A/N: Owning nothing involved with The Phantom of the Opera rocks. It means I can do whatever to pervert the franchise as I like and not upset anybody (but those poor souls unfortunate enough to happen upon my work)! It's great! So this is done all for no profit and whatnot. You know the drill.

To start with, I'm SUPER SORRY to those who subscribed to this work while it was active. I wanted to continue... but I had finals... then a year went by... I really have no excuse but to say I hope you may enjoy this chapter a bit.

To finish with, I hope anyone who's new to this fic likes it a bit! I suppose I shall see. On with the rambling-story-ing!

Physical pain is explained away so simply, as it leaves the mind as soon as it's come. The terror, the remnants and the convulsive avoidance- these all stay, of course, and dwell in the mind, and can even stay for one's life. But these are not memories, as such. They are inclinations and sharp pulses of feeling that guide one's feet. And I've ensured that I have never had to be held within bars since those days.

These have never driven, though. One isn't driven to any consistent, lasting action by pain as one is by pleasure; thus, through all the horrors of youth, of showing myself whorishly before so many people… the beautiful things have remained with me. Those things that made brought me comfort in the frightful moments, these, still, remind me constantly of how good they made me feel; of how much I still need them to survive.

I once hoped that such relief would come in the form of God, in some manifestation of the Lord before me. Youth made me imagine that, if I were only devout enough, then, perhaps, there would begin to be something of Him that would come through; I hadn't done anything wrong, in my mind, that hadn't already been absolved of me. And my God was no ruthless beast like the sort in the Old Testament that would as soon destroy the human race as allow it to be saved; no… I imagined that God might come to see the terrible things I suffered, and how well I loved Him yet, and that He might even appear to me. Perhaps I would see some omen, a dove on a clear day, or a lamb gamboling through the forest, and I might find myself free of my captors…. I dreamed of these things. When I had my wits back to me, I dreamed these things, and had no reason that told me otherwise.

I couldn't have guessed it, then- my optimism as a boy was great, greater, even, than the bars that held me- but I wasn't destined for that sort of salvation. I'm inclined to believe that such purity in goodness is not a reality, at least not for beings such as myself; beings that have to search for the baser things in life without any promise of anything beyond simple existence (and not even that, at times.) We are not welcome into the fold of those who may simply think or pray and be allowed back into the light. No... first, one has to make oneself acceptable to the world. That was what my parents longed to do in putting me in the church. It was, as they had guessed, the only way to see their son be accepted in some capacity. Perhaps that would have been true. Perhaps, even living in the church, I would have been known; been allowed to follow my arts wherever they took me, so long as they did not lead outside the doors of the chapel...

But there really is no use dwelling on such things. The life I chose when I took flight from Reverend Robert has been mine ever since... its ugliness all of my own creation. I should not speak about it, now, as if there were something better to be done about the human race, for, after all, I may have avoided such fates all together. I chose my family, first, and then they would not have me; I chose my little worship in the home, and it could not be borne...

I finally chose a comfortable sin over the everlasting peace of Heaven.

How could one do otherwise, when one appeared to already have fallen into Hell? Such was the instinctual progression for me, then; it could not have been otherwise, for all that was being done to me. I had been a good boy, on the whole. I had always loved God, with a certain passion for the beauty and communion of the Holy Spirit and the Blessed Virgin. These were the images that brought me into love; that opened their arms to me when my parents would not.

Thus, when I was in a certain place, this one that tormented me on all sides and gave no sign whatever of my beloved God, Hell was the only explanation. But for what was I condemned?

I had heard it said, a little, that I would have to bear a certain burden in my life… one that prevented me leaving the house, and would escort me to the altar behind Reverend Robert. It was said that I would endure this and come out stronger for it; that I would be some ideal for those who had faith. I couldn't have understood it, then, as I only knew people did not want to look at me. Back then, it hardly seemed a torturous burden, for hiding behind my mask was all I knew. There was some word about 'refining fire'; God purifying, and bringing me into the best of Earth's existence through my survival, to stand on the latter day with a clear soul before Him.

There had been but little suggestion in my time that sin was the direct cause of punishment, for my parents gravitated away from me in all things. Perhaps, from time to time, there was a word that God would not be pleased by something… but never the suggestion that I was going to Hell, for, through it all, I remained true to my faith and even my confession.

For what was I put in Hell, then? It bemused me; it made me weep from my place on the rough floor of a rusting metal cage, stuck down by pain and exhaustion. (I was a child; that is hardly an excuse, however. I am prone to tears to this day.) I could not but make tentative gropes towards a different light to guide me, then, for the one that shone forth from the Bible was beginning to flicker. It was, then, nothing serious; I would still have been horrified to think myself without the light of God. But the way I'd been taught my faith had not prepared me for such pain without any hope of salvation.

I was not shaken, precisely. I only wondered at God's cruelty towards me, and how, with my devotion, He should punish me. Why should I have been questioned so, thrown into such 'trials' to assure Him of my faith, when He expected absolute devotion of me? Why, there must have been thousands more of people on Earth with worse sins to their name than myself, awful sins; more (God forbid!) who didn't believe at all. Why should a young boy have been punished, thus, because he was humanly fallible?

I didn't need to make such questions very long, for soon, I was sent an angel. By this, I was restored. A beautiful thing came to me, and blessed me with a purifying substance, a balm surely passed down from the hands of Paradise. It took away my pains and transported me into the pleasant darkness of rest whence I hadn't been able to go, for the way my mind bid me remain awake and consider all the horrors of my new life.

The Holy Spirit came to me in the form of one of the gypsy men. He was very like the others in dress and complexion, but his face seemed to me to be different. It was gentler, pitying, and owned a pair of bright blue irises that caught and held my gaze, though fainting as I was; irises that reflected the mysteries of a world of infinite color. I could swear that he radiated kindness; for all of my fear of those who approached my cage, I did not shrink from him. (This may have simply been because I could not move with ease; one likes to recall one's idols in perfection, however.) It was yet the morning after my first attempt to appease an audience, and I had no strength with which to even acknowledge his presence. The man considered me for some time in silence, and, in speaking, he employed halting French that echoed his companions'.

"It's not kind, what they do to you." That anyone in this sordid place would see my suffering seemed a miracle. "I can't stop them beating you… I haven't the influence. But I have this." He began fumbling in the pockets of his greasy leather vest, and pulled out a dark glass bottle with a heavy cork. With difficulty, I erected my posture and watched as his tanned, calloused hands uncorked the bottle and began to pour some of a viscous fluid onto a little wooden spoon. "It's a preparation I've had from a doctor friend of mine…"

The spoon and one of the man's large hands was soon reaching into the cage, and I shrank from him. Though this was what I thought to be the thing that showed me God in His way… I was frightened. I'd known artificial light before, in my home; in my parents and Reverend Robert, things that promised me beauty only in an extremely future sense… but this was something real; tangible. I was being offered salvation so quickly and with so little cost that it could not be believed. I'd never observed it so closely before. (Nor was I quick enough to see that it was merely a mirror of salvation… but that is immaterial.)

This man blinked at me, and withdrew the wooden spoon containing the foully aromatic substance. It had filled my face with the rancid taste of it, and pushed me a few inches back into the bars behind me, bidding me escape my own disgust. The gypsy man seemed to realize the fear he'd inspired, for, in the next moment, he addressed me once more, softly.

"It will help you… I promise that it will make you better. Look," he implored, and I did as he asked. The man knew how to sway a child, by giving them an example and promising them a reward. I watched as he took the spoonful and deposited it into his own mouth. Hardly that; he drank the substance from the spoon like it were an ambrosial liqueur, something that seemed to relax his frame almost instantly and turned his mild blue gaze onto me again. With a warm smile, he poured another measure of the substance and offered it to me. "Do you see?... It won't hurt you. You'll feel better."

It took me a few moments of consideration, then of forcing my tired muscles into movement, before I reached forward to take the spoon from my savior's hands. I fell hard onto the front bars of the cage as I made a lurching movement forward, and made my new friend move back a step in surprise; he took another step away when our hands touched, and what was to me the strange and pleasant warmth of a human touch must have been to him the horror of a corpse's skin.

Still cowed a little, for the pungency of the liquid still burned in my face, I gazed from the spoon back to him. The man nodded and smiled, a tighter expression than before.

"Just swallow it," he encouraged. "You will feel better."

Needless to say, I did as he asked.

Watching his face all the while, I took the spoon into my mouth and had my first taste of that musky, succulent strain of temptation that has remained with me hereafter. Warmth spread throughout my frame; the pain began to ease in moments, and, as in all good things, I was drawn to thoughts of God. I was reminded of Easter, of the time the previous year Reverend Robert had shown me the Vigil: Light following light, goodness from one given freely to another without loss from either. Pain relaxed away from every pore, and all this at the will of this man who gave of himself. The feeling must have been perfectly transcendent at my first taste. I cannot really recall, now, for the number of times I have experienced laudanum's obliterating embrace since.

I must have performed better that afternoon, for next I knew I'd been granted a cup of water and was sitting in a corner of my cage, staring into the cloth at the front, which obscured the dying light of a nearly-set sun. I noted, too, that the glass bottle and spoon had been left for me, and that I could vaguely recall a name attached to those eyes that had looked upon me with mercy… Sunesh. Another aberration from my miniscule life in Rouen, but, this time, a welcome one.

Sleep that evening came to me well with another spoonful of tincture, for the pain that remained with me subsided. Finally, I could rest in mind once more, knowing that I had not been utterly forsaken.

A/N: Well... here you go. Hope it pleases anyone who actually cared about where these stories went. Also hope to write more, if people like it! We shall see, I suppose! 8D

I already have some of the next chapter written. Now, noting how long it was since I last posted here, that doesn't necessarily guarantee another post... but I'm hoping that, if you guys give me some support, I may be able to continue on with this one again!

Please, R/R if you have time! Thanks for reading! 3