Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Phantom of the Opera. There are days I wish I did. Angelina and some of the other characters that are in here I own. The Phantom in this story is based after the one in the movie. The portrayal in that movie was unbelievable. I hope you all enjoy it and I would love to have reviews and comments. Enjoy!

A/N: Thank you to all who are posting comments! It is much appreciated. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter. I would love to hear your comments and concerns about this chapter. Enjoy it and I will update soon!

Chapter 5 – A Silent Promise

The time from which the incident occurred and sundown seemed to quicken with each minute. Meg had little time to tend to Angelina's wound. The deep gash upon her head would not stop bleeding. The dancers pleaded with her not to send the doctor away. But as commanded, she did. The doctor was turned away at the door.

A fever was coming upon Angelina with due speed. Meg could see Angelina's dreams being haunted by dark images. Her tossing and turning was not helping the flow of blood coming from the gash. She tried everything, including a cool washcloth. Nothing had worked.

The moonlight began to shine in through the small window, illuminating the bed. Meg gently covered Angelina with the blanket. Angelina tried to remove it but Meg held it in place. Another hand joined hers, holding the blanket against Angelina. One touch stopped Angelina from tossing and turning.

Meg did not need to turn to see who it was. She saw the black leather gloved hand near hers. Never really seeing the Opera Ghost, she didn't know what he looked like. She had heard descriptions from Christine, but nothing prepared her for this. Receiving letters and demands over the past few months, Meg had still not grown accustomed to the red skull or the demands. But she did as she was told – by both him and her mother. She had no choice.

"Leave us."

Meg did not want to leave Angelina in his hands. It wasn't a trust factor. It was a fear factor. She feared what he would do to her. He knew that she was Christine's daughter – her only daughter. Harm would not come to her but what else could? He loved Christine. He wouldn't hurt Angelina. Mother trusted him, why can't I?

"I assure you, Madam Giry, she will be well taken care of."

Meg slowly rose from the chair and turned. The cloak was already on the back of a chair and stripped without a sound made. Dressed elegantly, Meg slowly looked at him. 20,000 franks seem to be doing well for him. She stopped, looking into the eyes of the Phantom. His white mask illuminated by the moonlight did not stop the look in his eyes. Is that lust or hatred?

"If you hurt her…"

"I would never harm her, Madam. I promise you."

"Then why is she lying here? Tell me why…"

"The object was meant for Brigitte. Angelina was being a good Samaritan and saved the life of dear Brigitte - of which she was not grateful."

He looked down upon Angelina, as if in a trance. He sees it, like I see it. He sees Christine lying on the bed.

"Please, leave us."

Meg hesitated. But something flashed in his eyes. In that instant, Meg trusted him with Angelina's life. Just as mother trusted mine in his hands. He never harmed me. He wouldn't harm her.

Opening the door, she looked back one more time. She saw him standing there, just staring at the young woman lying on the bed. She could not imagine the thoughts filling his head.

"I will return in the morning."

With no other words said, Meg slowly and quietly closed the door.

The silence was deafening. It surrounded him as it never had before. My life was filled with music and song. What happened? Why was it torn from me?

He had blamed everyone: Christine, Raoul, Madam Giry, and God himself. The only person he didn't blame was himself. I am not responsible for what has happened to me. Seventeen years I have been alone. Seventeen years my soul has cried. Seventeen years without music and song.

An angel was sent to him by the one person he had never imagined: Christine. Angelina was a pure mixture of her mother and father. He could Raoul in her and shivered at the thought of him and Christine together. She is not my angel any more. She gave up on me a long time ago. She feared me and still does. I should be rid of her memory but I cannot.

It was when Angelina first came upon the opera house that he heard her sing. It seemed to echo in his ears and pierce his soul. Only Christine could do that to him. No other had ever given him more peace then she. Until Angelina.

Dear Angelina. Christine had picked an appropriate name for the child. She truly was an angel. Her voice and her dancing had proven to him that she was Christine's daughter. Just the sight of her made him weak. He wished to feel at peace. He wished to be free of the pain he had felt for so many years. Had God given him another chance at peace?

He removed the glove from his hand and gently placed it on Angelina's forehead. The bleeding had finally stopped after he had spent hours tending it to. He had gently placed a bandage over the large gash. I never meant for you to get hurt. It was meant for Brigitte. She is a thorn in my side, Angelina. She means to cause problems.

The fever had also slowly begun to break. She had tossed and turned most of the night he was with her. He finally had gotten off of the chair and sat beside her on the bed. After finding out his touch would not calm her, he began to sing. His voice was low and barely auditable, but he knew she could hear him. He watched her body become calm and peaceful as if he dreams had finally come to her.

He had watched her sleep, basked in only the moonlight. Her skin was illuminated, her beauty not hidden. A long time ago, he had dreamed of a night like this. Long ago he had a night like this in which he had watched Christine sleep. She had come with him to his lair, as almost in a trance. She had wanted to be with him. She had wanted to stay. She had…

He lowered his head, relieving the painful memory. He shook his head, ridding himself of it. I will not be so naïve this time. I will not allow my heart to… His heart stopped as he looked upon Angelina once again. I cannot… The sigh from Angelina's mouth had him look away from her.

A teacher, which is what she said she had wanted and needed. An angel she sought. Could he be that angel, a teacher once again? Could he allow himself to hear music again? Could his heart survive? Would she look upon him as Christine once had – a monster?

He looked at her once again. An angel. My angel. Rising from the bed and putting on his cloak, he closed his eyes as he heard the music she had sung just days before. Her voice filled his head and consumed him – mind, body, and soul. He looked at the mirror on the opposite side of the room and looked at himself – the masked face and the angel sleeping behind him.

Stepping up to the mirror, he slid it open and stepped inside of the dark corridor. He looked once again at Angelina and nodded his head.

"I will teach you, my child. I will teach you everything I could not teach your mother. You will become a star in Paris. You will love and be loved. I will make you an angel of music."

And he gently closed the door, leaving Angelina basking in the moonlight upon the bed. The music continued to fill the air as Angelina continued her dreams in peace.