Disclaimer: I am neither Gaston Leroux nor Andrew Lloyd Webber. The characters and any references to Phantom songs/plot are not mine.
Prologue
'You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself'- The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux
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Erik was glad to finally see France again. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but the pang of content that speared his heart as the boat came into the harbour at Calais made him feel comfortable. His skin was still glowing from his travels to the Orient, to Italy, to Greece. His mind was fresh from the trip to England. And now his heart felt safe again as they disembarked the boat onto French soil once again; the first time he had stood on such soil in three long years.
His companion and closest friend, Nadir Khan, looked a little gloomy at the thought of being in France again. The old fool still hadn't managed to quite grasp the essence of the language and often found it humiliating when Erik had to help him with the more sophisticated vocabulary. The whole voyage had been Nadirs idea; a trip to his home in the Orient and then a tour of all places beautiful, musical and intellectual in Europe. The melodies had come swarming back as Erik saw the temples of Greece, the statues of Rome, the intellect of England, the beauty of Venice. Funny, how he had thought he would never be able to compose again, not after losing-
No. Erik gritted his teeth and ploughed on through the crowds with Nadir. He refused to even think her name; she was happy now, and that was all that mattered. He could live without her, he must-
The crowds did not daunt him anymore, even though it was bright and everyone could see him. In Italy, they had found a master craftsmen how had fashioned a mask that blended perfectly into Erik's face so he looked far less conspicuous, almost as if he were normal. It was a horribly uncomfortable thing, so he only wore it in public places, but it gave him a sense of humanity and belonging that he had never felt before.
"So, where shall we go now?" Nadir asked in his native Persian tongue, "We could just head for Paris and my home, but there are so many other places that-"
"No. I need to see Madame Giry." Erik cut Nadir off, making the Persian look a little miffed, "I want to make sure that she is comfortable and happy, a she now has no work after I caused that ridiculous fire-!"
Nadir laid a restraining hand on his friends arm, eyes wise and full of concern. After all they'd been through together he and Erik were as good as brothers, despite any hatred Erik may have shown before. The last three years had changed him a lot, though Nadir was convinced some of those changes had been encouraged by Christine's two kisses and his own act of letting her go.
"My friend, is that really a good idea?" Nadir was gentle but firm, "The Giry's, Paris, your whole time in France could bring back…unsavoury memories."
Erik knew his friend was speaking sense, but still he felt a little angry.
"Now I am a child, Nadir, is that it?" he asked in an icy voice, "Am I really so weak-willed and incapable that anything to do with that hideous event will turn me back into that insane creature I was? I thought you knew me better, Khan."
Nadir rolled his eyes a little. He knew his friend was an artistic genius, but was there a need for such melodramatics? Erik's anger didn't faze him.
"But I do know you, very well." Nadir said in a humoured voice, "Enough to know that you truly loved her. I know you will not try to abduct her or something equally as mad, as you have changed, but I don't want you to be sad Erik. That is all."
"I will not be sad; I am strong." Erik said, almost to convince himself, "And now I wish to catch the train to Paris and see my old friend. I plan to give her some of that money we earned."
They had collected quite a sum of money over their three year voyage. It had turned out that Nadir was a dab hand at alchemy, so whilst he made potions and herbal remedies to sell at markets en route Erik had played the violin and piano on the streets and for one off performances. If they so desired, they need never work again.
"She will be pleased, then, to see you? Not frightened of the Opera Ghost?" Nadir teased daringly as Erik studiously ignored him, finding a carriage amongst the surging crowds and paying the driver to take them to the train station.
Only Nadir, Madame Giry and presumably her daughter, Meg, knew that he, Erik the Opera Ghost, still lived. But then most people had presumed him to never be alive anyway, a mere myth gossiped amongst the superstitious opera folk. His angel and her boy must think him dead, or…
Once again, Erik brushed the memories aside. What use was the past? Christine Daae and his time as the Opera Ghost was merely another meaningless page in his dark history. If he could, Erik intended to leave all that behind now and look to a better future. He didn't need someone to live for; he had himself now.