This is Sleepy Hollow with a tad of Phantom of the Opera. Um…there isn't much I can say… Just that if you don't like magic, romance, the supernatural, and adventure, you may want to avoid.

Disclaimer: Do not own any of the sleepy hollow characters. Only Michael, Lancelot, and Elizabeth are mine.

Dedication: I dedicate this story to my rping buddy-you know who you are. Hope it does justice, ye Miranda fan! Lol. See you on the board!!

Chapter 1: Stories of the Past

Although she was barley thirty, the woman moved like a woman that had seen the end of time and back. Her long blonde hair was still long and shiny, her dresses were still in good shape, on this bitter winter night, she wore a simple white lace dress. Shivering, she pulled a wool blanket over her shoulders and sat in the old rocking chair, rocking slowly in front of a warm fire.

Sitting on the floor were her two children, Elizabeth and Lancelot, or Lance for short. She smiled as she looked at them, both still young, Lancelot not even six. Sighing, she closed her eyes and wondered just how she had ended up in this life. Her father would have turned over in his grave if he knew what had become of her-his little girl, now grown up, the spitting image of her mother, but only in looks. She shivered again, this time at the thought of home.

Sleepy Hollow.

Until that year, the one that was filled with horror and fear, that was all the town had been: Sleepy. Peaceful. Serene. Sighing again, she looked back at her children. Elizabeth played contently with a doll, though soon her mother suspected the phase would be gone. Lancelot flipped through a book, not yet able to read properly, but the pictures he enjoyed looking at. He stopped and his inquisitive blue eyes met his mothers. "Is Masbath my father?" His mother laughed and shook her head.

"No darling. He's like a big brother."

"Oh. Who is my father?" His mother bowed her head-she always knew this day would come, though she didn't think it would be from a five year old. By then Elizabeth was listening as well, her eyes that mirrored her mothers looking at her.

"Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "What do I tell people when they ask?" Again, she sighed and shook her head. She didn't want to have this conversation with him. In honesty, she didn't quite know who he was herself-even then, years later.

"Lancelot… Your father was… a complicated man, he was smart, handsome, charming… He was very special." She looked at him then. His fingers were playing with the book, his eyes on his mother.

"Where is he?"

"I really don't know."

"Did he leave because of us?"

She shook her head. "No. Of course not. He just had things that needed to be taken care of. He was the proudest man alive when I had each of you."

"Will he come back?"

"I think so." She smiled at him. "Here. This is what he looks like." She handed him a faded photograph, in it was a man no older than 25, thick black hair, dark pants, a white shirt, a black vest over it. He had a broad smile, like he knew the answer to every question in the world.

Looking at his mother, he asked "what is his name?"

She paused. "Michael. Michael James Giry."