Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.

Author Note: Hello again! Another update and more Phantom vs. Fake Phantom... or as Haquikah perfectly put it, the Phantom Wars! I know that some of you might be wondering about the beloved fop and what he's up to, but rest assured that we will return to that delightful slime ball eventually... :-)

A massive thank-you to the lovely reviewers- Haquikah, icanhearthedrums, TMara, RosieLilyIce93, KitKat, Tangosalsa and Anna. Also thank you to sherlockedsuperwhovian who fav-ed and followed. Reviews, follows, fave's...they are all much appreciated *big grin*. Now, back to Erik and the masked mimic...

Twenty Eight- Whose Is The Face In The Mask?
(Black Rose Opera House, London)

Gossip was spreading like wildfire over London, the buzz of a scandal singing its way through the streets. The story, re-told in the markets or laughingly mocked in the stuffy taverns, was that the French millionaire who had been foolish enough to build an opera house in the heart of the poorest part of London was at last discovering what consequences he would suffer. Those who detested the opera house- and the rich foreigner running it- laughed at the tale of how a stagehand was dangled before the horrified audiences, mid performance, whilst those who liked the Black Rose simply kept quiet. The newspapers added to the chaos, screaming headlines and scare tactics asking if the illusive Frenchman had somehow lured the Phantom of the Opera to London.

"What are they saying?! HOW CAN THEY PUBLISH SUCH A BLATANT LIE?!" Erik bellowed with the volume to shake the window panes, tossing the libellous rubbish into the fire as he paced before it, his eyes dancing with fury in the flickering light. "Phantom of the Opera- is that all they care about?! I promised I would be a good employer, Nadir, I promised! And now that poor wretch is dead. Why must the past taint everything I do?!"

"You are a good employer, and this is not your fault, Erik." Nadir replied sharply, throwing his own newspaper down with a look of disgust, finding yet more sensationalised drama about ghosts and ghouls instead of what should have been a serious murder report. "But this...interest, shall we say, may well be in our favour."

"How can you say such a foolish thing?!" Erik bellowed, kicking over the small table and sending all on top of it flying across the room with incredible force. He looked wretched, tired and stressed from sleepless nights. The lines of age and exhaustion were slowly being etched onto his face, making him look old and weak- things that Erik had never truly been. "This is what the imposter wants! He wants to ruin me, ruin us, make our lives living hell before killing us. If only I could hunt that murderous dog down, I could end this all! Curse this!"

Nadir watched as Erik snarled and began to pace again. His friend was starting to spiral into insanity again; Nadir knew it with a certainty that worried him. He knew that Erik would never completely admit to why he was so agitated, for Nadir knew that after all the anger at being tricked and the worry of his employees getting hurt as one already had, Erik was scared. Scared for his own life, scared for Nadir...and Nadir knew, with a feeling of hope that should have been dread, Erik was scared for Christine too. The stubborn fool might deny any compassion for the woman and declare love to be a lie, but Nadir knew him too well to be fooled. For if Christine was being targeted again by the hideous, conniving Comte, it would imply that Christine had been forcibly taken from Erik that night; if that was true, then it would suggest that- Nadir smiled despite the stress. Erik was scared to hope that Christine might care for him in ways that he had dreamt of ever since he had fallen disastrously in love with her.

"What are you smiling about?" Erik demanded in a low voice, his eyes glowing dangerously as Nadir tried to wipe the smug smirk from his face. "You know, Khan, I think that you have turned mad. First, you declare that this sensationalised deception might just be beneficial for the Black Rose and now you sit here smirking as if the thought of a painful death is pleasing, if not hilarious!"

"Why don't you listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions?" Nadir suggested in an easy manner, not caring enough to become angry. "What I meant by that was that this is exactly what the mimic, assassin, whatever you call him, wants. He wants us to be thrown into chaos and suffer, and because we are, he believes he is winning."

"I see no positives to this, Khan." Erik muttered, but Nadir simply raised a hand to stop whatever mad rant he was about to begin without a second thought.

"Look past the surface, Erik. Look deeper into this, remembering that you are the quintessential Opera Ghost, the Master of Shadows who knows every trick and every illusion." Nadir said in a low voice, almost willing Erik to suddenly realise the method behind his apparent madness. But Erik merely looked at him with a bored expression, so Nadir gritted his teeth and continued. "Our little mimic is very pleased with himself at the moment, Erik. He thinks that he holds the upper hand; that he will soon succeed. But with your superior knowledge and expertise, we can lull him into a false sense of security and bring him crashing to the ground!"

Erik waited for more, but the Persian did not say anything else. He sat back in his chair, smug expression plastered over his weary face, and waited for the shower of praise that Erik was not going to give him.

"You forget one crucial part to this master plan of yours, Daroga." Erik said scornfully, rubbing his hands together absentmindedly and ignoring the sudden look of outrage on Nadir's face. "We have no way to bring him crashing down. Currently, his sense of security is not false, it is horrifically real. Don't you think that if I had a way to bring an end to his ghastly antics, I would have by now?! I worry for your sanity sometimes, Nadir, I truly do."

The day was long, hard and exhausting, leaving no room for relaxation and Erik barely managed to struggle his way through the arduous tasks presented to him. His opera house was in a state of complete disarray, in no state to rehearse let alone perform to paying audiences, and so with performances cancelled for the foreseeable future, Erik set about piecing his creation back together, painstakingly slowly. The police had demanded to talk to him and several employees, more out of following regulations as opposed to trying to find whoever was responsible for the murder, and when Erik invited them into his office to talk with them, he took an instant disliking to both men.

Erik, understandably, had never liked the law or those who enforced it. To his, perhaps biased eyes, the law always seemed to cover those who it favoured and always managed to wreak horror upon those who truly needed protection. No policeman had ever saved him from his life in the gypsy clan, no law enforcer had ever managed to apprehend the Comte for all his murderous activity and yet he had been constantly hounded in the Opera Populaire. The snivelling managers had always threatened him with the law, never succeeding of course, and even the fop had paid those soldiers to hunt him down. What gave the rich the right to pay their way into deciding what justice was? Erik forced himself to offer the men a seat, fighting the urge to play a simple trick on them and embarrass them. Perhaps they would help him in this messy business of murder, though he rather doubted it. Their odd looks gave him no encouragement to trust them at all.

"Sir, we must really cut straight to the point. Murder is a serious business, and it doesn't help that the newspapers are stirring up trouble." The man with a bushy moustache said, the other weasel faced man shooting Erik a dirty look as if to accuse him of stirring up trouble.

"Ah, yes Monsieur's, but the lies of the newspapers have nothing to do with me." Erik replied smoothly, enjoying how they bristled at the term 'Monsieur'. Such self-assured men as these were the easiest to crumble, and usually were the most entertaining to annoy. Erik smiled.

"Um...yes. Of course." The moustache man cleared his throat, spreading his large, gloved hands on the table, fixing Erik with a hard look that instantly made him ball his own fists under the table. He had the distinct feeling of being harassed, as if it were he who was guilty. "The truth is, Sir, that you have not helped matters at all. Your opera house, as you so call it, is filled from top to bottom with thieves, cut throats, murderers, prostitutes...need I go on? This place is as good as a criminal den, filled with the lowlife scum who plague our city. I am in no doubt that the murderer we seek will be hidden within these very walls."

Erik felt his blood boil, slamming his fist down and causing both policemen to look first startled, and then angry. He wished that Nadir were here to keep a lid on his anger, for at this rate he was likely to murder both of them for spouting such pompous, pretentious drivel.

"You dare come in here and accuse my own employees of being lowlife scum, capable of murdering their fellow employee and friend?!" Erik hissed, well aware that the weasel faced man was beginning to grip his baton, ready to lash out if needs be. "Have you seen any performances here, Monsieur? Because I can assure you that my employees are far more respectable than the majority of this filthy city! Low life scum? How is a man or woman, poor and suffering yet still hard working enough to find employment and better themselves, in any way inferior to yourself? I believe that they are superior to the likes of you!"

"Sir, you are talking to a policeman, not one of your filthy employees!" the weasel faced man interjected in a gleeful voice, looking delighted with the way the conversation was turning. "Or are you guilty of harbouring the villain? Plenty have already asked why a millionaire would build an opera house in the poorest part of London, employing the dregs of society. Care to explain yourself, Monsieur?"

Erik stood up sharply, slamming both hands down this time with an almighty crash, glaring down at the two imbeciles staring at him with smug satisfaction. He had to force himself to keep both hands on the table, knowing that he was exerting great self control by not wringing their fat necks.

"GET OUT OF MY OPERA HOUSE!" he bellowed at them, storming over to the door and wrenching it open, breathing heavily and leaving marks in the wood where his nails dug in. "AND DON'T SHOW YOUR FACES HERE AGAIN!"

Watching the two men strut down the corridor, already laughing about him and evidently pleased that they wouldn't have to bother with the case, Erik felt incredibly sad. It was horrific that so many people held such venomous opinions about people such as his employees, declaring them disgusting an inferior, and Erik did not know how to change the way people thought. He had been almost every unsavoury persona that existed at some point in his dark life; murderer, thief, gypsy, kidnapper, madman, crazed obsessive...he still was an ugly monster. He knew how they felt, he knew what they had suffered in their unstable lives and he had hoped to bring some stability, some hope. Erik remembered how Marianne had collapsed in her tears at the sight of the hanged boy, how the other stagehands had organised a memorial for him, how each and every one of them had cried real tears...

His employees were tough. They braved the onslaught of tears knowing that eventually they would feel happy again- Erik wished he had done the same. Nadir barrelled into the office, greeting him in a sulky voice- still annoyed that Erik had not appreciated his plan earlier- but Erik, after glumly remembering how he had survived depression under the opera, was suddenly struck with an idea, an idea that left him deaf and dumb in that moment. How to bring down the mimic, how to find him and kill him- of course! Why hadn't he considered it before?!

He began to tear around the small office, ripping open drawers and sifting through various piles of aged sheet music, oblivious to Nadir's raised eyebrows or confused facial expression. It was so obvious, such a good idea- the perfect trap! At last his frantic hands came across it, a little crumpled and torn in places, but he could easily write it out again. He would need to edit a few things, make some copies, start rehearsals as soon as possible-

At last, Nadir's whining and whingeing broke through Erik's happy delirium.

"ERIK! Gods teeth man, answer me! What on Earth are you doing?! Are you possessed?! How did the meeting with those two policemen-"

"Khan, be quiet." Erik snapped, waving his hands in irritation and hurriedly rushing across the room to sit opposite Nadir, clutching the collection of score sheets in his right hand. Nadir coloured and lapsed into silence, not looking pleased but sure that he would finally have some of his questions answered, instead of talking to Erik and being completely ignored. "The policemen were ignorant louts, not at all a credit to London, but I don't want to waste any more time babbling on about nonsense. I have been struck with a brilliant idea- an idea as to how we will bring down our murderous mimic!"

"Go on."

With a childish grin- Nadir was surprised to see Erik looking so excited and immediately felt nervous- Erik threw down a fat pile of music onto Nadir's lap. Nadir picked it up, looking carefully at the titles of the pieces as he tried to decipher what this music even meant, and then the realisation hit him and he dropped it back onto his lap, face set in stone.

"No." He said through gritted teeth, making Erik snatch the music back. "How stupid could you be, Erik? Especially with all the Opera Ghost drama in the papers- what are you thinking?! I thought that all the copies of this damned piece were burned!"

Erik looked down at the music, his music, Don Juan Triumphant. It was painful to look at it in some ways, remembering the night of the performance and what had occurred afterwards, but the past did not matter when faced with such horror in the present. Surely Nadir could see the golden opportunity that was staring them right in the face? If they performed Don Juan Triumphant at the Black Rose, surely the assassin would attempt to ruin the show with the chandelier stunt. Erik knew that he could wait in the place where the assassin would need to unhinge the chandelier, and there he could kill the murderous beast and end the terror! He tried, in vain, to explain his plan to Nadir, but the Persian simply folded his arms across his chest and looked stubbornly away with all the maturity of a toddler like Henri.

"Erik, that damned opera was the cause of chaos and horror once, and I am not about to agree to another performance!" Nadir hissed, pouring himself a drink and downing the alcohol in one shaky gulp. "Besides, I am not happy for you to go dancing off to challenge this idiot. You might be killed!"

"I am the Phantom of the Opera, Khan!" he replied icily, standing up and heading for the door, not intending to change his mind even if the old fool did not agree with his ideas. He had never declared himself to be the Phantom like that, as if the sinister accolade were a good thing. His heart flipped a little, making him feel unsteady. "I will not fail."

Nadir watched in alarm as Erik, dreaded opera still gripped tightly in one hand, reached the door and opened it, turning around to glare back at him before slamming the door and charging off in the direction of the stage. Sensing something awful, Nadir leapt up and hurried off after him, calling his name like a child as he fought to catch up with his obstinate friend.

Erik strode on angrily, ignoring Nadir's pitiful pleas that he slow down, running down the spiral staircase and through the backstage area, yelling at the top of his voice for all employees to come onto the stage, performers and stage hands alike. His voice, loud and distinctive, tore through the quiet chatter and general melancholy air that had been shrouding and choking the once happy atmosphere of the Black Rose. Erik was fed up with depression and gloom; was a little happiness too much to ask?! The sight of their clearly enraged employer brought the Black Rose employees running like rats entranced by the Pied Piper, and soon they were clustered around Erik and waiting on his words, staring up and where he had climbed onto the piano stool, staring down at the sea of hopeful faces.

Erik felt the opera score still in his right hand, and upon seeing Nadir stumble onto the stage, panting, he knew that he could begin. Surveying the upturned faces of every employee, he cleared his throat.

"You will be aware of the crisis that faces both us and this opera house." He said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all but not at all angry or infuriated. Marianne felt Connie nudge her, turning to see the fiery haired girl mouth a question at her, but she turned away to listen to their employer speak. "Earlier today, I spoke to some policemen who seemed adamant that someone in this very opera house was responsible for the murder that occurred during that dratted performance. I trust you all enough to be sure that the person responsible is not within my staff. We have been the subject of a great many discussions, newspaper stories and gossip, but I am not content to let this dreadful event end what I would say is a collection of brilliant people striving to better themselves. We will do what we always do; act professionally, and continue with our performances."

A few people started clapping, and soon the whole crowd was clapping and cheering and yelling out various insults to the upper class snobs who had pointed the finger of blame already, without thought or care. Nadir felt a small smile creep onto his face as he watched Erik balance precariously on that stool, looking both ridiculous and brilliant at the same time. He was charismatic, that was certain, and Nadir felt a strange sense of paternal pride as he noticed the jewel of a tear in his friend's eyes. Erik would have never experienced such support...to him, it would feel incredible.

"If the newspapers see fit to declare our opera house as being dominated by France's Opera Ghost, then I think that we shall give them the Ghost's own opera." Erik said calmly. "Our next opera, ladies and gentlemen, is to be Don Juan Triumphant. I have one copy of the score here and I will soon be making copies so that the orchestra may learn their parts. Dancers, I will need to talk to you about what is appropriate for this opera, so for now you have no work to do...but I need to speak with Marianne and Daniel today."

Erik waited until Marianne had managed to shove her way through the crowd, with much help from Connie who was all too delighted to help, but Daniel did not appear. There was a low hum as the crowd murmured amongst themselves, Marianne peering around anxiously and at last Daniel appeared from the wings, not the crowd. Erik took one look at him and immediately he knew that he would not be teaching the Don Juan anything today.

"Are you ill, Daniel?" Erik asked in a tired voice, having dismissed the crowd of employees and jumped down from the stool, which he was sure needed mending. His male star looked like walking death; his face pale, his nose running, and when he tried to speak his voice sounded thick and rasping. "Don't answer; I can see that you are. Rest and DO NOT SING. If you do, you might well ruin your voice, and then your singing days at this opera house will sadly be over."

Having sent the grumbling Nadir off with Daniel, Erik began to stride off. Seeing that Marianne was still stood gaping at him, he turned around and motioned irritably for her to follow him. She ran to catch up, and they hurried along in silence. Erik could almost feel the girl's stare at the back of his head; she was a good singer, but she could be rather irritating at times. Irritatingly observant.

The practise room was almost unbearably stuffy, the piano sounding as if it needed tuning, and after a few minutes of taking Marianne through various warm-up scales Erik's head was already beginning to pound. He thought about cancelling the rehearsal, with the Don Juan otherwise engaged, but if they were to bring about the downfall of this foolish mimic soon then the opera needed to be complete as soon as humanly possible. Erik looked up, ignoring the throb of his headache and the odd look on Marianne's face, thrusting the music at the girl, suddenly incredibly angry with her for no apparent reason. The heat was making him edgy, and that annoying look in her eyes was starting to make him feel as if his skin were crawling.

"You will be the lead, obviously." Erik managed to say in a toneless voice, watching her take the music and look it over once with cold eyes. "You will play the maiden, Aminta. It is a soprano part; you will suit it just fine."

Marianne nodded slowly, still looking at the piece with cold eyes that struck something within Erik, something that made him want to hit the wall. Why did she look so incredibly annoyed? She should have been thrilled to once again sing the lead!

"Sir?"

Her voice sounded as cold as her eyes, cold and questioning, and Erik found himself worked into an incredible rage that was truly unexplainable. He slammed the lid down over the piano keys, standing up and walking in a slow circle, taking deep breaths so as to calm himself down. The speech to his employees had gone so well, they had lifted him up to a dizzying height of happiness, but now the odd behaviour of the soprano was throwing him down into anger and annoyance again. Perhaps Nadir had been right; just the thought of the night of Don Juan made him want to throw something.

"Marianne? I'm feeling too tired now, you can go."

"Sir." Her voice was now angry, so much so that Erik turned in alarm. She was staring down at the music gripped in her hand and as she looked up at him her face twisted with pure disgust. She threw the music down before stomping on it. "What you're doing is repulsive! What is the purpose of all this- I should turn you in to the police this very second!"

"Marianne!" Erik gasped in alarm, headache temper gone and replaced with horror and shock in a split second. "Whatever do you-"

But that was when Marianne crossed the room in a few strides, walking up to him shaking with anger before ripping the mask from his face. Erik reacted as he had done before, with Christine; he reached out and gripped Marianne by the wrist, the other hand shielding his ugly face as she began to cry, failing wildly.

"You- you are the Phantom! Daniel was right! You aren't just another masked man- you're terrorising the stage! It is you- how else would you have this music?!" she began to sob, hysterical. "And you killed that stage hand! You're haunting your own stage! You're using us to gain sick, twisted publicity for your evil opera! How could you?!"

Erik looked from the mask lying on the floor- which, flesh coloured, looked like a lump of meat lying there- and back to the hate and tear filled eyes of the stupid girl he now gripped tightly, anger pulsing through his body as he convinced himself not to fire her on the spot. Of course it would be Marianne, quiet yet observant Marianne, who worked it all out. Though why she thought that he was terrorising the stage or had killed the stage hand was beyond him-

"I'm right, aren't I?!" she declared wildly, thrashing around to get free. Erik merely looked at her with his chilling, yellow eyes and waited for her to shut up. "And now you're going to kidnap me?! Like that poor girl in Paris- how could you do this?! We trusted you- I trusted you!"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, be quiet Marianne and stop being such a brainless fool!" Erik bellowed, at last finding the words to speak again, at his wits end with her pathetic wailing as if she really were in danger. "You do not have half the talent of 'the poor girl in Paris', as you call her. You will want to stop this childish thrashing around- it is a waste of time."

"No! You will not silence me so that you can continue killing and haunting and using us for your own twisted gain!" she shrieked, her eyes fixated on the deformed side of Erik's face, trying to peer through his hand to see it. Seeing her preoccupied gaze, he took his hand away and let her recoil in disgust at the sight of it, glad that she was now too busy staring in horror and disgust to behave like a two year old. "You're...you're hideous."

Erik laughed. He didn't know why; it was hardly the appropriate thing to do. He knew that he should have been so overcome with anger that he wanted to kill the girl for saying such things, but for some absurd reason, he found the whole situation horrifically hilarious. Perhaps he had gone insane at last- the thought did cross his mind as he forced himself to stop laughing, feeling tears roll down his cheeks- or maybe the stress of the assassin and the death of his employee had turned to hysteria. Whatever the reason, Erik looked at the frightened girl in his grip and laughed like a madman in her face.

"You are an exceedingly stupid girl." He said once the laughter had stopped, wiping his eyes with his free hand before reaching down to pick up his mask, seeing her eyes watch his every move. He still had firm hold of her wrist, though he loosened his grip a little. "What gain would I have from haunting my own opera house or killing off my employees one by one? And kidnap? Marianne, you work for me, I wouldn't need to kidnap you. For God's sakes, stop thrashing about and listen to me! I was rehearsing with you when Sarah came running in, terrified after seeing the ghost, and I was playing the piano for your song when the murder occurred. You are being ridiculous and I should fire you now for what you have accused me of, you stupid wench."

Marianne fell silent and stopped thrashing about. Certain that she wasn't about to attack him again, Erik released his hold on her and let her sit down on the piano stool, taking the time to reposition the mask on his face properly with his back to the foolish girl. He was amazed that he had managed to stay relatively calm through her screaming accusations, sure that she was calm now also, but one problem remained; she knew that he was the Opera Ghost of Paris. There was only one thing he could do now, short of his old method of killing the said individual. Those murderous days were long gone though, and Erik felt a little proud as he decided what to do.

"Are you done throwing accusations at me?" he asked coldly, seeing her nod silently. Taking a deep breath, decision made, he continued. "For all your stupidity, not to mention your outrageous disrespect, you were correct about me. I was once the Opera Ghost. I assure you that I am a changed man now, intent on doing the right thing and helping people like yourself. My time as the Opera Ghost was a part of my dark life that I am not proud of and I hope to leave it in the past where it belongs."

Marianne seemed to register the information, her eyes warily flitting over his face before looking down at her hands, which lay almost lifelessly in her lap. Then, with a tear rolling down her face, she looked up again.

"I am...I am so sorry, Sir." She whispered, sounding as if she might burst into tears any second, her cheeks glowing a painful red in embarrassment. "I just...I know of the myth, and the fire which destroyed the music and the Populaire...I am scared, as are the others. We fear that the murder on stage will not be the last. Do you...can you forgive my outburst?"

"I can, and I will, provided that you mention nothing of this to anyone." Erik warned.

"Of course." She added hastily, her voice growing brighter and stronger again as she sat up straight and wiped her streaming eyes. "Only...I am curious. I always have been curious regarding the Opera Ghost myth and the kidnap. May I ask you...I don't know how to put it...what made you become the Opera Ghost, terrorising the Populaire? You are so talented, I would have thought-"

Erik stopped her with a look. Did he want to tell her this? It was the subject matter only ever spoken with Nadir, usually after a difficult spell of depression or anguish that left him threatening to kill himself and gave Nadir the hard task of piecing his sanity back together. Of course he didn't want to tell her- but his heart was crying out for sympathy and compassion, for someone to pity and sympathise with his plight. Perhaps, just perhaps, Marianne would be able to give him a little comfort.

"If I...if I were to tell you a little of my past, Marianne, you would have to promise to never repeat such a thing again." Erik warned her in a quiet voice, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable, as if she could squash him without a second thought.

"Of course." She replied quickly, her eyes wide with the thought that he might actually share the truth of the myth with her, of all people. "And besides, I only wish to know what made such a pleasant, kind man murder and terrorise. That is all."

"That is all?" Erik barked a laugh, sitting on the floor with a small sigh as he began to neaten the pile of Don Juan music, his eyes clouded with the memories of the past. "You said it yourself, Marianne. I am hideous. Hideous enough to earn hatred from my mother, to be put on display as a freak show by gypsies and to be hated and turned away by the woman I loved with all my heart. This face is a curse, a curse that slowly poisoned my soul and turned me into a monster on the inside as well as the outside. No-one can see past it, no-one can accept it, and so I lived in the cellar of society. My music was never enough to make anyone accept me. I can create beauty, all kinds of beauty, and yet not a shred of this beauty is on my face. You know, I became a guardian to a little girl in my time as the ghost. I sang to her, taught her the music of heaven, cared for her, comforted her, and she loved me. I loved her too, romantically once she suddenly became a young woman, but as soon as she saw my face she despised me. She crushed me, Marianne, and I became the worst I ever was. Even when I built torture chambers in Persia, even when I murdered as a child- never have I been more evil than when she crushed me and fled to the arms of a-a fop! Love...all I ever wanted in life was to be loved for myself. I gave that woman everything, and yet she still didn't love me. But I have come to realise two things, Marianne. Two things that I wished I had known before. I now know that love is a lie, a facade, an illusion that will make you reach dizzying heights of joy before you plummet back down to the depths of your own hell- reality. And I also know, in this facade, we do not love who is right or who we ought to love, but who our hearts tell us. If only I had understood that then...but never mind. You asked me about the Opera Ghost myth, not for a pathetic ramble about my own wasted heart."

Erik looked up from the neatly arranged music and found Marianne in a fitful state of tears, sobbing silently into her hands. Alarmed, he got up and prodded her shoulder, not knowing if he ought to say or do something to comfort her, but she began to calm herself down when she heard that he had finished speaking, wiping her streaming eyes again as he watched.

"I am so sorry for calling you hideous." She whispered, looking like a scared child again. "I am the hideous one. Everyone is. You...you suffered such horror and yet you are a changed man today. How can this be?"

Erik didn't know if her question was rhetorical. Even if she demanded an answer, he wouldn't have one to give. Marianne may sob over his story, pitying him in a womanly fashion if she so desired, but Erik saw nothing but stupidity in his story. Over and over he would ask himself- why did he ever show Christine his face? Why did he ever hope that she would see him differently to all the others? Because of love- Erik might have laughed, had he been alone and not with a hysterical young woman who was crying in guilt over him. He had thought that he knew love, once upon a time, when he had given everything to little Christine Daae, or when Christine Daae was suddenly a beautiful young woman who looked up to him as a guardian and protector. But love had crushed him- love had turned him into a madman. Erik understood love the least of anyone, and yet he was still fascinated by it. All I ever wanted was to be loved for myself...if I am the Phantom it is because man's hatred made me so, if I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me...

"I suppose, then, that this masked man sighted by Sarah is an attack or joke directed at you?"

Erik looked up, startled out of his musings by the calm, collected voice of the woman who had been crying like a child. Now, she sat very still, face still red and wet from the tears, but all trace of the hysteria gone from her eyes, which were now clear and staring. Observant.

"You are a very observant girl, Marianne." Erik commented lightly, standing up stiffly and taking the music with him, gesturing that they should leave the room, seeing how outside the window the sky was now a dark blue streaked with the orange of sunset. Truly magnificent. "You are correct, or so I believe. I will not let my employees suffer, and as you would imagine Marianne, I have many enemies."

"I will keep an eye and an ear out for you."

And with that, she nodded once in his direction before leaving the room silently, hurrying away down a corridor, off to do whatever young sopranos did in the evenings. Erik locked the practise room with a tired sigh, feeling utterly drained. Nadir was going to go berserk; first deciding to show Don Juan, then telling the lead about his past as the Opera Ghost.

Once in the office and with Nadir nowhere to be seen, Erik looked out upon the city of London, the sky now dark and all traces of a fiery sunset gone. The stars were not yet visible, or perhaps they had been smothered by the choking smog of London. Erik took of his mask and looked once again at himself, using the window to see his reflection. Ugly, rough, distorted, yellow...

"Oh, Christine." He sighed, sounding like a disapproving teacher more than a shattered admirer.

That night he slept nightmare free and woke to the golden promise of a new day and a new chance to put things right, to capture this mimic, and to end his suffering for good.