A/N: I know, it's moving along pretty slow where E/OW are concerned, but it will happen, mark my words and never forget them! Go easy on me, this is my first fanfic.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Phantom & Characters, sighs... if only.

Senses Enhanced/A Promise

"Kristen, Kristen! Wake up!" Meg shook her new friend by the shoulder. Kristen snapped up at her, "I told you for the last time! Leave me Alo...Meg?" she asked, she calmed down significantly when she realized that her visitor this morning was not the annoying presence that had ruined her dreams the previous night. Meg's eyes widened,

"Woah!" she said, "Kristen, are you quite all right?" she asked, putting a soft and gentle hand to the blind girl's forehead.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry Meg, my dear" Kristen said, "I thought you were..." She fell silent.

"You thought I was?" Meg asked

"No one" she replied, "It isn't important. What is so urgent that you must wake me so abruptly?"

"Oh Kristen, it was horrible. We were performing, it was Il Muto, Carlotta was singing! And she was doing quite a nice job with her voice, until something so unpredictable happened! She..."

"Her voice cracked?" Kristen asked. Meg looked at her in disarray,

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I heard her. I heard everything Meg. Ever since I lost my eyes, I can hear everything ten times better. You can almost say that I can sense people walking towards my door down the hallway before I even hear their footsteps. Oh it is so strange Meg, but yes, I heard everything."

"It was him, it was the Opera Ghost! He interrupted our performance, he scared the entire audience and he made the managers cast Christine as the Countess! Oh Kristen, he will not stop haunting us! I'm so frightened!"

Kristen frowned, "Meg, I don't think there is a ghost within these..." Walls, she thought. She suddenly remembered once more the disturbing existence of those eyes she could feel watching her, the voice she heard whisper to her, and the fabric and the footsteps. She fell silent, and didn't speak. Meg watched her with suspicion, despite her fear,

"Kristen, you awoke quite alarmed and actually, very startled when I came to you just a few minutes ago. Who were you talking to when you told who ever you thought it was to leave you alone?"

Kristen frowned, in silence. "There was someone there" she said quietly. "Last night, when I was alone, or when I thought I was alone. Oh Meg, I've learned my way around this room, I've learned to find the wardrobe and the vanity, and the window, I am no longer scared of what I can no longer see" she said. "I was sleeping. I was having the most wonderful dreams. In my dreams, I could see. I could see and I could hear the church of my childhood, in the French countryside. But then it was gone, it was all gone. I heard someone Meg, he told me to "Leave this place." She imitated the voice as best she could. "He destroyed my lovely visions, it was the first time I had ever seen anything since the fire. I had not had a dream since the night I could no longer see."

Meg grew worried. "Where did the voice come from?" she asked. Kristen fell to a peaceful and somewhat curious thought,

"This will sound so peculiar." She said, "I could swear I heard him in the ceiling! Then I yelled at him." she giggled slightly, "I yelled at him, and he went away, I even heard him leaving! if he had a cape or a cloak I think I heard it move before I heard the footsteps grow quieter and quieter before they were gone completely, like the day I heard my mother's footsteps growing distant." The memory of her mother's departure would be a source of tears for her in many future situations of memory.

"The ceiling?" Meg knew this was not good. She spoke of the very Phantom himself, appearing out of no where, spying, prying, whispering, watching. It was exactly like the tales.

"Kristen, you don't think you've been visited by the phantom?" she asked. Kristen pondered this possibility, the frivolous possibility that the ghost might be real.

"Well, Meg, if you are asking me whether I believe he was the ghost or not, I must say no. Ghosts, if they exist, do not have footsteps, they don't have clothes, and they don't breathe" she said. "Last night I heard him moving, and I could almost feel his breath on my face. If there is a soul torturing the living in this building, it is the soul of a man, and he is very much alive."

The two girls spent the rest of the morning talking, before Meg finally could take it no longer and told Kristen that she was going off to yet another rehearsal. Of course that was a lie. She had to find her mother and she could waste no time.

Madade Giry was sipping tea in her little dining room when her daughter burst through the door, "Oh Maman" she said, her eyes were red, she was holding back tears. Antoinette turned around in a bundle of surprise.

"Meg, was has gotten into you. You don't just storm in here like that, I've warned you against barging in before you are welcome, what if I had had company?" she asked. Meg nodded, and inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. She was now both nervous of the news Kristen had given her, and her mother's disciplinary nature.

"Mother" she restarted. "I think the Phantom is bothering Kristen." she said, letting the words just come out, there was really no better way to explain what she had on her mind. The elder woman's hands trembled slightly, not in inability to control the cup she held, but anyone could match that gesture to the anger and then sudden concern in her soft eyes. She set down her cup immediately, and looked to her daughter.

"Meg, why do you think this?" she asked simply.

"Because she told me herself just now" Meg said, "She said that last night she was awoken by a voice that told her to leave this place. She said it couldn't possibly be the ghost, because she heard his cape and his breath and his footsteps, but still Maman, she said she heard it coming from the ceiling. I had to tell you, I had to. What if she is being watched by the phantom? how do we save her from him? he has already killed, what if he kills her? oh I would just die if something happened to her, I would just die!" Meg said, a quivering hand to her brow. In the few days that she had known Kristen, she had truly grown considerably fond of her.

"Calm yourself!" Antoinette scolded. "She said these things?"

"Yes Mother" she replied. Madame Giry nodded,

"Thank you Meg" she said, "I will speak to Kristen. Now go, eat some breakfast with the other dancers. I will be there shortly. I have a few things to attend to first." she said, then dismissed her daughter.

When Meg had left, Giry shook her head in disbelief and placed an ailing hand to her brow. Oh Erik, She thought Why Kristen? Why her? she is so innocent, so frightened, blind!
She arose immediately from her seat, and followed her best judgment, straight down the stairs to the chapel, and into the darkness. Down that path into darkness deep as hell.

And into darkness, he fell. "Oh Christine" he whispered. Tears had fallen that would never dry. The arrival of that little blind brat was gone from his memory. The only thing he could think of, was Christine, on that rooftop, professing her love to that impudent boy.

"I gave you music!" he roared, pounding a fist to the elegant cherry wood table before him. The table that had been the resting place of the now empty bottle of red wine, the vile liquid that had twisted his thoughts, disoriented his steps. Anything to take the pain away, the heartbreak, and eternal sadness. Christine, in the arms of that disgusting fowl man. The man with his perfect face. Erik took the mask from his visage, and looked at his ugly reflection in the mirror that stood beyond his reach.

She runs from you for this.

He could not dispel the voices that constantly tortured him.

She runs to him from this

He fell back into a chair of red satin, and tried to imagine all the ways he would mangle that foul Raoul when he finally got his hands on him. And I will, he thought, I will kill him, someday, soon.
He was a mess. No longer did he wear that arrangement of formal attire, he was simply dressed in that white blouse, unbuttoned, exposing most of his chest, and black trousers. He had torn the heavy outer wear off the moment he reached the confinement of his eternal prison, and he thought.
He knew that if Raoul had not shown himself to her the night before their meeting, she would have been his, or close to it. She would not have been swayed by her idiotic childhood sweetheart.

Christine. The name burned a hole in his chest every time he thought it, every time he heard her name in his mind. There was no way to extinguish the perceptions of his torment. He staggered from the chair, barely able to hold himself up, the liquor and the heartache playing a terrible game with his mind. He forced himself to his organ. He sat at the bench, and ran his graceful fingers along the ivory keys of the instrument. Music, he needed music almost as much as he needed his Christine. If music could reject him, it would, and he would have nothing. He was lucky music was at the mercy of it's creator. His fingers came down hard on the keys, creating the most haunting sounds the room had in all likelihood every heard. He did not know what he was playing, only that it reflected the pain in his heart, and the anger that was growing. If he was sober, he should have written it down, for certainly it would have become a masterpiece.

All color fled Madame Giry's complexion as she walked through that last tunnel. He was playing, and she could hear him. Whatever had happened to him recently, it must have been terrible, for him to compose a work of such agony and pain. In all the years he haunted the Populaire, she was still the only person who knew he was down there, well, in this case, now Christine knew too. But Christine did not know of this entrance, the pathway from the Rue Scribe. She opened the mirror and stepped into Erik's lair, his music now pouring from every corner of the dungeon. The moment her foot touched the cold hard floor, the music stopped, and Erik stood, enraged that he would be intruded upon.

"To what do I owe the pleasure" he growled in sarcasm between clenched teeth, the candles on the organ that were lit had become pools of wax, and were slowly dimming out, as were the candles lit around his dwellings. He was too drunk, or too miserable to notice.

"I am here about Kristen" Madame Giry said, and suddenly she realized how similar that name was to Christine.

"Who?" Erik clamored. Madame Giry grew a little nervous at his state. He was obviously under the influence, and men like him who were not capable of thinking straight were very dangerous.

"The blind girl" She answered as calmly as she could, "The one who is staying with us as of yesterday. You have been watching her" She lowered her gaze at him, accusingly.

"That girl doesn't belong here, there are enough problems living here as it is, the last thing I need is another person to ruin my plans"

"And what plans are those?" she interrogated, growing rather displeased with what she was hearing. She knew he was mapping out some horrid fate for Christine, but it did not have to involve Kristen.

"Go away Antoinette" he said, his fists clenching together tightly, even drunk, he would not lay a hand on Madame Giry, he was too far in her debt, and she was his only friend, excluding the Daroga.

"I will not, Erik" Madame Giry countered. "The poor girl is blind, she is frightened, terrified and alone. You of all people should know what that is like. She has no one. Her parents have left her for the doctors and the schools, and I doubt she will hear from them in short time. Have you no pity yourself? that you would not allow just one more child of darkness to live within these walls?"

"Don't you dare speak of darkness to me" he hissed, his eyes growing dark. His memories were like no one else's in the world. She could not begin to comprehend. Still she refused to let up.

"No, perhaps you cannot speak to me of darkness, but you cannot say that Kristen does not deserve to be here. She deserves help, Erik. She can no longer see, she is in darkness forever now, you have your candles and your music. She was a writer and now she has nothing! She has no candles to brighten her emptiness. What if you could no longer play or compose music, Erik? What if you could no longer see to cast your fingers to the keys? where would you be? Wouldn't you want someone to help you?"

Erik fell silent. It seemed these words were worse for the ware where liquor was concerned. He could hear her clearly. What she described was the very picture of doom, and perhaps she was on some level, correct. Him, without music? hadn't he just pondered that a moment ago before this stubborn little thing crawled in to invade his privacy? The girl was a writer?

"Leave me alone" he said, walking to the mirror she had come from, and held it open for her, "Get out of here."

"Not until you promise me you will not harm Kristen Verlaine! Not until you promise me that you will leave her out of whatever you are concocting on your own. She has many problems already, do not give her one more."

He snarled. Not harm that little brat? It was not as if she was the nicest girl on earth, he could remember being yelled at. Madame Giry was not going to give up, and it seemed that if he did not oblige her commands, she would be there forever, when all he wanted right now, was to be alone. He came to the conclusion that this was the only way, so he decided to give in, if only momentarily, to her commands.

"Fine" Erik finally answered, in a dark and final tone, "I will not harm the girl, satisfied now? I promise." Madame Giry watched him,

"I know you Erik, something is telling me that you say things now that you will not abide by in the future. I know you will watch her, she is a curious little creature, even I find myself wondering about her sometimes. If you are going to watch her, watch over her, don't spy or follow. Maybe you could protect her the way you protect young Christine Daae" she said, and watched his unmasked eyes grow wide with fury upon the statement. She was probably the only one who could look at his face without recoiling. Now was not the time to make judgements of appearance. She had come for one purpose, and she was now content with her small victory.

"Doubtful" he said, as he held the mirror frame open to her further, and she indeed took leave of the burdoned lair.

He closed the mirror to her, leaving her to get out alone. When he was sure she was gone, he returned to the organ. Without my music?

He played a few notes of beauty

Without Song?

Now what he composed was something different, something strange to him. No anger, just sadness, and Madame Giry could hear the last notes of this as she left the halls below. It almost brought a smile to her face, had she really struck a nerve with him?

Oh I hate making Erik miserable... Throws ropes around my own neck I'll save him the effort.