Two years. Two very long, sad and lonely years and she is still haunted by him. His voice, his face - eyes filled with so much sadness and yearning that she wakes up crying.

Almost everyone has gone now. The only ones to stay was Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg, and the managers. Meg couldn't help but wonder how well Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre have been able to hush everything up after the fire. Proof, she supposed, of some of the good money could do. Of course, there were still whispers. And the new troupe begging for the story of The Phantom.

Meg had become lead dancer after the re-opening of the Palais Garnier and had even been given a few main singing roles. But as much as she appreciated and enjoyed the new success and attention it brought, she couldn't wait to run out after a performance. She would do so as soon as she could decently excuse herself and hide away in her second home.

Indeed, her new habit of hiding brought her to the Phantom's Lair by accident. The gates and lock that lead to the underground lake from Rue Scribe that she had taken ahead of the mob two years ago have been replaced. And while there was always suspicions that there were many more trap doors and secret entrances, none were found. At any, rate Meg had taken to hiding, trying for a little peace away from the younger ballet girls or the fawning crowds. She made her way down to the third cellar and hid between two scenes -the very same where Joseph was hung, she realized, and wondered that she could hide there with such calm, when she leaned against the wall and felt it shift and move aside. Deep down she knew what it was and replacing the hidden panel, ran off retrieving a lantern. Meg looked around, carefully spying out the corners to make sure no one was around before she opened the panel again.

Meg lowered herself down, finding herself in that strange hall of mirrors, many broken, and the door at the other end still stood open. She was back, back where she found his mask, feeling at last some semblance of peace and calm. She would almost say she was happy were it possible. Meg lit a handful of tapers and sat in the wonderful darkness, letting his face and voice fill her mind, wondering if Erik were still alive.

That night she only sat and thought. Many nights later she came back, lit the candles and looked around. She almost immediately came across the mannequin, the second Christine. For the first time in so long she felt anger well up inside her. She let herself have vent and tore the mannequin apart, screaming and crying over how her dear friend hurt him. But more so she hated how she had set the whole tragedy in motion. She knew exactly when it happened, when she had lost all hope of Erik wanting her as much as she did him. The evening when she and Christine snuck onto stage, teasing her and telling her to sing for Phantom. How she wished she could take it all back.

"Why!?" she screamed as she pummeled fruitlessly at the unblinking figure, "Why did I have to encourage you to sing for him. Had I known-" Meg crumpled to the floor, her little body racked with sobs. "Oh Christine, I -I didn't mean it. You were good, I wanted you to succeed. B-but if I'd known… would I have still wanted to help you?" she asked as she tried to put her image back together. That night she made her way back to the flat she shared with her mother with the headache she started the day with and now bruised hands. Dear girl, still so impetuous.

"Meg, is that you? Where have you been?" she heard her mother call.

Meg stood looking at her hands and tugged her sleeves down further and slipped on lace finger gloves, hoping it was enough to hide the bruises. All she wanted was to finish the evening and go to bed. She would do her best to avoid any lengthy conversations tonight.

He had been watching her come and go now for some months. Erik wondered what this girl meant in coming to his home so often. Even if he wasn't living in it, he thought it a gross invasion of his privacy.

Yet he noted she always came alone. He couldn't help but be intrigued that this slip of a girl would keep coming back. After puzzling many days over it, Erik figured she just wanted some place to be alone and have some peace. Fortunately she was a creature of habit, just as he remembered her to be when she was younger- coming at the same time- so he knew he could take up residence in his home and she'd be none the wiser. If Meg wanted nothing more than a place for quiet reflection, he'd let her have it. What was a couple hours away from his own hearth?

Erik was there when she brought his mask back. Though he couldn't help but wonder where she'd kept it hidden up to that point. She placed it on the organ and sat down slowly and stared at it.

"I see you, you know, and hear you."

Erik felt his heart stop. Christ! How could she possibly know? he thought. He was about to step out when he heard her voice again.

"Where are you Erik? Are the people nice and have you found a new little friend?"

Erik smiled to himself and shook his head. She was sitting there, face in her hands, talking to his mask. Silly girl, could she not find a person to talk to? Despite being 21 she still held an almost childlike candor and manner. Was that why he smiled to himself? Or the look on her face that said she thought herself silly for talking to a mask? Or was it that she was worried for him? She had always been a tenderhearted thing. Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he thanked the stars he was safe. She didn't know.

Erik was quickly settled in his home but was always very careful to be gone before Meg arrived. One day he wasn't so careful. It had been so long since he had played, and finally the lure of his beloved organ called him back and he lost himself in his old favorites, thinking of how he use to play them for the one he lost. So wrapped up, he almost didn't hide in time. He put the mask back and opened a passage behind one of the mirrors. It closed just as she tripped inside and came to a sudden stop, looking around with a happy expectant look.

"Your back? Where are you?" She bent and picked up a stray sheet of music and Erik silently cursed himself but refused to budge.

Meg set the page back behind the mask. "Why didn't you take this with you, Erik?" Meg stood, her smile slowly fading in the silence. Erik watched as her happy smile turned into a look of self-reproach and tears welled in those dark brown pools.

She sat at the organ and stared at the mask. "Perhaps I shouldn't come here anymore. I keep hoping for a change, something out of place. Now, I imagine it just because I want it to be. It's not like I leave here any the better for it. I go back feeling more dejected than when I came. Why does your pain weigh on me so Erik?"

Good question, Little Giry, thought Erik as she set aside the mask and studied the piece he had left behind. She played a few bars, hitting several bad chords, causing Erik to shudder. Good God, get her off my piano!

Again she studied the music, looking from the keys to the sheet music. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she focused so hard. And when she played anew, while it wasn't perfect, it showed she was once taught to play. If she practiced more she could be quite good. Erik searched his memory, trying to remember if Antoinette had ever said anything of her learning, or himself ever hearing her play. One surprise followed another. For now she sang. Erik recognized those words- a sweet and somewhat sad poem that had come out the past year.

A feeling of sadness and longing

That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles rain.

Come, read to me some poem,

Some simple and heartfelt lay

That shall soothe this restless feeling

And banish the thoughts of day…

Well, Miss Giry knew her poetry! But for some reason it didn't surprise him. Like something in the back of his mind was trying to prod him to remember but it wouldn't come. And while she didn't have the power of voice as did Christine, there was a simplicity and feeling that made it not unpleasant to hear.

She sat intently several minute as if memorizing the exact order of the room before replacing the mask and walked out. She wasn't here for 15 minutes and she's already leaving! Erik was a little annoyed that this should bother him. It shouldn't when he could have his home to himself sooner than expected and that was good. Then why do you feel so downcast? Just stay detached. It may be time to make yourself known and get her out for good. Very wise and proper, no doubt, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Why can't I just do it? He couldn't figure out why he looked forward to leaving his home only to spy on the girl who sat there. She doesn't talk to the mask, at least not often, as if even that is too silly for her. Sometimes she plays, sometimes she reads, mostly she comes and just stares at the organ and mask before falling asleep. It was getting to be the close of September and the lair was getting colder now. He couldn't bear to watch her shiver, so one day he snuck out and crept over. As he approached he felt something shift in his mind. A memory. He could see it so plainly. The Giry's flat. He didn't go there often but he remembered. He could hear her voice. He couldn't remember the argument he had had with Antoinette on this occasion but he remembered ripping off his mask in frustration. He was met with the tiny sobs of young Giry. As he hastily put it back on, she was scurrying over and climbing up in his arm, removing it and covering his cheek in kisses.

What on Earth are you doing, Meg?

Making it better. M-mama says kisses make everything better. Your sad and hurt.

Never had anyone done such a thing, not even Nadir's son as best he could remember. And that innocent look, those deep brown pools crying for him had touched him deeply.

Meg, you're an angel. Your kisses may not make this go away. But it has made my heart hurt less. Now, your maman and I are very sorry we woke you with our fight. But those little eyes must go back to sleep.

No, I don't want to. Maman will let me stay up until you go. I never get to play with you. She had given a determined pout and settled her arms around his neck. So young and she seemed capable of ignoring the trance his voice seemed to put on most. Only when it suited her and he liked that in her. She promised to be a very saucy and witty child.

But Little Giry has to practice tomorrow and I had plans to see you surpass all the others. Besides I have business to discuss with your maman and won't have time to play. He had settled onto the couch half cradling her as he tried his voice on her again. He couldn't tell if it was working or she was just so tired, but it didn't matter, she was giving in to the sleep she was fighting.

Will you wake me before you go, Erik?

No, mon ange, I cannot. He smiles slightly and booped her nose then took the mask from her little fingers. I read in a book a Burmese legend about the soul butterfly or "win-laik-pya." It is believed that a sleeping person's soul takes the shape of a butterfly and flies abroad while it's owner is asleep, searching for the souls of other persons and animals and returning when the owner awakes. Burmese children are still taught never to wake a sleeping person for fear they may die, or worse, live on without a soul. So I must leave you sleeping. I want you to be whole when you awake.

He smiled as those big eyes stared back up at him, a yawn threatening to emerge. Then my soul will look for you when I sleep. And I'll find it. G'night Erik.

Amazing what one can remember. There had been so few happy memories he was surprised that had slipped his mind. He looked down on this girl, now grown, and covered her. He pushed back a strand of hair, so soft, the color reminding him of honey or corn silk.

"Little Giry, who do you prefer this tomb?"

Her eyes fluttered open and a faint smile touched her lips. "Erik….y-you're here…." She said before drifting off to sleep again.

Erik looks down, his hand in hers. Shocked, he drops her hand and went back to his hiding place. I can't do this again. No more! He couldn't help but see a serenity in her face that wasn't there before when she wakes. If he never makes that mistake again, then eventually she must convince herself that she was only dreaming. Hopefully.