Authoress' Notes: Well, here goes Phanphiction number three. It's strange how new ideas pop up while you're still writing a phic, but they're so different you can't add them to your current story. But enough of my ramblings, R/R pleeze!

Oh right the disclaimer. I own... practically nothing except my OCs, and the plot of course. The rest all belong to various persons, Gaston Leroux, ALW, Susan Kay, etc.

Oh one more thing, my Erik is HIGHLY influenced by Mr. Michael Crawford, the world's best and, in my book, the ONLY true Phantom. Well, that is enough outta me, ENJOY!!

*In memory of 9/11, all titles will come from or allude to patriotic songs*

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A Lantern of Hope

Chapter One: I Shall Not Die Without a Hope...

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Paris, 1881

Deep in the bowels of the Palais Garnier, across a vast, icy lake, a tall, lithe figure surveyed the ruins of his home. Home, his mind sighed, is where the heart is, so where has yours fled? Truly, Erik did not know where his heart lay anymore. Certainly not with him, monsters have no heart.

Yet, if that were true, what had he laid at the feet of Christine Daae? Her image floated into his brain and he shoved it aside with a growl. He would not think of her! Not now, nor ever again! She had made her choice. Her choice; to leave him to die of grief and wed her precious little aristocrat. Out of his love, he'd let her go, and it seemed she took his heart with her.

No, that wasn't quite true. For if it was, then why did he feel such intense hatred for her? Surely your heart couldn't reside with someone you hated. So if his heart did not reside with Christine, and not within himself, where would he find it?

With a moan, he trudged into his room. The once flowing scarlet tapestries hanging in ribbons above the smashed coffin. Tears welled in his mismatched eyes as his gaze fell on the ravaged pipe organ, the shredded and charred remains of his Dies Irae clinging pathetically to the stone wall.

Everything he treasured was gone. His organ, his music, Christine; everything snuffed out like a candle flame. He felt his tired aching body giving to misery and began to shiver in the emptiness around him. Several large tears slipped free from the confines of his eyes before he sank to the ground and sobbed intensely.

A few minutes passed before his brief tears expired into silence. And then the silence was broken by a soft scraping sound. A rat possibly, or some other vermin. Well it didn't matter who occupied this accursed tomb now. With a grim face, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a gleaming dagger. Tonight it would be all over, and the world would know of him no more.

The scrapes became more distinct until Erik realized that it was the sound of human footsteps. They were light, almost cautious. It seemed this person was not intent on tearing through the house to find him. Erik's curiosity got the better of him, and stepped to the door, pressing his ear to it to listen to their tread. In a moment, they were accompanied by a small, timid voice.

"Hello? Monsieur Erik, are you still here?"

Erik's brain reeled and he jumped away from the wall. Surely it couldn't be... Erik thrust his head through the door to make sure he had not been deceived.

He had not. No one could mistake that free length of strawberry blonde hair cascading down to the airy ballet skirt. It was little Meg Giry.

She had called him by name, so he assumed he was in no danger, but the memory of the murderous mob hung over him. He melded with the shadows as he approached her.

"Monsieur? Oh, please be here," she whispered. "Please God, let him be alive."

A strange feeling washed over Erik. It was not often that he felt at ease, so he decided to make the most of it.

"I never though that God heard such prayers down here Mademoiselle. But it seems that one has been answered, hm?" he whispered softly, barely concealing his previous despair.

Meg stiffened and turned about in confusion. His voice, incredibly resonant and soft, came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "Oh, you startled me. Please pardon me but..."

"No, pardon me, mam'selle," he said, smoothly appearing from the shadows before her. "I have not been a proper host. May I offer you a seat?" he drawled, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I... uh, thank you," she stammered, sinking into a shredded plush chair. She gazed up at him her green eyes wide open in wonder. Erik then realized that he was not wearing his mask. She still held it in her tiny hand. He was surprised to find that he felt no panic or anger, just a scrap of pity that the girl was seeing his curse.

"If you'd like, I will cover my face," he offered as politely as he could. A moment passed before she answered.

"Hm? Oh, oh no thank you. That's all right. I'm not afraid," she asserted, trying to keep her voice steady. She nearly succeeded.

"Yes, I see you are not. But you know you should be," he replied, trying to sound threatening. He nearly succeeded.

"No doubt," she smiled and in a smooth movement, she set his mask on the table almost as a peace offering. "But m'sieur, I haven't much time. They might come back at any moment."

Erik shrugged. "Let them. I no longer care. It would do everyone a world of good to be rid of me."

"Don't say that!" Meg exclaimed rising. Erik stared up at her in surprise. She was not at all afraid of him. That made him feel a little uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he tried not to let it show. "Oh m'sieur, you shouldn't say something like that!"

"Why not? I would like nothing more than to die mam'selle."

"Please m'sieur. Don't wish that. It's a terrible thing. Please," she whispered in a quavering voice. Erik frowned. Was she crying? Impossible. Why would this girl, almost a complete stranger, cry for him?

"Why? Why do you care?" he asked, his confusion and frustration making his voice bitter. "After all my accursed crimes and tortures, living with this abomination on my face, why? What do want of me?" He suddenly found himself shouting at her. "You think you can forbid me from wanting to die!"

"I just cannot believe why such a person as you would want to end their life!" Meg suddenly shouted back, her green eyes shining. Erik took a noticeable step away from her and stared. Not many people had the backbone to shout at him. After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Wh…what do you mean…a person such as I?" he asked, absolutely baffled by her. The angry frustration on Meg's face melted into a milder expression, her eyes softened.

"Someone so extraordinary who has made so many mistakes in their life has the right to make a clean slate. Start anew while there is time m'sieur."

Erik smirked. "I don't quite know how much of time there is for me Mlle. Giry. I am possibly old enough to be your father."

At this Meg's eyes widened, not quite staring though. "Really? Well, forgive me Monsieur le Fantome, but you certainly don't look it."

"How could you possibly tell?" he asked, his brow darkening slightly.

"As I've said before, your scars do not frighten me. Nor do they distract me from the…better parts of you."

Erik turned this over in his mind. She was actually able to look past his face. How? They had only just met. It seemed there was no time for her to actually condition herself to his scars.

"Mam'selle…how…how can this not bother you in the least?" he asked breathlessly. Meg looked down and fidgeted with the edge of her fluffy white ballet costume. He tried to meet her eyes. Was she blushing?

"Well, truthfully m'sieur, I was expecting worse. You see Joseph Buquet used to tell us stories…well I suppose you know that. But I see that he was very inaccurate. Your skin is pale, but not 'like yellow parchment'. And you certainly have a nose. And as for 'yellow flames in deep sockets'…forgive me but…" She finally looked up at him. Erik took in her reddened cheeks with wonder. "Your eyes are quite beautiful, m'sieur."

Beautiful? In his wildest dreams, Erik never thought anyone would call any part of him beautiful. And this young woman had just said his eyes were beautiful. And that she was "expecting worse", well, Erik never thought anything could be worse than his ugly face. He cleared his throat rather loudly and faced her with a helpless look.

"Well, mam'selle, you certainly surprise me. But it seems we have gotten badly off track. You originally came here to tell me something?"

"Oh yes, right. Well, Maman just wanted me to let you know… you see she has managed to convince the managers that you are dead. They believe her now, but who knows if they will want to confirm this or not. They may come back at any moment, so I will be brief. I came to tell you… well, rather to give you this…" Thus saying she picked up the large leather-bound parcel lying on the table. Strange that Erik hadn't noticed it before now. She handed it to him with a small smile. He eyed her strangely and opened it. Erik paled. Inside the parcel were thick sheets of manuscript paper covered in red ink scripts; his music, his precious music. Here an aria, there a concerto, sheets and sheets of instrumentals, a good deal of it was all there. Behind the loose sheets was a thick book with perhaps the sweetest words ever penned on its cover: Don Juan Triumphant. Through his intense joy, he suddenly noticed that many pages were charred at the edges and some had burns through various spots.

"I had to hurry to the fireplace after they'd gone. They didn't even notice I stayed behind," she admitted almost in conspiracy. Erik's breath began to grow erratic as new tears began to form in his eyes. Beautiful eyes, he remembered. He looked at her, taking in her shy smile. With a great sigh, he slumped into a batter chair, the satchel resting on his lap.

"Why?" He rasped through his tear-thickened voice. "Why did you…" He could not finish; his tears now freely flowed.

Meg smiled a little broader. "Because Monsieur, it was an honor to have been in your opera. Your music stirred something in me; something I'd never experienced in my life. It made me truly understand its meaning and…you." Erik's mind reeled as she spoke. He couldn't believe that she was saying this, that she was even here. She smiled at him gently as she continued. "No one in this world should be so unfortunate not to hear this music. Please m'sieur, I know it will be hard. Give the world another chance and see."

"The world…" Erik murmured, his voice heavy. He nearly laughed at the idea. Too many times in his life the world and its people had let him down, cast him aside and trampled his heart. He learned so very early in life that people were treacherous and snide, cold and uncaring. Why should he give them his beloved music? What had they ever done for him?

Marie.

Erik started visibly as the name floated through his mind. Who was that? He tried so hard to remember. She was…

Marie Perrault.

Yes. Yes, he remembered now. His mother's friend, his very first experience of kindness. She was the only person besides Father Mansart who ever showed him kindness as a small child. He knew the she had to force herself to look on him steadily, but she was still pleasant to him and never turned away from him.

Giovanni.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he fell into another reverie. Less painful memories rose to his conscious mind as he remembered his former mentor. His smile broadened as he recalled the beautiful architecture they created together and the gentle way Giovanni shaped his nearly forgotten talent. If he closed his mind to all else, he could still smell the dry softness of masonry dust.

Nadir.

A sigh escaped Erik's throat as he leaned his head back on the mangled cushion of the chair. Never could he forget Nadir, the only man the whole of his life that he ever truly called a friend. As daroga of the Persian police, the risks that Erik took in that country could've cost them both their lives if their deeds were brought to light. However atrocious in the eyes of the Shah these deeds were, Nadir never once betrayed Erik, even up to seeing him safely out of Persia. He thought grimly how much he wished their last meeting had been on better terms. He had truly missed the daroga all those years.

Now that he thought about it, Erik found he was right about people. As a whole, they are wicked and fearful creatures. However at the right time and place, a kind and true individual can come out of the woodwork and change your life for the better without you even realizing it. Coming back to the present, his eyes fell on little Meg Giry. This child had risked her career, reputation and quite possibly her life to return his music to him and to plead the world's case to him in her own innocent words.

He believed her.

Rising to his feet, Erik placed the parcel of music on a small table and took a step towards the young ballerina. She didn't startle as he held his hand out to her. Unwavering, she took it and allowed him to bring her to her feet. She felt a great relief when she saw his smile.

"I see your point madamoiselle. I regret that our visit has been so short, but I thank you for your concern. And I truly appreciate your generosity," he added and gestured to the music. Meg bowed her head shyly and smiled. Erik patted her tiny hand and sighed.

The sound of something hitting the water of the lake startled her and she gasped rather loudly. Erik's grip on her hand tightened further.

"You must leave now child. I fear that not all of that rabble believes I am quite deceased." Meg gazed at him, worry flooding her eyes. Erik shook his head slowly. "Don't worry about me. All will be well. Tell your mother I am greatly in her debt for all she has done for me. It might be sometime before her payment comes, but I will repay her…and you." As he concluded, he encased her hand in both of his and held it a moment, drinking in this moment of friendship between the two of them, who had been complete strangers only minutes before.

Finally, all uneasiness washed out of Meg's system and her shoulders dropped a bit with relief. Impulsively she laid her free hand over his. This appeared to surprise him a little but he didn't pull away. "You are very kind monsiuer."

Erik chuckled quietly. "I'm afraid you are one of the few people who thinks so."

"Then I am one of the privileged few," she smiled. She gasped again as the echoes of a splash shivered through the cold air.

"I think it would be wise if you left ma'mselle. If they do return and find you here…"

"What about you?" She asked, suddenly nervous again. He turned newly strengthened eyes to her, his face gentle yet firmly set.

"Let them come," he said, earning a look of horror from her. "I won't be here for them to find."

This last statement finally assured her that he had taken her words to heart. A strange sense of sadness came over her. She felt like she was saying goodbye to an old friend. "Farewell, Monsiuer le Fantome. I wish we'd known each other better."

Sadness flickered in Erik's eyes and he smiled at her. Bowing low, he lightly pressed his lips to her hand. "Au revoir. Now go, hurry," he urged. Meg held his hand a little longer and turned to go. "Wait!" Erik suddenly said. Meg turned around surprised. He picked up the leather parcel and removed a handful of loose pages. Quickly he leafed through them and pulled out two slightly burned pages. He approached Meg and placed them into her hand. Confused, she looked down at them. The red ink on the ashy parchment read Gypsy Dance. Meg smiled tearfully. It was her dance from his opera. She looked up at him, her eyes misty.

"Thank you m'sieur. I'll never forget you." Erik smiled and nodded.

Yes. Hurry now," he said, not wanting to give away his own tears. With a flurry of her white skirt and ginger hair, Meg Giry disappeared into the shadows. Erik listened as her tiny footsteps faded away until all was silent once more. With an air of nostalgia, he glanced around his ruined home. There was nothing left here worth sparing besides his music. He knew her room hadn't been touched by the mob. Though he felt no desire to take any of the finery of the room on his soul searching, he knew a place where it certainly would do some good. He would not take any of her memories with him now; he would travel alone.

As he finished this new revelation, his foot landed on something. A siren-like screech filled the air and Erik leapt back. He'd placed no secret alarm there! Immediately a cream colored bolt shot out from under the couch and ran into his foot. With a cry of joy, Erik swept Ayeesha into his arms and held her close. She struggled a moment at this sudden burst of affection, but soon she succumbed to Erik's fingers stroking her back and purred loudly.

Perhaps he would not be so alone as he thought.

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Well, there it is! Chapter One at long last, DONE! Hey, I'm a poet, and don't you know it! Okay that's enough of that. R&R!!