Chapter 1: Watched Phantom stood in front of the mirror and cried softly, a tear rolling down his cheek from under his mask. Angel touched his shoulder turning him towards her and caressed his cheek. As he turned away she pulled him closer and brushed her lips against his. He tangled a hand in her hair and the other went to her hip to pull her tight against him. His kisses tasted like salt from his tears but Angel didn't care.

"I will always love you Phantom. We just can't be together, not today. This isn't good bye, at least not forever my love. I may come back to you, broken and scarred. I may need you to put me back together." Angel whispered pulling away but keeping a hand on Phantom's cheek.

"I have always loved you Angel. You know this. Since the first time I heard you sing I have needed you here with me. You fill my heart with a happiness I have never felt before. Ever since I saw your face I have wanted you." Phantom replied putting his hand over Angel's.

Angel rested her hand on her stomach then stood on her toes and pressed her lips to Phantom's one last time. "A piece of you will always be with me, beloved Phantom."

"What's her name?" he whispered.

"I don't know yet."

Phantom's eyes started to tear up and he couldn't bear to let her go but he did. As he watched her go for the last time Angel heard his voice rise in a scream, the sound long and anguished. She had to fight with herself to leave him there and her heart broke as she walked away. A man waited for Angel when she stepped into the light outside the tunnels. He took her hand and led her to a waiting carriage.

"Is it done?" the man asked, helping her in.

"Yes, my love."

"Head out!" he called to the driver as he sat in the seat across from Angel.

"Wyatt, my love?"

"Yes, Christine?"

"I love you."

"I know."

As they rolled down the streets Christine placed a wide brimmed velvet hat with a veil to cover her face on her head and pulled a pair of striped fingerless gloves onto her hands. Unable to bend over she lifted her feet into Wyatt's lap so he could check the laces on her boots. When she was presentable they pulled into the drive way of Wyatt's estate home. As the driver helped Christine out of the carriage Wyatt took her arm, linking their elbows to keep her steady as they climbed the twenty four steps to the front door.

"Welcome to my home, Christine." He whispered as the door swung open.

"Welcome back Master Carter. Should I inform your parents that you and the mistress are home?" a butler said as he opened the door.

"Yes thank you Michelson."

The butler strolled down the hall to the women's parlor and poked his head through the door, "Madame, your son is home."

A tall woman with short blonde hair and glasses swept from the parlor wearing a peach gown and slippers that made hardly any sound on the tiled floor as she made her way to greet her son.

"Mother," Wyatt said, bending at the waist.

"Dearest son and Sweet Christine" she exclaimed, sweeping forward to hug them.

After she had hugged them she decided that Angel needed to rest so she sent for a maid to prepare a room for her. When the maid had left, Wyatt's mother led them into the parlor for tea. Sitting on a settee she crossed her ankles and leaned forward to listen as Wyatt and Angel told her their plans of marriage. As they were talking about the latest bit of gossip a maid appeared at the door.

"Madame Carter, the room is ready."

"Thank you child. You may go."

Wyatt helped Angel to her feet and linking arms led her out of the room and down the hall to the grand staircase. His mother kissed her on the cheek and patted her son's cheek and returned to the parlor to finish her book. They didn't know that they were being watched. They didn't realize that a shadow lurked in the window, breaking apart and coming undone at the seams.

"The music of the night is ending but her music is just beginning." The Phantom whispered turning from the window and walking away into the night.

His steps were slow and precise; every step away from her was painful. Tears streamed down his face and he let them. He didn't reach up a hand to wipe them away. He let them fall, each one burning as it trekked down his scarred face. When he got to his home in the catacombs under the opera house and the heavy metal door had swung shut behind him, he fell to his knees and let out a cry. It was long and painful, heart wrenching in its beautiful sorrow. It reverberated off the walls and pounded in his ears. His fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists and his chest ached but he kept screaming.

When he finally stopped his whole body ached as he laid on the cold cobble stone floor curled into a ball. His body shook and it felt as if a cannon ball had torn through his chest. He fell asleep whispering over and over his voice rising to a scream, "Angel, Angel, Angel!" He slept right there on the floor in front of the door. When he woke up he groaned and climbed to his feet and walked further into the tunnels until he reached a huge underground ballroom sized cavern.

Around the walls were full length mirrors and standing candelabras that were as tall as a full grown man. There were tapestries on the walls everywhere depicting romance scenes, forests, meadows, knights fighting dragons and families long dead. A bed with a canopy hung over it stood in a corner, almost like an afterthought. There were tables spread all across the floor with papers and models strewn about in a sort of organized chaos.

The Phantom walked through the room and occasionally stopped to look over a piece of paper. Eventually he made his way to an alcove, hidden in a corner much like the bed. He pulled aside a tapestry and revealed a carefully sewn wedding dress. He stepped in the alcove and let the tapestry fall over the entrance. Lighting a lantern hanging from the ceiling he touched the gown. There was intricate beading on the bodice that ended where the wearer's hips would be and the skirt was silk of the purest make. A veil sat on the head of the mannequin and was crafted from silver. The pattern of the tiara was of vines intertwined with flowers and the veil was made from chiffon with lace around the edges.

A small tag was pinned to the mannequin and read "For My Angel of Music." Phantom ripped the tag from the mannequin and tore it up then dumped it in a brazier on his way to his bed. Dropping into bed he stared at the ceiling and lay there until he fell back into a fitful sleep. His dreams were filled with her face, her perfectly angelic face, with the curls that fell down her back and just brushed her hips. He missed her eyes and the dusting of freckles on her cheeks. He missed her secret freckles, the one on the inside of her hip, the one on the top of her breast and the one on the inside of her wrist. He missed the way she yawned, the way she slept in his arms. He missed everything about her.