A/N:

So hello! It has occurred to me that I hadn't written in a while. Phantom in particular. So, here is my first beneath this penname! Please R/R as usual. Sorry about it going a bit slowly - it shall speed up soon, I promise.

I only write for your enjoyment so I hope you do! Erik is a little - unhinged? You could say? But, my Christine shall sort him out.

"It sounds fine, Erik."

"It doesn't."

There came a sigh. "Look, perhaps the middle should go allegretto but – "

"It's all wrong! All of it. Stop acting like you know what you're talking about. You don't." I gasped breathlessly, taking stretched fingers off the piano keys. I felt my face blush with undivided rage; every part of me shook as warm blood rushed through my veins in aggravation. I simmered in the silence, body sweltering and face flushed crimson. It took a few moments, knee deep in the warmth of silence before my anger gradually modulated. I breathed to blanch my face then weakly turned my head towards the man who stood by the doorway of my office.

He offered me a small smile and nodded contentedly.

"I shall give you a minute." He was used to it; my temper was something he knew eased eventually. But it never eased without diminishing all the serenity in me. My fingers didn't stop their shaking as I lowered my liquid gaze and exhaled. By the time I lifted my head, he was gone and I was alone. I worked better alone, I knew. But still the stillness of the room gagged me. I considered calling out for my friend to return but found the feeling muted. He was probably downstairs now.

One eye twitched as I returned to the sheet music I admonished only moments ago. My mind was shrieking as I read the notes – their tune playing in my head without the need for a piano to execute them. My fluid gaze fell on my quaking finger as I softly pressed on the first key. The moment I bore down on it – I knew it was wrong. Ping. The very sound of it made my heart thud in discontent and senselessly I seized the paper – decorated with my nonsensical writing- and shred it into pieces. As I did this, I was not angry (shocking to people who have seen me perform this before) – but content. I watched the final, scratched piece dwindle to the carpeted floor.

The whole thing was a crime.

There must not be a trace of it anywhere. "Erik," I heard a voice from behind me.

Unhurriedly, I lifted my head towards the voice. I watched as his eyes absorbed the mound of torn up sheet music on the floor. His face was neutral as he breathed out.

"It was wrong." I stated flatly watching him nod.

For a moment, neither of us moved. And then he gestured towards the clock just above his head over the door frame. I followed his gaze and blinked, slightly taken aback by the time displayed.

11:45pm

I had been working for almost eighteen hours straight. And there, on the floor was the by-product of my enslaved hours. "You wouldn't sleep." I remembered now – I had asked Nadir to listen to my music a few hours ago but he had only ascended to ask if I was ready to rest. My eyes widened a little as I stood up and felt my legs weaken. Taking a brief second to recover, I slowly progressed to the far wall where the only window of my room stood solitary. Listless, I pulled back the black curtains that concealed me from day and looked out at the badly-lit street below. It was empty. A question bubbled through my lips and escaped before I could gauge a second thought,

"Can I go outside?"

I asked the older, dark haired man delicately. His eyes looked out at the darkness behind the window and I watched his face furrow with clear aversion. But when they fell on me, I watched him nod. He seemed to have finally realized that I was thirty - not thirteen.

"Yes, just don't wander – and be careful."

Correct me. He still believes in my youth. My eyes gleamed with slight amusement. Suddenly, I felt like I was being reverted back to a child! The holistic memories of such a period in my life muted my glee and I nodded to assure him. "I will." I agreed and almost as an apologetic gesture, crouched and began to sweep up the fragments of my month's work into my hand.

As a child, I had always found refuge in wandering.

Wandering child – my mother used to call me as I would return home after my directionless walks. I supposed I could only admit that I am still very much wandering; my paths in life since then had been meaningless, directionless just as it had been when I was youthful. I did not like to drift – but I found that I digressed when I was struck with boredom. Nadir said it was because I had not found my purpose in life. He blamed it on the fact that I had not found my vocation – what God had given me as a gift for the years I was serving on Earth.

But my purpose was music. I knew. "Music. Ha." I found myself scoffing as the memories of the past month's nightmare loosely entered my solitary reverie. They forced me to compose – yet could a genius compose when he had lost inspiration? I do not believe so. And that was what happened. I had found that more than fifteen music sheets have been torn up in the past four weeks – for nothing. They are patient with me yet I know they grow more intolerant as every hour passes.

Impetuous bastards.

They did not understand the pain that I suffer. A composer who could not even compose a simple tune? It was like a – like a chicken who could not lay eggs. Or a bird incapable of flying.

I laughed coldly.

Now, I felt purposeless. The only thing in the world that has given me a drop of liberation now failed me. I found myself sighing, shoulders hunched as I repressed the urge to cry. For tears did nothing but upset me more. I did not wish to upset them. But they cannot take something that wasn't there. I was empty. Why did they not understand? Lifting my head, I realized I may have meandered too far off my usual path. The streets I normally surveyed were empty by midnight.

This place was bustling with light. I shuffled cautiously where I was and stuck by the shadows. As I peered closer, I began to see small huddles of people – presumptuously conversing with raspy laughter. They all seemed to be pouring out of this one place – The Rhodos Bar. I could already imagine the sheer atrocity that was occurring in such a place and I found myself turning away with revulsion. But then, I saw a figure cross the street towards it and my icy eyes were stopped. The figure was one that I remembered very clearly and I was certain to my life – I recognized.

It is her, my mind whispered melodically as I felt my throat grow instantaneously dry.

It was her, indeed. The angel from that afternoon.

But what was she doing in a place such as this?

It happened exactly a month ago. Compressed with the urge to find something to drink, I accompanied Nadir to a small bar in the middle of the city. I was edgy, as customs allowed and I drank what I had ordered and requested for me and my colleague to leave instantly. The day always seemed to be cruel to me and I knew it would only take a moment for a man in a mask to become the very effigy of whispers. But then there was a brief introduction and a young woman took the microphone stand at the small stage, far front of the bar. I had been deep in complaint –

'Nadir, we must leave they shall – '

But then my words stopped. It wasn't often that I was robbed of words but I was - I was silenced by her beauty. Nadir noted it almost instantly as my eyes fixated on her. He had narrowed his eyes at me – I knew why. He was shockedto see such amazement in my eyes for I was one of the most difficult people in the world to astound. And yet she did. By not doing anything. She was quite young yet there was something almost enigmatic about the way she looked. The fact that I could not pinpoint her as effortlessly as I could with the rest of the shady figures in the bar almost told me that she was a figure of significance.

I was convinced she was. I found myself moved by her naturalness – her purely uncertain expression as she opened her mouth to sing. It was the most inscrutable – and utterly frustrating feeling I had ever encountered! It was –

Intoxication.

"Please let her be good." I found my lips praying as she began to sing and I was met with a flush of disappointment. Her voice was nowhere near as splendid as her appearance. She was not ghastly; her voice however cannot match any of the actors that worked in my theatre. "It's a shame, Erik yes?" Nadir teased me lowly as he lifted his glass and chuckled, "C'est la vie Erik!"

We left the bar after her song. I attempted to open my mouth to ask Nadir if I may be able to find her but found the urge to compose grip me. By the time I rushed through the apartment and lifted the cover of my piano, I was muse-less. It was almost like the flustered – almost feverish need to compose faded when I left that bar. I should have returned – returned to find her again but I grew depressed over my work and she was buried beneath the miseries of my status. How could she have been? I didn't understand now. Perhaps, my bleak disposition - as it did with most things - suffocated the almost tantalizing desire that had warped within me in that bar.

But now she had returned and her unpolished perfection passed by my eyes, I found myself overwhelmed. I had to see her once more. Just once, and my gaze shall be contented. But do I risk such a filled place? I knew that everyone in that place must be intoxicated if anything and I should get by harmlessly. However, the fear remained. I had to be careful for I was not common like most of them were. I lowered my head. Perhaps another time.

But then her face flashed in my memory and the imploration was so demanding I had to gasp for air.

I must know who you are.

Invigorated with my newfound confidence, I crossed the street and made my way unnoticed towards the door of the bar.