A/N: First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed – I'm glad you all like it! Here are a few replies to your reviews;

LoneGunGirl188: Thanks! And here you are – chapter two!

SugarySweets: blushes You are too kind!

SilverWolf47: Thanks… hopefully he will bond with hr, rather than leaving her alone in the dark… but that's for you to find out…

Kaya DC Pandora: Yes, it is a make of bread, but I got the nickname from an old teacher (apparently it's what my surname looks like when I sign it). And well, to see if it all goes okay… you'll have to read on, won't you? evil grin

Tailfeather: Thanks… I was worried people would call her a Mary Sue… but then again, kids that age can be so cute, can't they?

Erik's Angel: Thanks!

Lauren: Thanks – and the film is great, isn't it? I don't see why people are complaining so much about how yummy Gerard Butler is – it's his voice that matters, not his looks, really, and he has got a fantastic voice. And whether or not the phantom lives… that's nothing to do with me, as this is set several decades before the book/musical/film… but maybe I'll see what I can do!

Now, this chapter has got a lot more of Erik in it, as well as my take on how he got his name (I know, it is completely non-canon and VERY soppy, but bear with me, okay?). If he seems out of character, I apologise… but I do not think even he would mistreat a child, or be able to resist feeling some pity for her. So… on with the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, or his underground home. But I own Ellisa and all the other characters in this curious 'masquerade'.

Chapter Two

It was to be some time before the young girl's disappearance was noted by anybody – anybody above ground, that was. There had been one, however, who knew of her curious misadventure, for it had been into his dark lair she had stumbled. This man, ghost, shade, whatever one wished to call him, watched her as she fell through the trick stone – which was, in truth, little more than a painted hollow box and a clever switch mechanism – listened as she had cried, in desperation, in the darkness. And then he had left her, despite the curious feeling in his chest which he could not quite decipher. It could not be pity, he thought with repulsion, for it had been a very long time indeed since he had felt anything akin to compassion towards any fellow human being. And so, after a long moment of silent watchfulness, the shade turned his back on the pitiful sight, and disappeared into the shadows. But he left behind one comfort – a single, long-stemmed, red rose.

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After a time, the little girl's tears ran dry, and she, for the first time, inspected her surroundings. The way back out was blocked, that was clear enough, even to her, but she saw now that there was what appeared to be a corridor leading away from the seemingly-huge chamber, and at the end of that gloomy tunnel, a flicker of light reached her, and warmed her freezing heart. The girl stood up, hesitantly, her heart thumping furiously, her face white and terrified. But she knew that, whatever fear she felt, she would follow that light, for if there is any overwhelming fear shared by every child who lives, has lived, and will live, it is that of darkness and of loneliness.

And so little Ellisa began to make her way on trembling legs towards that light. As she walked, she examined with wide eyes the tunnel. It was covered in moss and stank of damp, as though, at some time in the past, it had been flooded. There were also strange, desperate engravings on the walls, which were really initials, but Ellisa, at five years old, had yet to learn to read. And yet even she could not fail to notice the very air of fear and desperation that permeated every stone of that tunnel, of that single corridor in the great labyrinth of a rabbit's warren.

Finally, she reached the end of the corridor, only to find herself in a yet larger chamber. The light she had spied from the earlier chamber was nowhere to be seen, and yet this large chamber was eerily illuminated, almost as a winter night by moonlight reflecting off the frost.

And in the centre of the chamber there was a lake, and on the other side of the lake, a house. This sight, which would have befuddled any self-respecting adult's imagination beyond sanity itself, was processed and accepted quite coolly by the young girl's mind.

And on the lake, there was a boat. The girl immediately stepped onto the boat, for it was dry, and she knew, in her childish logic, that it was the only way to get to the house standing, peaceful and welcoming, on the other side of the lake, short of traversing her way around it, and this, with her short, chubby little legs, would be all but impossible.

And also, there was a strange, beautiful music starting up… and it seemed to be coming from the lake itself, which was, as any adult would splutter, a plain impossibility. But little Ellisa was but a child, and her mind was open to any number of wonders – including that of a singing lake.

But then, the music began to get quieter, and the girl gave out a short cry of disappointment, and leaned over the boat's side to get closer to the source of the music, to make it stay but a little longer. Suddenly, a pair of arms broke the water's glassy surface from below, and grabbed Ellisa, pulling her over the boat's side, pulling her down, deeper, deeper…

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The man sat, and watched, a strange expression of self-disgust upon his distorted face, as the girl slept at his feet.

Why? Why had he, when he had been on the brink of killing her, saved her life and brought her here, to the one place he felt safe from the cruelties of humanity?

The 'music' the little girl had heard coming from the lake had been little more than his singing, heard from his hiding place beneath the water through the aid of a child's trick – a small, hollow reed, which allowed him both to breath and to lure any misbegotten wanderers towards him. This done, he would usually dispatch of them quickly and silently, before leaving the body where others would find it, as a warning to all those who dared breach the walls of the ghost's palace.

Usually. But, in this case, something had stopped him, and he could not, even now, say what it was, for he knew no words with which to describe the strange feeling of compassion and kinship he had felt for that girl, as she had struggled and kicked against death and it's vice-like grip.

Shaking his head and sighing, the man leant towards the girl's shivering body and tenderly stroked her cheek, brushing away a single stray lock of auburn hair. She was, he mused silently, an extremely pretty child – a thought which brought only bitterness to his heart, for pretty was one thing which he had never been. And then, thinking upon such lines, the man quickly stood up, and reached for something high up on a shelf. As he took the thing in his hand, he felt for a moment a great, immeasurable sadness. The thing was a mask, white, simple, which, when placed upon his face, would cover much of the right side of it.

The hands which held the mask were cold, and trembling desperately. The fingers, long and slim, were the perfect pianist's, and upon his back he wore a tattered dress-coat. A fine dark-brown wig covered his hair, or lack of thereof.

It was, he often mused, fearful vanity for he, with not a mirror or fellow man in sight, to hide behind such pretences as masks or clothing, but vanity is a thing ingrained in all of us, and not even he, who thought himself above such a foolish thing as humanity, could be free from that. And in this case, it would not do for the child to see his face, to have to endure such a horror as that, he thought bitterly, as he slipped the mask over his features.

The little girl stirred, jerking him sharply from his own thoughts. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked around the room blearily. Then, her eyes rested upon the figure, cloaked in shadow and darkness, sitting silently in the chair opposite her.

"Papa?" The girl asked. She had not seen her Papa for a long time, and thought for a moment that this man – this masked man, she noticed – might be her Papa, for she had often dreamed that he would one day come and look after her as a real Papa was meant to. Ellisa had no idea that all her father had ever done was try to help her, and she never imagined what pain it had caused him to part with his precious only child.

But the man shook his head.

"No." He said quietly, his voice totally lacking in any emotion. The girl looked slightly upset by this, and this worried the man. He had not meant to affect her so. And so, somewhat uncomfortable, he stood up and approached her, curled up in another armchair. He squatted, somewhat painfully, by the chair, so that his eyes were on the same level as hers. He took a breath and started again.

"Who… who are you?" He asked levelly, and the little girl rewarded him with a flash of a smile.

"Ellisa Monlagan." She replied, her voice more than a little proud. The man smiled gently at this. The girl cocked her head delightfully to one side before asking, "What's your name?"

The man hesitated, before saying, hesitantly,

"Well, truth be told, I… I haven't actually got a name." The girl frowned at this.

"You have to have a name!" She exclaimed childishly, pouting. Then she spoke up once more; "I know. You can have my Papa's name!"

The man laughed, a sound quite alien to his own ears, and it surprised him at just how good it felt to do so.

"Very well," he replied, "what is your Papa's name?" The girl puffed out her chest as she replied proudly;

"Erik."

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A/N: Please review – all suggestions for where to take this story are welcome!