Does anybody here know what a question mark means? It means that there's a possibility of a sequel, and here we are. I still have stuff to say. I'm actually curious as to what happens to them!

Ch.1: The End ?

When their lips parted, he strode through the mirror, not looking back. " Have a nice life, Vicomtess." Was his parting statement, " Because I'm sure as hell not going to be a part of it. Just know that I love you and will never stop loving you. Worry not about Delli. The angel of music has her under his wing."

As she watched him go, Christine could have sworn that her wedding ring fell right off her finger. The gold band hit the floor with an eerie thud, coinciding with the closing of the mirror. The room swayed dangerously beneath her feet. She wanted to bang on the mirror and weep until the world went away, but she knew he would never return. His ego was much too fragile.

Trembling like a leaf in the wind, she put her hand to her heart and walked trancelike to the waiting Raoul. It was hard to believe she would never see either of them again. Her husband nuzzled her neck, calling for the cabdriver to get the lead off. The trembling would not stop, but got worse.

" Christine, is there something wrong? You seem ill." Raoul inquired, concerned. She mumbled excuses, turning to stare out the window. It was hours before she realized that her wedding ring was still on the floor of her dressing room, but she didn't care. Her mind was wandering elsewhere. It was not alone.

As Delight waited in the boat, she swirled her finger around in the inky water, bored. This made absolutely no sense when first thought about. For a mere child of five, she had this figured out pretty well. Papa loved Christine, and she was already married. It didn't take a moron to figure it out.

After about five minutes, heavy footsteps stormed her way, announcing her father's return. She was preparing to make some snappy complaint when the look on her father's face rendered her speechless. She had never seen such a look on his half-concealed visage. It was a cross between unnamable rage and overwhelming grief. To tell the truth, it frightened young Delight to the marrow of her bones.

Her father said nothing, stepping heavily into the dinghy. The girl sat perfectly still, not fidgeting as usual. It was odd, the silence. There was usually something to say or argue about, and now there was nothing to be said. It was unnecessary to utter a syllable.

Then, without warning, Her papa dropped the rowing stick and sat down next to the child, putting his arm around her. She took his chin in her tiny hands and inspected him much like a professional physician. He looked positively wretched, but attempted a weak smile. He had to be strong for her. Somehow, life would go on. And so it did.