Hey all how are you? I'm 18 now. Mad cool. I'm going to college, first choice, yay. I have also had time to think about what to do about the regretful fact that I have deviated too much from Leroux.

I have a plan.

If you all can have faith in me, and remember the differences you see until the end of this I promise the twist at the end (or near the end depending on how it works) will explain it all, and will explain some of the questions you can get from just reading Leroux. Like the mistake with Othello and the odd descriptions of the lasso and the Mary-Stu-ness of the Persian, which you all know how it annoys me. So just trust me and I hope that it is as good a twist as I like to think it is.

As always, feel free, compelled even to review, they—the reviews that is—keep me writing faster.

Now, obviously I don't own Phantom of the Opera nor do I have any real rights to it. I find it amusing that you would think I owned it at all, though I can imagine if you did you're wondering why I talk about the Cannon all the time and someone named Leroux. So I don't have rights, but enjoy this anyway.

WARNING:

The FADA (Fanfiction Addiction Detection Agency) has come to the conclusion that this story can be highly addicting. The Author cannot be held responsible for drops in the reader's grades due to new chapters. Large doeses of Requiem can lead to dependence. The Author is not responsible for withdrawal symptoms which can occur when author fails to update speedily enough.

Meg's breath hitched in her throat, caught and then slowly rushed past her dry lips. Her brows pushed together and bunched over her nose, though her mother would have reprimanded her for such an action. Madam Giry had tried to instill manners into her daughter but Megan was too much in the habit of acting before she had time to think about what she was going to do before she did it, hence her habit of speaking her mind and furrowing her brows. Almost as though in a dream Megan slowly heaved a sigh as she pushed her hands into the cushions on either side of her and walked across the small space separating her and the Phantom of the Opera. He was no real phantom though. He wasn't a demon or a ghost or a shadow or anything else other than a man. A man who had been hurt and mistreated all his life; and he needed her help, whether he wanted it or not.

After her trek across the room she knelt before him and rested her hands lightly on his knees. "Erik?" She asked hesitantly and she turned her head to the side, appearing almost like a confused bird, and tried to catch his downcast eyes. Beautiful, golden eyes that drew in the light and could reflect it back at her, drawing her into their depths until she was mesmerized. Every time Erik looked at her it was as though he was casting a spell on her. What truly terrified her though, what made her blood run cold and the religious side of her quake with terror, was that she didn't mind.

She enjoyed the feeling of drowning in those eyes, and she willingly gave herself up to it when it happened. She didn't think of those things as she knelt there though, there was nothing in the world beyond her and Erik, and Erik would not look up from his hands and where they lay in his lap. "Erik, look at me." She whispered softly.

She felt a soft pang in her heart that he wouldn't look at her even after she coaxed him to, even after she pleased with him to, just to look at her.

When he had started talking to her of his past, she had been so sure that the last of the barriers between them were gone. That she had finally convinced him to trust her and there would be no more fear or lies between them. She had been so sure. Now, now that he wouldn't even look at her all the old fear and pain was back and she worried that she'd only done damage in asking about his past. "Please look at me Erik." She begged, leaning forward more, straining to find his eyes behind his mask.

Erik didn't want to look at her though.

He didn't want to see the little flecks of gold in her eyes.

He didn't want to see the soft streaks of chestnut brown in her hair.

He didn't want to see the faint, faint freckles that dotted her nose.

He just wanted her to leave him alone like all the others.

He didn't understand too much of what surrounded Megan, it angered and confused him. He would never feel comfortable around her, not that he ever felt comfortable around anyone. Anyone except Christine that is, but she was different. She had been the only one for him. She had made him—at least for a time—feel like something other than a twisted gargoyle; made him feel like he wasn't a devil-spawned child already kissed by the flames of the hell he was destined too, because she called him her angel. She loved his song and so she loved his soul. At least, that was what he had thought.

Now of course, he knew that she was too innocent to even understand that he had given her his heart. She never understood any of what he did for her and she hated him more than anyone else, and that destroyed him. Certainly enough to drive him to wish for death. Then this…this petite rat had struggled her way into his life and seemed content enough to stay, but for as long as he waited for her to hurt him nothing happened, she only made him feel vulnerable and innocent like a child. He hated that. He wasn't a child anymore and he had never been innocent.

To be treated, or made to feel like he was, was crueler than anything he had experienced in his life. That was all Erik had ever learned, that hope was the cruelest thing anyone could do to him, because his hope would inevitably be wrongly placed and he would be left with that cold, dark pain in his chest which never really went away. And sooner or later, Megan would betray him like that, he was sure of it, but when he saw those gold flecks, or the soft chestnut hues, or even those hazy brown freckles, he wanted to trust her. And that terrified him.

Him, the great, Phantom of the Opera, scared out of his wits by some ballet rat who wasn't even a very good dancer. But he was weak, or maybe she was just that strong, and he glanced up, catching those imperfect eyes with his.

Christine's eyes had been as blue as the sky, as blue as a robin's egg. They had been all blue, a solid blue. Megan's eyes were not as perfectly colored, nor as beautifully colored. Her eyes were a hazy green with dark green 'round the rim. Imperfect and yet perfectly entrancing. He didn't like that he could drown in the oceans of her eyes. He didn't like that that rough, low, heady voice of hers either, or how it affected him. Her hands were impossibly hot against his knees, so hot they felt like fire, burning through the fabric of his pants. He could feel her fingers, the softest and faintest of movements that they made against his legs. He glanced up finally, her face outlined in the dark outline that he was so accustomed to from the eyeholes of his mask.

In response Megan looked up at him through her lashes, thin and pale though they were. Christine, had had full, dark lashes that moved like birds against her skin, Megan's were eyelashes, nothing more. They were not what caught his attention. When he finally looked up and met her eyes she smiled very softly. It was that scared, hesitant smile, making her look as though she were a shy little girl again. "There now," Her voice curled around him like smoke and for a few moments he was sure he couldn't breathe, "Thank you, for trusting me." She whispered. And then she stood and brushed her skirt off calmly, acting as though the moment had never happened.

"I am sorry your life was so hard, but it has made you into a wonderful man." It was not the compliment that made heat rush through his stomach. It was that he had never been just a man. He was a demon, a demon-spawn. He was the Opera Ghost or he was the phantom. Even with Christine he had been a monster or an angel. It was nice to feel, truly feel, like a human. A normal human man who could go for picnics on Sundays, Megan smiled at him from where she stood and turned to look around the room.

"I want to teach you to read." He blurted, and then felt vulnerable and shy. That hadn't at all gone the way he had planned, and he was one to plan everything through carefully before acting. She twisted to look at him and smiled, a big and bright smile this time. She nodded enthusiastically and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Do you really? I've always wanted to learn. I have always wanted to read." She admitted in a breathy gasp. "Can you really teach me?" She asked as though she thought at any moment he would change his mind or tell her it was all a horrible joke. She didn't understand why he suddenly was being nice to her, offering her something she had dreamed of when normally he was only kind to Christine. Surely he was just teasing her, seeing how long he could make her believe that she was anything compared to Christine. Then when he never said anything, never rescinded his offer she took hope.

"You should know how to read and to write. It will help when you wish to retire from dance and live with a husband and children." He told her, and she didn't know why but there was a soft pain in her chest after the soft sort of hatred which hid in his voice. She realized, after a few quiet moments, that he would never have that. He would never have a wife and children, a living room and a fire. He had only the Opera House and memories of Christine. With that revelation Little Meg decided that she would always visit Erik, she would keep him company and she would try and pay him back for the kindness he seemed to wont to show her. She smiled. It was not delicate like Christine's smiles had been, fragile perfect things that seemed ready to shatter if you even looked at her. Megan smiled, grinned, beamed even. A hardy thing that would weather storms and whatever else life could throw at it.

He stood swiftly, though without the cape he often wore to walk among regular people it was a less dramatic movement. "I will not be easy on you. I expect you to come here after practice or rehersals and you will stay until I deem the lessons for the day done. No complaining at all." He told her, warned her. She was too excited to be worried though and she would never, ever dream of complaining when he was the one who sacrificed so much just to teach a little ballet rat to read. She nodded emphatically and couldn't stop smiling.

"Whatever you say." Erik was startled at how quickly she agreed, though he assured himself that it was just a means to an end. She would put up with him and she would learn to read, that way her precious Baron wouldn't regret marrying a ballet rat rather than a well-bred Parisian lady. She stood herself and walked towards the door to the torture chamber. Something Christine would never have done. He had forbidden Christine to go there, knowing it would scare her entirely too much. But she only came down here with him. The thing in the lake wouldn't even come near him so she was safe. That Megan came and went as she pleased no matter what he said worried him. Though he promised himself that it was only because of what he owed her mother. Still and either way he worried for her. He could not always be around to protect her from that which resided in the lake.

He had to admit though; he had shown her that specific way in hopes of scaring her. He had hoped that he would terrify her into never returning. 'Look you Creature of Light, look what I am capable of, look what I could do to you.' He had wanted to shout when he opened the door at first. She was not scared though.

So he explained how it worked. How he would put men in here and let them go mad until they killed themselves or died due to a lack of water or due to the heat. It didn't matter. Men in the torture chamber would die. It hadn't scared her.

She had gotten caught in it. Even without him there to torture men it was a terrible place to be, he would have come eventually and he would have freed her. That didn't happen though. She had found her own way out. The most intelligent of men got confused by such a perfect trick and yet the little rat that had wormed her way into his life and couldn't even read had managed to find her way out. That had intrigued him beyond all measure. She was a diversion, she was an attraction at a fair. She was an anomaly that he had long ago decided to study.

For all the urges he had to study her he didn't want her in his life anymore. He wanted her out, far, far away and he never wanted to deal with her again. He especially didn't want to teach her to read. When she was near him he grew confused, because she made no sense, defied all reason even. He didn't like that, and he didn't like the soft way she smiled at him, the way that made him feel human. After so long of wishing he was human he had given up wishing and hoping, that Megan could make him want it again with just a look angered him. How dare she have such power over him! It was horrible and he would not stand for it, and yet here he was offering to teach her to read. She was leaving, he had to take back the offer now, he couldn't do this, he couldn't allow her to stay in his life anymore. She turned at the door to the torture chamber and he thought maybe she had finally realized that she did not belong down here. But she didn't scream, or call him a monster. She only said "Thank you," very, very softly followed by an admission. "I'm glad you'll teach me." And then she really was gone. Gone but not for good because she would be back.

He didn't know why she would be back, though he had invited her. So a better admission on his part would be that he didn't know why he had invited her back. He had though, he had invited her back and offered to teach her to read and write. Though, it couldn't possibly turn out as badly as tutoring Christine had. There wouldn't be as much pain, because he wouldn't be sharing his soul with Meg. He would be teaching her to read and write, not teaching her to be his voice on stage. He owed her mother, so he had not killed Megan, but that should have been enough to cover the debt, especially when it was Madam Giry who had given his secret to the world and to the man who dared to love his Christine. So he assured himself that it was because he knew that Madam wanted her daughter to marry an emperor and that would never happen if Megan couldn't even read.

For all his assurances he didn't owe Madam Giry anything, not anymore, and for all his excuses he knew exactly why he was helping Megan, though he didn't understand it.

Erik didn't want to think about that. He stormed through the door to his funeral room and dropped in front of the keyboard to the grand organ. He quickly began pounding out a melody of his rage, confusion and even a vein of fear. He took his passion out on the keys, refusing to face the emotions himself. It was easier to wear away the keys and watch the emotions fade into nothing, a sort of nothing that could be cared for, could be repaired. Organs could be repaired, his mind was too fractured to deal with things like…like…things that he did not want to face.

Megan was nearly half the way to her house when the lamp-lighters began to go about their work. There were a few gypsies wondering around, the ones who had not made enough money to secure a place to stay. Megan reached into her purse and found a few coins. She presented them to a tiny young boy with a grimy face and a toothy grin. He handed her a bag of candied nuts and rushed off to show his mother or sister or whatever she happened to be to him. Megan didn't care, and as she walked home, eating her nuts and humming to herself she could not contain a smile.

She would learn to read. She would learn to read from Erik. She didn't need to feel guilty about seeing him anymore. Lots of well off girls had male tutors. Not Megan they couldn't afford that but the little ballerina knew that Jammes was learning English from a tutor, twice a week. It wasn't uncommon, and now Megan would learn to read and get to spend time with Erik. She didn't know why she liked to spend time with him, she thought maybe she did. However she didn't really know, she could just guess. When she was around Erik there was a tightness in her chest and a warmth that heated her blood. She could guess what the feeling was, but she wasn't sure, either way, she enjoyed it.

The Baron certainly didn't make her feel like that, like she was something special. He made her feel like a prize, a necklace sitting in a window display. Erik made her feel precious, annoying and unwanted, but precious. Something different than other women, other people even. She liked that.

She liked that a lot.

Sbkar: I'm glad someone sees the subtle things within what I write, it comforts me when usually no one but me sees it and then I feel all horrible. So its awesome that you can see that, lets hope you see what I do but either way I'm happy. Its great to have a history buff reading and I hope I can count on you to point out if I get my history wrong. I don't like it when I do and I try hard not to, but it happens. Same with my spelling/grammar. (I should have spelled that wrong). I am glad you like Meg and I agree with the comments, I hope that I can make this story live up to being one of the few, very, very few Meg/Erik fics out there. (Or should I say phics?).

Darth: I hope I can call you that. Always glad to hear from you and I was going to change it to what it should be and then I realized a better idea, I just hope it lives up to the high standards you challenge me to meet. (In a good way of course.) :)

Aleema-darkrose1, Quixotic-Feline, and Alexis