Jammes – sorry it took so long, I forgot I had it.

To make things easer what Jammes writes is going to be in bold and what I write will be in italics.

Erik panted heavily, his knuckles white as he grasped the edge of the table. After seventeen years, Christine was still haunting him, still living in his heart. Rage built up in his old body, hating himself for letting Raoul live. After that night with Christine he knew that Madeline should be his child, not a perfect angel sired by the viscount! That night so long ago brought much needed warmth to his old body.

"Erik?" Lucius whispered behind him. So lost in his dreams of yesterday, Erik had not noticed his surrogate son had entered. Erik had raised him for the past twelve years after finding him beaten and alone on the steps of the opera. Yes, Erik had taught Lucius well in his own trade.

"Erik, why did you let her stay? I half expected you to try and Punjab her. What's wrong, you look pale?" Erik stared at Lucius vaguely.

"I'm fine. Leave me with her," he stumbled over his words, gazing at the picture of Christine he always had with him.

"Yes, sir," Lucius said dejectedly and left his master to his mourning. He had never known a day when Erik did not weep for her. Slowly he made his way to the Louise Philippe room, checking on Madeline.

"Mlle.," he asked, knocking on the wood door. Slowly she opened the door, her black hair sparkiling in the candle light. "How are you feeling?" He whispered, his heart fluttering as she leave her head against the door frame.

"Much better, thank you," she opened the door to let him in, "For everything. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't saved me." Lucius watched her eyes glow from the depths of her soul.

"I couldn't let anyone harm you," he whispered, knowing he should not stand so close.

"Did you know Christine?" Madeline whispered suddenly, searching his green eyes.

"No," he said firmly.

"Did Erik?" Lucius inspected her eyes for a cold moment. Who was this odd, young woman?

"No," he finally replied. Madeline felt her face drop and tears sting behind her eyes. She had been so painfully close to finding the angel of music. "Why do you ask?" Madeline turned away from him.

"Because," she paused for a moment. "No reason. If you don't mind, I would like to sleep a while. Tomorrow I will leave; I can pay for your troubles."

"You are free to stay as long as you desire," Madeline smiled weakly as he left closing the door behind him. Through the door Lucius could hear Madeline sobbing.

"Erik, what is your secret?"

Christine moved closer to Erik, caressing his face tenderly. Her lips sought his own, showing her low for him desperately.

"Christine," Erik moaned reaching out in his sleep.

"Erik," Lucius whispered, rubbing sleep from his eyes ahs he stumbled into the room. Erik sat up suddenly. "You were dreaming again. She asked about Christine, you know. Erik, what is going on?"

Erik looked apprentice sternly. "I must talk to the Mlle."

"She is still sleeping."

"Alert me when she wakes, until them I will be working and don't wish to be disturbed."

Erik scratched furiously down the paper, he wasn't paying attention to what he was sketching, but it took his mind off of her. Madeline stood at the doorway, watching his hand fly across his paper. She couldn't help but stare in awe. He had a regal quality about him that called to her. He sensed her presence and turned from his paper, locking eyes with her.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," she began but Erik raised his hand to silence her.

"You won't interrupt, I was just passing time." He motioned for her to take a seat across from him. She walked over to the loveseat, catching a glimpse of what he was drawing. A pair of familiar eyes looked back at her. Her eyes, Christine's eyes. He hadn't noticed her watching the sketch but he hadn't even known what he was doing, he just let his hand take control.

"Mlle., may I ask you something?" Erik asked.

"Why, of course, this is your home." Hesitated, not exactly sure what he was going to say.

"Last night you said your name was De Changny, the family that patrons the opera house perhaps?"

"Yes, M., my father, Raoul, is the main contributor."

"The young Viscomte, husband to the famous Christine Daae," the colour in Madeline's face left her, the news of her mother had not reached his ears.

"You know her?" She asked hopefully.

"I did, a long time ago," he trailed off staring into space. Maddy's spirit lifted. What if he really was her angel?

"How?"

"I was her tutor On this note you should probably go read Little Jammes story "Tutor" once." She knew he was the angel of music now. This was nothing more to question.

"Erik," she began, pulling her mothers journal from her pocket and handing it to him. His bright eyes flickered at the sight of his beloved's handwriting. "This is something I must tell you." She was not sure how he would take it, but she had to tell him.

"Christine, my mother is…dead."

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN! Opera house burns down

Hey! It really did. It burned in 1873 and was rebuilt in 1876...God...I need a life.