, my daughter will be waiting."

The icy cold demeanor that Madame Giry adopted barely was a sufficient enough façade for the woman to conceal her real feelings, and the shock of discovering that Erik, as a young teenaged boy…why she had been his first love! His first crush, and she had truly crushed him by leaving him all alone. Perhaps, it was for the best that Christine filled the void she never could fill, perhaps then it was best for her to continue as their motherly figure, and to stay out of most of their private affairs altogether, as Erik had stated so plainly to her. She was wounded, but barely. Still, she would live and care for them. Was this not what she wanted when she birthed Meg, when she had Henri? Then he had run away. She had told Erik that he had died, but the cold truth was that Henri had actually run away, when Madame Giry could not pose for him anymore. He had lost interest in her. Just as Erik had, it seemed. She slowly ascended the staircase, colliding with Christine who was flying down it, her eyes sparkling with wonderment and amazement.

"Madame, Madame. Oh my goodness, I can but barely believe it…Erik…he…. Well, he certainly provided for me. In addition to the dresses, the makeup, everything I ever needed or wanted since I was a child…its too much, its all a dream, I don't want it, I just want him…and I am to be married to him, so soon, so soon…"

Christine was a babbling wreck by this time, so overcome with emotion and the realizations she had of Erik. She had never wanted such worldly possessions, being the good little Catholic girl she was raised to be. She was taught since young to renounce such things, although she never had much to renounce, their family being poor after her mother had passed. Her father spent the days travelling, and they would be the performing duo. She would always join a gypsy caravan or two, but they would never stay. Suddenly, she remembered, one particular incident. It was in Paris, and she was performing with her father. It was the first time they had been to Paris, and they were spectators of the Opera back then, which to Christine's disappointment had been a complete failure. Performing in the night with her father, she heard the plaintive wails of a child, the one the gypsies whispered to each other as the Devil's Child. And then she remembers a beautiful young ballerina with hair like Madame Giry's, and the night of murder. And it all falls together so beautifully, as she rushes down to Erik's den, she has realized, she had realized of the gypsy boy he was.

And in her haste, she forgets that there is trapdoors that she must look out for, trapdoors even so in the house that is to be hers. The trapdoor opens, a yawning hole stretching out below the young woman, like an animal ready and willing to consume her alive. Christine gave a scream, her hands barely catching on the ledge, which had been there, but minutes ago. Erik! Her mind and body called out to him repeatedly, crying softly.

Erik.

Eriiiiiiiiik…

Hahahahaha oops another cliffie of sorts, eh. Time to torture Christine. I take delight in torturing my characters one by one, although Raoul is /constantly/ tortured by his monstrous fop self throughout my story. TNP, I'm sorry but I won't kill him off but I will continue to torture him. I intend for him to live a la the movie. Please review! It makes me happy. :D