N/A - All right, the format between my word processor and the fan fiction site have been fighting. My ellipses (Three periods in a row) keep turning into 1 period. So if you see a . and then a lower case letter starts the next word, it's supposed to be an ellipse. I'll try and put multiple .'s from now on so maybe then they will come up, but it might not work. As for the last chapter, I don't know how the word Dead disappeared from Christine's dialogue when she told Raoul that Erik was dead.

Also, my word processor keeps changing to strange quotation marks. So if I go from regular quotations to single quotations, than I'm sorry.

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Chapter Three: A Child Will Show the Way

Once they emerged into the light of day from the gates of the Rue Scribe, Erik quickly said good-bye to Christine and Raoul, bowing formally, and daring to brush the back of his hand affectionately against Christine's. He wouldn't do more in front of Raoul. After all, the Vicomte had no idea who he was, and knew he might think Erik was making advances on his fiancée. However much he might want to do that, Erik would refrain from doing so. Something had happened to him once the change had taken place over his physical body. He'd lost his anger towards his dreadful situation of unrequited love. He wanted to do his best to accept Christine's choice. After all, that might keep her in his life, at least as his friend.

"Adieu, ma Cherie Mademoiselle." He offered in a quiet voice "Do you think I will see you at the Opera?" He watched her hopefully, not even looking to Raoul. Christine didn't look at him either.

"Of course, Monsieur Génie." She replied almost immediately. "I will be returning. After all. there would be no reason to fear going back." There was a moment of hesitation. "Will you be auditioning for a spot higher than the chorus? They will no doubt be looking for a replacement for Piangi."

Raoul was looking at Christine with obvious displeasure that she should make such a decision without him. Yet she was still only his fiancée. She could not be told what to or not to do by him. And he knew that even once they were married, he would be unable to keep her from singing at the Opera if that was what she wanted to do. He loved her too much to steal her away from that happiness. Yet he had to admit he felt jealous over the real love of her life, the music that had drawn her and the Opera Ghost together.

"I am not certain, Mademoiselle." Erik replied after a thoughtful moment. "I have only recently joined the company, so I do not think they would want me to join. Still, if you suggest I will, then I will most certainly take it into consideration."

"I do suggest it." Christine smiled up at him laughingly. "I will be auditioning to be the lead soprano. Carlotta is not going to be in the company anymore. The papers say that she is too frightened of the Opera, and too grief-stricken by Piangi's death to continue working there."

"Ah, so we can finally hear a voice with talent!" Everyone laughed like that, even Raoul. He had to agree that Carlotta's voice certainly had left something to be desired. He might not have known much about music, but he knew that Carlotta's voice had been old talent a long time ago. "Well, I must be going. Adieu!"

Erik turned quickly, unable to walk down the street, sweeping his cloak back so that it did not cling to him like a shadow any longer. His frame was thin, although not so painfully thin as it had been at one time. He was still tall, although no one seemed to take second glances at him anymore. That was odd. He would have thought his height alone would have drawn shocked glances towards him. Yet no one look at him for such a reason. Still, he did manage to see at least three women tack second glances up at his face, blushing when they caught his eye. He laughed to himself, totally unable to believe what sensations he felt when they looked at him, appreciating the youthful beauty of his frame.

"Monsieur, would you like a flower?"

He was stopped abruptly by the small voice to his right. Turning, he saw a child standing on the sidewalk in a presentable, but old dress that was two sizes too small for her. The hem of the skirt was frayed, and there were several stains on it. Still, it was in very good condition. The black haired little beauty was holding up a half-withered carnation up to him. Under her right arm, there was a basket full of such flowers, some in better condition than the one she now held. Her feet were bare, and he knew she hadn't eaten in some time.

"How many do you have in your family, ma petite?" he asked gently, moving over to crouch in front of her. Large green eyes widened as he came so close, but she didn't seem necessarily afraid. Perhaps apprehensive. yet she was probably used to people walking far around her. She was only a street waif, but certainly a pretty one.

"My mother and baby brother and sister, Monsieur." She replied in a sweet, gracious little voice. "My mother works at the Tavern de la Lune, and my brother and sister stay with the our landlady and her children. »

"Ah, I see." He replied, smiling softly, and reaching out to lightly touch her hair. This was amazing, when she did not shrink away from him because of him wearing a mask. or because of him not wearing a mask over a deformed face. She simply stared up at him as though he were some beautiful apparition. Another girl who believed in angels, he supposed, chuckling to himself. "Tell me, Cherie. what do you usually have for supper at home?"

"Sometimes we have a bit of broth that the butcher gives us from the chicken he's boiled over the day." The child replied shyly, blushing and lowering her eyes finally, realizing he was simply staring at her, as she'd been staring at him. "Last night we had some bread and butter, and we were lucky enough to have some beans."

Erik sighed. How wretched when the poor must live in the conditions that they did. This child was one of the lucky ones. In another year or two, she'd be attending a school, if her luck held out the way it was doing now. He thought about her little siblings, and her poor mother. She was probably only a serving wench at the tavern where she worked, but he could never be sure. Maybe she was forced to sell herself so that their family could have such luck.

"Is your Papa in Heaven?" He asked her tenderly. When she nodded, closing her eyes, he touched her cheek gently. "Hush, Cherie. It's all right. Here." Reaching into his pocket, he suddenly realized that he had no money with him. "Oh . will you be here in another half an hour or hour? I'm afraid I forgot my money. at my home. But I will come back and buy several of your beautiful flowers."

Her face brightened when she looked up at him. Erik suspected that she'd probably been unable to sell more than two or three flowers a day.

"They are two centime, Monsieur." She said meekly. "I know it seems like a lot."

"For such beauty, two centime is a very tiny price." Erik interrupted soothingly. "Tell you what. would you like to walk with me? We can just go up the street, and you can wait for me on that corner while I go to my home to get my money?"

The little girl looked up the street to where he motioned uncertainly. She knew the dangers of strangers, especially men. The conditions she lived in had forced her to be aware of the dangers at such a young age. Erik understood that perfectly, and smiled again.

"You don't have to come." He promised. "You can wait right here if you wish."

"Oui, Monsieur." She whispered softly. Erik nodded, and stood, watching as she stepped back in shock at his sudden height. Of course, all adults must have seemed to tower over her.

"What is your name, ma petite?"

"Marguerite, Monsieur."

"My name is Erik, ma petite Mademoiselle Marguerite. I think you have a beautiful name." Reaching down, he ruffled her hair gently, and the little lady giggled. She couldn't have been more than eight, he thought to himself sadly. What a pity that she had to sell withering, discarded flowers in order to help her mother raise their family. "Wait here, all right? I promise to come back and buy some flowers from you."

Marguerite nodded eagerly, and Erik turned to walk back towards his home, again liking the feel of the sun on his face and hair. He could smell his hair as the sunlight heated it up. Even with a sky so full of clouds, it was immensely bright out, and surprisingly warm. While he made his way into his destroyed home, he glanced to Aeysha as she sat curled in his chair by the fireplace, glaring at him, and growling threateningly. Looking down, he remembered the wounds on the back of his hand, and on his finger. She'd bitten and scratched hard, but the bleeding had long since stopped. As a secondary thought, he moved into the kitchen to wash off his hand, making it more presentable and less frightening with just a few scabs on it.

Then, he went into his room and found the hidden sliding panel in the wall which no one had managed to find during the ransacking. Inside were his treasures. most of them jewels he'd stolen from Persia while he lived there. Other than that, he had a few heavy coin purses that he'd never thought to take out and spend. It always helped, after all, to keep some money tucked away in case of disaster. like the one that had occurred the night before. He tucked one of the purses away under his cloak, and then turned to make his way back to the little girl.

"A flower, Monsieur? Would you like a flower?"

He stopped a few yards away as the crowd went by him. Marguerite was trying to gain the attention of an older man walking by with a cane. Erik figured that the cane was only for show, as it was made out of glass with a gold handle, and he walked with it hooked over his bent arm, instead of using it to support his weight. When Marguerite took a step just in his way, the man glowered at her angrily, and lifted his cane so that the gold handle was aimed down at her.

"Out of the way, you little wretch!" The man boomed in an unpleasant, mean voice. Grinding his teeth together, Erik shot forward through the crowd, pushing Marguerite out of the way by one shoulder, and grabbing the mans wrist in a painful grip with his other hand. The man grimaced at the tight pain that made his bones rub together.

"Leave the child alone, you old bastard!" Erik spat into the mans face, almost literally. He was almost as furious as his cat had been at him earlier that day. "She was only offering to sell you a little flower!" He tossed the man aside, and then forgot about him entirely as he turned to look at the little girl.

She stood now behind a lamp post, cowering there slightly, with her basket of flowers fallen to the sidewalk, and the tender blooms being crushed under the crowd of people that passed by without even glancing at them. He realized that she must have dropped the basket when he pushed her out of harms way. Tears stood in her eyes, both of gratitude and horror.

"It's all right, Marguerite." He soothed to her gently, holding a hand out for her. "Here. I'm sorry about your pretty flowers. Let's pick them up, and I'll pay for all of them. I promise."

Slowly, she edged her way over to him, and he began to help her pick up the crushed blossoms. There were only two or three left hole, and Erik picked one up to put it in the pocket of his overcoat, sweeping his cloak so that it hung back behind his shoulder. Marguerite smiled at this dashing little action, and blushed again. There were thirteen flowers, including the ones that had remained whole.

"That's twenty-six centime, isn't it, ma Cherie?" He asked quietly, handing her the basket now filled with ruined blossoms. Reaching into his cloak, he discreetly pulled out in heavy leather coin purse, and counted out the necessary amount of money. Amazing that so many flowers might be sold at such a cheap price.

"Thank you, Monsieur Erik." She said in a quiet, shy voice as she quickly pocketed away the money, glancing about herself nervously.

"Oh. I think you should have an escort back home, so that no one will try and take that money from you." Erik knew that there were probably half a dozen wretches watching this scene from the shadows somewhere, knowing just how much money the little girl had been given. He knew what wretched souls would steal from a child just to suit their own wants. "Would you mind walking to your home with me? You can put the money away, and we'll even stop to buy your Mama something special. anything you want to get for her."

"Mama said I should not take things from strangers." She protested, although he could see the gratefulness in her eyes. "Please, I would like it very much if you would walk with me. I think Mama will like you."

Erik chuckled at that. Such innocence in those pretty little green eyes! He wondered if her mother looked like the adult version of the child, or if Marguerite took more after her deceased father. Slowly standing, he offered her his hand, and Marguerite took it shyly, not looking him in the eyes when she did so. He almost laughed outright at that, thinking about what a little flirt she was already. She probably got it from the prostitutes that undoubtedly stalked the streets around her home. Yet this was perfectly innocent coyness. He thought it quite charming in the child.

They walked together several blocks, into the worse part of town, where Erik again closed his cloak around his clothes so one could not see what fine quality they were made of. It wouldn't do for someone to try and rob him with the child nearby. He thought that being forced to kill anyone with her so close would frighten her away. Soon, they came up to a building that seemed to have several small apartments, and Marguerite led him to the third story, knocking on the door four times before opening it and stepping in.

"Mama?" Erik waited outside momentarily for the child to find her mother, and then heard some soft whispering.

"Marguerite. I was wondering where you were." The voice sounded so tired, but sweet and low. Erik thought that if she was even half as pretty as that low voice, then she would still be a remarkably beautiful woman. Of course, he had no doubt that the poverty she lived in had affected that beauty early in her life. "Child! Where did you get all this? What happened to the flowers?"

"An old man was going to knock me over with his cane, and Monsieur bought all the flowers from me." The child's reply seemed so strange. So simply put. Surely her mother would be confused.

"What Monsieur would that be?" Her mother sounded quite cultured for someone who was poor. Maybe she'd been wealthier at another time of her life. He supposed he might find that out eventually.

"He walked me home. He's outside."

There was shuffling from inside the apartment, and the door slowly opened to reveal a woman surprisingly young. perhaps in her late twenties to early thirties. She had long, dark brown hair, almost black but not quite, and eyes that looked a great deal like her daughters. She wore a simple white shift that made Erik avert his eyes quickly, modestly. Dear Lord, he didn't need to see a woman in her night clothes!

"Good day, Monsieur." The woman said quietly, and Erik finally looked to her again.

"Good afternoon, Madame." He bowed formally, giving her a disarming smile. "My name is Erik Génie, and I met your little girl selling flowers in the street. She is really quite charming. "

"Thank you, Monsieur." The woman replied. "My name is Madeline. You've been very kind to buy those dirty flowers from my daughter. Might I invite you in for something to drink? I have a bit of milk, and some tea. but not very much."

"Thank you so much, but I don't need anything." Erik reached into his purse again, pulling out some 1513 Francs, and pushing them into the womans' hand. "Here. please. take this. I isnist! I'll come back in a week to see how you and Marguerite is doing.. How old is your son?"

"He's four, Monsieur. Their father died two years ago. It was Cholera." Madeline looked down at the amount of money spilling out of her hands in shock. "Monsieur! I can't possibly-"

"You can, and you will." Erik interrupted insistently. Looking down, he saw Marguerite looking at him from around her mothers' legs. "Adieu, ma petite Cherie. I'll come see you again soon."

He didn't even give them a chance to react. Turning, he hurried down the stairs of their building, and out onto the main streets again. He'd shoved money into the hands of the poor in the past. Yet he hadn't done such a thing in a long time. He'd only cared about his own wellfare for so many years, that charity had never crossed his mind. Now, there was a lightness to his steps. That darling little child . by her simple innocence and admiration of him. had done something he wasn't yet able to name. Smiling, he continued to wander the city, spending money as he would wish to. The money he'd given to that small family would give them luxurious comfort for a few months, at the very least. At least, he hoped so.

The idea of seeing that child again in the future made him anticipate the coming days like he'd never anticipated them before. He could not wait to see Marguerite again. or her lovely mother. Oh, there was little attraction to her mother, he had to admit. Yet he felt connected to the child so strongly, just by being able to touch her cheek, and see her smile and laugh despite her unfortunate living situations. Oh, things were changing so fast for him. and he had never been so glad for change.