A/N: Thank you so much for your interest and wonderful reviews! :) So glad you guys want more...and here it is...

Chapter II

.

He stared at her intently from his lofty height, looking unkempt and careworn, much as she had left him.

She held back, self-conscious, at the moment regretting her snap decision to find him and wishing to be anywhere but there.

His wig was still absent after her wrenching it away with his mask on stage, his natural hair hanging in wild and messy strands about his face and neck. What was left of his costume from the Don Juan clung to him, his chest pale and glistening with a sheen of sweat, his voluminous shirt dirty and damp and molding to his lean-muscled torso. His dark breeches fit him like a second skin, with his tall boots completing the picture of rogue pirate.

The entirely masculine sight of her fallen Angel brought a flush of unwanted warmth rushing beneath Christine's skin.

Though he destroyed all he'd known and had his world ripped asunder, though his clothing wasn't pristine, nor his appearance grand as was common, he displayed that strange deceptive composure. That elegant, powerful grace which flowed through his every movement like music as he took the stairs down to the level where she so awkwardly stood.

He kept his right hand held fast over the twisted part of his face, the match to his glaring eye apparent between the gap of his long, slender fingers. Those changeable eyes, both blue and green, one intense color often overpowering the other, held her spellbound. Tonight they burned her with the steady flame of a blue fire, wet and red-rimmed from their earlier outpouring of torrential emotion. The aromas of candle smoke and the musty cavern mingled with the musk of fresh exertion and an exotic scent entirely his own, none of it unpleasant.

He assailed her senses –

Living. Breathing. Strong…

There.

He came to a stop on the stair above where she stood. A cloth had been tied around his left hand, and she remembered the drops of blood seen between the shattered mirrors behind her.

"You are hurt," she whispered, barely able to quench the tears from resurfacing.

Her hand reached toward his bandaged hand of its own accord. He took a step back, evading her touch and lifting his head to look down through slitted lashes at her.

"I asked what you are doing here." He glanced toward the portcullis. "Are you once more the bait and is this the trap? Is your noble lover waiting beyond the gate with his armed men seeking to apprehend me?"

She winced at his justified attack and barely shook her head.

"No, of course not." She could barely form syllables, her gaze falling to the ground in shame and disappointment.

"Of course not." His words made a mockery of hers. "You will understand if I am hesitant to believe that."

This was not the man she had left behind. That man had been broken, in tears and vulnerable, singing to the poignant tune of a music box, a lonely song of hopelessness and hiding. That man had caressed her ears with his angelic voice, quietly singing of his love for her as she bid him a tearful and silent farewell…

This man looked as though he would rather curse her than kiss her for her impulsive return.

At her failure to expound with an explanation, the Phantom narrowed his eyes and looked her over head to toe. For the first time he noted her disheveled state. Her wild ringlets of curls now no more than waves plastered about her waist, her dress in the same sodden condition. His eyes made another inclusive sweep of her form, from skirt to head, resting scant seconds on the wet upper curves of her small breasts before again seeking answers in her dark eyes.

They shimmered with a strange mix of apprehension and hope. For a moment his heart stopped, then resumed its dull, heavy beating.

Abruptly he walked past where she stood stock still awaiting his next move. He remembered her doing the same to him and in this spot, when he enclosed the ring into her hand. The veil still lay where she had so carelessly dropped it.

"Did you fall into the lake? Where is your cloak? Did you venture into the night without it, reckless child?"

At the questions he snapped out behind her, Christine at last found breath to give her voice.

"I left it in my dressing room this afternoon. I –I couldn't retrieve it. The fire…" She clenched her hand in her damp skirt and closed her eyes at the memory. "And then the rain started again on my journey here -"

The sudden heaviness of material swathed across the back of her shoulders made Christine startle, and her quiet words came to an abrupt close. His hands withdrew, careful not to touch her. She pulled the edges of fine wool close, bringing them around her shivering form, at once realizing he had wrapped her in his heavy, gold-lined cloak.

Again he moved to stand before her. She nervously kept her eyes fixed, staring at the soiled creases of his shirt, before blinking up at him.

"You should remove those wet clothes before you catch your death," he said.

Her heart gave an erratic thump. His tone was hardly suggestive, but the words themselves seemed to imply a deeper meaning.

"Do you have something I can change into?"

"You should leave here and change out of your clothes."

Drawing her brows together in dissatisfaction of his terse response, she cast her gaze downward, her own eyes taking a swift inventory of his person before landing on the smithereens of glass that gleamed near his booted feet.

"As should you."

"Do not pretend to care."

She deserved that; it stung, nonetheless.

"Why are you here, Christine? I asked you once. Now I demand to know."

"I only wanted …" So much. All of which she could not put into words. "I wanted to know that you're alright."

He gave a low, caustic laugh and walked a short distance away. "Alright." He addressed the shattered mirror's frame and let out another laugh, this one hollow. "Yes, Christine, I am 'alright.'" He looked fully at her. "You may go now."

"I would like to stay. Only for a little while," she added quickly at the dark look her words engendered.

"That would not be wise. You must return before you are missed and a second mob storms through my caverns to hunt me to ground, hoping to cage and kill me."

She frowned. "You're not an animal."

"No?" His third chilling laugh came a little mad, and she forced herself to stand motionless and not flee at his gradual re-approach. "A beast is ALL that I am, or have you so soon forgotten? Even you, the sweet and oh-so-innocent Angel, who could find a measure of good in all things, could not see past the trappings to the man who so vainly struggled to surface from beneath the monster…"

Unwittingly, she took a step back. His words were soft but sharp, piercing into her heart like the glass underfoot pierced into her soles.

"No matter." His smile was bitter. "That man died tonight."

"I don't believe that."

"Then you are a blind fool as well as a selfish traitor."

Tears stung the back of her eyes as she took in the stony, unforgiving set of jaw.

He had been angry with her before, had spoken harshly to her when he was upset with how badly she performed or had been tardy to a lesson. His words were always used as a disciplinary tool to prod her into excellence. But never had he insulted her solely to wound, as he did now. What was worse than his quiet, vicious attack was the knowledge that he wasn't wrong in his assessment. She had been blind, she had acted as a fool, and she had betrayed him in a manner that hardly came across as selfless.

Despite understanding that she deserved every bit of his censure, the vulnerable part of her that still craved his approval hugged her arms as a shield over her bruised heart and whispered a plea to stop, silently begging for the impossible, for life to return to what it had been days ago.

"Why do you treat me like this?" The words slipped from her thoughts of their own accord.

"Why? You ask why?!" His eyes burned in accusation. "I don't know whether I am more astounded by your unerring bad judgment and failure to recall recent events, or by your foolish audacity to come here alone and confront the wounded beast in his den."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice wavering. "So very sorry, Ange –"

"Do not…." His voice came soft and clipped, his hand lifting in an abrupt motion to halt her words.

But she could not stem what begged to be said.

"I never meant to hurt you," she insisted, "never. But you frightened me. Your anger and your lust for blood frightened me, and I didn't know what to do!"

The Phantom closed his eyes and turned his head aside in a vain attempt to shut out her image and her voice.

He knew full well his sins; he did not need her reminder that she did not carry the full brunt of the blame. But his vengeful wrath against the opera house had been spurred by her callous betrayal. A betrayal that wounded him to the core, more deeply than any weapon of iron or steel could have inflicted.

It was that hellish pain burning inside his soul that caused him to strike out against her, to say such cruel and cutting words. By God, she was responsible for plotting his destruction, and very nearly succeeded with his demise. She and that despicable boy with whom she was so enamored…

He hardened his heart to her tears.

He would not be fooled again.

He had not coerced her return, did not want her here – did not deserve her admonishment or require her apology.

Why the devil was she here?!

Christine gripped the burlap sack she held more tightly to prevent her hand from lifting to his arm in a gentle effort to coax him to listen to what she could scarcely frame words for or herself understand.

Her sorrowful gaze took in his face he worked so hard to conceal. Oh, that tortured, tragic face. One side well sculpted, pleasantly arranged - the counterpart to those features appearing as if the sculptor had wearied of his work and deliberately failed to smooth the rigid clumps of raw, angry red clay, before firing the statue to achieve completion.

The bitter eye not covered by his fingers darted down to her clenched hands.

"What is that you carry?"

His gruff voice brought her out of her rapt introspection. At the reminder, she withdrew his mask from the sack and slowly handed it to him.

"I thought you would want this back."

For a long moment he stared at the ivory, porcelain mold, his fingers shifting claw-like against his skin, his other hand clenching into a fist at his side, but made no move to take it.

"And so, once again we come full circle." He lifted both eyes from the mask again to entrap her own with their angry allegation. "You rip away my mask, you offer it back."

"There were soldiers!" Her defense sounded weak to her own ears. "So many."

"I was well aware of their presence."

"You were?" She blinked in confusion. "But – you just stood there, then broke away from the opera to ask me to…to…"

"Share a lifetime with a monster?" his one dark eyebrow lifted wryly as he finished her faltering sentence and stepped closer.

He grabbed her chin with his free hand and held it in a firm grasp, his long fingers and palm making a slow slide to encompass her throat. The bandage around his hand was rough against her delicate skin, his fingers like points of fire where they splayed against her neck.

Heat poured off of him in waves, flowing into her and sparking warmth through her blood, so that she nearly forgot all about the discomfort of her wet dress. His eyes held hers captive and began to glow with a strange intensity as if looking into her very soul and commanding forth the passion formerly denied.

Even in his bitterness and anger, he overwhelmed her senses, making her feel so many things she did not understand …

And feared to know.

Her body tensed in mild recoil. With a brusque oath he dropped his hold from her and walked past her in retreat. She held his cloak more tightly around her trembling form, faint from the kiss almost shared, remnants of their earlier passion tormenting her precarious hold on modesty, even as she shied away from what that meant.

"You need not fear, my dear," he said in low, acerbic tones. "I have been made well aware of the true depth of your scheming heart. To think I was such a fool to imagine that you could bear to look at this distorted face that is hardly a face in the darkness."

Her eyes grew wide at his sardonic quip. She was barely aware she moved to face him.

"You were there?" she whispered. "You heard us talking that night?"

"I hid behind a statue on the rooftop and heard every one of your disparaging words, then witnessed you rush into that imprudent fool's arms…" He narrowed his eyes to pinpoints of accusing blue flame. "This afternoon, in the chapel, I hid behind the grate and heard the two of you conspire in your plot against me."

Her face blanched when confronted with the reminder of her treachery and his full knowledge of it. She had not wanted to partake in Raoul's scheme with the managers, but she did no more than offer up excuses that her heart was torn and conflicted, having done nothing to stop their plot from unfolding. Instead, she had acted as they wished and taken the stage instead of giving the task to her understudy. Had she only feigned illness, her Angel would never have walked into their trap.

The Phantom laughed without humor.

"Ah, so the flighty memory returns to roost home once more. As I said, I knew the soldiers would be there because I heard you betray me, my dear, though I daresay even I have not killed a thousand men."

"You killed Buquet," she whispered. "Tonight, you murdered Piangi."

His eyes fell shut against her accusations, as if to block them from knowledge.

"God help me, I had no wish to go out on that stage," she said, "you overheard our discussion in the chapel, you must have known that – but what else was I to do?"

"Poor conflicted Christine," his voice was as smooth as silk and laced with scorn. "But come, you have no cause for grief. You did what your lover expected and what was considered noble as the tragic heroine in this story. It is all a matter of perspective, really – to entrap and kill the monster is noteworthy and honorable, but for the monster to strike out before he can be discovered and destroyed is regarded as cold-blooded murder."

She gripped his cloak tighter around her at his dark emphasis on the words, the hot despair now burning into her soul. The bitter confusion she earlier buried rose once again to ensnare her.

"What of Señor Piangi? What did he ever do to you that deserved his death?"

"An unfortunate error in judgment on his part. I intended only to render him unconscious and ordered him to be silent. But the wretch struggled and thrashed beyond the curtains, attempting to scream and warn everyone of my presence there. His own bumbling actions caused the rope to bind more tightly against his windpipe and bring about his demise."

She winced at his emotionless recounting, his manner cool and reserved, and shook her head in disbelief.

"The fire spread. Many of the audience were wounded. A woman who was with child."

The Phantom grimaced at her disgusted words, feeling a morsel of pity. He never intended for the fire to rage beyond the targeted area of the stage, nor had he wished that any of the hapless theatre-goers be harmed. But he refused to be cowed with guilt in front of this deceptively childlike woman who'd become the executioner to his heart.

"I warned of a disaster beyond imagination, and assumed the fools would extinguish the fire at once with the buckets of sand kept in the wings for that purpose. I planned the chandelier's crash only as a diversion to escape with you, not for the theatre's annihilation."

"And your attempts to kill Raoul?"

"Well deserved," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Why are you still here, Christine? Go back to your lover and leave me be."

"Stop saying that."

She fidgeted and looked away in unease.

A third time he approached.

"Did I misunderstand the meaning of a secret engagement? Or of the kisses you so freely bestowed as he whirled you across the rooftop and you laughed with giddy glee to his nauseating charm?"

She frowned. "Did you spy on everything I said and did?"

"Of course. That is what monsters do. Did you suspect otherwise? I never claimed to be a gentleman, you could not even see me as a man - and I did not come out the victor in our cataclysmic finale. That is for the knights on their white steeds, after they have slain the loathsome dragon."

They stared hotly at one another, the tension a tangible force between them. Christine felt the perspiration pop out in little beads all over her skin, blending with the drops of rain.

"So, why are you not with him now, sharing in his victory?" he insisted.

"He wanted me to go with him, to his parents' estate. I almost did. I left with him in his carriage, we had nearly left the courtyard…"

"Well then?!"

"I demanded to be let out and sent him away."

He clenched his teeth and grabbed her hard beneath the shoulders, momentarily forgetting his resolve to shield his deformity from her eyes.

"Why are you here?" He gave her a little shake. "What more do you want from me?"

At his third demand for an answer, Christine feebly shook her head. Her pulse raced with his close proximity, her mind and heart a tumult of hopeful confusion and breathless trepidation. It had always been so, this power he held over her, this forceful urge to submit, no matter the cost, when she should do nothing but flee.

All the reasons for seeking him out that she rehearsed during her walk to his lair, all of those terribly important things she wished to say went flying from her head at the chill memory of all that transpired scant hours ago.

He was a murderer. An arsonist. A thief. Without scruples, without regrets.

"I … don't know."

His face twisted in a scowl and he gave her shoulders another brusque shake.

"You came all this way, alone, through the rain, in the dead of the night, without clear knowledge of why you did?"

At the disbelief ringing in his tone, she answered with the one verity she held to amid the chaos raging through her mind.

"I wanted to see you."

"You wanted to see me," he repeated as if testing the words and finding them false. He dropped his hands from her shoulders in disgust. "To learn if I was 'alright'. So you have said. So you have done, and still you remain though I have told you to go back to your boy."

"I want to stay."

Oh, why had the ability for loquacious and eloquent speech left her? Why could she form no more than pitiful, choppy sentences better suited to a child?

Surprise glimmered in his eyes before they again filled with suspicion. He stepped closer, and she had the distinct impression that he was testing her acceptance to his nearness, no doubt expecting her to fidget away, unnerved, as she often did. The hard planes of his body barely brushed against her, making her suddenly wish to melt against his strength. Even defeated and hunted, he held such power.

"And if I should seek a repeat of the kiss you sacrificially gave, what then, Christine?"

Sacrificially?

Her eyes flickered to his lips. So uniquely shaped, a trace of his affliction caused the right side of his upper lip to gently bow upward. They had been so cold against hers, but had warmed quickly…

He drew closer still, until she could feel the heat of his breath caress her cheek. The tips of his fingers barely stroked her arms down to her elbows. She shivered, imprisoned in his featherweight hold, scarcely able to prevent herself from lifting up on her toes, from pressing her lips to his, as recent memory of their touch and his taste overpowered her. Their quickened breaths mingled, and her lips softly parted, wishing to taste again.

"Tell me, Christine. Would you give every part of yourself to me as a bride would to her husband?"

His words came soft, sardonic, yet with a slender thread of hope, and broke through the sensual haze he created. Recollection of her promise to Raoul brought her instant guilt for nearly melting into the Phantom's arms, and she tensed and pulled away, ashamed of her wanton thoughts. No matter these strange feelings he had stirred since the night he'd taken her through the mirror door, no matter how much she yearned to remain in his presence, to be held in his arms and assured all would be well…

There was still the matter of Raoul, to whom she was engaged…

And of her Angel, this Phantom, who was still a murderer.

His eyes searched her face. His features again hardened as he read the truth there. He released her with a little push and clapped his hand back over his damaged face.

"No, of course not. How foolish of me to ask. You cannot love what you fear."

She bristled at that, her defenses rising to the surface and again loosening her tongue.

"I told you at this very mirror where we now stand that I no longer fear you or your face – only what you've become. But with Raoul - I cannot leave things as they are, leave without explanation. He deserves more than that, but I don't know how or what to tell him."

She barely knew what to say to the man before her now. The shock of the entire evening had not begun to fade, making it so very difficult to think clearly.

"Don't bother, my dear. There is no longer a choice to be made."

"What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly.

"I set you free, do you not recall?"

His voice was weary with a rough edge, strained from the night's emotional upheaval, yet still inexplicably beautiful. Oh, what she would give to hear him again tenderly speak her name, to address her in those dulcet, velvet tones…

"I have at last seen the truth," he continued. "No matter your choice of the moment, it will not last. You are still the selfish child, wanting everything her way. The vain young woman – running to your irksome savior when circumstances disappoint, later to your Maestro of Music. Perhaps your training on the stage has led you to become a superlative actress. Either you are hopelessly conflicted or callously manipulative. I would wager you are both."

"How can you say such things to me?" she gasped, accustomed to his vitriol on the masses but never directed toward her. "You deceived me!"

"And you betrayed and denied me," he countered, his voice a whiplash to her smarting senses. "How long will it take before your lingering fear of my distorted soul drives you back into the arms of that milksop of a boy? How long before your eventual tedium of his company draws you back into my presence? Am I expected to tabulate the remainder of my days by your capricious whims?"

"You make me sound so cold and heartless!"

"Shall I recount the number of times you ran from my presence to the Vicomte's arms in the three months since he arrived at the Opera House? Before any lives were lost? Or how often you grew bored with him and sought to be near me?"

The Phantom snatched the mask from her nerveless fingers and turned swiftly on his heel, away from his beautiful tormentor. Unable to bear the wounded shock on her face, sorely tempted to take her in his arms and beg forgiveness for the suffering he likewise inflicted, he put distance between them and ascended the stairs. Swift escape and bitter words had always been his defense when violence did not suit his purpose. He relied on both now.

"I'm sorry!" she cried out after him. "Please, Ange – Often I don't know my own mind. I wish it weren't so! But so much has happened so fast – I can barely conceive the changes. Please don't go!"

He halted mid-step in hesitation, then turned to look at her.

"What is it you would have me do? Rip my heart from my chest and offer it to you – oh, wait. You have already done that. Perhaps you would wish for a dagger to thrust into my back. Oh, but you have done that too…"

"Stop." Her eyes slid shut in misery at his biting sarcasm. "Please stop."

She had braved the night and the darkness of the caverns to be here. She would not cower in indecision now.

"I wish to stay, only until tomorrow," she hastened to add before he could refuse. "It is such a long walk back, and I am quite weary."

Once they calmed, somehow, surely, they could breach this chasm created through excessive misunderstanding and selfish manipulation. All she wanted was one night, one night to stay in the lovely spare room with the lovely warm bed he had provided for her. In the morning, after they had both rested, surely they could talk and make sense of everything then.

"Stay if you wish…"

She gave him a hopeful smile. "Thank you."

"…but I shall be leaving."

Her smile faded.

"Leaving? But – where will you go? Surely the mob won't return."

"It fails to matter. The illusions, the make believe, all of it is at an end." He waved his arm around the lair in a dismal parody of the night he'd first brought her to this musical sanctuary. "The music of the night is over, Christine! It was no more than a hopeless fantasy, the dream of a monster to find true beauty at last – all of it burned to ashes. I was a fool to think it could amount to anything eternal."

The Phantom's heart seized at the sight of the tears streaming down her cheeks, at the thought of never again looking upon her lovely countenance. Nevermore hearing the splendor of her voice lifted in song.

"I have no wish to drive you from your home, especially when you are in such danger of being caught," she whispered in defeat. "Stay. I will leave and not bother you again."

"This is no longer my home. My time here has reached its conclusion. I wish to find some semblance of tranquility if there is any left to be had in this world for a monster."

Her lashes fell closed. "You are not a monster."

The soft words barely slipped from her lips, but he offered no reply. There was no need. Her betraying actions had proven otherwise, and his violent response had only solidified her belief.

"Y-You'll want this back." She moved to pull his cloak away but he shook his head at her choked offer.

"Keep it. I have others."

She shook her head sadly. "How you must hate me now…"

The words seemed torn from her, her upturned eyes huge, vulnerable and wounded, shimmering with the many tears she had yet to shed.

He only wished that he could hate her, it would make this parting less difficult to bear. But in the depths of his foul, blackened heart, he knew that could never be. He would never again play the fool, never again become her victim.

If he should reassure her that his feelings went unchanged, he did not trust himself not to fall at her feet and beg that she never again leave him. If she should agree, he did not trust that she would not give heed to her fickle heart at some likely point of dissatisfaction and run back to that tiresome boy.

"Farewell, Christine. I wish for you only good fortune." His words, though genteel, came dark and mocking in their bitter despair.

Panic set in. Before he could disappear through the mirror forever, Christine called out to him once more.

"Wait! Please, I … please tell me your name. You never told me."

He turned halfway and hesitated as if he might give in to her burning need to know then shook his head. "It hardly matters any longer. You had no desire to find the man beneath the monster in all of our years together –"

"I thought you a true angel!" she interrupted in distress.

"And when you learned I was not, still you did not care to know. You wished only to continue with the fairy tale created. It is best if you remember me only as a phantom."

"No!" The outburst left her mouth without her realizing it. She moved a few hurried steps forward. "I kissed you…"

He swallowed hard, briefly closing his eyes at the remembrance of her soft, warm lips on his in a kiss that had shattered his dark resolve and given him the power to send her away.

"A noble sacrifice on your part to save the boy. I applaud your show of bravado and give you to him with my blessing. Though you were never truly mine to give."

"But – you said you loved me…" Her words were timid, barely whispered.

He flinched with the memory, feeling his resolve begin to waver.

"A hardship I will learn to bear."

"Tell me what I can do to fix this," she begged.

He looked at her fully then.

"There are some things that simply cannot be mended, my dear. They are destined to remain broken."

"No, I won't believe that!" She furiously denied his wretched words.

"Nonetheless, it is true. I am partly to blame by leading you to believe in the guidance of an angel and never correcting the misconception. I erroneously assumed you were ready to accept the role for which I molded and trained you." He wearily shook his head. "You bear the years of a woman, but are still so much a child, enraptured by a world of pretense. If that wretched boy has his way, he will sap what little strength of mind you possess, until you remain dependent on his every rash and foolish decision. Told what to do all the days of your life. Never given credence to possess a logical thought in your head…"

His curt tirade softened to a lull. "Do not let that happen, Christine. Become all you are meant to be. Let no one interfere or stand in the way of your talent."

She gave up trying to stem the flow of tears. It was the first kind thing he'd said to her since her return, but these words, too, troubled her heart.

He had been her instructor, ever since she could remember, and she had heeded his teaching. Now she miserably wondered if this would be his last lesson taught.

"Will I never see you again?" she asked mournfully.

He sighed. "It is best if you forget me, Christine. Forget all of this. You will be much happier for it."

With that, he turned and disappeared through the secret entrance, the tapestry falling back into place.

Staring at the spot where he'd been in mounting disbelief, she felt the loss, so severe, as if her heart had been twisted and wrenched from her body.

Once, he entered her life through a gilded mirror as both Angel and Phantom.

Now he left her through another mirror as equally shattered as the man.

"Oh, God, no…please no…"

She could barely draw breath, her chest burned so fiercely.

Every fiber of her soul compelled her to follow and beg him to take her with him wherever he was going, if only not to lose all trace of him. What was left of her mangled pride and bruised logic held her back. He would never allow it; he had made his position clear; he did not want her company. And what he asked before – the complete submission of all she was – soul and body – she could not give. Perhaps he no longer wanted that either.

He hated her now! her heart cried, flayed with the knowledge.

He had truly left, left her here, all alone…

But was that not perhaps for the best? cruel reason argued.

She refused to listen to the pragmatic whispers, refused to bow under the weight of her heart's sorrow.

Every tenet of her faith shuddered and balked to spend a lifetime with a murderer who showed no remorse for his sins. Nor was she certain if this whirlwind of lonely despair not to have him near, along with the troubling attacks of passionate abandon when in his presence, could call itself love. She once thought the emotion pure and gentle, composed of fairy tales and romance with handsome princes and beautiful estates to live out one's days.

She could not have been more mistaken.

He hated her now…

Though she had yet to fully understand what it meant to love, or even who she was meant to love. Love surely did not cause such wretched pain that made it difficult to breathe and impossible to think. Love was meant to bring joy and laughter and delight unparalleled…

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself in the pretense of a hug. Not yet seventeen and she felt utterly and hopelessly lost. Without hope. Abandoned and alone. For over one decade she had coveted and relied on her Angel's secret companionship, sometimes the bliss of Elysium, other times the direct opposite of that; often strict. Sometimes harsh. But always he had been there to turn to when she needed him.

Christine sank to her knees on the glass-strewn rock while shards of grief pierced deep into her soul. She welcomed the sharpness that pricked beneath her heavy skirts but did not puncture them. Deep sobs wracked her body as she wept from the emptiness of a loss too great to bear.

Her home. Her career. Her Angel.

Once again, the little orphan girl had lost everything that mattered...

And this time there would be no gentle voice in the night to soothe away her fears.

xXx