Paris, February 1871

Erik rode further and further into the night, away from 'his' once magnificent opera

house. Now… now it sat burning and crumbling away. It had been his fault; he had been

a fool to believe that this night would turn out in his favor. This night had turned

unusually cold and the wind now stung the creature's unmasked face. In one moment his

whole world had fallen apart, everything he had held dear was now gone. He looked

skyward in despair over his pitiful situation and white flakes began to fall from the black

obsidian like sky.

Later that night in the desolate countryside, Erik came upon a small crumbling farm

house. Believing the spot to be abandoned he decided to stop for the night before

continuing his journey away from Paris and perhaps France all together. Dismounting

Caesar he led the horse around the back of the house into an old barn. Once Caesar was

settled Erik emerged and tramped through the snow to the house. Surprisingly he found

the door unlocked and he entered latching the door shut. He shook the snow from his

person and continued into the dark little house. He first entered the kitchen and

discovered a stone fireplace stocked with only a few logs. This amount of wood wouldn't

last long and soon he would need to venture out for more. Despite this he set about the

task of starting a fire, once this was done he removed his damp cloak & jacket and

hanged them on the dusty mantle corner to dry. With the room brightened Erik took a

second look around at his surroundings, to his alarm he discovered the little house had

not been abandoned after all. A few feet away in an armchair a young woman of nineteen

or twenty slept. Erik's brown eyes focused on the small figure as she wrenched and

jerked unhappily in her sleep. Erik scowled and turned to leave but a cry emitted from the

figure's pretty mouth. "Julien! No Julien!" the young woman cried hysterically and it

stopped Erik in the doorway. He turned around and watched as she slid out from the

armchair onto the floor, her eyes opened and she seemed confused. In truth Erik was

unsure of what to make of the situation, possibly some time ago he would have felt pity

for the madwoman but with the recent occurrences he was immune. Her crying ceased

but she remained seated on the floor her gaze on the wooden floor. He slowly backed

away meaning to leave but he stepped too heavily and the floor creaked. "Who's their?"

she questioned her voice holding uncertainty and fear. Erik again stopped and turned his

head slightly only revealing the side of his face that was whole and handsome. "No one."

He muttered under his breath and they stared back at one another for the longest time.

The young woman seemed to forget his presence and groaned miserably, she began to

stand but her legs gave out beneath her and she crumpled back to the floor. He could

walk away now and forget this miserable child, but somehow she seemed more distraught

then he ever had. In all his years he had never known that anyone could be more

miserable than he. He then made a decision that would change his life and hers forever.

Slowly, ever so slowly he approached her making sure the distorted half of his face

remained out of view. He kneeled beside her and gently took her sobbing frame into his

arms. "Shhh don't cry…please." he hesitantly whispered and felt as her head came to rest

against his chest and arms wrap around his arm. "Monsieur!" she cried gripping his arm

tighter. "Monsieur you're real." she whispered. Yes, he was quite alive unlike her little

son whom she imagined day in and day out. He looked down upon her trying to make

sense of her ravings. He would soon discover the truth.