Chapter Four

The little angel and I formed a bond closer than any bond I had ever had before. She called me Papa, I called her little angel. She never asked about Christine, or my mask for that matter, again. She knew it was a delicate subject, and I admired her for that. The years went on, my little angel's voice becoming smooth and silky. I began telling her stories of the opera.

"And there would be millions of people watching you," I'd tell her and she'd giggle. "And there you would be standing, singing your soul to the skies! Then, once your solo was over, everybody would clap and whistle in praise and you would curtsy so lovely in your beautiful gown. For my little angel can only have the most beautiful of gowns to match her gorgeous skin, hair and eyes."

"Papa!" she whined. "You know I'll never sing in an opera."

I smiled, "Oh yes you will, I shall see to it." And I did, for my little angel was no longer little. She was sixteen years old when she preformed in her first opera at the Opera Populaire. In the last twelve years, I hadn't even thought about the Opera Populaire. But Angel wanted me to watch her. And so I decided to pay my ex-managers a little visit.

"Monsieur, Box 5 if you please," I told them beneath a large hat and cloak, disguising my voice.

Andre immediately shook his head, "Oh no, monsieur, monsieur, that box is haunted! Box 4 is much more lovely, with a much better view. That will be about two-"

"I will have Box 5. . . monsieur," I told him. "And it shall be empty for me, and me alone. I am not afraid of . . . phantoms." I'm still not sure if Andre realized who I was or not, but he gave me the box for a much higher price, though it didn't matter. As long as I could see my little angel, I would pay any price, for she was worth everything.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha ha ha ha ha!" Angel sang behind a fan. I smiled. She was the perfect countess, much better than Carlotta could ever be. I looked at the audience. They loved her.

"If he knew the truth he'd never ever go!"

Angel quickly became a success, but decided to continue to live at the Rose, and not the opera house. Although it was a long carriage ride every day, she insisted upon staying with me. "Papa, what if something were to happen to you? I'd be too far away to help. No, I must stay."

Why everyone insisted upon helping me, I'll never know. But I grew tired of fighting it. In fact, I grew tired of fighting just about everything until the day Angel came home with a huge smile on her face. "Papa, you'll never guess! You'll never guess!"

I smiled, "You're right, I'll never guess. I suppose you'll have to tell me."

She pranced slightly around the room, holding in giggles. "Well, my carriage didn't come today. So I stood in front of the opera house for about half an hour until a man walked up to me and asked, 'Mademoiselle, do you need a ride?' And then he ordered his carriage and took me all the way home! And then I thanked him and he kissed my hand and I wasn't wearing any gloves! Oh Papa, it was amazing!"

I stared at her for a moment, repeating everything in my head, "You got into a carriage belonging to a man you didn't know? A man you had never met before? A man who could have been a kidnapper, a killer, a rapist-"

She stomped, "Oh Papa-"

"No!" I stood up, furious. "What the devil were you thinking? He could have done anything! He could have killed you or taken you far, far away! Why did you trust him?"

"He seemed trustworthy to me!" she cried.

I shook my head, "They all seem trustworthy until you get far enough from people and then he pulls out a knife! I cannot believe you, Angelina! I just cannot believe that you could be so stupid! Not all men are to be trusted!"

"Then how can I trust you?" she screamed. Everything fell silent except for Angel's tiny gasps and sobs. She glared at me long and hard, and when I didn't say anything, she spun around, left the room and slammed the door behind her. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple. It had been painful all of that day, and it had just gotten worse.

My little angel. I could have lost her. I shook my head. She was too innocent to understand the situation she had just put herself in. If that man had laid his hands on her. . . I vowed if he ever harmed her I would kill him myself!

A few days went by and I didn't see my little angel. She left in the early mornings, and I could not get up earlier than that, and then came home in the evening, and shut herself in her room. One night I couldn't stand it any longer and I knocked on her door.

"Yes?"

"Angel."

"Go away."

"No," I opened the door. She sat at her vanity with only her under-dress on. She put her arms around herself, but I came in anyway. "My angel, you have been taking rides from that man every morning and night, haven't you?"

She looked away from me. I looked upon her body through father's eyes. She had grown into a beautiful young woman; any man would be a fool to pass her over.

"What is his name?"

She paused, "Algernon Burel." It was hard not to snort at the name. Algernon? "His father owns a smaller opera house on the outskirts of Paris and they are considering buying the Opera Populaire from Monsieurs Andre and Firmin. He gives me roses after each performance." She looked up at me with sad green eyes, "You won't make me stop seeing him, will you Papa?"

I stared into her eyes and took in a deep breath, "Once I have met the young gentlemen, I shall inform you. But not before, alright?" I kneeled down before her when she nodded sadly, "I only do this, my little angel, because I love you. Alright?"

She smiled slightly, "Okay."

It wasn't until later that I realized my predicament. I had just agreed to meet with a man whom was obviously of higher standards and of good parentage. I remember, I could just imagine myself, gray hair and a white mask upon the right side of my face, asking him, "Who the hell are you, and what do you want with my little angel?" But my little angel assured me that he wouldn't question my mask, he was too well brought up to be so rude.

And so I met with this Algernon Burel the next day, and found him to be a most charming young man, and certainly not a kidnapper, killer or rapist. He asked me for permission to court my little angel. I remembered the look in her eye when she told me his name, and consented.

"Oh, Papa!" Angel cried with happiness, "I love you so much!" And she kissed the good side of my face a hundred times over. Only then did she actually look at my mask. It was as if she had never seen it before, and was just now realizing it was there. "Oh Papa," she sighed. "Why do you wear such a dreadfully uncomfortable looking thing?"

"Because I must, my little angel," I told her.

"Hosh-posh," she told me, and put her hands on my face. I stiffened, readying myself for the scream. Suddenly, the mask was gone, and Angel looked at my marred skin. She felt it with her hands and kissed it with her lips, "Papa, what do you speak of?" Her question was so simple, and yet I couldn't answer. "Why must you wear half of the moon on your face?" And then she threw my mask onto the couch. "You do not need that. Look into the mirror."

And so she walked me over to the mirror I was forced to put into my room. I looked at myself. My face was pale and wrinkled. Even the right side of my face was pale, unlike so long ago when it was a deep red. The marring of my skin looked like. . . wrinkles.

"Good God," I whispered. "Is that me?"

And then, Angel laughed sadly as though she had waited her whole life to hear me say that. "Oh Papa, now you see," she told me. "Now you see how beautiful you are."

It was true, though it looked like I was extremely old with wrinkles, most of my face was still as handsome as it had been twenty years before. I smiled, "I haven't looked at my face without the mask in over ten years." I turned to her, "Thank you so much, my little angel. I love you." And I hugged her for a long time. We simply stood there in front of the mirror, hugging, and nothing could tear us apart.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. How many times do I have to say it?

Author's Notes: Hello people. I know you're reading this, and at least that gives me some comfort, but you know, feedback is always good. Well, at least you're reading it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you. Plus: Check out phasmatis lupus's stories! They're awesome, and much better than mine. Much better. So check em out.