A/N I am very aware that there is real history around the period and location this story is set, specifically the First World War. This is an important event, and I don't want to seem like I'm glossing over or ignoring it. However, it is not part of this story, so I have not written any chapters during that period and I have no plans to. Given this is already an alternate universe to the one the Phantom of the Opera was originally written in, you can decide for yourselves what you would like to have happened in the intervening time, but I have chosen not to determine that myself.

~ August 1920 ~

They had called her Isabelle, but there was no name more fitting than the nickname they all used: Belle, beauty.

Belle would always be a little girl to her parents, but there was no denying that she was now a young woman too. She had the rounded face of her mother, still soft with the remnants of childhood, but she had inherited Erik's sharp cheekbones and golden eyes, so bright in her fair face. Her hair was dark and thick, bouncing around her head like her own shadowy aura. Dancing from a young age had given her grace and poise, education had encouraged her smart tongue, and music had imbued itself into her every syllable.

In fact, Celeste considered both her children to be exceptional individuals. She was certain that Matthieu was the man Erik would have been, if not for the simple distortion of his face. Her son was musically talented, quick-minded, charming, and just as sweet as Erik had always been to her. It made her wonder what would have happened to Erik if he had been born with even a regular appearance, not the good looks her son was growing into - though she was admittedly biased.

Maybe Erik would never have become her husband, never even have met her, if she could have had a regular life. He could have found success and love without scouring the world, without ending up in Paris with her. Perhaps he would never have felt like he needed her, if she had not been the first person to stop and really see him. Or perhaps they were destined to find each other, no matter what path they had been set on at the start of life.

Celeste shook herself from her thoughts, bringing herself back to the living room where Belle and Matthieu were engaged in a heated debate. Young adults or not, the pair could still bicker as well as any children. She had lost track of what this particular argument was about, lacking the conviction to either lend one side her support, or to intervene and quash the discussion. They were old enough to choose whether to argue or not, and she would never stop their disputes for good.

Her attention was nonetheless caught when the doorbell rang and Belle jumped to her feet, all indignation fleeing from her face. The new delighted expression soon dropped too, however, when Erik rose too and made towards the front door.

"Don't, Papa; I'll get it -" Belle started quickly, taking a hasty step forwards, but Erik waved her down, apparently missing the consternation he was causing.

"It's alright, stay there," he said, already moving out of the room. He had already been sitting closest to the door and, even if she ran, Celeste knew Belle would be unlikely to beat him to greeting whoever was there.

Her daughter seemed to realise this too, because she sank back to her seat, her face quickly losing its colour. Celeste narrowed her eyes at this reaction, but stayed silent to turn her attention to the front door as Erik reached it. He was out of sight and only murmurs of conversation reached the now silent room, but when he returned several moments later, he was not alone.

Erik entered the room first, his expression unreadable but his posture unmistakably tense. A young man followed, clearly uncomfortable and dragging his feet, nerves painted plainly across his face.

"Belle," Erik said after another moment of silence, his tone measured and dangerously calm. "Someone's here to see you."

Belle had sunk further into her seat under his hard gaze, her face still pale and drawn. She was looking less like an adult by the moment, and more like a child that had been caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes darted anxiously to the man by her father's side - looking similarly young and self-conscious - and she stood again slowly. "Good, well, I guess we'll head out, then -"

"Sit down," Erik hissed, the sharpness in his voice making her drop instantly back beside her brother as his polite façade slipped for a moment.

"Yeah, don't you want to stay and have a nice chat?" Matthieu asked aggravatingly, turning to her with a wicked grin. She returned a dark glare, but for his part, he seemed to be finding the situation increasingly amusing.

"I should probably get going, actually." The other boy began backing away towards the entrance hall, but he too was quickly cut off by Erik.

"No," he snapped, giving a cold smile and gesturing into the room. It was probably intended to look polite, but it just seemed rather sinister, like he was beckoning a victim into his lair. "Do come and join us." That was clearly not a request, and the boy advanced like cornered prey.

Celeste couldn't help but pity him. "Matthieu, move up to make space for Monsieur…" She looked expectantly at the boy, giving him the warmest smile she could manage.

"Morais," he answered, his gaze latching onto her like a drowning man clutching at driftwood.

"Monsieur Morais." She smiled again, hoping her reassurance could at least in part make up for the awkwardness everyone else was creating. She fixed her eyes on her son, who had made no move to shift away from Belle on the sofa, leaving only a small space available on the other side of him. "Matthieu," she prompted in a low voice, and he moved instantly, though with more theatrics than were necessary.

Monsieur Morais sank down beside Belle, looking to all the world as though he might faint. She was similarly pale, making herself smaller in her seat like she wanted the fabric to swallow her up.

Erik strode purposefully slowly back to his seat in the armchair next to Celeste's, his gaze more intimidating than she had seen in years. He sat with catlike grace, crossing one long leg over the other and staring Monsieur Morais down, as he was unfortunate to meet his gaze. It was no contest, and the boy soon looked down at his shoes, his hands clenched together in his lap so hard that his knuckles turned visibly white.

Celeste wanted to kick Erik for the way he was behaving, or at least admonish him, but causing a scene would make this even more awkward than it already was - if that were possible. She cleared her throat, and all eyes were drawn to her but Erik's, which remained steadfastly fixed on the quailing young man.

She settled for filling the uncomfortable silence. "Do you live nearby?" she asked Monsieur Morais, smiling at him again.

"Y-yes," he said quietly, glancing nervously at Erik before clearing his throat and continuing. "I live just past the church."

"That's a lovely area - good views down the valley, I'm guessing."

He gave her a small smile, weak but grateful. "Yes. In the summer, you can watch the sun rise between the hills."

"And how do you know Belle?" Erik interjected smoothly, his eyes and voice still calm and cool. He had leant back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, looking like a king about to pass judgement on some unlucky soul.

Monsieur Morais swallowed, turning his gaze reluctantly to Erik. "We met at the Midwinter fair. My father runs the chemist's, so sometimes I'm working when she comes in." He glanced back to Belle, only for an instant, but it was apparently enough to calm his nerves somewhat, for he sat a little straighter.

Now that Celeste thought about it, Belle had been only too eager to make trips into town when needed over the past few months…

Erik simply continued to stare at him, on eyebrow arched. "So, you're a shop boy?"

"Father!" Belle hissed, annoyance triumphing over anxiety and discomfort for a moment.

"I'm actually going to Paris next month to train as a doctor," Monsieur Morais said with an apparent surge of confidence, his voice surer and his gaze level.

"Oh really?" Erik's voice was neither mocking nor disbelieving, but something in his manner still implied both.

Belle jumped to her feet, clearly at the end of her tether. "Well, I think we've kept Isaac long enough."

"Isaac?" Erik snarled under his breath, but Celeste was sure she was the only one who heard, or who noticed his flash of discontent.

"Thank you ever so much for calling, Monsieur Morais," Belle continued with conviction, her voice tightened with forced politeness. "I'm sure we will see you around town."

Isaac gulped and stood as well, nodding as relief passed over his face. "Yes, my father will need me in the shop soon." His relief vanished again as Erik rose too.

"I'll walk you out," he said, looking like a lion whose meal had been taken before he could pounce. He forced a smile, however, though it was hardly friendly, and gestured for the young man to follow him. Apparently, he could not resist one last bit of torture, as he walked painfully slowly towards the front door, Isaac dithering at his heels.

Erik returned a few moments later, alone once more and with a storm in his eyes. Belle whirled to him, her gaze similarly ablaze.

"What on earth was that about?" they demanded in unison.

Celeste sighed and stood. "Okay, can everyone calm down and -"

"I can't believe you would do that to me!" Belle cried, her hands fisting in her skirts.

"Me? Do you think I want to hear that my daughter has been running around behind my back with some shopkeeper?"

"Doctor!"

Erik snorted. "He wishes he was a doctor."

"That's what he's training for," Celeste pointed out, though she doubted either of them heard her.

"I like him! Is that really so much of a crime?" Belle demanded.

"It is when you don't tell me about it," Erik retorted heatedly. "You've been seeing him since Midwinter? One minute you're sneaking off to see him in town, the next you'll be jumping out of your room in the dead of night and eloping!"

"You can't be serious!" She threw her hands in the air, even her hair trembling in her fury. "And why haven't you shouted at Matthieu yet? He's had plenty of girls cosying up to him!"

"That may be, but none of them have turned up at the house! And if he were to show interest in courting someone, I have faith that he would let me know!" Erik turned to his son, his glare expectant.

Matthieu raised his eyebrows - until that moment he had been watching with clear amusement, but his expression cleared when attention was directed at him. "Of course, Father," he answered obediently, shooting a grin at Belle.

"Kiss up!" she growled. "I don't remember you proclaiming your noble intentions over the dinner table when Aurélie kept asking you to visit her dressing room."

He spread his hands, his grin widening. "I never accepted her offer. Besides, can I help it if I'm irresistible?"

"Oh, please! She only likes you because you have influence and money!"

"And how do you know Isaac doesn't just like you for those reasons?"

"Because I'm actually attractive she snapped back before Erik reclaimed her attention.

"The problem still stands that you've been keeping things from me," he growled. "I will not have you lying and running off without permission!"

"I'm not a child!" Belle practically screamed, stomping a foot. "And if you try to keep me locked up here, then you really are a monster!" She turned on her heel and fled the room, angry tears spilling onto her cheeks.

Erik made a snarling noise and turned in the opposite direction, striding furiously away.

Celeste sighed into the resulting silence. "I'm so grateful this is a normal, calm family."

"This is normal, isn't it?" Matthieu responded, still lounging on the sofa in his newly acquired space. "It's actually quite odd that I'm not gambling away our money, Belle's not secretly pregnant, and Father doesn't hit you when he has a bad day."

She raised her eyebrows, not sure whether to be brightened by his points, amused by his dry wit, or disturbed by his flippant cynicism. "Thanks," she said simply, rolling her eyes. "Though, while you may not be gambling, you do stir situations and wind up your sister."

"Sorry." He shrugged, not sounding sorry at all.

Celeste sighed again. Looks could be deceiving: they really were still children. Shaking her head, she set off to find the third child in the house - the one she was married to.