A/N: Yay! Update!

I wanted to update on Saturday, but the server was whack. Sunday was Tony night so yeah...can't miss Tony night. And I actually expanded this chapter a bit more today.

Also this chapter is kind of weird and I wrote a lot of it during work the other day and I'm sorry it took a while to upload. My school sort of has "finals month" and it really sucks, but I'm almost done with testing. And I will be able to upload more often because it will be summer because I do nothing in the summer.

Also, only a few more chapters until we're out of Persia. Like three or four I think.

I would like to thank the reviewers of the previous chapter: FantomPhan33, Phanatic01, Bookwork741, Phan3145, MumblePhantomFox, PhantomFan01, Toriana, Phantom Phan Phorever, FunkyBubble14, Angel's wings, newbornphanatic, Ailovec, and icanhearthedrums

I also would like to thank everyone who favorited and followed.

Alright, here is the chapter! I hope you all like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera

Erik slowly turned onto his side. The bed was not as comfortable as it was the night before. He noticed that it was also smaller. He slowly opened his eyes. Christine was not on his left side. He turned his head and saw that Raoul wasn't on his right.

Erik shot up. The curtains on the tiny window were a powder blue, not a blood red. He looked down, the carpet on the ground was replaced with old wooden floorboards. He held a blanket in his hands. It was not the silky blanket of the palace, but a green quilt. Where was he? Where were Christine and Raoul?

He stretched up his arms and let out a yawn. He pushed the blanket away and stepped off of the bed and onto the cold wood floor. He noticed that he was not in his silky Persian pajamas, but a long white nightshirt.

"Christine?" Erik called out, but not too loudly, "Raoul?"

No answer.

"This isn't funny, you two!" Eric searched around the room, "If you two don't answer me–"

He was cut off by voice. A chillingly familiar voice. It sent a shiver down his spine.

"Erik?" the voice called from below him, "Who are you talking to?"

He froze in place. That voice… it couldn't be, it just couldn't be.

He turned around and walked to a wooden dresser. He noticed that hanging above the dresser was a mirror. But the reflection in the mirror was not his, it couldn't be his. What he saw were warm honey eyes staring back at him. A smooth creamy complexion. A long and slightly hooked nose. Thin pinkish lips. And an absolute mess of inky black hair.

Erik let out a scream of terror.

"Erik?" the voice called, "Is everything alright?"

Eric was shaking, "Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!" He backed away from the mirror.

This was not possible. He put his hands on his face, feeling the soft skin. He looked at his hands, they were long and slender, but not like the hands of death. He lifted up his nightshirt. He didn't look sickly, he looked healthy, absolutely healthy. This worried him.

He let out another scream and fell back onto the floor. He felt hot tears stream down his cheeks. This could not be real. It was not possible.

"Christine?" he cried, "Raoul?"

The door suddenly swung open. At the durables woman. Tall and slender and pale. Dark eyes and dark hair to match which was put up in a bun. She had a look of concern on her face.

Erik then screamed again. It sounded even more frightening this time. He was face-to-face because mother.

"Erik?" she rushed over to the teenager and kneeled down next to him, "Erik? What on earth is the matter?"

He was hyperventilating. Why was his mother here? What was going on?

"W-Where are Christine and Raoul?" he asked, "Where are they?"

"Christine and Raoul?" she sounded confused, "Are they friends from the Conservatory?"

"N-No," he sniffed, "they are children."

"There are no children here," She placed a kiss on his forehead, "Except I still consider you one, my dear."

Erik tensed up and bit his lip. His mother just did something that she vowed she would never do.

"Now tell me," she spoke softly, "What is the matter?"

"I-I," he stuttered, "I'm not exactly sure. My reflection startled me. I'm silly."

"Are you sure," she asked, "that nothing is troubling you?"

"Positive," he let out a sigh.

"Alright then," she stood up, "I suggest you put on some proper clothes and come downstairs. Mademoiselle Perrault and your uncle are here to see you."

"Of course," Erik stood up.

His mother smiled and left the room.

Erik lifted off his nightshirt and grabbed the white button-down, which hung off of the dresser, and slipped it on his arms. He put on his trousers and grabbed his waistcoat, buttoning it to the very top. He slid his slender feet into his shoes.

Eric did not know what was real. Where were his precious children? Where they only a figment of his imagination? His face— was that one as well?

He slid his finger down his nose— he had a nose. Had he always had a nose?

Erik put his hand in his pocket and walked out of his room. His room. I room with nice fixtures and mirrors. Not the stuffy old attic like he remembered. A real proper bedroom, along with the real proper face. This was too surreal.

As he walked down the stairs, he heard a booming voice come from the other room, "Tea, Madeleine? You know very well that I cannot simply drink tea."

"Yes you can. It is much too early for wine."

Erik slowly walked into the dining room. At the table set his mother, a man and a woman.

"Look!" the man pointed and grinned at Erik, "It's the prodigy himself!"

"Oh, Erik," the woman sighed, "Has the Conservatory been good to you?"

"Uh…yes?" Erik sounded uneasy, "Very good," he held his head, "May I be excused for a moment? I think I need to clear my head."

"Of course," his mother nodded.

"Thank you."

Erik somehow found himself at a door. He turned the knob and opened it. He saw fairgrounds. He stepped outside.

Everything was so familiar. The sights. The sounds. The smells. All familiar. Tents and caravans were spread out everywhere.

Erik noticed a brawny gypsy man standing in front of a scarlet tent. He felt like he knew him from somewhere, he just could not put his finger on it.

Erik was about the walk into the tent until the gypsy man stopped him, "Where do you think you're going, pretty boy?"

Erik raised his eyebrows in confusion. Pretty boy?

"I just wanted to see what was going on in there. People are coming in by the dozens."

"That will be fifty centimes," he held out his hand to Erik.

"Of course," Erik reached into his pocket and handed a gypsy man some coins. He walked into the tent.

He was now surrounded by the chortles and squeals of many children and adults alike.

"What is this?" Erik asked himself aloud.

A gangly boy with gaps in his grin answered Erik's question, "Only the most ungodly thing you could ever feast your eyes on!"

Erik felt nervous, "How ungodly?"

"These creatures are so hideous that you may actually vomit!" he stuck out his tongue to show his disgust, "They look like death and smell like it too!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out some stones. He handed a few to Erik.

"What are these for?"

"You'll see," he smirked as he tossed a pebble up and down in his hand.

"Ladies and gentleman!" a voice boomed. It was the familiar gypsy man, "Prepare to face your worst nightmare! Ones with weak stomachs, I suggest you shut your eyes!" he began to pull off a red tarp off of what Erik assumed to be a cage, "These are examples of the living death! Some even say that they are the spawn of Satan himself!" Now that the tarp was off, the gypsy man reached his arm into the cage. He pulled together two extremely bony arms with skin much like yellowed parchment.

Erik heard a whisper, "Please, master! Take me! Please don't let them hurt her!"

The gypsy man gritted his teeth, "Why take out only one when I can have both?"

And with a yank there were two hideous children on their knees. Erik caught a glimpse of their faces. What he saw in them was his face. His former face.

Erik let out a small gasp.

Screams were heard.

"Put those demons back in their cage!"

"Shield your eyes!"

The boy with the toothless grin caught the rock he was tossing. Without a second thought he pelted it at one of the children.

"NO!" one of the children shrieked, blocking the other from the rock. It screamed as it hit its cheek.

"Stop!" Erik suddenly had the urge to shout, "Stop it!" he made his way through the crowd and up to the children, "Can't you see that you're scaring them? That you're hurting them? Stop this madness!"

Erik looked deep into one of the children's eyes. That was when he realized.

Erik shot up. He was drenched in his own sweat and tears. He was back in the Persian room. It was all a dream. It was just a dream.

"Erik?" It was Raoul. He was sitting on the window sill, staring into the stars. It was still the dead of night.

Erik stumbled out of bed and walked towards the window, "Is it you, Raoul? Is it really you?"

"Of course it's me," said Raoul.

"Your face," Erik smiled. He kissed the boy's forehead, then both of his cheeks, "It's normal! It's beautiful!"

Raoul was confused, "Thank you?"

Erik turned and saw Christine lying on the bed, fast asleep.

"She's normal too," Erik whispered, "Perfectly normal and beautiful as she always is."

"Are you okay, Erik?" asked Raoul, "You're acting...well...strange."

Erik rushed over to the wall mirror to look at his own reflection. His sunken amber eyes. No nose. Thin lips. Sharp cheek bones. Wisps of hair. He let out a sigh of relief. It was only a dream.

"Erik?" the boy asked again, "You're worrying me."

"I'm fine," Erik answered, "Just had a bad dream, that's all. Why are you awake at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep," Raoul sighed, "I was thinking about things."

Erik took a seat next to Raoul, "What kind of things?"

"All sorts of things," Raoul began to list, "the sky, the stars, myself…" he looked down, "Paris, my parents…"

"Is something bothering you, Raoul?"

"N-No," Raoul shook his head and tried to smile, "I'm fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing's wrong."

"Raoul?"

"Hey, there is obviously something wrong with you. You're the one who woke drowning in your own sweat."

"Maybe there is something bothering both of us then."

"Maybe you," Raoul crossed his arms, "but I am perfectly fine and there is nothing wrong with me."

"You are a horrible liar, Raoul de Chagny."

"I...ugh...FINE!" he groaned, "I keep…I keep having these thoughts," Raoul admitted, "about my parents, about my sisters, about my brother…and it hurts. It hurts me and it keeps me up at night."

"Raoul-"

"I shouldn't feel like this! I shouldn't!" he exclaimed, "I have you and I have Christine. I should be happy. You are loving and gentle and good and the best brother any boy could ever ask for, but I'm not happy. What if Philippe and Arielle and Emily have moved on from me, like when my parents died? What if I'm just a shadow of the past? They must have been able to move on without me. What if I am dead?"

"Raoul, you are very much alive."

"I don't mean it in a literal sense," said Raoul as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, "I mean that they consider me as dead. They think I'm dead. They may have had a funeral for me and I wouldn't even know. A small little headstone next to my parents' larger one. Though, inside the grave isn't my body. It's a collection of my things. My toys, my games, my books. They visit me every once in a while. On my birthday, probably. And then they get on with their lives. Arielle probably has a new suitor. Philippe is probably married by now, with a lovely wife and a lovely life. And they all think that I'm dead," he buried his face in his knees, "The de Chagny tragedy continues on!"

"Raoul-"

He looked up at Erik, "You must have had a family before me and Christine came along."

"I did," Erik spoke gravely, "I had a mother. My father died before I was born. I also had an uncle who came by every so often, he was tolerable," he looked away from Raoul, "My mother probably thinks that I am dead and there was probably no funeral. She probably threw a party. She absolutely hated me, but I didn't hate her. I could never hate her for some reason. Maybe it was because she was the one who bore me."

"Why did she hate you?" asked Raoul.

"She thought I was a monster," Erik laughed darkly, "my first scrap of clothing was a mask. She never wanted to look at my face. She made me think there was a monster in my mirror, when it was actually me. Scarred me for life on my fifth birthday. I think I may have been the worst thing that had ever happened to her."

"So what did you do?"

"I ran away when I was little bit younger than you," he explained, "I ran away and was captured by gypsies. I used to wonder if my mother ever cared if she thought I was dead. I wondered if anyone did, but then I stopped. I stopped because I knew that I was very much alive and there was nothing I could do about it," he sighed, "but it doesn't matter because my mother isn't my family anymore. You and Christine are."

"You're my family, too," Raoul sniffled. He then muttered under his breath, "but I miss my old one."

Erik did not hear the last part, "And I do apologize for being distant lately," he told the boy, "I've just been so busy with the Shah, and we're already starting construction on the new palace. And the Khanum is running me ragged with her requests. I'm so exhausted."

"I forgive you," Raoul tried to smile, "You do a lot to try and keep us happy, even when it doesn't work."

"What do you mean?"

"I am contented with this luxury, well not really. Christine is being driven to madness being stuck in this room. Everyday she plots escaping, but I know she is only teasing. It can be a bit nerve-wracking," he told him, "I think I may be developing a bit of claustrophobia."

"I'm not following."

"Christine and I have only left this room four times since we have arrived in Persia," Raoul explained, "Could you take us out sometime? Just the three of us? No Thana, no Monsieur Khan… just you, me and Christine?"

"The Shah won't need me tomorrow, and the Khanum won't need me until tomorrow night. How does tomorrow morning and afternoon sound?"

"Just the three of us?"

"Just the three of us."

"Good," Raoul cracked a small smile.

"Now get to bed," Erik picked Raoul up from under his arm and dragged him onto the bed, "It's late and I don't want you falling asleep in the middle of the day."

"You have to sleep too," said Raoul, "And no nightmares this time."

"I'll try to have pleasant dreams."

"Oh, Erik!" Christine beamed. She jumped and hung her arms on Erik's shoulders, "Is it really true? Are we really going to get the whole day with you? Get out of this stuffy room?"

Erik chuckled, "That's the plan, my angel."

Raoul sat on the bed and dangled his feet. He still did not feel quite right, but he was trying to keep it inside. He did not want to ruin the day, especially when he saw Christine act so happy. When Christine smiled it made Raoul smile.

"Did you hear that, Raoul?" she fell back to the ground and ran over to the bed. The grabbed the boy's hands and began to pull him into a dance, "We're free! We're free!"

"Now, was it really that bad?" asked Erik.

"Oh, it was horrifyingly boring!" Christine exclaimed, "Raoul and I ran out of games to make up and we just couldn't go on, could we Raoul?"

Raoul looked up; he had not been paying much attention, "Uh…yeah. We just couldn't. Terrifyingly boring indeed."

"Raoul?" Christine cocked her head like a puppy, "Are you feeling alright?"

Raoul pushed some of his hair out of his face, "Just tired, that's all," it wasn't quite a lie, Raoul was very tired, "Didn't get much sleep last night."

"Oh," said Christine, "I hope you aren't too tired."

Raoul showed a small smile, "Don't worry about me, Christine, today is going to be great."

There was a knock at the door.

"Ugh," Christine groaned, "Who could that be? Don't they know that it is our day?"

Erik grabbed his mask off of the bedside table and put it on. He walked over to the door and opened it. A servant stood outside with a letter in hand. She handed it to Erik.

"No," Erik moaned, "No, no, no, no, no!"

"What is it?" asked Christine.

"The Khanum needs me," Erik sighed and shoved the letter in his pocket. He grabbed the black scarf that always hung on the door, "I am so very sorry."

"No!" Christine stomped her foot, "You promised!"

"Christine," Erik knelt down to the girl's level, "I cannot just simply ignore the Khanum, and you know that."

She crossed her arms, "I thought we came before the Khanum. I'm feeling a bit betrayed!"

"You do, of course you do," he spoke softly, "but I do this for you. Who knows what the Khanum would do if I defied her."

Christine crumbled and sat on the floor, "Then go! I don't even care. I didn't really want to do this today anyways."

"Don't be like this," Erik ran his bony fingers through her hair, "I will be back by evening, I promise."

"Go off to that old hag," Christine glared at the floor, "tell her that Christine says hello."

Erik looked at Raoul with pleading eyes. Raoul shot him a look back which said, 'I'll handle this. Go on.'

"I'll be back by evening, you two," Erik told them as he left the room, "I promise."

"UGH!" Christine slammed her legs against the floor, "He just can't keep doing this!"

"You know he has to," Raoul told her, "he has no say."

"I hate that Khanum!" she clenched her fists, "I want to set her on fire!"

Raoul cringed at the last word of her sentence. Fire. He looked down at her from the bed, "No you don't."

"Yes I do, Raoul! I want to set this palace in flame! I hate that they take Erik from us!"

Raoul was shaking, "Please stop saying that. Christine, please." He was hearing their screams in his mind.

"Raoul?" Christine now looked concerned, "Are you alright?"

Raoul swallowed his tears, "Yes. Fine. Please don't worry for me."

She stood up, "I'm going to follow him."

Raoul raised his eyebrows, "What?"

"I'm going to follow him," she told him, "see what's so important. I am not going to spend another day stuck in this room. You can come if you want to."

"Christine, you can't."

She put her hands on her hips, "And why not?"

"Because we'll get in trouble!" he got off of the bed, "Erik will be furious!"

She smirked, "He will not be furious because he will not know," she grabbed the boy's hand, "Now come on! Are you a man or a baby?"

"Neither actually," Raoul sounded nervous, "sort of in-between. Just an awkward twelve year old."

Christine rolled her eyes, "Well then, are you an awkward twelve year old or a baby?"

"Christine, I just don't think this is a good idea."

She groaned, "Best friends are supposed to go on adventures together, not solo. Are you trying to break the best friend code?"

"No, of course not."

"Then come on!" she ran out of the bedroom with Raoul's hand in her's.

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