The Phantom of the Opera was very tired; too tired to continue his work at least. He shut his eyes and allowed his fingers to fly across the keys of the organ sitting in front of him. He smirked. Who knew that this simple inanimate object would instill such love into the ghost's cold heart? But he sighed suddenly, opening his eyes and narrowing them.

There was just one thing wrong with that statement. The organ was an inanimate object. Sure, he could love the music it produced, but it couldn't love him back in any singular way. Not the way a human being could.

The phantom snarled. What was he thinking? How could any human love him, never mind look upon his face without horror and disgust gracing their perfect facial features? His fingers darted to his own face, feeling the smooth texture of the white mask that covered half of his face. That was why no one would love him. For underneath the mask, the phantom's face was grotesque. Ugly and deformed, he hid it even in the solitude of his own underground home.

The Phantom of the Opera lived in the catacombs underneath the Opera Populaire, in the city of Paris. His only, and quite dear friend had hid him there fifteen years ago, and he had almost never left.

He had been inside the Operahouse only a few times in his life underground. He had been outside even fewer times. But the phantom believed that now was a good time to leave. He needed some fresh air, some time to clear his mind. So the phantom stood up from his seat in front of the organ and reached to his face to readjust his mask. Making sure it was on perfectly, he strode to the door of the tunnel that would take him outside and into the streets of Paris.

~*~*~

The Phantom of the Opera sighed. Perhaps going outside wasn't the best idea he had ever had. From the second he had strolled out of the Operahouse, people eyed him curiously. Luckily, it was getting late, so there weren't so many people out to stare at him. But he still felt very uncomfortable.

And now, to top everything off, he was lost. He had not realized that the capital of France was so large, and confusing. And now, he was lost, unable to find his way back to the Opera, and unable to ask anyone for directions for fear of being rejected.

So the phantom sighed heavily, soon giving up finding his way for the night. It was dark now, and almost no one was out anymore. So he resorted to wandering the streets, allowing his feet to carry him to no place in particular.

But once again, that idea wasn't the best either. When his feet had stopped in front of a gypsy camp, he gasped in unintentional fright. Why had his feet brought him here? Surely to torture him, no doubt.

And the Phantom of the Opera growled in anger. Even his subconscious wanted him to suffer. But there was also an amount of underlying curiousness in his mind. Why exactly was he here tonight? Perhaps, he thought, he should check it out.

And without another thought, the phantom gathered up his courage and walked into the camp and straight to the Devil's Child tent. He furrowed his eyebrows and walked into the seemingly empty tent.

But soon, the phantom's eyes, which were easily accustomed to the dark, sought out the cage in the middle of the tent. This cage held the supposed child of the Devil. But the phantom knew better. This child was a like any other normal child on the planet, with exception to at least one deformity. The child really wasn't evil reincarnated; rather a child with an unfortunate abnormality that his parents didn't quite care for.

The phantom sneered. Of course, he was the only one who knew that information. The rest of society believed that this child really did belong to the Devil. They drew away in fear, yet came closer out of interest. The child was a form of entertainment for all the people of typical civilization.

And the ghost found his feet drawing closer to the now sleeping child in the cage. In the dark, he could see the small frame of an exceptionally malnourished child. The child's head was covered with short hair, which ended in a variety of lengths, as if it was cut very hastily. And of course, the child was wearing almost no type of clothing. Just a simple shirt that reached down past its knees.

The phantom's first thought of the child was to call it a boy. But as the child moved in its sleep, its head fell into a light from the moon through the roof of the tent. Instantly, the phantom realized that it had girlish features, allowing him to assume it was a girl instead.

The Phantom of the Opera suddenly felt extremely guilty over the girl's position. He had been the Devil's Child before her. Perhaps, if he hadn't escaped, she would not have had to be there now. But maybe, the phantom thought slowly, he could make it up to her.

Coming to a rash decision, the phantom rapped his knuckles against the iron bars of the cage. Although the noise was discreet, he knew the child would hear it. Being a Devil's Child prepared you to sleep with one eye open at all times.

And just as he had expected, the girl jumped almost immediately into a sitting position, looking around widely for the maker of the noise. And then, her gaze landed on the phantom. Her eyes, also being accustomed to the dark, allowed her to realize that the man was not her master; that he was a stranger. Suddenly, she ducked her head, so that he could see no more of her face. Her entire body shook in fright.

The phantom took in a deep breath. "It's alright my pet." He stopped for a second, surprised at what he had just called the girl. Perhaps he just felt guilty, and wanted to make her feel better. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you," he continued, whispering gently. The girl seemed to relax only some.

"Do you know where the keys are?" he asked softly. And at this, the girl's head flung back up to look at the man in surprise. The phantom frowned when he saw her face fully and could not see any deformity. Possibly, it was somewhere else on her body.

But the phantom shook his head to face the task at hand. Getting the girl out of this hellhole. "The keys?" he repeated.

But the phantom did not receive a response. Rather, the girl's eyes grew round and she pointed over his shoulder. The phantom narrowed his eyes and turned to look behind him. His breath failed as he realized someone was behind him, raising some kind of weapon in the air to land on his person. The phantom ducked out of the way just in time to hear the metal weapon crash against the iron cage. The girl let out a shriek of fright and made to curl up in the corner of the cage. "I'll deal with you later, girl," she heard a voice snarl.

The phantom growled as the man hissed at the girl. There was no way that he would let that monster deal with the girl. He would never allow him to touch her again. And with that thought, the phantom turned to beat the gypsy at his own game.

~*~*~

Only a few minutes later, the phantom stood over the gypsy, the metal weapon in his hand, and the man unconscious at his feet. He was breathing heavily and was overcome with the want to just kill the gypsy right there. But the girl suddenly came to the forefront of his mind. Surely, no matter how much she hated her master; she wouldn't want to watch a stranger beat him to death. So, despite how much he really didn't want to, the phantom put down the weapon and took the keys from the man's pocket.

He then went over to the cage and pulled open the door, calling to her softly. "Come on out my pet, it's safe now," he cooed.

The girl looked up hesitantly. The phantom then outstretched his hand to her, in order to help her out. She eyed the hand warily. It was large, and strong, and the girl knew that the man would be able to keep her safe. But she was still cautious. Her eyes then traveled to the man's face. She frowned when she saw that there was a white mask covering one half of his face. She was surprised she had only just now noticed it.

The phantom, who had seen the frown form on her face, sighed. "When I was young, I was also the Devil's Child. My face, underneath this mask, is not much to look upon. Actually, it's rather hideous," he said, answering her silent question.

And as if that was all the persuasion the girl needed, she carefully stood up in her cage and walked slowly to the stranger. Although she refused to accept the outstretched hand, she climbed out of the iron cage and stood next to him, looking up expectantly to the man.

And suddenly, thrown into realization, the phantom understood why the girl was considered to be the Devil's Child. Her irises, as she looked up at him, were bright red. Her pupils were slits and looked as if they belonged more to a cat than a human being. The phantom sighed, thinking that the girl's eyes were strange, but also fairly pretty, and that they were a silly thing to get upset about.

But the girl realized her blunder, and ducked her head so that he couldn't see her eyes anymore. Maybe she thought they had scared him. So the Phantom of the Opera sighed again and grabbed the girl's hand. "Come my pet, I will take you to my home," he whispered. The girl bit her lip and allowed the man to lead her away from the gypsy camp.