A/N: I'm back! This story is based on a costume I did for a jewelry party/masquerade I helped put together last year. I have tried over and over to write this, but always got stuck. Enter AJ Sims, a friend of mine who surprisingly has never seen the actual movie in its entirety. But through clips I've sent him, stories and information I've given him, and the book, he was able to capture Erik's character enough to help me write this. So, thank you, AJ Sims, my cowriter for this story! As always, I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. Phantomess, however, is my own character.

She sat huddled against the stone wall, tears streaming down her face. On the other side of the mirror, the soprano and her true love were leaving, taking the musician's boat with them. His back was to the mirror, but she knew. She knew his flow of tears was even greater than her own. No doubt about that. He had let her go…even after the kiss…and she had come back only to return the ring—a punch to the stomach when he was already dying.

Now he was turning around, picking up a candlestick as he moved closer. For a moment, he disappeared off to the side, and she heard the unmistakeable sound of shattering glass…once…twice…three times, each one louder.

And then he was right in front of this mirror…her window into his world. Before she could even think of moving deeper into the shadows, the candlestick made contact with the mirror until it was a doorway instead. He stepped into her passageway, pausing only to lower a thick curtain in front of the opening. As he turned back toward her, they made eye contact for the first time. She stared as he stared back. She had always dreamed of this moment, but was not ready for it to happen now. She could only stare into his deep, raging, tearful eyes.

He was the first one to speak, his voice rough from shouting and crying. "Who…are you?" His voice raised slightly and cracked. "What are you doing here?" She could only stare, tears streaming down her face and mask. He stared into those tearful eyes, his lip quivering. He cast a quick glance at the curtain and then back at her. "Get out. The mob will be here soon." He started to trek away from her and she could not believe it as her own voice cried out.

"Stop!" She held her hand out as he slowly turned to her. "I have…a place we can go," She was barely able to get the words out straight. "It's somewhere I've been hiding for a long time…please…" She stood up. "I'll explain everything there." He studied her for several moments, debating as to whether he should ignore her or punish her for her forwardness. But the mob was getting closer. The window for her escape was slamming shut. He let out a heavy sigh—once again that night, he found himself defeated.

"Very well." He slowly took her hand, and she quickly led him further into the darkness.

Several twists and turns later, she finally stopped to lift a thin, torn curtain, revealing a doorway. He cautiously stepped inside, instinctively looking around every corner until he was satisfied that it was not a trap. She also moved around the cavern, lighting candles on the walls and on a few tables. The resulting light revealed a cavern about the same size of his work room. It was sparsely furnished, and what little she did have was well worn. Several pieces he recognized from earlier years in the opera house, discarded to make room for the new. Across the room from the sofa, he noticed another opening. Upon glancing through this doorway, he saw a slightly smaller cavern set up as a kitchen. Wooden steps led up from the center of the floor to a doorway several feet up the wall, close to the ceiling. Opposite these stairs was yet another doorway, leading to a tiny room with only room for a makeshift bed. Next to this doorway was a narrow, almost hidden passageway from which he could hear the sound of running water. Following it, he reached the bank of an underground stream, fed from a small pool surrounding an underground spring. The stream, he realized, must be one of several sources for his own lake.

"Help yourself, Monsieur…you look like you could use a drink of water…" He whirled around to see her holding out a tin cup, somewhat dented. He slowly took it and dipped it into the stream, taking a single, hesitant sip. The coolness of it washed down his burning throat, and before he knew what he was doing, he had downed three cupfulls. She gently took the cup from his hand as he lowered it to his side tiredly. "Please…come sit down…" She took his hand once more, leading him back into the main room, and he lowered himself to the sofa while she chose an arm chair off to the side.

"Mademoiselle…you have not answered my questions. Who are you?"

"You…may call me Phantomess…" As she spoke, he scoffed.

"You are not the Phantomess any more than I am the Phantom. You have a name. You will tell me it."

"Will you tell me yours?" Again, her words surprised her, hut she did not back down, no matter how long he studied her.

"Very well. We will return to that matter later. Now you will tell me what you are doing here…in my caverns…."

"It…it is a long story, Monsieur…"

"I have time, Mademoiselle, but very little patience."

"Very well…" She sighed. "I…was born into a large family…in a small cottage in the countryside. We were very close…I always felt loved…but we were isolated. I watched my two older sisters get married, settle down, start their own families…they are happy, monsieur…but it's all the same as how we grew up…I…I wanted something more…something different. But I couldn't tell them…I couldn't hurt them. I knew that if I said anything…that they would try to talk me out of it…tell me I didn't know what I was talking about, or try to change my mind…

"So I left. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep. I only told them not to worry…and that I loved them…I put the note on the kitchen table…my mother would be the first to see it…" her voice cracked and wavered as her tears started up again. His face showed no sympathy, however, and he simply stared until she regained her voice. "That was five years ago. For two years I wandered around France, until I finally came here to Paris. I was in an alleyway behind the opera house stables…I heard a kitten meowing…so I followed the sound…it was a calico, trapped underneath an upside down crate…as soon as I picked it up, I…I felt the ground sinking beneath me, as if I were going through a trap door. I fell…several feet…landing on a pile of old rags…But I couldn't focus on my pain for very long…I heard faint music echoing off the walls…so I followed the sound through the darkness until I came to what I thought was a window…That's when I first saw you."

"So…you've been…watching me for three years? Why did you not just go back to your…loving family?" The last two words were spat at her in a mocking, bitter tone.

"I couldn't…"

"Those stairs in the kitchen. Where do they lead?" At this, she felt her face go pink sheepishly.

"The back of the pantry…to the opera house kitchen…"

"So you could leave, Mademoiselle. Do not lie to me."

"I didn't lie…I could not go back there…and I could not just leave behind the hurting man I saw."

"Why not? Everyone else has." He looked away from her then, his eyes watering once more(or perhaps they had never stopped.).

"I'm not them." She rose to her feet then, moving into her bedroom and retrieving her topmost blanket and a throw pillow she had made. Upon her return to the main room, she almost laughed at the sight before her. The Phantom was sitting up straight, completely frozen but looking as if he were about to bolt any moment. The kitten, now fully grown, had emerged from one of her many hiding places and lept up into his lap. She was now purring as she kneeded his pants, and his only movement was to twist his face into cringes and winces. "I see you've met Carmilla…"

"Get it off."

"She isn't hurting you, Monsieur."

"That's what you think."

"Pat her." He looked as if she had just told him to stick his hand in a fire. "Go on…" She threw him an encouraging smile, and slowly his hand moved to stroke Carmilla's back. Immediately, the feline's back arched into his touch, her purr growling louder.

"Is she…growling at me?"

"No, Monsieur. She's singing." At that, his eyes widened, but he remained silent as he listened. Just as silently, she draped the blanket around his shoulders. He stiffened slightly, but as his mind was preoccupied at the moment, he could do nothing to stop her. The pillow, she placed against the arm of the sofa. "Good night, Monsieur." Smiling, she went back into her bedroom.

A/N: More to come soon! Feedback is always welcome! Thanks!