A/N: I wanted this to be chapter ten, because of the title, but I had to rearrange the order because of bloody, writing, bloody, bloody. Also HI! Hello everybody, I have risen from my grave to deliver another chapter of this story. I am super sorry for my dreadfully long and unexplained hiatus. I lost my desire to write and I also left the POTO fandom, and therefore had no rhyme or reason to continue writing this, even if it is probably my best fic. But I am here now, and that's what matters!

[ERIK'S P.O.V]

As soon as Victoria was out of sight, I stormed into my music room, grabbed the first thing in sight – a large vase – and threw it on the ground. That fop couldn't just let me be moderately happy. He had to keep storming in and taking everyone I cared about. Good god, why did he care? Did they even know each other? Or was Raoul just hell-bent on destroying what little I had?

I was seething. It wasn't like I really liked Victoria, but she was nice to talk to. I always meant well when it came to her, this was especially clear, when I sent that note to the managers. Well, look what well-meant did.

Maybe it was better this way. She was out of any danger. She was safe – or as safe as one can be with old Foppy McFopperson.

Foppy McFopperson? Great blazes, she's turning me into a school boy.

I turned to my piano. Sitting on the little stand was the piece that I had recently written. Love Never Dies. How ironic. This song was written for Christine, about Christine. And yet, at this moment, I hated Christine. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. I couldn't hate Christine. I hated that she stood aside as Victoria was roughly grabbed. I hated that she had the nerve to come back here. I hated how she looked at me. I hated that she called me 'Angel'.

I am far from an angel.

[VICTORIA'S P.O.V]

"I don't remember asking for your help."

Christine looked taken aback. She hadn't expected this. It wasn't like I was fuming. I wasn't tensed. I hadn't raised my voice. I just looked at her and she practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. I swallowed.

Now what?

x-X-0-X-x

Sometime later, a small woman entered my room. She didn't greet me, but told me that supper was almost ready and that "Monsieur De Chagny wished to speak with me beforehand."

I wasn't even given a chance to respond, before the woman left. I sat up from the bed, running my hands across the rich fabric. I slipped out the door, closing it slowly behind me. A few paces up the hall, and Raoul appeared in front of me.

"Victoria," He breathed, "I was just coming to see you."

I nodded to say that I already knew, and he led me to what I perceived to be a drawing room of sorts. I perched lightly on a chair, though I was still poised in case of action.

Raoul sat in the chair opposite to mine.

"Victoria," The gentle way he said my name unnerved me to say the least. "Are you okay?" He questioned gently. He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away (AN: Straight Angelica Schuyler-Church, Reynolds Pamphlet, "I'm not here for you" style).

"I shall have you know, Raoul," I said curtly, "I am not 'okay'. I am in fact hiding the face of livid."

Raoul sighed, drawing his fingers into his lap. "That is fair, Victoria. We did not give you a choice, however we were not given a choice either, in regards to rescuing you."

I crossed my arms, looking at him haughtily. "Is that so, Monsieur De Vicomte? You were not given a choice either? Forgive my surprise, it seemed as though you did have a choice, and deliberately chose the choice that would inconvenience me the most. Isn't that funny, monsieur? Because I find that terribly funny."

Raoul chuckled, "You misunderstand me, Victoria. Of course we had a choice when it came to taking you away from that…" he paused, his face souring, "that man. However, what he subjected me and my wife to – we had no choice in that."

My eyebrows lifted slightly, and my defensive position faltered.

"Do tell, monsieur. I must know the full extent of this tale that has been hinted at by the both of you. I must know of what the man beneath the Opera House truly did."

Raoul lent forward and rubbed my knee. "Another story for another day."

And with that, Raoul stood and left the drawing room, leaving me to my own thoughts. I huffed. Another story for another day. How can he just brush me off so easily? I stood, tossing my hair, and exited in the same direction that Raoul took, intending to follow him to supper.

x-X-0-X-x

Supper was cold and quiet. There were no words expressed, no small talk to be had, and no compliments to the chef. The only sound was the scrapping of cutlery across each of our plates. The air felt dense, like there was a weight on my shoulders that I couldn't see. Both Raoul and Christine looked tense and uncomfortable. I finished my food quietly, and slipped back to my room.

My mind would not stop bouncing around thoughts of Erik, who was now alone again. Skies only knows how long he's been alone in his life. Though the events of the play that transpired nearly half a year ago were gruesome, and I knew that it was Erik's fault, I couldn't fully comprehend how the quiet-spoken man I knew was capable of performing such atrocities. I simply couldn't associate the two things with one another, though I felt raving mad for coming to such a conclusion. This wasn't to say that Erik wasn't accountable for his actions - he most certainly was - but, my mind simply couldn't place the two figures together.

I knew that closure from the pair who's lives had been most impacted by Erik's actions, and who's house I was currently residing in, would likely bring some sort of reality to the situation, but seeing as it was dreadfully late now, and they would more than likely be in bed, I resolved to drift simply to a dream land, where Don Juan never even occurred.