Yes, it's finally here and we have something. This is the final title, by the way. I love you all!

Prologue

She gaped at the note in her hands. That couldn't be possible. He was dead… he had to be. If he were alive, he would have tried to contact her at least once in the course of this past year. It had been a year and six months since she had last seen him, and even if he were alive, so much had changed. Yet she couldn't help but feel like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders and all was right in her world again. Erik was alive. But that also meant that the bastard had been avoiding her for over a year. He had let her continue to believe that he was dead, let her continue to attempt to move on. She liked to think she had succeeded, but Camillé was no fool. She knew that she was deluding herself if she thought that she had truly moved on from the mysterious Opera Ghost she had so deeply fallen in love with.

Her mind still lingered on his note as she had her meeting with this correspondent, causing her to be slightly distracted. He likely managed to pull more pay from her than she ought to have given him, but her mind was other places. When the meeting was concluded, her second-in-command stepped out of the shadows and walked up to the table, sitting in the chair the other man had left.

"You realize you paid him more than you should have, right?" he asked, and she smiled lightly as she stared into the distance.

"I know I did," she agreed, chuckling slightly.

He leaned forward and looked her in the face. "Where are you, Camillé?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"I'm seeing an opera," she told him, and he leaned back again, sighing.

He shook his head. "You need to leave him behind. He's obviously gone, you said so yourself. It's been months since you last did this, why has it come back now?" She shoved the note across the table and he picked it up, reading it over. "Shit, is this real?" Camillé nodded and he let out a long breath, shoving his hand back through his hair. "So this guy is really back? You've gone to see him and everything?"

Camillé shook her head. "I haven't gone to the roof yet."

"Then what are you doing sitting here, woman? If your supposedly dead lover is waiting for you on the roof, why aren't you up there?"

She looked back into his eyes. "Do you really think he's up there, 'Cien?"

"There's only one way to be sure," he told her, and she nodded.

Camillé stood and walked over to the stairs, grabbing her cloak on her way up them. She stopped at the sound of Marcien's voice halfway up. He strode over to the stairs and climbed up her to level. The man kissed her forehead and placed his hands on her arms.

"Remember, should anything go badly, I am right here and all you have to do is yell for me," he reminded her as he pulled her hood over her head, making her smile.

"Thank you. I'll remember," she assured him, before kissing his cheek and mounting the rest of the stairs.

The cold air hit her face the moment she opened the door. The nights in February were not exactly the kindest on any poor soul that walked out into them. She walked a few steps out of the doorway, closing it behind her. There was no one there. Her eyes scanned all the available corners of the roof, seeing nothing. Camillé began to curse herself for believing that he was actually here. The man was dead, he couldn't just show up on her roof. That wasn't possible. As she walked to the edge of the roof, she looked out over the city. There was so much going on here, even at this time of night. It was a beautiful city, part of the reason she loved Paris.

The snow behind her crunched. Camillé wheeled around and saw a large, black-clad figure that was achingly familiar. He pulled his hood off of his head and she got a good look at the man underneath. His face was just as she remembered it, with a white half-mask covering the right side, just as she had dreamed of it. He was tall and lean, yet muscled and as strong as she remembered. Perhaps leaner than she remembered, but that didn't matter to her. He was here. Erik was here.

She walked up to him and reached out to touch his face. Her ears swore that he sucked in a breath when she did so, and she began to pull her hand away. Quick as she thought he would be, he grabbed her hand and pressed it back to his cheek. Camillé watched as his ocean blue eyes slid closed and he breathed quietly, seeming to savor her touch. A smile spread across her lips as she watched this.

"You're here," she whispered, "You're really here."

His eyes snapped open and he reflected her smile. "Yes, Bien-Aimée. I am really here."

Erik watched as her deep brown eyes flashed fire in their golden flecks and she pulled her hand away from him sharply. He sucked in a breath at the cold, empty feeling he felt without her touch. The lack of her was so shocking for that moment that he had no time to prepare. Her other hand reared back and slapped him very hard across the face, sending his mask flying.

As I said before, I love you all. Anybody confused about what just happened?

Any questions, comments, concerns? Want to ask me what the Hell I'm thinking? Review or drop me a line!

- Emmy