Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter and, as always, reviews keep me going ;). I have decided that I'll be updating every Monday so stay alert on those days.

Quick correction. It was brought to my attention that the date in the last chapter was 1940 but it's actually 1840. That was a typo and has now been corrected so I apologise for any confusion it may have caused. Shout out to Mominator124 for pointing that out and being my first reviewer! Thank you as well to those who favourited and followed the story. You guys are the reason I keep writing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a certain character you'll get to know. Everything belongs to either Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber… blah, blah, blah… we all know the drill.

CHAPTER 1: TEHRAN
Spring 1851, Tehran, Persia – Erik's POV

Erik watched the sun setting with a critical eye. Not the most beautiful he had seen in Tehran that spring but ultimately a step up from the dull winter dusks with their lack of kaleidoscopic colouring. This one was decent though slightly tasteless, lacking in the pink and purple hues that were vital for a perfect sunset. It was not worth painting; a shame as tomorrow he would begin his journey to Mazandaran. There, there would be no time for his entertainment and only work would fill his days until he could return to his house in Tehran.

It was important for him to keep an eye on his workers. His palace would be the envy of all other kings and sultans, or so he hoped, but with the imbecilic ignoramuses, he was forced to work with he often wondered if it would end in the perfection he dreamed of. The masked man yearned for perfection in all things he created; no, not yearned, demanded. Though his figure would always lack it, everything he created could be made of it. However, perfection was always a work in progress. His prided palace was first designed when he was a child of eight, ingrained perfectly in his memory through years of torture with the gypsies and humiliation in Russia until he could redesign it, perfecting it with the skills the old master mason, Giovanni, had taught him. Now, after twelve years his masterpiece would be completed and the world would finally glimpse his genius.

A knock on the door disturbed him from his musings. With an angry shout, Erik allowed entrance, expecting a terrified, scurrying servant so he was shocked to find the Daroga at the door. The Chief of Police was dressed impeccably as always in his traditional Persian garb but Erik could see the premature aging that permeated his otherwise proud demeanour. His dying son and deceased wife had made him more cynical and world-weary. Once again, Erik mourned the poor boy, the only child to not fear him despite the many warnings from his those who cared for him while his father was away. The boy's death would hurt him greatly, he knew, though he chose not to dwell on such matters until they came.

"May I trouble you for some tea, my friend?" The Daroga's tone set him on edge but Erik gestured toward the divan.

As Erik made his way to the kitchen he discarded his coat and cravat leaving him only with his linen shirt and breeches and swapped his threatening black mask for a softer white one. The Persian was trustworthy and considered him a friend so he posed no threat to Erik in the current moment.

As he began boiling water in his samovar his thoughts roamed to the odd tone in the Daroga's voice. Something was wrong. The Daroga had told him he was leaving for Ashraf to see his son and thus his continued presence was concerning. What could be so important that it would keep a father from his dying son? Even as he prepared the tea he could not help but worry. Persia was a dangerous place, despite his foolhardy actions Erik knew that very well, and though he did not care much for his life he did enjoy the luxury he bathed in and did not wish to part with it soon. To see the concern in the Daroga's face only served to heighten his unease, because if a man whose job was to watch him was worried, the cause of the concern would undoubtedly fall upon him as well.

When he returned to the parlour, he found the Daroga deep in thought as well, with a concerned frown upon his face, which only acted to enhance the masked man's agitation. The Daroga's brooding was not unusual, especially when thinking of his son but years in the Persian Court had taught him to conceal his emotions so nothing could be used against him in future. However now, Erik could read him like an open book. This unnatural change was something Erik did not like; such a quick change could only come from a very sudden change that would leave one unable to process what was going to happen.

"Why are you not at home, Nadir?" Erik asked, startling the Daroga out of his reverie. Erik knew it was not only because Nadir had not noticed him but also because he ever used the man's name, preferring instead to use his given title. His name was only used in times of urgency or comfort. "Should you not be with your son?" He continued as he handed Nadir a cup of tea and sat on his own chaise lounge.

"I could not go." Erik could feel the distress in his voice as he gripped the teacup tightly and was at that moment sure that his trepidation was more than simply concern for his offspring. "The Shah has ordered I stay for a while longer as he wishes for me to keep an eye on you while you are here."

"Tell the moron that, as he well knows, he has ordered me to leave for Mazandaran tomorrow morning. Therefore, your remaining here is pointless." Erik stated in response, taking a sip of his tea, annoyed at the man-child's pathetic memory. At Nadir's lack of response, Erik finally understood, "Ah, so he no longer wishes for me to go. What has changed his mind so suddenly? Has he bored already of that new girl of his and wishes for new magic tricks for me to entertain him until he finds another? Or is he perhaps she was bored of him. I cannot imagine such a man to be very enter- "

"Erik," The Daroga interrupted, much to Erik's chagrin, "you must stay by order of the Khanum. She wishes to see you and I'm led to believe she has a gift. You know the Shah does not trust you around his mother. He believes you would use her- "

"To gain more power. Yes, I am aware of his accusations toward me, I am not deaf." Erik interjected, laughing in amusement as he drank his tea. The interrupting and bickering was not unusual between the two men as they both enjoyed infuriating the other. "I am also not blind Daroga and am perfectly aware of her beauty." At the scandalised look on the Persian's face, Erik laughed once again and continued, "I am, however, also aware of her manipulative ways and despite her exquisiteness I would not touch her with a ten-foot pole. The woman is repugnant. You mentioned something else though, a gift. What do you know, Daroga?"

"I know nothing other than what I overheard the guards saying. She wishes to give you a gift but what it is, I do not know. Perhaps she merely wishes for another entertainment?" The Daroga was lying. Nadir knew what the Khanum had planned and though Erik wanted nothing more than to force it out of the blasted Persian he could sense that the man would remain tight-lipped. It was not as though Erik wished to torture the man as well, his existence was valuable to him and he wished to keep the poor fellow alive.

"No," Erik finally stated, rising from his seat. He walked toward the window and stared into the dark abyss of night, the moonshine reflecting off his mask, giving him an almost ethereal glow, making him look truly like his title: An Angel of Doom. "If the Khanum wished for a new torture chamber she would not be discreet, she would most likely start describing what she wanted to the last detail. I often wonder why she requests my expertise if she already knows what she wants. But my resentment towards the Khanum is of no consequence at the moment. There is something more, something she is hiding. You know what it is, Daroga," Sensing the Persian's imminent denial he continued, "I know you do. But no matter, I shall undoubtedly learn in time. When does the cursed woman wish to speak to me?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I will come here to escort you as usual." The Persian responded immediately, to which Erik waved his hand dismissively from his perch near the window. "But Erik, I feel like you may not be able to return to Mazandaran as soon as you wish. Do not ask me to expand, my friend, there is no more information I can give, but you shall have to wait longer than you wish."

Erik sighed dejectedly and chose not to respond, knowing that doing so would be useless. His palace would be delayed and most likely, parts would have to be removed as the construction workers always managed to make mistakes. He only hoped such a delay would be worth it, though he could not imagine how such a thing could happen. What could be more valuable than his greatest pride, the only child he would ever sire?

"When will you be able to leave for Ashraf then?" He asked, at last, turning back to face the Persian man before him.

"I do not know. Hopefully in five days though I dared not ask. The Shah does not take kindly to such requests." Nadir replied quietly, his grief infiltrating the air of the parlour, making it hard for Erik to think rationally. This open display of emotion from the Persian left Erik feeling vulnerable and he didn't know whether to feel pity or annoyance.

"I have something I have been meaning to give you, Nadir." Erik stated, walking to a bookcase and opening a hidden compartment. He removed a small vial and placed it into the Daroga's trembling hands. "It's a painkiller of sorts. It should help your son with the pain, especially when he wishes to sleep. Give him no more than a spoon full every nine hours. It is potent and too much could kill him. If it is effective, come back to me and I shall make more."

"Thank you." The Daroga muttered, overcome with emotion. Erik shuffled uncomfortably, an uncharacteristic gesture for him, who was always confident and elegant in his posture. He was sure the blasted Daroga had noticed his childish behaviour and though the man made no comment, Erik felt embarrassed by his display of weakness. He was a man of grace and felt no measly mortal emotion! So why was this display of gratitude so very powerful to the point where he was forcefully returned to the behaviours of his five-year-old self? "I shall leave you to your work now, my friend. Thank you once again for this, I'm truly grateful." And with that final statement he walked to the door, Erik trailing behind him, intent on playing the polite host despite his mortification at his previous actions. As Erik opened the door for Nadir, the man turned to give one last warning "This gift of the Khanum's, you will not like it but do not refuse it, it may just be your salvation." And with that last remark, he turned the corner and was gone, leaving Erik wondering what he meant.

Erik turned back into his house and returned to the window. Though the sunset was average, the full moon that shone brightly was truly a sight. Erik walked quickly to his room to retrieve his art supplies and returned to the same spot. The art came to him as if an ancient song ingrained in the hearts of all beings. Colours moulded together into a perfect blend or dark hues so common in the night, and the moon and stars shone through, beacons of hope for the lost. Hours later, as he began to pack up his equipment, he looked up and saw the large figure of a Caspian tiger in the distance. Though he did not know why, he added its silhouette to the background of the painting and only then, as the morning began to dawn, did it truly seem complete.