A/N: OK, I tell you now that this is the last chapter I have ready for you, so now you'll have to take them as I write them.

Revelation

"-is not our daughter," said Christine heavily.

"WHAT?" yelled Raoul in horror and disbelief. "What are you saying!"

"I'm saying," she said softly, "that she is not your child. She is unquestionably mine, that much is certain, but you are not her father."

"What do you mean? Then who?"

"Did Christine ever tell you about problems she and Raoul might have had in the early stages of their marriage?" asked Erik gently.

"Well, yes, but Mother told me it was nothing, that all young couples had difficulties at first," Aminta answered dumbly. "And Father said that their troubles were few and far between; there was nothing I should be worried about. They didn't talk about it much."

"Well, there was one thing you must know," said Erik. "After their worst argument, one in which Raoul wanted to leave Paris entirely and forget all that had happened like I told them to, and Christine wanted to stay here, Christine left the house in anger. She came back here, whether she was looking for me or not I do not know, but I spoke to her in the chapel where she went to try and calm herself. I truly did not mean to, but I apparently started talking aloud to myself and she heard. She told me what had happened and asked that I stay with her for a while, and not through a sheet of glass either. She wanted me with her, and though I was hesitant, I granted her request. It was such a simple thing, really, such a little thing. I still don't know how it all happened, but it did."

"What happened?" asked Aminta hoarsely.

Erik just looked at her sadly. "Reason gave way to passion."

"WHAT!"

"Stop yelling, will you? I know I made a mistake, I know! But there's no reversing it now."

"Is that why you didn't show me any romantic interest for nearly a month?"

"I needed a failsafe way of determining how great a mistake I had made. I had to wait until I was certain if I was pregnant."

"You told me you had the flu!"

"I know! And I'm sorry! I am so truly sorry! I meant to tell you both when Aminta turned eighteen. I never could have predicted any of this would happen. I don't know, maybe I meant to hide it from both of you forever! All her life, when I've looked at her, I couldn't love her like a mother is supposed to love her child. When I saw her, I was only reminded of the mistake I had made. I felt only shame when I saw my daughter. I wanted so desperately to love her, and maybe that in itself is a kind of love, but I've lied to her all her life just as I've lied to you. Raoul, will you not even look at me?"

Raoul had turned away from her, trying to shut out what he heard, trying to shut out the truth. This was too much. Aminta, his dear daughter, his only child, was not even his? Then by right she should be with the man he desperately tried to keep her from at all costs. With a frustrated cry he kicked one of the chairs with such a force that the leg cracked. He whirled around to confront Christine…but stopped when he saw the tears she shed. His gaze softened, his fists unclenched, he relaxed slowly.

"Christine…" he whispered helplessly. "What am I supposed to say? I don't know. All I know is that I've always loved her. And I still do. And I love you. You do know that, don't you?" Christine nodded, unable to speak as she tried to stem the flow of tears. "Oh Christine, don't cry anymore." And he took her into his arms lovingly, though his mind swam with hurtful accusations and questions that he could comprehend the answers to. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was the truth. The truth was supposed to set you free, wasn't it? Then why did he feel all the more confined now that he knew it? This was one truth he could stand to live without, one illusion he did not want shattered. But there it was, lying in lackluster fragments on the floor, impossible to ever put back together again without the hairline cracks showing. Even if he could reassemble it, it would always be flawed now.

"Does…he know?" he asked her as gently as he could.

"Yes," whispered Christine. "At least, he knew about the child. I told him that if I were certain it was his, I would teach it "Music of the Night". And I sang that song so often to Aminta when she was little, hoping it would stick in her memory. I know now that it did. She was humming it the other night in the library, just before all of this happened. She told me she had heard it in a dream, but some part of her must remember my singing it to her when she was small."

"So she knows it now," said Raoul. "If the Phantom finds out that she knows, he'll know she's his child. And if he discovers that she's his child-"

"No. Don't even think it. You've heard the way she talks about him, the way he is with her. He'd never try to move her against her will." Raoul cringed slightly at these words, the ones Erik himself had used in accusation against him. Christine sighed, oblivious to this. "I have to tell her."

"Christine…"

"No, Raoul. She deserves to know now, after all that's happened. I have to tell her."

"You can't tell her."

"What?"

"You can't tell her that I've told you this. By now, I'm sure she'll want to tell you herself. It's better that way, really."

"Then why did you tell me at all?"

"I don't know. I knew that Christine would tell you this anyway. I felt you had a right to know. I didn't even know, not for certain."

"Then why did you tell me this, if you don't even know?"

"Because I do now. You told me yourself."

"Please elaborate."

"When Christine told me she was pregnant, she promised that if the child was mine she would teach it "Music of the Night", which I sang to her so long ago. You knew the words when I stopped; you said that Christine had sung it to you when you were little. Besides, don't you see the resemblance between us?"

Aminta looked up, wanting to protest for some reason, and two pairs of identical blue eyes met. She closed her mouth and looked at him more closely. They both had high cheekbones, squared jaws, and similar noses, though hers was slightly smaller and more feminine. She also shared his long legs and long-fingered hands. All in all, they did look alike. She just stared at him for a moment, then made a soft, wondering sound as she dropped her gaze and leaned her head back against his knee. She felt his arm, which was resting on his leg, move as though to stroke her hair, but he didn't, and she felt oddly bereft.

"I don't know what to do," she said finally, gazing pointlessly out in front of her. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Nothing," replied Erik gently. "You don't have to say anything." He sighed. "I'm sorry to have sprung this on you like this, but I felt you had to know the truth. I suppose I tricked you, in a way. I wanted to see if you knew "Music of the Night", and when I knew that you did I knew for myself who you truly were. And I felt it was unfair that Christine and I should know this when you didn't. You of all people had the most right to know."

"I'm a mistake," said Aminta faintly, as though she hadn't heard him. "I'm nothing more than a rage-and-passion-induced mistake. Oh gods above, what is Father…I mean, what is Raoul…going to say?"

"If you are a mistake, then you are the most wonderful mistake I have ever made," said Erik fiercely. "And I have made a lot of mistakes in my time. Don't talk that way about yourself, Aminta." Aminta looked up at him quizzically. He slid down one step and put his arms around her. She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. "Aminta, I've watched you ever since Christine started bringing you to the Opera House. I held you in my arms when you were still an infant. I watched you from Box 5, wishing that you were my daughter and sitting with me. I assumed that since Christine hadn't told me she knew for certain that you were my child, then you weren't. I wanted you to be. I knew who you were that night when I found you bleeding and frightened in my box. But I never knew that you were blind. When you told me you were, I admit that I thought for an instant about how I could use that to my advantage. But I didn't want to take advantage of you like that. I just wanted you to trust me, and I thought that you would because you couldn't see me as I am." Once again she looked at him quizzically. Then she reached up slowly and touched his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment, and she used that opportunity to pull his mask off slowly. His eyes opened immediately and he stared at her in surprise.

"I have seen you," she said. "I wanted to see you. You were the first thing I saw clearly in ten years, and I wanted it to be so. Your face holds no horror for me. Father…oh, it's going to be confusing, thinking of what to call him now…always exaggerated about how you looked. Truth be told, I was almost disappointed! Always the ballet-rats told me that you had a death's head, you were a living corpse, that you, like Medusa, turned all who saw you to stone. I do not say these things to hurt you, I don't mean to. I say this because it's so completely absurd, the things they said, the things they say. I took my sight for granted, a gift to which I was entitled. And so I lost it, and learned that it is not a right but a luxury. In my blindness, I realized that all things are beautiful on some level. You only need to look for it closely enough to find it. In my naïveness I thought that knowing this would give me back my sight, but I was mistaken. Over the years, I grew to realize that I could still find beauty even in what I could not see. I swore that if ever I regained my vision I would never ever again judge things or people by their looks. I had done so before, and it disgusted me to think that I had even for a while as an innocent child. I promised whatever God there may be that I would never be so superficial again if only I could have one more chance. Maybe that's why I saw you first, to put my promise to the test. I do not know. But you must know that I would never turn from you. You are not repulsive, you are not a living corpse. You are Erik, and you are my father." Now it was Erik's turn to stare. Aminta smiled at him, and he returned the smile. She offered him his mask back. He took it, but set it aside instead of putting it back on. They sat in silence together, contemplating the mystery of each other. Finally Aminta had to stifle a yawn, and both realized how tired they were.

"How long is your arm going to be like that?" asked Erik.

"A few weeks," said Aminta sleepily. "At least I'm left-handed, so I'll still be able to write and do most things." Erik laughed deep in his throat. "What?"

"I'm left-handed too," he replied. Aminta looked at him with interest.

"Really? Well, that explains it," she said. "Neither of my parents…I mean…oh, you know what I mean. Neither of them is left-handed, so I always wondered why I was. Father-Raoul? Whatever-he always told me that it skipped a generation or something, but I never quite believed him. Now I know."

"Yes, now you know," agreed Erik. "Now we both know so much. But it's late, and I know you're tired. Come." And he rose, pulling her to her feet as well, and led her up the stairs to the bed where she had slept before. She turned and smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. She hugged him again, and this time he put his arms around her readily, being careful not to crush her right arm. He stroked her thick, silky hair briefly.

"Good-night Aminta," he said, stepping back slowly.

"Good-night Erik," she replied. He smiled at her one last time before heading for the adjoining room. "And Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"…You can call me Amy, OK?"

She heard Erik laugh softly. "All right. Good-night Amy." And he vanished into the next room. Aminta removed her boots, set them next to the bed, and lay down. Normally she would toss and turn for hours at a time, trying to find a position comfortable enough for her to relax and fall asleep, but this was not so now. Now, as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was completely and peacefully asleep, knowing she was with someone who loved her...and whom she loved.