Well, this is a first-timer for me. This only the first of what will hopefully be many chapters. Due to the native language of the characters, there is minimal french but I tried to put in a translation in a manner that won't interrupt the story. It goes without saying that none of these characters are originally mine, no rights, no profit. Enjoy!...hopefully.

ERIK

He needed to clear his mind. After the disastrous debut performance of his opera and the events following, he was in a particularly murderous frame of mind. He had gambled everything and lost. Christine was gone, his home was gone; everything was over. True, in one moment of compassion he had let the girl and her lover go. Afterwards he only felt regret; regret and anger at the injustice of his life.

"Christine, why?" He muttered to himself.

He felt as if he were standing at the edge of a precipice. His life had turned upside down with the arrival of Christine and now she was gone. For that brief period he had been happy. Music was his gift to her and this was how she had repaid him. He had given her his soul and she wanted nothing more of him.

God help the person who crossed him this evening. He was in a black mood and strode aimlessly outside along the back streets and alleys surrounding the opera house. His steps led him along the riverfront. He paused momentarily on the shore. He was not afraid of the dark of night. Any who would dare harm him would soon realize their mistake.

Alone in the dark he could recall the feel of Christine's brief kiss; the only one he had ever had. He could still feel her warm lips pressed gently against his. He held onto the memory fiercely refusing to dwell on what had followed.

He could see the lightest mist along the surface of the water. The mist drifted lightly over the river. Off in the distance there was the palest pink creeping over the horizon. Dawn must be coming soon he realized. It had been a long night. Emotionally exhausted, he stood and waited. What was he waiting for?

There were those who believed the time between night and dawn to be special. For one moment the barriers between the worlds blurred and anything was possible. He chuckled to himself. He was far too old to believe in fairy tales. It was bad enough that he had engendered so many of the legends and stories surrounding him without beginning to believe a few himself.

He set off again, this time down an unfamiliar road.

Perhaps he should return home. By now the mob had surely given up their search for him. But there was nothing left for him to return to. Christine had left forever with Raoul. He did not trust her promise to return. His home had been compromised. Too many now knew the secret of where it lay.

Erik was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice the couple striding towards him; a tall man and a small slender woman. They too were both distracted by their conversation. He looked up too late to correct his course and the tall man walked straight into him. While both were startled, neither man fell. With a huff of impatience, Erik spun around to see the young man had crouched in front of the woman. He held a dagger in each hand, ready to defend them both.

Ah a fight! Just the thing he needed. Erik darted forward trying the young man's defenses. The woman waited in a recessed doorway as the two men circled each other.

"Monsieur, you may want to put those away. Children should not play with weapons." Erik said.

The young man did not respond but looked slightly puzzled.

"I am afraid you have caught me in a rather bad mood this evening but I promise if you put those away I will spare both you and the woman."

"Joscelin!" It was the woman.

"Stay there Phedre." said the man. Momentarily distracted he tried to keep himself between her and his target. She was walking towards Erik.

"For the love of Elua Phedre! Please, stay where you are!" said the young man.

"He's D'Angeline Joscelin." She said exasperated. "Let me at least speak to him first."

"D'Angeline, mademoiselle?" Erik had never heard this term. D'Angeline? Who were these people ?

"I am French madame." Erik called. For the first time he took complete notice of her. She was beautiful with full brown hair. Her presence made up for her lack of stature. As she came closer he noticed one spot of red in her left eye. His world suddenly became smaller and there was nothing else but this woman.

"French," She said thoughtfully. "I am not sure I know this word. How is it you come to speak our language?"

"Est-ce que vous m'entends quand je vous parle?" Erik asked. (trans. Do you understand what I am saying to you?)

She looked at him questioningly. "Of course I understand you monsieur. We are speaking the same language."

PHEDRE

I could feel Joscelin behind me waiting. This certainly was a puzzle. The stranger in front of me stood nearly as tall as Joscelin. We had been on our way back home from the shrine dedicated to Naamah when we came across him. He stood completely still as I approached and I saw his gaze flicker to my left eye.

"Where is this France which you say you are from?" I asked him. I watched his face intently as he answered. While we could understand each other his manner of speaking differed slightly from ours.

"We are in France madam," he answered.

"Nonsense," said Joscelin. "We are in the province of Namarre in Terre D'Ange."

Joscelin edged towards me. Clearly he still did not trust our stranger.

This gentleman had the most amazing speaking voice. I felt drawn to that voice. It was beautiful, full and resonant. There were poets at home who would willingly give anything to possess a voice like that of this strange man. He stayed silent for a moment and what I could see of his face was pensive. Why would someone need to cover their face? The mask was non-descript and somehow did not draw attention to itself.

"Sir, it would seem that we have begun quite poorly. My name is Phedre, this is my consort and companion Joscelin," who at the mention of his name gave one of his sweeping Casseline bows.

"The fault is mine madame, my name is Erik." he spoke again in that voice. He swept off his hat and gave a bow to rival that of Joscelin's in gracefulness. There was a certain power that emanated from him. His every move was measured; there was strained sensuality there calling out to me.

He nodded towards Joscelin. In doing so he looked at our surroundings. Something must have troubled him for he slowly pivoted around as if noticing for the first time where we were. His back was to us and I could hear a low mutter. One hand clenched at the folds of his cloak. He turned back to us.

"It would seem that I am nowhere near where I started my walk this evening." He began. "Since you know where we are, might I impose on your hospitality a bit longer?"

Joscelin grabbed my arm muttering in my ear. "Phedre, no! We don't know him. He found his way here; let him find his way back."

I looked away from Joscelin to our companion who waited for an answer.

Erik locked eyes with me. A thrill shot through me. I felt a low throbbing in my body. His eyes widened briefly and I was sure he felt it too. I could hear the faint rustling of wings around me and the smell of roses. He was meant to come with us. Slowly, I walked directly in front of him.

"Terre D'ange," he said again smiling. "Un Ange…does that make you an angel?"

"Our people are descended from angels who once walked the earth." I said. "We value our heritage and named our land after them."

For the first time, Erik laughed and took my hands in his.

"Someone once named me the Angel of Music," he said thoughtfully looking down. Slowly he turned my hands over in his. I could feel the strength in them. One of his fingers traced the lines on my palm searching. His mouth tightened briefly and his fingers gripped mine.

"It would seem that we shall be a pair of angels together. Lead on, I shall follow wherever you go."

And with that we made our way towards the camp we had outside the city; Erik escorting me with Joscelin trailing behind us.