A/N: Wow, this story has had an even better response than I had hoped! sniffles I luv you guys! Cookies all around! (hands out cookies shaped like Erik's mask and anti-Raoul symbols) (viciously bites off a chunk of Raoul's face off her own cookie) Just pleaz wave a red flag or something if I start getting too schmaltzy, OK? Don't wanna go there.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Lady of Shalott", though I suggest you read it if you have time. It's a very beautiful poem. BTW, 'ici bas' means 'here below'.

Ici Bas

Aminta was walking through a dream. It had to be a dream, for so many times had she dreamt it. But there was one tragic difference between her dream and what was happening now: she could see her dreams. That was how she knew that the dream was finally alive. She had always wondered what the underground cellars of the opera house looked like. Meg had described them in wonderful detail, but it wasn't the same as seeing them herself. She closed her eyes and tried to "see" in her mind. Where were they? How had they come here, through the mirror in her mother's dressing-room? They had passed through somewhere that smelled strongly of flowers, so she thought so. She could almost see it: the room bedecked with bouquets, a single rose with a black ribbon tied around it on her vanity, the ethereal voice emanating from the mirror, the mist filling the room, the mirror "dissolving" as the elegant, masked figure guided her through it…

'And moving thro' a mirror clear

That hangs before her all the year,

Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot'

"Where did you hear that?" asked the Phantom curiously.

'Did I say that aloud?' wondered Aminta. "My mother used to read me that poem. She told me once, in a moment of confidence, that it reminded her of you…that one phrase…" She stopped, wondering if she had said too much.

"There the river eddy whirls,

And there the surly village-churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls,

Pass onward from Shalott."

Aminta smiled. "You know it too?"

"I have an old book of faerie-tales and poetry," the Phantom replied. "That was one of my favourites. Watch your step." Somehow that didn't sound strange coming from him, and Aminta took care where she walked. She felt the Phantom stop and she followed suit. "Here, come a little closer," he said, guiding her forward. She could hear water lapping on stone. They had reached the lake. Aminta wondered what to do, since she couldn't see to climb into the boat, which was undoubtedly anchored nearby, but she realized that she needn't do anything. She felt the Phantom come closer and gently lift her and place her in the boat. A sudden rocking of the boat signaled that he had climbed in with her. She felt them begin to glide along the water. She smiled and leaned back, trailing her fingers in the water, trying to imagine what it all looked like. Her mother had never been one for details, and her father had refused to talk about it. He seemed to have been doing his utmost to ensure that Aminta never heard anything about the Opera Ghost, nay, even to believe he was real. But she knew. And she believed.

"I wish I could see it," she said wistfully.

"I wish you could too," said the Phantom. Aminta looked at him-or rather, turned in his direction.

"Will you please describe it to me?"

And he did. The misty, dark water, the elegant black boat, the grand stone columns and leering gargoyles that adorned them, the portcullis, the hundreds of candles in their intricate candelabras. All too soon, it seemed, the boat bumped gently against something and the Phantom (she made a mental note to ask what his name was-thinking of him as just "the Phantom" seemed degrading somehow) stepped out and guided her to the landing and then to a seat nearby.

"Wait a moment," he said, and she heard his footfalls fading away. Curious, she reached out tentatively all around herself. Her fingers brushed against something that she, as a pianist, could not fail to recognize, blind or not. A keyboard. She ran her fingers along it lovingly, feeling the pegs that altered the sound, the pitch, finding the second keyboard above the first. Any musician could tell what it was.

"The organ," she said softly. More curious still, she moved her hand up to find the music stand. Parchment rustled at her exploring touch, and she wondered what it was. Did he still write his music anymore?

"Ah, you've found what's left of Don Juan."

Aminta turned in surprise. So rapt had she been in trying to "discover" the organ, "see" what it looked like, that she hadn't heard him return.

"What's left of it? What happened to the rest?" she asked.

"The chandelier fell that night," he replied, coming towards her. She heard the sound of a lid coming off and smelled herbs. "It set fire to part of the theatre. Don Juan was lost in the blaze before it was extinguished. Hold still, now." Aminta obeyed, contemplating.

"Mother never told me about a fire. Ouch! That stings."

"Good. It's supposed to. Christine probably didn't want to worry you."

"Why would she? She's been though worse…" she froze for a moment as she realized what she had said. "No, I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant. Hold still, I'm almost done."

Aminta gritted her teeth, trying not to flinch as a bandage was somehow secured to her cheek.

"There. How does that feel?"

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore."

"Good. That means the medicine is working."

Aminta was silent for a moment. She was beginning to feel oddly light-headed and sleepy. The strong, but not unpleasant, smell of herbs was filling her head. She blinked rapidly out of instinct, trying to clear her head.

"So…what's your name?" she asked, thinking she would ask before she forgot or he took her back above. He seemed surprised, but not displeased.

"Erik," he replied.

"Erik," repeated Aminta, smiling. "I like that. It means 'forever strong, ever-ruling, powerful'."

"How do you know that?" Erik asked.

"I have a fascination with names, and what they mean," replied Aminta. "I don't know why, really. I just do." Everything was spinning all around her, and not being able to see it was making her dizzy.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked.

"Tired," mumbled Aminta. "Dizzy…" She felt the room lurch forward, then realized that she had fallen into Erik's arms. Her eyes closed, and she knew no more.