Author's Note: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera and make no profit off of this story.


"Would mademoiselle care for a more private engagement?" Erik's voice seemed to whisper from right behind her.

"Yes!" She knew her voice was still angry and sharp.

"Ignore them Meg. They are ignorant fools." He appeared out of nowhere again and began leading her through another hidden doorway to the place he had made his own.

"That doesn't make it right!"

He shrugged. "People are lazy, seeing only what is easiest."

"And what do you see?"

Erik paused, his proud power draining from his face as he thought. "I see many great and terrible things. One sees much when they can only observe."

She reached out a hand, brushing his arm gently. "You deserve so much better." And she wished so badly that she could give him everything he deserved and did not have.

"You would not say that if you saw my face." The visible half of his face was twisted in self-hatred that made her heart hurt.

"It is not your face that holds my interest in conversation. It was not your face that wrote that beautiful opera."

He turned away and didn't say anything and pretended to be busy with yet another of the hidden doorways. When it opened, a draft of cold damp air hit Meg in the face and made the torch Erik held sputter. She followed him inside, curious.

By now they were obviously underneath the opera house but the strains of the music upstairs came quite clearly into the large room. The size of the room actually made Meg wonder if they weren't directly below where the ball was being held, as it looked to be roughly the same size.

Erik was making his way over to the edges of the room with the intent to light the torches held in the wall brackets.

"You don't have to do that." She called to him. "I'm not afraid of the dark.

Even with his back to her, she could hear the wry amusement in his voice. "I've noticed." But he listened to her and only set the lit torch in an empty ring before returning to her.

He bowed to her, cape sweeping out behind him and stirring the dust. "Shall we?"

She laughed. "It's much easier to dance without a terrified audience."

"Life's a stage."

"I don't like the thought of that."

"Don't you like having everyone's eyes on you and you alone?"

She laughed again. "You've been in the theatre too long! You're beginning to sound like some of the leads do. They're sure they're the most talented beings to ever grace the stage."

"That's usually precisely when they lose the best part of their gift. They come to rely on the power of public opinion instead of the power of their talent. There's an essence that deserts them then-a sort of joy in the art itself or a sort of innocence."

"Christine?"

"No. Part of her great talent lies in the fact that she is completely unaware of her great ability. She knows that she can sing but believes it to be no great thing. She does not really believe that she can sing that much better than anyone else. It is that innocence I spoke of. Perhaps if she sings long enough she'll realize."

They continued discussing the theatre and various aspects therein, Meg daring to rest her head on his shoulder as the night grew longer and she grew tired. She couldn't bear to say goodnight though, enjoying herself in a sort of peaceful lassitude. Above, the party continued on, quieter as the band appeared to take a break.

The torch finally sputtered and died, sending them into darkness. They paid it no heed, comfortable in the pose of dancing even though the music had stopped. Meg closed her eyes and listened to his heart beat under her head. "Sing for me?"

His voice, rich and deep, filled the room and Meg knew there was nowhere else she'd rather be. "Night-time sharpens; heightens each sensation. Darkness wakes and stirs imagination…" And Meg saw the heart of the man Christine had turned down.


Author's Note: This part was actually the most fun to write. I hope you had as much fun reading this section as I did writing it. Review and let me know what you thought!