Hey everyone! Thank you SOO much for the reviews, they make my day!

Avid Phanfic Reader: No need to apologize for the long reviews, I LOVE them and I love hearing your opinions! Where Erik's concerned, I'm not into fluffyness either, but that's just me. Rest assured, there will definitely be a STRONG element of ROMANCE in this story, but not the rose-tinted kind. I'm a sucker for dark, tragic romances. Regarding the treasures, all I can say is everything will be explained in good time. I agree with you whole-heartedly on Raoul issue also, I do not plan on portraying him as a snivelling,cowardly fop, but rather a wilful, righteous knight in a shining armour, whois brave -and foolish- enough togo up against a powerfully dark, strong and dominant character as Erik, if he wasn't, how could he be able to survive that watery tomb and go through other disastrous events that would break a lesser man? Indeed a worthy foe for Erik. As for the happy ending, all I can say is, wait and see.


"I rave no more 'gainst Time or Fate,

For lo! My own shall ne'er come to me,

Yet- Who doth my future narrate?

Dim the lights- I cannot see!

Bright forth ye Shadow-

With whom danceth thou?"

-Bring forth Ye Shadow, Theatre of Tragedy

"Death- oh! Fair and 'guiling copesmate Death!

Be not a malais'd beggar; claim this bloody jester!

Burrow to the trothplight with the Night and Devil-

Bid him to league with me- forsooth, merry to 'come 'twill."

-Fair and 'Guiling Copesmate Death, Theatre of Tragedy


A violent gust of wind entered the room, the lit candles flickered wildly, though no breeze could penetrate the sealed windows. The curtains rustled quietly as the shadows danced across the walls in greeting to the dark presence that had just entered the room.

Gustav's eyes slid open wearily, as a skeletal touch of the unnatural breeze caressed his skin ominously, like a silent whisper alerting him to the impending doom.

The violinist glanced about, unnerved, his emaciated body shook, his weak heart beating in rhythm to the slithering shadows' silent, haunting melody.

He thought for a moment, that he faintly detected the smell of sulphur and brimstone…

"So, I am to meet my maker at last. Tell me, Is that you, Mephistopheles, finally here to collect your debt, to take my sinful soul back to Hell with you…?" A mere whisper, resigned.

"Perhaps…" A voice like silk gliding over the senses, seemingly evoking more darkness, echoing with a haunting softness throughout the chamber… just barely to make his presence known.

A faint smile curled Gustav's ashen lips, the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows.

"But mine eyes behold an image so deep and dark, I thought, my friend, Mephisto preferred to appear in bright reds and golds, like a proud unfallen lucifer might..."

"Mayhap he decided to favour black also, for as lucifer falleth, he falleth from garish golds bright lights… it seems he'd rather blend better with the night." Offered the deep, lyrical voice with a verse of his own.

"Oh it's a great delight my lord, but alas, last time I checked, Mephisto did not wear a mask."

"He does now." Said Erik, with a half smile gracing his sculpted lips. Striding a couple of steps over to the bed where Gustav lay, he looked down at the man's sweat dampened, frail body, wasting away from his illness.

In addition to the dizzying scent of laudanum, and salt fragranced sweat, there was another smell that lingered about the bed, slowly spreading into the stuffy room.

A scent reminiscent of the grave.

"Well, with or without the mask, you seem to fit the description regardless." Remarked Gustav, a faint smile upturning the bluish lips.

Erik tilted his head to one side slowly, regarding the violinist's drawn, melancholy features with faint interest, and a nagging feeling that was quite unfamiliar…

He pitied the dying man.

Indeed a pity the world should lose such a talent.

What a waste.

"I'm glad you came…" Gustav's voice trailed off as he began to cough, specks of blood staining his lips.

Reaching for the pitcher beside the bed, Erik refilled the glass with fresh water and handed it to Gustav.

Trembling fingers clasped around the glass gratefully. After a couple of sips, he wiped his bloodied lips with his sleeve and leaned back against the pillows.

"Erik, I won't make it. He's coming…the chariot… the black steeds… their blazing eyes…I won't survive the night."

"That's not a very Christian thought, Gustav. May I hazard a guess and say that the laudanum has addled your wits beyond repair? Shouldn't you be hallucinating a harem of nuns? " Erik commented with a quiet tinge of humour in his voice of satin.

A slight chuckle escaped the pale, cracked lips. "You're quite twisted my friend, I'm afraid I shall die tonight from mirth, but not from plague and fright."

"Is that such a bad thing, really, to meet your maker with a smile on your face?" Inquired Erik, his voice still light and gentle, but his face expressionless, though not blank… it was as if a thick layer of ice frosted the surface with a disciplined control, holding the bubbling volcano of his emotions tightly and expertly in check.

Gustav's chuckle soon dissolved into another fit of coughing that left him shaking for a wheezing breath.

"Do not be afraid." Erik said, a rare, and soothing tenderness tracing his deep, low voice.

This startled Gustav more than his doomed fate, for the tone of the Opera Ghost's mellifluous, faintly accented French was beyond soft, downright otherworldly. He felt himself give in to the blissfully comforting sensation of his words, like a dream lulling him into sleep…then he reluctantly shook the feeling off, sighing deeply.

"I'm not afraid for myself, but for Christine…" said Gustav mournfully.

Erik stared at the man, pondering him a long moment, his white mask gleaming softly in the candlelight.

"She was naught but a tiny babe when her mother died. I'm the only family she has…"

"Antoinette will take good care of her. She will be safe in the opera." Said Erik quietly, his gaze straying to the man's vein riddled, gaunt hands. So, that's what Death does to a musician's hands…I should rather take my own life than succumb to such a slow, tortuous end.

Gustav breathed a sigh and glanced sideways to the Phantom, his lips parted slightly, as if wanting to say something…but no words came out. The violinist's thin fingers fidgeted nervously and instinctively upon the blankets.

"Christine's too young to understand…She's a very sensitive child, unlike her mother, God bless her soul. She will need guidance, Erik, someone to guide her in the right direction…someoneshe can trust and rely on, someone strong who can protect her from the Devil himself…" Gustav paused to cough before carrying on.

Erik continued his silent vigilance, black leather gloved hands clasped loosely behind his back as his chill gaze settled on the violinist's face once again.

"I told her…that when I'm gone, an angel will come for her from heaven to protect and guide her…The Angel of Music."

Eyes of grey frost narrowing to slits, masked face unreadable. Alarmingly so.

"Why did you lie?" The question was uttered casually, indifferently, but beneath the roughened velvet, was simply disappointment.

"What would you have me do Erik! She's only a child, innocent and naive, how could I shatter her dreams and refuse her teary-eyed pleas by simply dismissing her wish for an angel when I'm gone?" The sick man replied with a voice raised in sorrow and frustration, panting from his exertion.

Erik stared at him.

A simple, withering stare that spoke volumes.

Gustav winced. "That… that's the reason I wished to talk to you tonight." He began, somewhat shakily. "Antoinette has Meg, she can't always be there for Christine, even if she wished to. You must watch over her Erik, be her guardian, her Angel of Music. That is my one last wish from you…my friend."

The mask gleamed menacingly in the low light, a dark storm raged within the grey eyes, though he was silent, Gustav could feel the anger coming off him in waves.

"You don't know what you're saying. Do you realize the magnitude of your wish? I cannot be her Angel."

"Yes, you can Erik. You are… not like the others…"

"Precisely! Why me, of all people? Answer me Gustav!" Asked Erik through clenched teeth, bitterness creeping into his voice.

Before he could answer, however, Erik darted a quick glance to the door and whirled around, his black cape swishing silently as he blended into the shadows, out of sight, out of light.

Simultaneously, the door opened after a gentle knock. A little girl dressed in a white shift that looked a size too big on her tiny body, paced across the room towards the bed, her small feet bare, her thick, glossy dark auburn curls cascading down her back, tinted with an autumnal burnished gold in the candlelight, her wide light brown eyes wide in her forlorn, heart-shaped cherub's face, filled with concern.

Christine leaned her face against her father's cold hand, desperate to bring a touch of warmth to the dying man's skin. Hot tears rolled down smooth porcelain cheeks, like sunlit morning dew against Gustav's wintry and gnarled hand.

"Papa… I can't sleep. Please don't leave me…" Fear evident in her clear, musical voice as she clutched onto his hand with her small ones.

Gustav's free hand tangled in her soft curls, brushing a bouncy strand from her pale face affectionately.

"Don't worry my dear, when I'm in heaven, I shall send you the Angel of Music, remember?" Gustav cooed softly.

His pleading blue eyes darted to the shadows, where Erik was hidden.

Eyes of pale blue, an unspoken plea and despair in their depths, begging… the Angel in Shadows.

Eyes of dark blue-grey, crackling with the force of a maelstrom of emotions …was the Angel of Doom.

Furious.

And merciful.


End of this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it. Next one's coming up shortly! Gawd I've got to get up for work but I just can't seem to stop writing! I know my poetique interaction between Gustav and Erik was a tad cheesy, but I couldn't really help myself. By the way my Christine will be Emmy Rossum. She's just so pretty and radiates a serene aura of innocence; a terrifique contrast to Gerry Butler's domineering darkness. Omg here's that word again! Anyhow, I'll go drool now.

Did I mention reviews make my day?