Disclaimer: I still don't own Erik or any other Phantom characters. I do own Marc Sacrois, Bianca LaNez, and Elsa Fromage, as well as anyone else who is not from the original play.

The news I read in the paper today is amazing. A Bavarian dowager duchess is looking for a baby-- the baby of her former maid-- to make him one of her heirs. Why is a noble doing such a kind thing? I've never heard of it before.

"There are nice nobles, I'm sure," Bianca tells me when I inform her of my shock.

"Just not in France," I reply.

"Why do you dislike the nobility so much anyway?" she asks. "You're a composer, don't most composers look for patrons to support them?"

"I never will," I said darkly.

"Why? You could make some money that way."

"I have my ways already," I said. "I don't need nobles who just sit around and do nothing but complain." And steal girls right out from under their tutors' misshapen noses, I thought bitterly. I then stalked off to the sitting room and began playing the organ, another of my own compositions.

After about ten minutes, Bianca joined me with her flute. I could tell she had been crying, but she still played well.

"Why do you get so angry with me?" she asked. "What did I do?"

"I don't like to talk about my past, Bianca," I said. "You know that."

"Why not?" she asked. "Look at everything you know about me, Erik."

"Your past is not nearly as painful," I said.

She stood over me, her face red with anger. "What the fuck do you mean?" she yelled into my face. "My know my parents died! You know about Jemeau, about all the men who have tried to get me into their beds-- and you say I can talk about it because it's not painful? Because it's trivial? Erik, what is wrong with you?"

I couldn't bear to see her hurt anymore. "Fine," I said. "You want to know, I'll tell you. I was treated as a sideshow freak as a child. You know that already. But do you know the terrible pain that comes from having things thrown at you every night while you are whipped by a man four times your size? I'd be wearing a sack on my head, and when he'd pull it off, then it would start… Rotten vegetables, trash, and words, all those words about how ugly and stupid I was…"

"How did you escape?" she asked.

"A girl took pity on me. I was eight. She was thirteen. Her name was Antoinette. She stayed after the show was done, still watching me. That was my most brutal beating ever. I couldn't take it anymore, so I strangled the man with his own whip, killing him. Then Antoinette took me to a safe place… where I stayed for years, composing. With only her occasional visits… other than that, I was all alone." I shook my head. That was as deep as I would go. I couldn't mention Christine.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she said.

"You couldn't have known," I told her. "No one could have."

"Erik?" she asked, cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave your safe place?"

"I was chased out," I said. "Nobody wants an ugly man living in their dungeons."

"And you came here?"

"Oui."

She put her arms around me. A friend. How long had it been since I had had a real friend? My entire life, perhaps? Did Antoinette count? Did Christine? I did not know, but here was Bianca in my apartment, embracing me as I had never been embraced before.

We stayed like that for quite a while, until I heard whistling. Marc Sacrois was standing in my kitchen.

"How did you get in?" I asked him.

"Door was open," he said. "Wasn't hard from there. Sorry if I interrupted anything-"

Bianca shot up from her seat immediately, saying: "Oh no, Marc, Erik and I were just talking-"

Marc nodded slyly. "You know, I talk to many people on an ordinary day-- other lawyers, judges, clients, my secretary Caroline- yet for some reason I never see fit to openly hug them. Just something you should think about." He winked at me.

"Why are you here, Marc?" I asked him, exasperated. "And why are you dressed like that?" For the first time I had noticed that he was in fact wearing a dress coat and a top hat, quite different from the usual suit and tie that he wore to work.

"Oh, just wanted to stop by and say hello to my good friends Erik and Bianca before meeting Elsa," he said.

"Meeting Elsa?" I asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Bianca asked nervously.

"We are going to dinner at Le Pied de Cochon," he said, naming a fancy restaurant near Montemartre. "Much to Madame Fromage's delight." He pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time. "Sacre bleu," he said. "I must hurry!" He ran out, nearly tripping over the rug in the entrance hall.

"What does he see in her?" Bianca asked me.

"Elsa? She's really nice," I said.

"She's not beautiful at all, though, and her mother is absolutely insane."

"What do you mean, not beautiful?" I asked. "Why do you judge?"

"Because I can see."

"So you base everything upon outward appearances, then, Bianca? Let me tell you something. When I met you, you looked like complete street trash. Now you're… not." I let the tenderness creep into my voice. "Back then you also seemed able to see beyond exteriors," I said, pointing to my face, "and now you cannot."

"Erik, this was never about you--"

"I am without a doubt one of the ugliest men alive, Bianca!" I screamed. "How can it not in some way be about me when you speak of Elsa's 'non-beauty?'"

"Because you're not getting in the way of me and Marc!" she screamed back. "You never will!"

I grabbed her then and kissed her on the lips, my ugly face smashed up next to her beautiful one. "There," I said, "how's that for getting in the way, Bianca? Now you see why your words hurt?"

She took a step back. "I need to think," she said as she rushed back to the bedroom.

I prepared dinner in silence, waiting for her, but she never came.