Author's Note: This takes place after Meg visits Erik's lair in the ALW musical :)

I hope you enjoy! ((Reviews are always appreciated))

Prologue

Small, soft fingers ran across the mask as a soft cry escaped her lips. Such pain-such sadness-! It was all held in the mask; the feelings of insecurity, of pain, of pent up anger and love. It was all held in that mask. The girl-a young, tiny thing with wide, raven eyes and golden curls-felt no terror. All the terror that she had once felt towards the opera ghost was gone. For now she knew-there was no ghost. There had never been a ghost. The ghost had been a man-the ghost had been human.

The girl's eyes drifted from the mask to the shattered glass on the floor. Slowly, wordlessly, she walked to them and bent over to pick one up. She held it to eye level and stared at her distorted reflection.

A wide black eye stared back at her-revealing the reflection of a stray blonde curl and half of soft, pink lips. Her mouth widened slightly as she let out yet another cry. She was beginning to pity him-to pity the ghost

-the man.

"What have they done to you?" she whispered at her reflection. "How long have you lived hear? You must be awfu-" She stopped her whispering. Footsteps-angry ones at that. He was here. The phantom of the opera was here.

"I thought I told you to leave! LEAVE!" The little dancer stood up, dropping both the shard and the mask, and began to run as quickly as she could. "YOU! WHO ARE YOU?! WHY DID YOU COME HERE?!" His voice-it was so angry-so commanding! The dancer could not help but stop in her tracks and turn around to face him-

His face. What a strange face. The dancer was not repulsed nor scared by it-she was oddly interested in it. He walked closer to her as her eyes became lost in his face-in every little detail an-he roughly placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her.

And she shrieked.

"Why are you here?!" he demanded, looking down at the small blonde who seemed to be dreadfully frightened. If she had been any other person, he would have lifted up a glass shard and-

But this was Madame Giry's daughter. He could not hurt her-he refused to. Her mother had shown him kindness-kindness he had never known. The least he could do was spare her child. Christine's friend. His Ch-

No, she was not his.

"If you are looking for Christine, she is gone," he replied. His tone became softer and his blue eyes seemed to speak silent volumes of loss. "You must leave. Your mother will be worried." The little blonde opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. "Go now, Little Meg." The little blonde backed away slowly before turning away. The opera ghost did the same.

There was a silence. A long, painful silence.

"I'm sorry." He turned around. The little blonde was in front of him, holding his mask in one trembling hand. "I...I..."

'What a nervous creature,' he thought as he gently took the mask from her small hands. He was sure she would run from him as soon as he took the mask. But she remained, a pained expression on her face. 'What a melancholy, beautiful face she has.'

"G..goodbye, monsieur," she said in a soft whisper. Wordlessly, he watched her run off into the darkness. He could only stare at his mask for a long time-imagining what the terrified Little Giry must have thought as her small hands held the mask. As she stared at his face-

the face of a monster.

How kind she had been to him. She had not laughed or displayed overdramatic theatrics. She only shrieked because he touched her. But she had not run off. She had stayed there-and had given him his mask.

Little Meg, with the raven eyes, had shown him kindness that only one other woman had shown him before.

Her mother.

Perhaps it was kindness he was lacking. The kindness that a raven haired widow had once given him when she was a mere girl.

The kindness that a raven eyed girl had just given him.

"Meg!" he called out. "Meg, are you still there?!"

But she was gone-gone into the darkness-

the darkness which he knew all too well.