Erik POV

How was I to know that that was the day that would forever change me? That that was the day I would meet her?

It started out as a normal day. They were all normal days. I was walking through life numb. Numb to everything. I wasn't aware of loneliness or sadness anymore. Indifference and rage were the only emotions I ever felt. I was going through the motions of living, nothing more. Not that I expected much from life.

She was the one that awoke me from that. She gave me a purpose.

I remember the day rather well: I was wandering one of my back tunnels that ran around the back of the chapel. It is odd I was in that back tunnel that night. Ever since I came to the opera I have tried to avoid going to the chapel. Whether it be to avoid the memory of my childhood escape or trying to hide from the eyes of God I do not know.

I do not remember my purpose; I suppose it has something to do with terrorizing the inhabitants of the opera as it usually did. But she distracted me from my original cause.

A small noise floated from the chapel, and I almost ignored it. The sound was so insignificant it was only a fly to be brushed from my path. I almost trudged ahead to accomplish the now unknown task that had been on my mind.

Fate had different plans.

I became aware that the noise was in fact a voice. And as I half-listened I was drawn in by how strong it was and how much potential it possessed. It was a delicate soprano that gently wafted through the notes. It was not flawless, but as I said before, it had much potential. It did not try to reach for notes, shrilly and painfully, like so many did.

Never before had I actually cared about the goings on of the opera, but something in me made me stop and listen more intently.

Maybe it was the song. The song intrigued me, for I knew it and I certainly did not expect it here. Maybe it was the voice itself, or perhaps it was just the fact that someone was down here this late at night. Whatever it was caused me to approach the small grate in the wall and use it as a window into the chapel.

A small girl, perhaps seven or eight, knelt in front the altar that held a single candle burning. Her brunette hair covered her face as she hung her head. Her voice cracked only once that I heard, as she sang.

Again without you, the sun is setting

Again without you it is becoming night

My grief is waiting for me

Again my night smells of sadness.

I immediately recognized it as old Turkish song, Yine Sensiz 'Again Without You'. It was a common song, often sung when one was lost. The child had culture. She had grown up in Turkey possibly? I listened as she fluently sang the foreign song and was nearly positive that was the case.

Everywhere, everywhere are signs of you

Everything tells me of you

All the songs remind me of you

For the first time I heard her make a soft noise that sounded like a sob. But she continued quietly and reverently.

Ah! Why is this aloneness, tell me

How will the years pass without you?

She looked up at the candle and I got a good look at her finally. I had seen her, I recalled. She was that orphan girl Antoinette had taken in, not that I had really cared at the time. And right now her eyes were red and puffy with crying.

Where are you, who are you with?

Ah my love, return, I miss you a lot.

The song referred to the loss of a lover, but obviously she was too young for such a thing. Who could she have lost that would cause her such pain?

I realized I felt a twinge of jealously toward her.

I had never felt such a connection with anyone that I might mourn. My mother was very careful to never create that. She had spurned me since day one. I had no one. I was a recluse, and as such I never had any kind of relationship with anyone. The Daroga and Antoinette were the closest things I had.

You won't return, I've understood

Me without you, without love

How will I live?

I am waiting with tears in my eyes...

I didn't realize it until it was too late. With my mind so far in thoughts and memories the girl had gotten me humming her sad song. I mentally berated myself, but I didn't stop. Nor did I wish to.

Then realization dawned in her eyes as she realized she wasn't alone, and she immediately snapped her mouth shut, a little to my disappointment.

"Who-who are you?" She demanded at the darkness. Her voice trembled a little but I could tell how much she was trying to not seem afraid.

I hesitated a moment, contemplating leaving her. In the end I was just too curious. "Tell me, child, why do you sit alone in the dark?" Surprisingly, she made no move to flee, though that probably would have been wise.

Why was I talking to her in the first place? There was no reason to make myself known like this. Eventually she would pass this on to her friends and inevitably create another Phantom Tale. She seemed apprehensive only for a moment but saw no immediate harm in answering me, apparently. Her voice was forlorn as she answered "Because I have no one to sit with me"

That answer struck me. It was absolutely innocent, truthful, and desolate. She had not answered in the way I had expected. But children were afraid of the dark weren't they? There were supposed to be. Why would one sit alone in a dank, musty cellar?

"Why do you not light candles?" I found myself feeling…concerned. Such a young girl should not wander around alone. There were some vile creatures that lurked these halls at night.

I would know.

"I light a candle for my father. That is the only candle I need" she answered solemnly "I do not fear the dark" She almost seemed to disregard me as a threat now; we were just two people having a conversation. "The dark is comforting and less demanding. You can hide from everything in the dark. Including yourself"

It seemed we had more in common than I had guessed. The bleak answer both disturbed me and made me want to smile. She was possibly the only girl in the opera who wasn't afraid of the dark. And she had described my world so perfectly…But what had caused her to think such dark thoughts?

"Please, do tell me who you are" Her soft eyes searched for answer from the darkness. But I could not provide one.

"Don't worry, child. I am a friend" I replied. Her eyes still searching for answers, but she seemed to accept the answer for now"What is your name, Girl?"

She paused before answering. "Christine Daae" she answered.

Daae? As in Gustave Daae, the Swedish violinist? Surely not.

"Christine…you have a wonderful voice" I said softly. It had been awhile since I had paid anyone a complement, but to my surprise it felt good. And this girl certainly deserved one. It was not often I enjoyed a voice, especially from one so young.

Her head ducked down in embarrassment and she began to play with her hair nervously.

"No one but my father has ever heard me sing before…but thank you, monsieur" I found that difficult to believe. Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't lie about such a thing, but surely her father knew her talent and had her sing in front of others?

"Where are you from?" I asked, curious about her father.

"My papa was Swedish, but I was born in Scandinavia" she said proudly, "We traveled together my whole life throughout Europe, while he played for people"

Amazing. It did explain a lot though. She had traveled to Turkey and learned the language. That was no small feat for a child. I wondered what others she knew. Her French was excellent as well. It would be hard for anyone to distinguish her nationality.

While I was thinking, the girl caught me off guard. "Are you my angel?" She asked curiously.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Your angel?" I inquired.

"Yes" she stated "My Angel of Music. Papa said one would come to help me learn to sing" She paused for a minute, waiting for an answer. "Well are you or aren't you?" She almost seemed annoyed at me now, to my amusement.

But again I hesitated as the thought of running away crossed my mind. But I wasn't going to leave her like that. It would crush her; and that in itself showed how much she had already changed me. Never before would I have cared about the feelings of anyone else. Certainly no one felt for mine.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, that was foolish of me. Of course you're not..."

"I am"

She and I froze simultaneously. Her eyes seemed to be far away, "Mon ange?" But before she could say more she was interrupted.

"Christine!"

The girl's head whipped around in a fan of brunette curls, "Meg?" I was slightly annoyed at the disruption of the Giry girl. She had interrupted my conversation. There was still more I wished to learn about Christine.

"Christine, I've been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing down here?" Apprehensively, the blonde glanced around the dismal chapel, "If you wander around on your own like this the Phantom will get you!"

I winced. The obvious fear in her was demoralizing.

Of course I knew that I was a popular horror story throughout the opera, and I had great pride in being such. I was…well, in short…in love with power.

Striking fear into the hearts of the fools that dare live in my opera was my one true pleasure. And I indeed enjoyed scaring the more horrible and annoying ballet rats, but to hear such small children speak of me with such obvious distaste and revulsion…it was not my proudest moment.

And to hear the offspring of Antoinette Giry, my closest thing to a friend I had, speak of me with loathing was somewhat ironic but not in a way I could appreciate.

"Don't be ridiculous, Meg" Christine rolled her eyes, "There is no Phantom" This girl was proving very quickly that she was much brighter than most of the adults that ran this place. Her eyes darted around her momentarily. I knew she was wishing her friend away so that she and I could talk in private. She wished to speak with her "angel".

"Yes there is!" Meg's eyes grew wide with the theatrical element of the story. "Boquet says he has seen him! He says he is terribly ugly!" Christine seemed to be ignoring her by the way her face didn't change.

"Bouqet is a blithering drunk who thrives on attention" she said matter-of-fact while staring at the lone flame in front of her with a strange intensity. "...which, is why he tells those gruesome stories"

I smothered a chuckle.

Boquet was a favorite among the ballerinas. They loved hearing the horrid tales he could make up. They especially loved to hear about me. I don't know how he ever guessed why I wore my mask. I rarely removed it in the sanctuary of my own home, let alone take it off above ground. He had made his own assumptions about my face. And he had been right.

A thought struck me: someone with a face such as mine, an angel? A fallen angel perhaps...but that was just a poetic way of saying "demon".

If I hadn't been going to Hell before, then I surely was now for leading this child astray. To lie about being an angel, I believe was blasphemy wasn't it? True, I had never cared in a personal sense, but I did know about these things.

Meg stared indignantly at Christine, apparently perturbed at being ignored while in the middle of something important.

"Mama is looking for you, Christine. She wanted me to tell you it is very late and to go to bed. She doesn't want you wandering around" Was she actually chastising the girl? I all but expected her to wag her finger in my new little friend's face.

Wait.

Friend?

I had hardly had a conversation with her and suddenly she was my friend? I had only used that term for Antoinette and I still didn't use it that often. But this time it had just slipped out so naturally. Yes, I had called her "friend" but that was merely to calm her.

Since when had I been so soft that a mere chat with someone made them my friend? Was I that lonely?

Well I had committed myself to be the girl's "angel", though I didn't believe in such nonsense.

"I will be fine, Meg. I will be up later" She gave a reassuring smile.

I was surprised. This girl was something. Was she truly not going to tell her friend of my appearance or was she just going to wait until later? And was she not scared in the least to be down in the cellar, at night, with someone…or something she didn't even know? Did she believe in angels but not in ghosts?

These were questions I hoped to get the answers to.

She was either very stupid or very brave.

She truly trusted me...

Meg's voice rose in frustration, "Oh, Christine, why must you be so difficult?" She seemed to rethink her actions and lowered her tone once again, as if she was afraid someone would hear, "I will not leave you down here, no matter what you say"

Christine heaved a sigh, seeming to realize that she wouldn't have a moment alone again. She glanced into the darkness sadly, "You'll never leave me alone will you?" she smiled ruefully back at her friend.

The blond smirked in response "Nope"

"Very well" She stood and gave a pause before blowing out the candle, "Goodnight, Papa"

She gave one final glance back in my direction as if she expected to see me, smiled a sweet smile that warmed me to my very core, and bolted up the stairs.

R&R please!