A/N: Sooo... I've been holding this chapter hostage. Sometimes I forget this story exists, and then it reminds me of itself in strange ways. Or Kit, (Username: Esareh) the authoress of this chapter, says something like, "Hey, so how's WNC comin'?" and I'll be like, "Ooooh, that's a thing! Riiight! I should update it!"

Would it do any good to apologise? I think that's all I do in these author's notes, now. I'm sorry, guys! Now that I've posted this, I have to work on the next part! (Now you know why I was holding it hostage. :P)

I'm going to keep thanking you guys for sticking with this story. You all are unbelievably kind!

-Beth/Honey Jenkins

Chapter 25

"Ah!"

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle, but if you would please stop squirming, you would not get stuck!" the middle-aged woman tutted through a mouthful of pins as she pinched the lose teal-blue fabric around Katherine's waist.

"That color is most becoming on you, Darling," Katherine's mother cooed.

"Indeed," Katherine murmured quietly, not entirely comfortable, after only a month in mourning, to be swathed in such a vibrant color.

She was also painfully aware of the cost of such a garment. Despite her newfound grand wealth, she was still more inclined to be frugal.

"I must say, though, the yellow is still my favorite," her mother continued. "Although the green one is quite lovely, too. It should certainly look quite fetching with any of the hats we purchased down the street."

Katherine winced. "Mother, I beg you, do not remind me of the great expense this shopping trip has incurred."

Her mother scoffed. "Great expense? Five gowns, three hats, and four pairs of gloves are hardly a great expense."

Katherine did not imagine that her mother would understand any further argument. Clearly the years spent in relative poverty with Katherine's father had failed to leave an impression.

"Besides, you must leave a grand impression on Monsieur Gaucher!"

Katherine started violently, causing the seamstress to jab a pin in between the bones of her corset and straight into her side. She drew in a great deal of air very quickly through her teeth, nearly hissing, as she bit back a nasty swear.

"Mademoiselle, I am very sorry!" the woman exclaimed. "I-"

"No, no, Madame," Katherine waved a hand. "The fault is mine."

She was truthfully thankful for the sharp, surprising pain of the pinhead. It had served as a momentarily distraction from the unpleasant feeling that had bubbled up inside of her at the mention of one Marcel Gaucher.

"There, finished!" the seamstress announced, straightening and beginning to undo the multitude of buttons that trailed down Katherine's back. The fabric slid from her shoulders and pooled around her feet. Katherine stepped over the puddle of finery, wondering, fleetingly, how many oddities she would have had to sell in her father's shop to afford such a thing.

"No more than two days," the seamstress assured her mother as she helped Katherine back into her black gown. "I've very little alteration to do."

"So soon!" her mother exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "Wonderful! We must be sure Monsieur Gaucher doesn't see you until then."

Katherine thanked the seamstress as she bowed them out. Katherine's mother surveyed the street. "What a disgusting part of town," she sniffed. "I hadn't realized we'd taken a turn into the slums. There is something to be said for open carriages, I suppose. What is such a prominent shop doing here? Perhaps we should have taken our business elsewhere."

Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet as she walked up to their carriage parked on the curbside. They were very near to Belle's home, and, despite the tangible silence that had arisen between the two friends in the past weeks, the thought of someone insulting her lifestyle still sent a pang of defense through her. "We must hurry, Mother," Katherine began quietly. "We promised Grandmother that we would return before dinner," she said as she pulled herself up and into the carriage.

"We shall surely be back before then, Katherine," her mother scoffed, waiting for the driver to scurry around and help her up into the cab. "No need to rush, although I certainly understand your wish to be gone from here."

The driver shut the carriage door behind her mother, and, after a moment, the carriage lurched forward.

"Why don't we throw back the shades?" her mother suggested. "Let in a bit of fresh air, and more light, too. In a few moments, of course, after I am certain we have left the slums."

Once Elise was assured that they had taken a turn away from the lower class, she pulled aside the fabric that covered the windows.

"Oh, now, isn't that a shame," she said as she looked through the glass. "The Populaire used to be the most beautiful building in Paris! Look at it now."

Katherine's heart missed a beat at her mother's words. Her head snapped away from her hands in her lap to the window.

"Beautiful," she echoed.

"I've heard such dreadful stories!" her mother continued. "I've heard that a monstrous man kidnapped a chorus girl and sent the chandelier crashing," she pressed her hand to her heart. "What madness!"

"I was there that night," Katherine said before she could stop herself. "I saw no monsters."

It struck her, then, how absolutely near she was to Erik. A few short yards away from the opera house. Perhaps half a mile down through the cellars. A twenty-minute journey at the most.

Her hand was on the door handle before she realized what she had done.

"Katherine, whatever are you doing?"

She let her hand fall away from the handle.

The setting sun dwindled in a pool of red, dyeing the garden path a deep burgundy as Katherine and her most despised suitor made their way down it. Katherine was doing her best to avoid conversation and contact of any sort.

"I know all about you,"

Katherine looked up.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean,"

Marcel clasped his hands behind his back. "I know that you didn't live abroad with your father. You were poor," he sneered.

Hope exploded in Katherine's chest. Maybe he would withdraw his courtship! She cast her eyes down and attempted to look distraught.

"Monsieur," she began. "I-"

"As unappealing as that bit of information is, your current station and wealth are all that matter to me."

"If that is the case, Monsieur," she said with false sweetness, pushing back the bubble of anger that replaced the joyful anticipation. "I can't help but wonder why you even brought it up in the first place."

Marcel narrowed his eyes. "Because I want you to know that I know. It's not your place to question me. The sooner you learn that, the better."

Katherine was quickly barreling towards the very edge of her patience. "Monsieur," she began somewhat too sharply. "I really don't think-"

"No, you don't, do you? You're only a woman, after all. You shouldn't think."

She snapped. "You narrow-minded, arrogant, worthless bourgeoisie lordling brute. How dare you say these things to me? If your intention is to force me into despising you, I must insist that you not waste the effort, as I cannot imagine disliking you more than I do presently," she growled. "If you find yourself so underclassed by females, I wonder why you even waste your time on them. Certainly a man would suit you better!"

She spun on her heel and disappeared down the garden path and back into the mansion, not missing the shocked expression on her mother's face as she passed her.

Well, she thought as she flitted up the stairs. I gave it a valiant try.

-x-

Erik sat on the edge of his organ bench, nursing his hands. He knew he should probably bandage them, but he couldn't bring himself to even stand.

He had played through the score of Don Juan so many times, so furiously, that his nails has cracked and his fingertips were so raw that they had started to bleed.

Christine had returned to Paris!

How could he even breathe, knowing she was there, so close to him but married to someone else? How could he even imagine her belonging to someone else?

He buried his face in his hands, marring the creamy white leather of his mask with streaks of blood.

"Christine," he whispered. "Christine, Christine. My beautiful Christine."

He thought of her in the arms of the elder de Chagny, and his sorrow turned to rage. Blind, boiling rage that consumed him completely.

He stood, finally, his cramped muscles groaning in protest as he began to pace furiously across the room, dreaming up the most terrible tortures imaginable to inflict upon him. His mood lightened significantly as he imagined the satisfying snap of the foppish noble's neck underneath his gloved hands. A small smile played at his lips.

Oh, yes. He would kill that man, and he would enjoy it.

-x-

"Katherine, open this door!"

Katherine ignored the knocking, and the squeal of her mother's voice, running a finger over the lip of the desk drawer. A bit of dust came off on her finger.

"Katherine, you should be grateful that Marcell still wishes to court you, after your little scene in the garden today," she continued. "He has assured me that he is just as steadfast in his desire to court you as he was before, which, I daresay, is fortunate! No one else would have you!" she snapped before the sharp click of her heels signaled her departure. Katherine scoffed and drew patterns in the rug with the toe of her slipper.

She knew she was acting dreadfully. She felt terribly like one of the ill-fated heroines in the novels written for young women to warn them of the consequences of poor obedience.

She didn't care one bit.

Katherine was discontent. Completely unhappy with her current situation, and now she felt trapped. She couldn't imagine Belle or Erik wanting anything to do with her and, truthfully, she had no one else. Any plans of making a great escape fell apart as she conceived them.

She dissolved into a miserable state. Her thoughts were now completely centered around the two people she had lost to her 'new life'.

She pounded a fist on the desktop. A tangle of thoughtless emotion bubbled over until she thought she would scream. She now felt more like the centerpiece of a gothic novel. Helpless and alone in a world too big for her, waiting to be rescued.

She resolved at that moment that she would not be that woman. She would try, at least. Belle certainly wasn't cold-hearted enough to ignore a legitimate plea from a friend (if she was even still counted as such) who was in need.

If all else failed, she had her money.

Katherine pulled a sheet of paper from a compartment in her desk and began to write.