A/N: Yippee, I get soda now! Sugar High City, here I come! Oh, right, new chapter. Fresh Phantom cookies for all! (skips around tossing cookies in the air) Tra la la la laaaaaaa!

Restitution

Aminta wasn't sure what she was eating-Erik told her it was a Persian stew of some sort-but she enjoyed it. She thought of what Meg and the other silly ballet-rats would say if she told them that she had enjoyed a pleasant dinner with the Phantom of the Opera, and couldn't help but laugh. The two had a lively conversation on various topics, and Aminta was a little sorry when they had both finished. After clearing their dishes, Erik showed Aminta to a room where she could freshen up and take a bath. She thanked him and he left her. The bathroom was opulent, all black marble and softly lit by numerous candles in sconces on the walls. Hanging on a hook was a soft robe (and just her size too, now fancy that!) and a towel. Aminta was looking at these when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye (she loved being able to say things like that again). Turning, she saw that there was a huge mirror on the wall opposite the bathtub. She had seen her own reflection briefly. Curious to see what she looked like, she went towards it. She gasped when she saw herself. She had expected to look different, but not like this. She was tall, taller than she had thought, and slender, rather shapely even. Her eyes, under slanting eyebrows, were like sapphires set in alabaster, for her skin was nearly white from lack of exposure to the sun over the last ten years. Her lips were full, though slightly chapped, and deep red, stark contrast to her skin. She had high cheekbones, like her mother. Her hair was thicker, darker, and longer than ever. She pulled it back briefly to see what it looked like when tied up. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were long and slender, and moved very quickly. She looked up at her face again, this time noticing the long flesh-coloured bandage over the gash her father had given her. Slowly she reached up and pulled it off, wincing at the slight pain. The wound was still bright red, but closed now. It covered nearly her entire cheek, and she marveled that it hadn't pierced all the way through. All in all, she wasn't a ravishing beauty like Christine, but she wasn't unattractive either.

"Is that really me?" she whispered, reaching out tentatively, with a shaking hand, to the mirror. The girl in the glass reached back to her, and their cold hands touched. Aminta had always had perpetually cold hands. The girl in the glass stared at her with wide eyes, just as Aminta stared back. Slowly she smiled, and the girl smiled back attractively.

'That's me, all right,' thought Aminta, relaxing. 'But I look so different than I remember! I wonder why Mother and Father didn't tell me. I wonder what Erik thinks-' She shook her head. She didn't want to think like that. Just as she didn't care what Erik looked like, she didn't want to know if he cared what she looked like. She turned back to the bathtub, which had been filling all the while, and poured some rose-scented bubble bath into the water. It bubbled up immediately, filling the room with a warm, heady fragrance. Despite its size, the tub filled quickly and Aminta soon found herself slipping into delightfully hot water and mounds of floral-scented foam. She sighed, soaking in the water until it started going cold. She finished her bath, let the water out of the tub, and dried off with the soft bath towel, wrapping herself in the bathrobe when she finished. Her hair she had to wring out repeatedly with the towel, considering its thickness, and she still couldn't dry it very much. Finally it was dried to the point where it at least wouldn't drip down her back, though it was still quite damp, and she went out.

Erik was nowhere to be seen, but there was a beautiful evening gown of varying shades of blue laid out on her bed, dressy shoes on the floor beneath the skirt. She smiled as she recognized the gown. It was one of her mother's. Well, at this point they were probably about the same size anyway. She got dressed, laying the robe out on the bed, and soon discovered a hairbrush and small vial of perfume nearby on a vanity she hadn't seen before. She brushed out her long hair and dabbed a little perfume on her neck and wrists. That done, she went to find Erik. At least, she intended to. However, he made himself known to her, intentionally or not. Organ music floated up to her, and she realized where he must be. Smiling she went out onto the landing above the stairs and stopped, looking all around. She hadn't yet gotten to see this part of Erik's lair. Here was the ominous portcullis, the candelabras rising out of the water, the shattered mirrors, the infamous organ, and, most importantly, the enigmatic shadow-figure seated there in his dress-clothes playing unearthly beautiful music. She gazed around herself in wonder, taking in all there was to see. Down below here, anchored to an iron ring in the stone, was the boat that had ferried her and, sixteen years prior, her mother to this dark world of magic and music. She shivered with delight. This was the sort of thing she lived for, the darkness, the night, mystery, intrigue, adventure. She hadn't made a sound, but Erik stopped playing and turned around after a moment. She smiled at him and he returned the smile after giving her a brief look of surprise.

"Forgive me; I thought you were Christine for a moment," he said as she descended the stone stairs.

"Do I look that much like her?" asked Aminta.

"More like her than your father," Erik answered. "We still have time before the performance; at least an hour."

"Good," said Aminta. "That'll give my hair time to dry. Do you mind if I sit and listen?"

"Of course not." Smiling, he made a graceful gesture for her to make herself comfortable before turning back to the organ. Then he paused for a moment.

"By the by, how old are you?" he asked.

"Um, what's today?"

"Monday the twenty-second."

"Then I'll be sixteen in three days."

"Almost a woman, then."

Aminta smiled and sat down a few stairs from the bottom, near another candelabrum in the hopes that the heat from the candle flames would dry her thick hair faster. Erik began to play again, and she lost herself in his music. She sat with a dreamy smile on her face for a while, just listening. Erik stopped after a while, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment and Aminta took that time to go back upstairs briefly and retrieve a few things before returning back to her seat on the steps. If Erik had noticed her leave, he made no mention of it. He simply resumed playing again, and Aminta began to draw on the paper she had brought down with her. So rapt was she in the music and her drawing that she didn't realize how much time had elapsed until she became aware that the music had stopped. She glanced up and saw Erik smiling at her.

"What are you drawing?" he asked curiously.

"A dream," she replied. "One I've had many times. It used to be that all I wanted to do was sleep so I could dream it again."

"Interesting," said Erik. "Well, it's time to go." Aminta set aside her drawing and took Erik's hand when he offered it to her. The portcullis raised itself, seemingly of its own accord, once they were both in the boat. Aminta wondered how it had, then realized that she didn't want to know. Knowing would spoil the mystery. She gazed all around as they glided across the lake. Everything was just as Erik had described it, but seeing it all was so much better than just hearing it. All too soon, it seemed, they had reached the other side and Erik was offering his hand to help her step out. She gazed around as Erik secured the boat to a metal ring, and made a soft sound of delight when she saw a beautiful white horse standing patiently nearby. She had always loved horses dearly, and was a skilled rider (though her father objected to her riding astraddle, saying it wasn't ladylike). She hadn't ridden much since the accident that took her sight, as that would mean she'd have to have a guide. She never liked riding in a group; she much preferred to ride out alone and go wherever she, or her mount, wished to go and return when she wished. Now she approached the horse slowly, maintaining eye contact. She reached out and gently stroked its neck; it shivered happily, nuzzling her. She smiled and continued to stroke it until Erik came over.

"I assume you like horses, then?" he asked.

"You would assume correctly," she replied with a light little laugh. Erik just smiled as he lifted her onto the horse's back and led it on their dark path. Aminta gazed all around again, taking in with great interest what she saw. Her mother had told her about this, when her father wasn't there to stop her, she had told Aminta about Erik having stolen one of the stage horses to carry her part of the way down to his lair.

'I wonder what she saw,' thought Aminta. 'She was probably too awed by being in the presence of her Angel of Music to look around properly. Did she really see any of this?' Everything was beautiful and strange to a girl who had walked in darkness for ten years. Everything, even the cobwebs and scuttling spiders on the walls, was beautiful. Her eyes actually felt like they hurt from seeing so much! But she didn't care. It didn't matter.

She rode a long way, it seemed. From what she had felt when Erik had first led her down here, it seemed that they should have stopped by now. But she didn't question Erik. She knew that he knew what he was doing, and she trusted him. She was aware of him glancing up at her from time to time to make sure she was all right, but her attention was always elsewhere. Finally they stopped just outside a dark doorway and Erik lifted her down gently and, taking her hand, guided her down the corridor. The corridor, she found, was only darkened at the entrance; the rest was lit by many candles in intricate sconces on the walls. There wasn't much to see, but still Aminta gazed all around, taking in everything there was to see. The passage ended at a door, barely discernable in the shadows.

"Wait here a moment," said Erik softly, "I will see if it's safe to go out yet." Aminta nodded and Erik slipped through the door. It opened again a moment later and Erik reached out for her hand, which she placed in his and let him guide her out with him. She knew immediately where they were, despite the almost complete lack of light. They were in Box 5, the Ghost's Box. She smiled as Erik guided her to a seat, taking the seat next to her. Erik had impeccable timing; the performance was just beginning. In the darkness of the theatre no one could see them emerge from the door in the wall and take their seats. Aminta gazed on the performance intensely, as though she only had this one night to see again and she had to see all she could before she lost it. When Christine appeared onstage, though Aminta hadn't seen her for ten years, she knew her immediately.

"Mother," she whispered. She looked up at the box on the opposite tier and saw her father there. Christine's gaze often flicked up to his box briefly, as though looking for some sign. Aminta knew why. She was looking for her. Aminta couldn't wait to see her again, really see her again. She was just as beautiful as Aminta remembered, even from a distance. Glancing at Erik, she saw that he was also gazing at Christine with a sad sort of look in his eyes.

'He still loves her,' she thought. 'I know it.' The entr'acte came all too soon, but Aminta used the time to think for a while. She wondered why her mother hadn't been able to love Erik as he loved her. Was she really that superficial? No, there had to be something more. Well, murdering Joseph Buquet like he had, just dropping the garroted body down from the catwalks right in the middle of the performance admittedly was unpleasant, but he was an unpleasant man. Buquet, not Erik. Then again, her mother had always been easily frightened. She remembered once when Christine had found her holding a spider and shrieked loudly, startling Aminta. She had, in anger and frustration, shouted at her mother to "for God's sake, get yourself a backbone!" and deeply regretted it later that night. She still regretted it, even though Christine had forgiven her.

"Aminta, did Christine ever tell you…why she chose Raoul instead of me?" asked Erik. "I mean, I think I know, but I was so certain that she loved me before. What went wrong?" Aminta looked at him in surprise, then thoughtfully.

"Did you tell her you loved her?" she asked.

"Yes, at the end."

"You probably would have done well to tell her that from the beginning. And, ah, Joseph Buquet…"

"What about him?"

"Not to say that society isn't better off without him, but dropping a garroted corpse down from the rafters is really not the best idea. Mother thought it was a warning, that you were saying you would kill Father if they weren't careful. Other than that, I really don't know. Like I said, they rarely talked about you."

There was silence for a time, save for the audience milling about below them, stretching their legs for the next act.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"What…what exactly happened on the night of…of Don Juan? What was the 'famous disaster'?"

Erik looked at her in surprise for a moment, then smiled. "I should have thought you'd ask. You deserve to know." And he told it all: killing Piangi behind the curtain and taking his place as Don Juan, performing "Point of No Return" with Christine, Christine tearing his mask off right there on the stage, bringing the chandelier down and taking Christine to his lair, Raoul coming to save her, making her choose between saving Raoul's life and ending her days with him or refusing him and thus killing Raoul, the kiss that answered it all, telling them to leave together, Christine giving him the ring Raoul had given her, smashing the mirrors in a fit of passion, escaping the mob through a passage hidden behind one.

Once again, silence.

"But you still haunt the opera house," said Aminta. "So why hasn't anyone tried to enter your lair again?"

"Ah," said Erik approvingly. "Because they never found my lair. Only little Giry did, and she never told. The others all thought they had found it, but in fact they only found my makeshift lairs. I had prepared for something like this years ago by furnishing several other areas of the subterranean world beneath the opera house to look like some sort of living arrangement when they were nothing, really."

"Clever," commented Aminta. Erik smiled and looked like he was going to say something, but the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the second act. Aminta's mind wasn't on the opera anymore; she had other things to think about. Finally she just decided to think about them later and enjoy the performance now. Her mother brought the audience to its feet, showering the stage with roses. She was smiling brightly as she took her bow, but Aminta could see through the façade. She was still worried. Well, she wouldn't have to be soon. Erik touched her arm lightly and motioned for her to follow him when she looked up. He led her down several more corridors until they came up behind a two-way mirror that looked into a dressing-room full of flowers. Aminta knew whose it was.

"Mother's dressing-room," she said quietly. She turned to Erik. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like," replied Erik. "I would certainly like to see you again. So I'll tell you a secret." Aminta grinned broadly; she loved secrets and conspiracies. "The mechanism to open the mirror is hidden in the frame on the left side at eye level. Just apply pressure to it and the mirror will open. After that, the way down is pretty straightforward. Just follow the road." Aminta smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything." In response, Erik triggered the mechanism on their side of the glass and opened the mirror.

"Aminta?"

"Yes?"

"Would you please give this to Christine-" and he gave her a blood-red rose with a black ribbon tied around the stem "-and would you please tell her…that I'm sorry?"

Aminta was startled by this, but she nodded and, taking the rose, stepped through, her eyes never leaving his until the mirror had closed. Even then, she gazed at her own reflection for a time. She hadn't gotten to see how she looked wearing her mother's gown, and she realized that she did look a lot like her mother, only their faces were shaped differently and Aminta had sapphirine eyes like Erik's whereas Christine had fathomless brown eyes. She smiled and turned to the door just as it opened and Christine entered, walking backwards to say good-night and thank you to her admirers. She shut the door with a sigh.

"She was supposed to have been back by now," she said to herself, her eyes on the floor. Sighing again, she looked up to go to her vanity-

which meant she saw Aminta for the first time.

She gasped in surprise, and then rushed to her, catching her in her arms and holding her tightly. Aminta laughed and hugged her back.

"Oh Amy, we were so worried, so afraid that something would happen to you," she said, almost babbling.

"I'm fine, Mother," said Aminta gently, hugging her again. "Don't worry, I'm fine." She stepped back for a moment. "Erik wanted me to give you this." And she offered her the rose. Christine took it slowly. "He also asked me to tell you that he's sorry." This caught Christine off-guard, and she looked briefly at the mirror before returning her gaze to her daughter.

"He…he told you his name, then?" she asked.

"I asked," replied Aminta, wondering what significance this had. "He still loves you, Mother."

"I know," whispered Christine. "I-I still love him too, in a way." Aminta was slightly surprised by this, but not much. Christine placed the rose lovingly on her vanity and stepped behind a screen to change. Aminta looked back at the mirror for a moment before going over to the vanity and just standing there. There came an urgent knock at the door.

"That'll be Father, doubtless," said Aminta quietly.

"Come in," called Christine, ignoring her daughter. Just as Aminta had predicted, Raoul entered.

"Aminta!" he cried when he saw her, rushing over to her to catch her up in his arms. She wriggled away from him.

"I'm still angry with you," she informed him.

"Amy, I'm sorry," said Raoul, pained. "I never meant to hurt you-"

"So you thought that simply striking me wouldn't hurt me?" Aminta demanded.

"No, that's not what I mean, I mean that I didn't mean to cut you like that."

"But you still meant to hurt me."

"No…well…stop that!"

Aminta laughed hollowly. "Well, I suppose I've had enough time to brood and I can forgive you now."

"Thank you."

Aminta smiled and turned to her mother, who had emerged from behind the screen. "Mother, you looked so beautiful tonight. Of course, I suppose you always look beautiful."

"Thank you dear-" Christine began, then stopped, staring at her. "Wait…what did you say?"

"You looked beautiful tonight," repeated Aminta with a conspiratorial smile.

"Looked…"repeated her mother vaguely. "Aminta…can you see?"

"Perfectly," replied Aminta. With a joyous cry, Christine rushed to her again and crushed her in another tight hug. For once Aminta allowed herself to be crushed. Raoul joined in the hug, and she didn't push him away.

"But when?" asked Raoul, stepping back. "How?"

"Shortly after you left, I fell on the stairs and struck my head," said Aminta. "Slowly my vision returned while Erik cared for me."

"Ah yes," said Raoul in a darker tone. "And did you see him?"

"Yes. So what?" replied Aminta indifferently, shrugging her shoulders.

"So what?" repeated her father incredulously. "So what, so he's a monster, that's so what!"

"Well, Erik was a perfect gentleman to me," Aminta informed him coolly.

"Oh, so now it's Erik," spat Raoul scathingly.

"He has a name, Father," said Aminta. "It's perfectly normal."

"And are you to see him again?" demanded Raoul. Aminta's cold glare was all the answer he needed. "Oh no you don't! I forbid it, do you hear me? I forbid it!"

"Try and stop me," said Aminta in a low voice.

"Raoul!" said Christine reprovingly. "You're becoming apoplectic. Is this any way to act when our daughter's sight has finally returned after ten years?" Turning to Aminta, she smiled and said, "We must celebrate! Come, we go to dinner." And they left. Raoul followed grudgingly, and he did not fail to notice Aminta glance back at the mirror, confirming his suspicions. He knew that she loved Erik more than she loved him.

Erik had left shortly after Christine entered the room and embraced Aminta, but he knew that Aminta would be glancing at the mirror from time to time. He couldn't stop thinking about her; she fascinated him. She was so young, yet she, unlike so many others before her, had managed to see beyond the deformity and find the man behind it. And he couldn't help but think of how little she resembled Raoul. It was almost as if…but no, that wasn't possible. Well, it actually was possible, but not likely. But it all added up, it made sense…he shook his head to clear it of these thoughts before they welled up and swallowed him. On returning to his lair, he noticed that Aminta had left her drawing on the steps. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over, as it had fallen face-down. She had drawn an elaborate scene, a masquerade like the one held annually at the Opera Populaire. There were people dancing all around the grand escalier, and on the landing was one couple in particular that stood out. On closer inspection, he realized with amusement that the two there were Aminta and himself! Aminta wore a mask just like the ornament she had shown him. He wore one like the one he had worn in Don Juan Triumphant. She portrayed him very flatteringly; he looked so handsome and happy in her picture. She dreamt of this? Dancing with him at the Masquerade? A smile spread slowly across his lips as an idea came to him. The Masquerade was in three days. Aminta's birthday was in three days. He had three days to make his preparations.