Disclaimer: Everything mostly belongs to someone other than me.

Chapter 11

In the instant before the first bullet left its home, I had lunged toward the fighting pair in a desperate and foolish attempt to place myself between the two men. I focused only upon one thing and that was the silver flash of the gun in the very moment that it went off and found its victim. I barely felt the bullet as it grazed my arm and met its mark behind me. All I was aware of was the outpouring of blood and the scream which I uttered the moment I saw red. There was burgundy staining my dress…a ruby tint upon a floor…red clouding the senses behind my eyes.

I stumbled, shocked both by the numbness that had begun to spread through my arm and the coppery taint upon my lips from the flecks of red that had sprayed my face lightly. Before I could wipe them away, however, a hand seized my wounded arm roughly and squeezed until fresh droplets of blood began to squirm from my torn flesh. Crying out in pain, I obediently stumbled in the direction that the hand was pulling me, my thoughts turned only to the hurt.

Bert's leering face appeared before my heavy eyes, his features contorted in triumph. He mouthed something at me, but it flew straight past my ears without my mind interpreting exactly what he was trying to say. Instead, my head bobbed dumbly at his every word until I felt him tighten his grasp about my arm and slap my cheek harshly so that I was forced to look up at him and to try to understand his words.

"Well, that was stupid," he chuckled, shaking me slightly so that I was aware of every fraction of an inch that my flesh shifted. "You nearly succeeded in killing yourself." Here he twisted my arm roughly as if to emphasize my literal brush with death, but by this point my arm had gone limp and lifeless and the rest of my body had lapsed into a state of utter shock. It was not that the wound to my arm would cause me any lasting harm, but the fact that there was so much blood scattered about me. It even stained the soft white fabric of Bert's dress shirt, which was peaking out from beneath his heavy coat as he shook me.

Noticing this, Bert pouted with distaste and rubbed against the red with a shirtsleeve. "Filthy stuff," he declared, still holding me with one hand.

Still struggling, I bent my head forward and bit his arm with all my might. He hissed in pain and let go more on account of surprise than hurt, but I was free nonetheless. I scrambled to gather myself on the floor and collided straight with a body, tripping back on to the ground.

"Erik…" I breathed harshly, my fear so great that I was unable to raise my voice to a normal level. Before I could fully take his condition into account, however, Bert seized and threw me away from Erik so that I landed agonizingly against a row of pews. Once again, tendrils of pain shot out from my wound and I hissed at the unwelcome sensations.

I saw Bert aim a harsh kick to Erik's prostrate form. "Get up, you," Bert snarled, seizing Erik by the collar and spitting directly in his face. Before Erik could retaliate, however, Bert thrust another knee into his side until the man was once again gasping for breath. My breath caught completely in my throat when I saw the flood of liquid soaking Erik's side, for the bullet had indeed hit him. I could not tell exactly where he had been hit, however, for there was too much blood from all of us. I only prayed that God had been merciful and diverted the bullet away from both his stomach and lungs, and that hope was not already lost…

His eyes were shut tightly in pain, but I saw his lips move as he fought for air. Bert continued to shake him much as he had done me and Erik was powerless to do much, for he was very aware of the fact that Bert still had the gun and the upper hand.

"Stop, damn you!" I screamed, finally finding my voice. I supported myself shakily against the pews, forcing myself not to give into the fear.

Bert quirked a corner of his abominable mouth in amusement and turned so that I could still see the flash of the silver weapon. "I do believe that I have you both at a disadvantage," he commented easily. He glanced back down at his quarry, who now slumped against the ground with the most profound look of hatred upon his face. I understood that the only reason Erik did nothing was because he feared for my own life and knew that at his slightest movement, Bert could and would shoot me.

"Stop…" I repeated, although now I whispered the single word hopelessly.

Bert snorted and knelt on the ground beside Erik, frowning into the face of the unmasked man. "I always did wonder why you wore a mask," he remarked, tracing a contour of the scarring much to my surprise. "How can you even bear to show this face to a beautiful woman?"

Erik sat perfectly still and I knew it took all his strength not to lash out at Bert for both the contact and the insult. I recognized the hints of rage engraved in his weak form, but he was still unable to do anything as Bert elbowed his side roughly, finally eliciting a groan from the man.

I saw that Erik was growing more and more pale by the second, while the amount of blood was increasing just as quickly. When he shut his eyes for just a second, Bert snatched up his face and forced him to look again. "I want you to watch her die," he told Erik firmly. "After she dies, I can collect my reward."

Hatred finally overcame his weakness and Erik thrust the man away from himself with a savage kick. Bert stumbled backwards, but he regained himself quickly and instead reached for me. He hooked my arms behind my back and pressed me against his loathsome body so that my back was to him.

Erik coughed several times, but he stood up unsteadily. He supported himself with one hand against the railing before the altar, and to my alarm I saw his other hand go out to his side where he had been kicked repeatedly. I saw the change in him as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply, willing the rage inside him to still before Bert decided to sacrifice both of us.

"Why?" It was the single word he could manage before he sank against the railing and let his chin fall against his chest. His eyes were closed, but he forced himself to keep talking; "What motive can you possibly have for this?"

Bert allowed his hand to travel lightly over my stomach, his fingers exploring my body indiscreetly. I stiffened and twitched away from him, but he merely tightened his grip on my arm and I was moved to submission. "Patience, Comtesse," he murmured, soothingly. "I plan to enjoy myself much more thoroughly with you than just a simple touch."

Erik's head snapped back up at that and the sudden light of unrestrained rage flared in his clear eyes; "You wouldn't dare."

"I would and you know it," Bert licked my neck quickly, chuckling at my shudder. "This girl has possibilities. It would be a shame to kill such a creature before she were properly…used."

At that, all weakness seemed to fall away from Erik's shuddering body and he started to rise. But Bert merely twirled the gun threateningly, pressing it almost mockingly into my side; "If you try anything, I'll just kill her right away. It would be a shame, so don't provoke me."

As quickly as the strength had come into him, it dissipated. Erik had become entirely white and I saw the unhealthy glistening sheen upon his tortured skin. He still had one hand clutched protectively against his side and I knew how it pained him to move. His eyes caught mine briefly and I shook my head slightly, willing him to be still. I looked at him helplessly, turning my mind over and over in search of a solution to all of this.

"Karine was once my lover," Bert said suddenly, twining a length of my messy hair about his fingers. He pressed the lock up to his lips and I tried not to shudder, shutting my eyes furiously against the contact. "Until she met you, that is," he told Erik, dropping my hair. "I suppose you could say I became a trifle jealous."

Erik shook his head; "She was using me, you fool."

"Is that what you think?" Bert swiveled me around in his arms so that I faced him. He raised an eyebrow and sighed approvingly as he examined my features; "Beautiful, I must say." He traced a line from my nose and down about my lips, smirking; "At first, I admit it was only a means to an end. But later…"

I resisted the temptation to chomp down on his hand once again and gritted my teeth against the unwelcome feel of his skin against mine.

"Later," Bert went on, "it turned into something more. I had never seen her so fascinated by anyone… I had never seen her so…obsessed."

Erik snorted behind me, but Bert ignored him.

"She had always been possessed by the idea of avenging her brother," Bert elaborated. "But when she finally met his murderer, she became infatuated with him instead. You see, she was entirely enthralled with you. I almost wonder if she ever would have killed you in the end."

I began to cry when I felt him slip my cloak off my shoulders to investigate my figure more thoroughly. He slid his hands over my sides, pausing just at my hips.

Then he went on talking, frowning at the corset which I wore; "I was beyond jealous, but I did what was asked of me. I wooed that foolish girl, Adelle, a close friend and confidante to the Comtesse."

"Then Adelle is not involved?" I inquired breathlessly, praying that my friend was innocent.

"That stupid girl? She has no inkling of how I used her. Loneliness is an easy thing to exploit, as I'm sure you both know."

At that, I almost slapped him for a variety of reasons, but I knew the danger that we were all in. Instead, I murmured; "Why be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" Bert grunted; "Is it so hard for you to believe that I loved Karine? Love makes one do foolish things, didn't you know? That man killed for you, Comtesse. How can you question me?"

I quickly silenced myself, almost crying out that Erik was different -- but was he? It was true that he had killed for me, but hadn't he changed? Hadn't we all learned from all of our past mistakes?

Shaking my head, I willed the questions to abate. I had already been through this and we had come too far now to let the words of an insect like Bert raise doubt in our hearts. I squared my shoulders against his touches and bore the sting of Bert's fingertips without comment. A reaction from me was exactly what he was looking for, and if he wished to hear me whimper and scream, then all he could do was continue to wish.

"I'm rather surprised, Comtesse," Bert said to me, tilting his head. "Aren't you going to try to resist me?"

I didn't speak and merely stared at him. Perhaps he would lose interest if he received no reaction from me.

He frowned and slapped me across the cheek again; "Speak, damn you! Tell me how cruel I am! Tell me how you hate me! I'm hurting you, aren't I? Degrading you; mocking you; making you less than human! I'll have my pleasure with you; there is nothing more to say."

I blinked, surprised at the outburst. Yet, despite the hideous fear in my chest, I remained silent.

It seemed that Bert addressed Erik this time; "As you took your pleasure with Karine, so I will do with your lover."

I shut my eyes against his face and his words.

"Stop!"

The cry did not come from me this time, but from Erik. I twisted my head over my shoulder and saw that he was looking wildly at Bert, his hatred plain and unrestricted upon his tortured and malformed features. "It's me you want, not her! Do what you want with me, but let her alone!"

Never before had I heard him plead for anything in front of anyone else and I saw that even Bert was surprised at the shameless begging.

Erik fell to his knees once more and turned plaintive eyes upon Bert; "Please. Don't put her through this."

Bert frowned, confused by this turn in Erik's behavior.

"You've achieved your goal," Erik whispered, still staring straight at the other man. "I am upon my knees before you."

For a moment, Bert looked thoughtful. Then, he shook his head with a slight sarcastic smile; "As satisfying as this is, it's still not enough. Besides, I want my reward after this. Karine was a generous woman in more ways than one. Why not allow me to have a little fun along the way?"

He slipped the first lace of my bodice out of its knot, turning back to me. I closed my eyes again, for I did not dare to look in Erik's direction. Even if we somehow lived, how could I ever face him after this? I breathed softly in protest when I felt the gown loosen upon my shoulders.

"You would not dare to violate a woman within a house of God," Erik snarled behind us. "Unless you're fully prepared to face Satan and his Hell."

"You're one to talk," Bert almost laughed right before he kissed me roughly. "You must know all about Hell, monsieur. You seem to have been damned from birth." He kissed me again, biting my lower lip almost teasingly and drawing more blood with a soft laugh deep in his throat.

I could not restrain myself; I screamed and spit back at him, trying to force myself out of his grip. All it took, however, was a firm hand upon my wounded arm and I whimpered slightly at the reminder that Bert still held a weapon that could end all hope of survival.

He forced the top of my gown off my shoulders and handled my corset roughly, fighting to loosen the laces. I buried my face in my hands and allowed him to turn me, praying to God that Erik would turn away.

Dear God, don't let him see…Just make it end.

"How does it feel to see your lover in the arms of another? How does it feel to know the pain I felt when I saw you with Karine?" Bert pressed me up against himself and allowed a hand to run lightly over the curves of my chest until I shuddered anew.

"The two situations are incomparable," Erik hissed. I could not see his face, but I knew that his hatred was once again unmasked; "I would never shame a woman so; you seem unable to make subtle distinctions. She went willingly with me. How does that feel? How does it feel to know that your precious Karine preferred me to you? How does it feel to know that she came to me without fear because she wanted to? I didn't have to force her -- I did not have to threaten a woman to bring her into my bed."

I went rigid with astonishment at this new tactic, but Bert instead became inflamed. He tore the last remnants of my dress from my body and slapped me roughly; "Your words only serve to hurt her more!"

"But they are the truth," Erik murmured quietly. "Aren't they?"

"Does it matter?" Bert slammed me against a pew and inspected my wince with what was evidently pleasure. "I seek only to hurt you through any means possible, monsieur. That is what Karine wanted me to do; that is what I want to do." He cast one final look back over his shoulder at Erik; "I want you to see her face as she struggles against me; I want you to see her pain. And remember, if you make one move to save her, I'll just kill her."

If only he could somehow be distracted and the gun kicked out of his reach! I knew that Erik was slowly growing far too weak; he could never hope to move quickly enough to disable Bert and to free me. I trembled and lifted my chin, even as I felt Bert reach behind my waist and slowly begin to work at the laces of the corset.

I began to pray for a miracle, my lips moving silently. Was this the end? Would I be shamed before I was shot? Would Erik die too? Oh God, was there no hope left for us? Just when we had reconciled! Just when we had learned to accept love in place of fear!

A sudden crash resounded in the gallery and all three of us turned impulsively toward the source of noise. Somehow, a statue of a weeping angel had managed to fall from its place upon the altar and to shatter into tiny fragments upon the frigid stone ground. I stared when I saw a small shadow swing through the rafters, quickly escaping to safety.

Bert noted it as well, but before he could react, something swooped in over his head and a harsh clang was heard. He winced and spun away from me, tottering in both pain and confusion as he looked for the source of the injury. In that moment, I gathered the last of my strength and placed a well-aimed kick at the hand that held the gun. Perhaps all those days of ballet had done me a trifle of good, as my foot connected directly with its target.

When he stumbled in surprise, I saw that Alma stood behind him with a silver candelabra grasped firmly in her hand. I did not have much more time to think, as she raised it above her head and clocked the man once more, her aim strong and precise. Hissing, Bert moved toward her, but failed to reach the old woman and found himself sprawled on the ground with a heavy weight upon him.

Erik twisted Bert's arms behind his back and seized the man by his hair, pulling until Bert's neck began to arch backward crookedly. "How pitiful that you seem to have been outmatched by an old woman with a candlestick," he snarled into the younger man's ear. Erik tugged on the man's hair abruptly; "You befoul the air with every breath you exhale. Why should I let you live?"

"Does it matter? You're dying anyway." Bert managed to gasp out the words despite the pain.

"No!" I cried out despite myself.

Even as I shouted the denial, Erik began to cough unforgivingly. He hunched suddenly and clutched his side with one hand, momentarily loosening his grip on Bert's head. Seizing his advantage, Bert flipped the weakening man off his back until their positions were reversed. Now he held Erik up by his collar and pinned the wounded man firmly to the ground.

Bert grinned and dug a hand into Erik's side, his hand coming away slathered in thick, red substance. Although it was clearly painful, Erik continued to fight him, twisting away and encircling Bert's neck with his last remaining strength. Bert began to kick and lash out, but his hands were now occupied with attempting to free himself. The two men struggled on the ground, but I knew that it was hopeless the moment that Bert loosened himself from Erik's grip and kicked the other man's side one last time. Erik finally gave in to the pain and his head snapped back with a groan, until Bert once again held him firmly to the ground.

Deprived of his gun, Bert took the opportunity to reach inside his jacket and extract a simple dagger. He held it up against Erik's throat as a threat, daring us to come any closer.

Taunting us, Bert made a smooth slice upon Erik's unmarred cheek with the edge of the blade. "First, let me carve out your flesh so that it matches the rest of your face." He applied several more cuts to the once-smooth cheek, smiling as he did so. "I loved to sculpt in my youth, but this is infinitely better." He drew the blade about Erik's left eye, which was pressed tightly shut against the metal.

"Damn you!" I screamed for the second time. "How can you be so cruel toward another human being like yourself?"

Bert paused and eyed me curiously; "Human, you say? You above all should know that this creature is less than human. He merely masquerades as one of us and I seek to bring a symmetry to his face that will expose him for what he is."

I gaped openly at his words, but Bert merely shrugged and tapped the blade thoughtfully against his palm.

"Karine always said that I had a bit of a mad streak," he murmured off-handedly while he reapplied the blade to the skin of Erik's forehead.

"God, why won't you stop?" I screamed, fighting against Alma's surprisingly firm hold.

A movement behind the pair of men attracted my attention and I lifted my head to see Lucien crouching by a pew and eyeing a silver object upon the ground. The gun glinted by his foot and he glanced between the weapon and me in inquiry, as if unsure of what to do. I met his eyes and nodded to him to pick it up. The boy seemed to understand and he crept softly forward, picking it up so that Bert would not notice.

When Bert shifted and Lucien saw Erik's condition, he could not restrain his shout. "Stop hurting him!" He shouted, causing Bert to turn his head in surprise. Lucien's eyes widened the moment Bert turned his crazed glance on him and he skittered backwards, hiding the gun behind his back.

Bert quirked his head in interest; "Well, what's this? Little Lucien?"

Lucien bit his lip and looked to me for help. Bert remarked upon this and waved at Lucien with his dagger; "Go on, join the girl and grandmother. I'll deal with all of you after I'm through with this monster. It's an improvement upon his face, don't you think?"

I accepted Lucien into my arms, tilting his face into an embrace and away from the sight of Erik's newly-mangled face. I could barely see his features through all the slices and the blood. Bert had created such precise cutes no doubt aimed at inflicting as much pain as possible without directly killing him. Erik was still coughing, but he could not move for the weight upon him and the hurt from the bullet buried deep inside him.

Lucien snaked an arm about me and I felt him tap my back with something. I freed one arm and felt him drop the cool metal of the gun into my palm. "Thank you," I whispered into the boy's hair, pushing him toward Alma.

Bert was wiping his dirtied blade upon a leg of his pants, frowning over his handiwork.

"Bert," I called out his name.

He looked up at me, his mouth opening in what was undoubtedly the beginning of another taunt. Then his eyes set upon the gun in my hand and he froze. "How did you…" When his eyes set upon Lucien, realization crossed his eyes and he shrugged easily. "Well, no matter." He twirled the blade in his hand and moved quickly before I could react, repositioning the metal beneath Erik's throat. "You wouldn't shoot me, would you, Comtesse?"

I stared at him determinedly, my fingers tightening shakily about the trigger. "I would. I will."

Bert laughed, raising a single eyebrow. "Would you now?" He ran a fingertip over one of the fresh cuts he had applied to Erik's face and inspected the blood upon his own skin. "You truly love this thing? You wouldn't shoot me for such a wretched life, would you?"

I closed my eyes, but willed myself not to back down. I had never taken another life, but if it meant saving Erik, then I would.

"Just let him go and I promise to spare you," I told him, still trembling.

From the ground, I saw Erik crack one bloodied eye open to stare directly at me. "Kill him," he mouthed softly and I was sure that I was the only one who heard the cruel words from his beautiful, broken voice.

I looked at him helplessly, but when Bert pressed the dagger more firmly against Erik's throat, I gave no more thought to it and forced my fingers to give that last, final squeeze. I thought of what he had nearly done to me; of what he had done to Erik.

And I knew no remorse.

Bert was thrown off-balance, but I had merely hit him in the shoulder. In that moment, Lucien rushed forward and knocked the dagger out of his hand, making sure to kick the man soundly in the face. Alma then made her move and beat him soundly over the head with her candelabra once more. She hit him twice before his eyes rolled back in his head and he finally passed out.

I shuddered at what we had done and dropped the gun in horror, a hand flying to my mouth. Fighting away my nausea, I rushed to Erik's side and knelt by him, staining my dress with more blood. Beside me, Alma sat down and brushed some hair back from Erik's face. It was nearly unbearable to look at, for now one could not tell where the deformity ended and the newly-carved flesh began. There was just too much blood and I moved to turn Lucien away from the sight, worried that the child might be disturbed.

But Lucien fought me and fell to his knees on the other side of Erik, grasping the man's arm. "Monsieur?" He whispered, shaking the limp arm gently. "Wake up!"

"Lucien, don't!" I reprimanded him, but the boy ignored me.

I reached for my dress, which was still resting in a messy pile upon the floor and tore off a rough white square of material. Trembling, I began to dab gently at Erik's face to clear the blood away. "We have to find help," I told Alma, turning to her.

She nodded abruptly and stood up; "I'll go look."

Before she could move away, I heard Erik give a shallow gasp for breath. Startled, I jumped before I reached forward and lifted his head slightly to help him breathe.

"…what?" He inquired, his eyes still shut.

I sighed in relief and cradled his face against my chest, not caring that blood was now spattered everywhere. "Where are you hurt?" I whispered, still dabbing at the cuts upon his skin.

He grunted and motioned absently at his middle; "In the side, I think. It's…it's hard to tell." Here, he was once again taken by a fit of harsh coughing. For a time it seemed as if he would never stop, but at least he was not coughing blood. Lord knew there was already enough of that about us.

I continued to work, ripping apart more and more of my dress. He remained silent for a time, his eyes open and unfocused as he tried to observe what I was doing.

"Are you all right?" He barely whispered the words to me, his voice but a breath of air.

Nodding, I forced myself to smile down upon his distorted features. "Yes," I told him soothingly.

"Good." He cast one last glance at me before he coughed again and shut his eyes, growing still.

Alarmed, I caught up his hand and shook him lightly; "Open your eyes!"

He did not obey and merely shuddered, his head lolling against his shoulder to the side. I cried out again and pressed a feverish kiss to the bloodied mess that once was his face. Not caring that more blood came away upon my lips, I began to cry, allowing my salty tears to fall into his open wounds. I could not stop myself and continued to dab at the cuts.

"Wake up, wake up," I whispered through my tears, the world becoming one mass of red. Lucien had gravitated away to the side and was looking away determinedly, rocking back and forth on his feet in a crouch.

"That's not him," he was whispering to himself. "It can't be, it can't be."

I lamented that a child had ever been forced to see this, but I could not find the strength in myself to comfort Lucien. All that I could think about was the fact that Erik had ceased to respond to me; I swore that his breathing was slowly becoming more and more shallow. Beginning to lose hope, I nevertheless continued to wipe at the blood and waited anxiously for Alma to return.

Occasionally, I stole a glance at Bert. He lay on the ground, unmoving and passed out completely from our attack. I called Lucien's name softly, wishing to distract him from the horror at my hands; "Lucien, watch this man and make sure he doesn't wake up."

Lucien bent and picked up the candelabra where Alma had left it, nodding at me with an ashen face. "Will monsieur be all right?" He asked quietly, settling himself by Bert's head so that he could clock him again if the need arose.

I looked away and did not answer.

We sat in silence for a time. Although it could not have been more than a few minutes later, it seemed an eternity before Alma reappeared. When she did, I saw that a priest trudged behind her with woolen cloak draped across his robes for warmth and a bulky bag resting in his hand. He looked around at the four of us upon the floor, once again peering to Alma for explanation.

He saw the gun and frowned angrily, but he could not be distracted from the sight of Erik. Alma pushed him toward us, shaking her head when he looked at Bert. "Leave him," she instructed. "This one needs your attention more."

The priest looked at me quickly and then back down at Erik, frowning all the while. Alma placed two hands on my shoulders and guided me back to my feet, drawing me away.

"A priest?" I inquired in disbelief. "He needs a doctor!"

Alma clucked at me in disapproval; "This man is well-trained in medicine. Let him help us. He is a man of God and is bound to ask less questions than riffraff on the street might."

I allowed myself to be drawn away, but I would not leave the room with Alma. The priest rifled through his bag, maintaining his composure impressively. He still had not said a word, nor did he seem inclined to make conversation at any point in the near future. Drawing out a rack of vials from the back, he began to mix various substances and reached for the remnants of my dress.

To my surprise, he spoke for the first time and addressed me; "Can I use the dress?"

I nodded quietly, clutching Lucien's hand and drawing him up beside me.

The priest shook his head over my appearance and threw off his cloak, handing it to me. "Cover yourself," he instructed. The way in which he said it sounded harsh, but by this point I could not be bothered to care overmuch. I accepted the material and threw it over my shoulders, grateful for the warmth. Lucien continued to hover by my side, burying his face into the material of the cloak.

I watched in a sort of morbid fascination as the priest calmly and rapidly sliced through Erik's clothes, tearing away the fabric that had once been so rich with quality, not blood. When he revealed the bare skin underneath, it was difficult to tell where exactly the wound was beneath all the caked blood and that which still flowed.

Undeterred, the man motioned to Alma and instructed her to fetch a basin from a room behind the main gallery. She disappeared into an antechamber and presently re-emerged with a large bowl filled with clear water. Setting it down beside the priest, she remained at his side without a word.

The priest cleaned the wound efficiently, until he revealed the place where the bullet had hit. I shut my eyes against the messy hole, willing myself to be grateful for the fact that the bullet had indeed managed to hit Erik in the side and not directly in the stomach as I had feared.

Noticing the relieved sigh which I gave, the priest looked up at me; "Don't look so happy. He's still lost a lot of blood; I don't know if I can get the bullet out." He pulled several instruments from his bag, including several metallic objects that bore a passing resemblance to tweezers. I shut my eyes again as he picked one of the implements up and poured alcohol over it before he leaned over the wounded man once more.

I turned away when he began to rummage through Erik's torn flesh. The priest worked intently and I heard him clucking to himself as he searched for the bullet. Presently, he gave a satisfied sigh and grunted as he had undoubtedly found something. Chancing a look back, I saw him draw his instrument back out of Erik's side and drop a small bloodied mass into an empty basin with a hard cling.

Thinking I might be sick, I looked down and saw that Lucien was staring straight ahead with a type of fixation in his eyes. He did not blink and I was compelled to shake him slightly to bring him out of his stupor.

The priest began to clean Erik's side once again and tore more of my dress into long strips. He looked to the three of us and motioned; "I need one of you to hold him up while I bandage his side."

Swallowing deeply, I stepped forward and obediently held Erik's dead weight up in my arms so that the priest could wind strips of cloth tightly about his patient. When he was finished, he nodded at me and instructed; "Hold his head in your lap."

Obeying, I pulled Erik to me and pushed matted hair away from his torn face. I prayed that the priest would not abandon us the moment he cleaned away the blood and discovered the original deformity upon Erik's visage, but I knew that I should probably prepare myself for the worst. I watched as the priest continued to work, diligently mopping at the blood until it had ceased to flow. When he saw the twisted marks knobbing into the semblance of a rotting skull on the right side of Erik's face, he said nothing. He merely frowned and continued to wipe away at the fresh wounds.

"He'll scar," he informed me dispassionately.

"I know," I whispered.

The priest nodded and spoke again. "I have to bandage the entire left half of his face."

I continued to stroke Erik's messy hair, sighing. "How bad will it be?"

"Who can tell?" The priest inquired. "You should be grateful for the fact that he still lives. But who knows for how long?"

Alarmed, I turned to him; "What do you mean?"

The priest began to bandage Erik's face calmly without looking up at me. "I've stopped the flow of blood, but he's already lost so much that he may die in the end anyway."

"Don't say that," I snapped at him.

The priest continued without emotion. "He may die of an accompanying fever or infection. Then again, he may recover, but perhaps he will be too weak to travel about much if he can move at all. I honestly can't say at this point. All we can do is wait for him now."

He rose and left us for a time. When he returned with two additional priests, I still had not moved from my position by Erik's side. I could not imagine a life without him; I did not want to. I would rather have been dead than alone.

I looked at Lucien and could not envision myself living for him alone. How could I do it? Turning my eyes back to Erik, I shook my head and murmured; "I can't. I just can't."

Alma took my shoulders and steered me away from his side to allow the three priests to hoist Erik in their grips so that they could carry him out of the gallery.

"Where are they going?" I inquired in panic, fighting Alma's hold again.

She restrained me admirably and informed me; "We're to stay in the cathedral until he is well enough to be moved."

"How?" I asked softly.

Alma held me gently and led me out of the gallery behind the retreating men. "I have known one of the priests here since childhood. He will allow us to stay because he trusts me and my word."

I nodded and then inquired, "All of us?"

"All of us."

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Just as the priest had predicted, Erik developed an intense fever the night after Bert shot him. He lay in the fever for days and no one knew whether he would take a turn for the worse or the better. I sat with him throughout the days, napping in my chair restlessly during the nights so that I could awaken at his slightest movement. At times he would stir and cry out my name; sometimes he cried out other names, while occasionally he slipped into dialects that I did not even understand.

Bert was locked in a room next door, which was guarded regularly by both Alma and Lucien. The priests at first had been adamant in their refusal to lock someone up within their walls, but the three of us had fed them the story that he was my deranged brother and not to be allowed to roam freely. It was a sad fact, indeed, that they would lock someone up so hastily at the slightest hint of madness, but at least our deception worked to our advantage.

Every time that Bert awoke, Alma would feed him some sort of concoction that she brewed daily. It acted as a sedative and she gave it to Erik to soothe his nightmares in the fever, but it also worked to knock out Bert when the need arose. We decided that we would deal with him later, for to bring him to the police would be utterly unacceptable.

As had become my custom, I sat now with Erik in the sunless room, watching him for any hint of a change. Every night one of the priests would visit us to check and change the bandages, frowning over the wounds. The tear in Erik's side had begun to heal and was free of infection. It appeared that the bullet had been removed cleanly, but I struggled not to weep every time I beheld the fresh scarring upon his face. Every cut had developed into a rigid red welt with angry purple edges. The priests muttered and worked over the marks and I prayed every night for them to heal.

Lucien sat across from me now, yawning tiredly but deliberately forcing himself to stay awake. I sensed that the hour was late, but I could not name it for the life of me. I had begun to judge time merely as distinctions between light and dark and knew that it had been ages since I last slept deeply. I wondered when Lucien had managed to sleep last, but was prevented from asking when I saw how thoughtfully he was looking at Erik.

The boy had crawled up on the other side of Erik's bed and was sitting on his knees with the most melancholy expression I had ever seen him wear. His eyes roved over Erik's face, taking into account both the deformity and the new bandages that littered the other half of his mentor's face.

Without looking up, Lucien asked, "Why is he so ugly?"

He asked the question calmly; even disinterestedly. It was the first sentence he had spoken to me in days and it took me by surprise, although I was too tired to allow much emotion to show anymore. I leaned back in my chair and drew my knees up to my chest, shivering at the shadows that played oddly in the lamplight upon the uneven ridges of Erik's face.

"God made him that way," I offered the words to Lucien quietly.

The boy shook his head and peered more closely at Erik, leaning over the still man. "Then I don't believe in God," he declared. "Why would He give anyone such a face?"

Lucien had never before cast eyes on Erik's deformity, I realized, and it was the first time that he had gathered enough courage to ask about it. I was glad for the fact that the boy seemed unafraid, but I saw the disturbed light in his eyes. He did not appear to be frightened; instead, he looked sad.

I quirked my head at the boy, resting my chin upon my drawn-up knee. "Is that what you think, Lucien? That people should be judged only by their faces?"

He frowned and looked back at me; "People don't care about anything else."

"What about you? I don't see you judging by his appearance."

Lucien bit his lip in thought before he shrugged. "It's why he wears a mask, isn't it?"

I nodded. Then I added; "But God gave him so much more in place of beauty, Lucien. Have you not heard him sing or play? You know his teachings; you must know his accomplishments."

"Maybe that's why I am not afraid of him," Lucien commented, turning his attention back to Erik's face. "Then I suppose that I do believe in God…just a little."

Laughing softly, I repeated, "Just a little?"

Lucien nodded twice and then hesitantly prodded Erik's shoulder. "When will he wake up?"

This was one question I could not answer, so I murmured the only words that I could. "I don't know."

His eyes glistening with the tears he refused to shed, Lucien crawled over to my chair and forced me to lower my knees so that he could climb into my lap. I accepted the light child up without any protest and the two of us sat huddled, simply watching and waiting.

After some time, Lucien finally fell asleep against my side, his sleep appearing quiet and peaceful. I knew that the child was tired and should not have been staying up so late every night, but I could not refuse him.
At length, Alma entered the room with a tray of steaming cups full of tea for all of us. She set down one in front of me and I shook my head, telling her not to wake the boy.

Alma sat down in another chair across from me and gave Erik a look. She shook her head sadly at the lack of improvement and turned back to me with a sad look. I sighed and lifted my own tea to my lips, resolved not to lose heart.

To break the silence, I asked, "How did you find us anyway?"

She looked at me, clearly confused. "How did I find you in this room?"

"I meant, how did you know to look for us in the cathedral?"

Alma gestured toward the sleeping boy; "Lucien just guessed. He couldn't bear the thought of staying at home and waiting for you to come back, so he made me go out with him to search as well. It's a good thing I listened to the boy."

I nodded and ran a hand through Lucien's hair, causing him to shift slightly in his sleep. He mumbled something wearily, but I could not make it out and soon he settled back more closely against my side. I looked at Alma again and inquired, "What about Bert?"

"Knocked out and locked up," she muttered. Alma stood up suddenly and leaned over Erik to press her lips to his forehead. "His fever's gone down slightly," she informed me, looking back up.

I tried not to look too hopeful, but could not help myself. "Does that mean he'll be all right?"

Alma tried to look at me gently, but she shook her head. "I still don't know. The fever is still quite high and he grows weaker by the day because we are unable to feed him much."

All I wanted to do was to snatch up Erik's body and to breathe life back into him so that he could be well. When I saw him shiver lightly in his sleep, I motioned to Alma to take Lucien so that I could stand up. I forced myself out of the chair and knelt by Erik's side, picking up his hand again and resting my head upon the covers.

Alma arranged Lucien as comfortably as she could in a chair and withdrew silently from the room, taking the tea with her. When she was gone, I lifted my head slightly and rose to my feet. I saw that Erik still shivered, and although I knew that Alma would not like it, I perched on the edge of the bed and curled up against his unhurt side. He shifted nearly imperceptibly at the contact and I molded as much of myself as I could against him, seeking to lend any warmth that I could without hurting him.

After I do not know how long, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep. I was exhausted and it was the first true rest I had had in days. Perhaps it was the fact that I had become so used to Erik's embrace during the night that I could not help but need it now to sleep at all.

When I woke up next, the lamp had long gone out and thrown the room into cold shadows. I blinked my eyes open and rose slowly, wiping the sleep from my face and wondering how long I had slept for. Looking down into the darkness, I was very startled when I saw the unmistakable light of two open vivid eyes looking up at me.

My heart did several leaps through my chest and I bent forward to make sure I had not begun to hallucinate in my weariness. When the two eyes blinked, I knew that I was not dreaming, and now I only hoped that he would respond to me.

I tried his name hesitantly. "Erik?"

"Yes?" He asked. His voice was weak and not at all rich with its customary soothing quality. I touched his throat lightly, willing him to be quiet while he was still ill.

"You've had a fever for days," I told him, checking his forehead once more. "How do you feel?"

My question went unanswered and he squirmed under my touch, obviously unused to people fussing over him. I resisted the urge to remind him of all the times I had taken care of him in illness at the Opera House, suddenly feeling rather irritated that he appeared to be resisting my help.

"Stop moving!" I reprimanded snippily.

Erik stilled under my hand and I moved to light the lamp on the bedside. His hand snaked out and batted at my own clumsily as he shook his head; "No, leave it off."

I looked at him curiously for a moment, but shrugged and decided to allow him the darkness. It was the first time that he had been lucid in almost a week and I felt the first surge of hope in my breast. He tugged on my hand twice, just as a child might, and pulled me back down next to him. Even in the darkness, I could make out his features and I trembled to know what would be under the bandages when we removed them. I did not wish to know his reaction.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, ever perceptive.

"No," I lied calmly. "How do you feel? Are you hungry?"

"Where's Madame Giry?" He asked instead.

I frowned; "Madame Giry? Erik, she's in Paris."

He tossed his head in confusion upon the pillows; "What? Aren't we in Paris?"

"No - ."

"Where are we then?" He rasped, seeming to grow more alarmed.

"Hush," I told him, placing a cool hand on his forehead.

"Why aren't you singing?" He went on, his eyes growing unfocused once again. "You should be practicing for the role of Comtesse…"

"Shall I sing for you?" I whispered, kissing his forehead lightly.

He stilled at the contact, growing suddenly afraid. "Why did you do that, Christine?"

I knew a sudden fear in my heart. Had he somehow forgotten? Had his mind returned to the Opera House and left behind years of memories? I forced myself not to cry yet again and repeated, "Shall I sing for you?"

Erik's eyes began to see a time wholly different from the one which we were in. He slumped back and murmured, "The morphine, Christine. Fetch it for me."

"I don't have any," I told him softly.

"There's some on the shelf by the encyclopedias," he waved his hand in an arbitrary direction. "Right next to the music box."

"Erik, there is no more morphine," I whispered. "You don't use it anymore."

He glared up at the ceiling and away from me, "Don't presume to tell me what I do and do not do, my dear."

Before I could reply, his eyes fluttered shut again and he murmured something incoherent to me. He fell back into a sleep and for a time I watched his chest rise and fall evenly as it had not done since he had been shot. Perhaps it was a favorable sign, but I was still disturbed by the fact that it appeared his mind had wandered back six years.

The door opened to admit Alma bearing another tray. I looked up at her gratefully; "He was just awake."

She blinked several times; "Awake?"

"He spoke to me," I said, touching his face gently. "Although he seems to have forgotten many things."

"Perhaps it is still the fever talking," Alma suggested. She set her tray down and touched his forehead, pursing her lips. "It's gone down considerably, but it's still there."

"Does that mean…?"

"The priests say he should recover," Alma nodded.

I looked away at the ground; "What do you mean by 'recover'?"

"He'll live."

Before I could ask her to elaborate on what exactly she meant, one of the priests burst through the door and stopped before us breathlessly.

"Dead!" He gasped, looking around at us crazily. "He's dead!"

"What?" I rose and went to him; "Who's dead?"

"Your brother," he replied, beginning to wring his hands desperately. "I do not know how!"

"Stay here," Alma ordered me. She strode forward purposefully and pushed the man out the door, but I disobeyed and followed her into the room next door. The priest flung upon the door angrily and revealed a sight that I shut my eyes to.

Bert lay twisted on the ground with his eyes wide upon and froth drying freshly upon his lips and chin.

"How did it happen?" I asked, trying to look away from the sight. I had had enough horrors to last me a lifetime in the past week.

"Leave us," Alma instructed the priest. He looked between us uncertainly, but I nodded and indicated that he shut the door behind us.

Seemingly unfazed, Alma picked up her skirts and knelt by the body, closing his eyes so that they did not gape up at us blankly. "It looks like poison," she murmured quietly. She tilted her head and caught sight of something glistening underneath the bed. Reaching forward, she extracted a small bottle and hefted it in her hand curiously.

"What is it?" I could not bring myself to step any further into the room.

Alma read the label with a frown. "A mix of chemicals," she informed me, "to clean the altar with."

"He drank it all?" I almost choked and found a seat quickly.

"Enough to kill him at any rate," she supplied unhelpfully.

I looked away and thought quickly, knowing that the priests must not know the truth of what had passed here. "We can't tell anyone else about what happened," I warned Alma. "We have to try to have a burial for him here in this church."

She seemed surprised for a moment at my quick recovery, but then she nodded in agreement. "Of course."

I stood up; "We have to bury him tonight." Reopening the door, I looked up and down the hall for the priest. When I peeked into Erik's room, I saw the priest kneeling by his bedside, gently unwinding the bandages from about the man's face.

He looked up with a sad expression; "Your brother?"

"He was very ill for some time, both in mind and body," I supplied the lie effortlessly. "I wish to have him buried; tonight, if possible."

The priest bowed his head in acknowledgement, but then he remarked; "Somehow, I sense that there is more to the story than you wish to share."

I drew a deep breath. "There is no story."

Sighing, the priest once again nodded. "Very well." Then he turned back to Erik and continued unwinding the cloth, working as softly as possible.

"Will he be all right?" I asked, although Alma had reassured me earlier.

"Physically, he seems to be healing. Still, it's impossible to tell the extent of the damage."

I knelt on the other side of the bed and watched as the priest took off the last of the bandages.

"I think he can heal without these now," he told me, wrapping the soiled cloth into a ball.

Ever so hesitantly, I ran my fingertips over the new scars on Erik's face and tried not to mourn for him. Although not nearly as horrid, the cuts were a shadowy echo of the scars that he had been born with. All, however, were a fierce red and there were so many lines criss-crossing the once-smooth half of his face that they were impossible to miss. I touched the slight roughness and lamented more for him than for myself. I knew that I did not care about this new patchwork of pain upon his skin, but how would he react?

The priest rose. "Shall I begin making funeral preparations for your brother?"

"Yes."

When he shut the door behind him, I rested my head on the covers wearily. I did not care that a dead man lay in the next room; I did not bother to think of why he had killed himself. All I could think of was my exhaustion and that undeniable need to sleep.

And sleep I did.

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Christine…Christine…

I stirred, my hair tumbling across my face and tickling my skin lightly. I felt slightly damp as if I had stood within a mist on a dewy morning and I slowly opened my eyes to admit the world.

Christine…

"Christine…"

I lifted my head and encountered fingertips playing at my hair clumsily. Almost automatically, I stretched forth my own hand and grasped the lost hand, guiding it to my lips with a smile. The slender fingers relaxed within my grip and I raised my face with a smile.

Erik had rolled over on his side and was looking at me curiously, as if still half-lost. I gave him an encouraging smile and cradled the offered hand close to my chest. He smiled at me softly in response and I understood very suddenly that he knew me. I allowed his hand to pass over my neck and to push my head closer to him.

Parting my lips, I accepted the invitation and kissed him silently.

"You're alive," I whispered after I leaned back, half-laughing at the absurd sound of the statement.

"Clearly," he murmured, resting his face upon my shoulder and sighing as only a content man would do. I crawled up and allowed him to rest against me.

We sat in silence for the time, utterly alone. Sometime during the night, Lucien had risen and left us alone, it seemed. I did not know where Alma was, but I hoped that she had taken care of all the burial preparations.

"Bert's dead," I said very suddenly into the silence.

"How?"

"Suicide."

Erik's tone was neutral and I wondered if it was still the weakness within him or if he simply did not care.

When he was silent, I dared to ask, "Why would he do it?"

Still, Erik said nothing. I looked down at him and saw that he was staring straight up at me.

"He was mad," was all he said at last.

"What?"

Erik pulled me slightly by way of invitation to rest against the pillows next to him. When I obeyed, he pulled me close as we had often done and stared straight at me. "Driven by greed for a reward and mad with jealousy, Christine."

"That's absurd --."

"Oh?" Erik's mouth quirked in a small smile. "Was he so different from me?"

I poked his chest lightly, shaking my head. "Of course there was a difference, you fool."

"I meant in general, Christine. I would become equally as mad every time you were with the Comte."

"But that was different!" I protested, although I suddenly remembered the body of Buquet thrashing from a noose and Raoul fighting to breathe as more and more air was cut off from his lungs. At last, I forced myself to put it all from my mind.

"Stop comparing yourself to him…" I pleaded, remembering the cuts upon Erik's face. Bert had harmed him in the one place he knew would hurt the most.

"Shh," Erik silenced me. "You do not believe it was possible for someone like Bert to love another?"

"No." I replied defiantly, hiding my fact against his chest.

Erik sighed and I felt his limbs relax around me. "Have you learned nothing, Christine? As detestable and Bert and Karine were, perhaps it was still possible for them to love."

I shook my head feverishly. Not after what they had done to him! If only Erik could see the new scars upon his face…then he might understand.

"You truly are a foolish child," he remarked, although the words were spoken fondly. "Bert learned to love as any other man might and unfortunately he was not as lucky in that love as others have been." He ran a hand down from my shoulders and let it rest gently over my waist. "I always had you to live for, Christine. That is the difference. Even when you were with another, at least I knew that you were alive and could one day perhaps learn to forgive me."

When I opened my mouth to speak, he hushed me quickly. "In the end, Bert had nothing left. His lover was gone and he had failed in avenging her death - ,"

"But it wasn't your fault!" I interrupted.

"Christine."

"What?" I muttered at his conciliatory tone.

"I fear I'm still too weak for such discussions," he commented quietly. "Especially when you're being stubborn."

"I am not being stubborn! You're not like him!" I shouted before I realized that I had raised my voice to too high a level.

"Of course not."

"I'm not stubborn!"I repeated, sitting up and glowering at him as he smirked up at me from his pillows. If I hadn't feared for his life but a few hours ago, I might have smacked that impudent grin right off his face.

I mellowed at the idea of doing anything to his face, however, when I once again took in the full effect of the new scars. Unable to help myself, I looked away and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

Erik's voice was confused behind me. "Christine? What's wrong?"

I looked back at him and offered my best smile. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just being stubborn."

Slowly, I felt him force himself to sit up. I swiveled back around and helped him, at the same time as I admonished him, "No, you should be lying down!"

He ignored me and sat up straight until we were eye to eye. "What's wrong, Christine? I am not blind to the way that you look at me."

I deliberately averted my face, although it was the wrong thing to do. "There's nothing wrong."

"No…what is it?" He absently lifted a hand to the right side of his face and rubbed at the twisted skin there. "I thought you didn't --."

"I don't!" I turned back to him swiftly. "No, it's not that! I don't care at all. Just, go back to sleep. We're both tired --."

He was looking at me entirely unconvinced. There was a type of hurt in his expression and I trembled to see it, angry at myself for causing it.

Erik sighed and passed his land loosely over his face in an exasperated gesture. Then he stopped, stiffening suddenly when he felt the harsh skin upon the left side of his face.

I got up as if nothing had happened and attempted to push him back down into a resting position. He resisted my attempts with a snarl; "Stop it, Christine!"

I moved away at the sudden harshness in his voice, biting my lip and twisting my hands anxiously in my skirts.

His voice was low as he spoke and he fairly growled an order at me; "Light a candle."

"No, I…"

Erik stood up slowly on trembling knees, almost slumping back down to the ground but catching himself in time against a post. I tried to help him, but he swatted away my hand impatiently and shook his head. "Light one."

Shaking, I went to the dresser and found the candlestick that Alma had presumably abandoned earlier. Striking a match, I lit it and remained hovering by the dresser. Erik slowly made his way across the room to the great paneled mirror which hung against the wall. He waved me over absently and I hovered in the shadows behind him, trying to place the candle as strategically as possible.

He halted before the mirror and frowned. Then his voice floated over to me, even and composed. "Bring the light closer."

I obeyed hesitantly until I stood beside him. Meekly, I held the candle in my hand and watched his face for a reaction. To my surprise, he snatched the candlestick from my hand and brought it up close to his features, first illuminating the right side and then slowly beginning to travel over to the left. When he saw Bert's handiwork, he merely stared for a time. He brought his other hand back up and slowly placed his palm against the fresh scars, tracing their paths across his skin.

Abruptly, he raised the candlestick and thrust it at the mirror with his scant strength. The glass shards shattered as the light went out and the room was thrown into darkness. I cried out and jumped back to escape the falling glass, stumbling in the sudden dark.

"Leave me," his voice came as my eyes slowly began to adjust to the dark.

I heard him pick his way back to the bed and sink on to it heavily. When I did not move, he repeated, "Get out. Now."

Instead, I stumbled over to him as my eyes were less accustomed to the dark. I sat down beside him and forced my arms around his shoulders. He fought my grip for a moment, but I overpowered him due to his weakness and tightened my hold until he subsided.

"I thought I asked you to leave," he whispered, although the words were soft and surprisingly devoid of anger.

"So?" I whispered back, still clutching him. "We've already had this conversation! More than once, I might add."

"I need some time, Christine."

"So do I," I replied. "That means we can spend our time together."

"Christine -- ,"

"Erik, you could have snails growing out of your head and I wouldn't care."

There was a pause.

Finally, he asked, "…snails?"

"Yes, snails!" I repeated.

The door popped open to admit an eager Lucien bearing a bright lamp. The boy bobbed up and down, exclaiming, "I thought I heard you! You're alive!" He repeated my phrase of earlier, much to Erik's annoyance.

Erik suddenly remembered that he had never been unmasked before Lucien and his hands flew up to shield his face. "Lucien, leave us, please."

Instead, the child skipped over to the dresser and set his lamp down. He peered at the broken glass on the ground in interest, but merely shrugged and hopped up on the bed beside us. I unwound myself from Erik slowly and gazed at the child, wondering what he would do next.

Lucien sat back on his heels and forcefully pried Erik's hands away from his face, frowning at him all the while.

"You're really ugly," the child commented. Then he jumped right into Erik's lap and flung his arms around the man's neck, "Will you tell me a story tonight?"

Erik stared. He swayed under the impact, for he was nowhere near recovered, but he caught his balance and tried to pry Lucien away. The child, however, clung more tightly than a barnacle and pouted; "I want a story! You've been asleep for ages!"

Looking at me helplessly, Erik said, "Christine, I can't. Not now. We still have to leave this place; we must leave Sweden. We have to -- ."

"Nonsense. You're not healthy enough to travel yet," I shook my head. "What's the harm in telling him one story?"

Defeated and still not entirely sure as to what was going on, Erik shifted so that he once again was sitting up against the pillows. Lucien resettled himself in his lap and I leaned against his shoulder wearily, shutting my eyes and waiting for the powerful voice to lull me to another land.

"There is a story that tells of a rose and a nightingale…"

I smiled and allowed the meaning of his words to fade, for it was a story that I had heard many times before. After a time, I was only aware of the sensation of Erik beside me and the steady hum that was his ethereal voice.

All my worries and my cares began to fade away. Slowly, I found that it did not matter that we would have to attend a funeral later that night. It did not matter that we would have to flee yet again. It did not matter that Erik's face was scarred beyond repair or that I could possibly never have children.

I opened my eyes once more and just focused on the way Erik's features changed as he spoke. I indulged in the light that existed within his eyes despite all the pain that we had all gone through. Lucien's expression was equally as blissful and he sprawled contentedly in Erik's lap, listening to the story eagerly. His eyes were closed in a gesture of utter happiness and he listened with delight evident in his upturned lips.

Erik caught me staring and looked down at me while he continued the story. Smiling brightly up at him, I leaned forward slightly and kissed his cheek several times, indulging in his presence. His voice stuttered for a brief second, but he regained it quickly and simply pulled me more tightly into his embrace.

I marveled at how I had ever won the heart of such a man. There was gentleness and adoration etched into every single touch that he gave me. I fairly felt the warmth radiate from him when he turned eyes, which had once been so cold, upon me. I closed my eyes once more and allowed myself to fall into a pleasant rumination.

I knew we might never entirely be free from the nightmares that had plagued us, but I had learned to settle into a type of content and accept my lot.

And what a fine lot it was. I finally belonged to a man who loved me and I had even gained a child who, although he occasionally had odd ways of showing it, seemed to love me as well. It was all that I had ever wanted and more. Through it all, I had learned to shave away the jewels and the promise of fine gowns for something that was even more precious.

I knew that life would not always feel as pleasant as this. But in this one passing moment, it was ideal.

. . End . .

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A/N: Well, there you have it. The final chapter. I just felt that this story couldn't go on any longer, so I ended it here on a part that made sense. Before they had a chance to fight and tear each others throats out again, anyway.

Thank you so much for reading! I can't gush enough over every single person who has given me encouragement and support throughout this! It's been a long journey, so thanks for making it amazing!

P.S. Epilogue to come. So it's not completely over.