A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing, you're the ones who inspire me to continue forward. I would also like to thank L2C for pointing out my errors, if you find any more, keep telling me. You can e-mail me at I'd love to hear from my readers... if i'm not too greedy in asking :p. Please keep reviewing, there is nothing more important :)

Disclaimer: I still don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of it's characters. (I wonder how much it costs to buy the Phantom :p)

Chapter 10: Wishes

All was silent. Erik had spent the past three or four hours sitting before his organ, scribbling out the music which filled his soul. He had never been so inspired. He could still feel the touch of Kristen's hand upon his marred face, though it chanced hours before. He was never more sure in his life that he didn't deserve what was given to him. He didn't deserve Kristen Verlaine, that strange and captivated girl. His own mother couldn't find it within herself to show him the slightest bit of love, and now he was the lure of this girl's imagination?

Suddenly the song which he was composing grew to a monstrous rage. He tried to stifle the thought that perhaps she saw him the same way others had seen him in that freak show... a public display, something to be wondered about. But she hadn't "seen" him. He stopped his writing, his beautiful creating... it would have to wait for later. She was freighting his mind again... he would not surrender.

Now it was not the treble and bass which would endure the pressure of his angry writing utensil, but large sheets of blank scroll. Those bastards in the upper theater would be planning the reconstruction of the Populaire, those fools! he thought. They could never comprehend the complexity of a place like this... he just knew they would make a dupe's job of repairing it. Without any further delay he began to map out the blueprints to the places which were ruined by the fire... the fire which was his fault. Perhaps it was all a blessing in disguise, he contemplated. The fire had ruined his "domain" yes, but it had brought him Kristen... it had sent Raoul away, it had made a total mess of Firmin and Armande's careers. He had to grin at that. Once a nasty magician, always a nasty magician.

He stopped his drawing, if only for a moment, and cursed the content of his first thought.

These blueprints would not make the theater into the same building it was in previous years. Some things would definitely have to change. The quill pen glided over the paper as if there were dotted lines to follow, he was as skilled with his architecture as he was with his compositions. The capacity of the audience would be increased... the stage would be significantly improved. These, however, were mere necessities. These parts were the first to be touched on, because he was saving the most important for the latter.

He could almost feel the excitement boil within him as he began to create the next series of secret passages. The Phantom would have more accessible routes than ever, he thought with giddy revenge. He didn't know the feeling of being a child on Christmas Eve, so he merely compared these moments to the beatitude he felt upon first discovering music. This was the only chance he would ever have to improve his opera house, and all his emotions, love, and sadness would be poured into this like nothing else before.

Madame Giry scolded her daughter. "I told you never to be out in this part of the theater!" she chastised. "It is in disrepair and it is far too dangerous! Why in God's name are you not in the dormitories with the other dancers going over the next script?"

Meg Giry looked to the floor. She always grew extremely nervous over her mother's punishment. She could be such a frightening woman when she was indignant. "Maman, I'm sorry, I was trying to... I was only..."

"Spit it out Meg, I haven't all day to stand and listen to you stutter."

"Kristen has been missing for days Maman, I am so worried for her... the poor girl, she cannot even see. What ifhe has her?" The moment the words escaped her mouth, she realized she had said the wrong things. Her mother grew pale at her insinuation, and grasped the young ballerina by the wrist with a continued punishment.

"Meg, you will not look for the girl any longer. If no one has found her yet, she will have not survived.

Meg snatched her hand away, "How can you be so cold?" she blared. Her mother sighed in frustration.

"I am not being cold Meg, you are being unreasonable. You have been far too shielded from the world as it is, you do not know when to make the right decisions. It is a fool's errand to run around trying to make things right. Bad things happen and they cannot be doctored. Your main focus is not to find the blind girl, Meg, your goal right now is to practice your dancing. You will have a sorry future if you fail now.

Meg walked away from her mother filled with sorrow and disbelief. She had nothing left to say to her. She had never known her mother to be so cruel. She had felt deeply for Kristen the moment she arrived at the Paris Opera House, and she regretted deeply that her mother simply brushed her off as someone who could not be helped.

Madame Giry watched her daughter disappear into the shadowed corridor. She repented greatly that her daughter had grown up amongst the fairy tales of the Opera. Meg was clearly ignorant with her stance on the line that separated the real world from the fictional. Giry knew that Kristen was either rescued, or dead, but she could not worry on that unless she was given the opportunity to aid. Her funds were on an all time low. She could scarcely afford to put food on the table for herself and her daughter, and to top it all off, Armande and Firmin were two very mad men growing angrier by the minute.

The ballet mistress walked nervously throughout the main theater. The very site of the destroyed auditorium could have made her cry. She was a very strong woman, but she had spent many years of her long life in that building, it was truly heartbreaking to witness such destruction. What was she going to do? What in the burning fires of hell was she going to do? It was hopeless... completely -

"They will rebuild the Populaire the way I want them to, or they will not rebuilt the Populaire at all"

Madame Giry recognized that deep threat, that musical voice. It was none other than the very master mind himself. She looked up into the shadows, when she saw the scrolls fall from the darkness, as if appearing out of no where, as his little messages had always seemed to do before.

"IS THIS HOW IT IS GOING TO BE FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES?" She yelled out, producing a thundering echo. "WILL YOU CONTINUE TO TORMENT THE LIVES OF THE INNOCENT?"

She stormed towards the scrolls and retrieved them from the dusty floor. "Erik! Show yourself to me! I will tell them of your existence if you do not" she threatened. Then the most frightening, evil laughter she had ever heard coming from a man in her life, flooded her ears.

"You think your petty threats will effect me in the least? You forget your position, Madame. If you refuse to comply with my demands, I will have to see to it that the Populaire never regains it's glory. This is my theater, and you will obey." His voice was like a slithering silk, filling the air around her, coming from no given direction. She paled considerably at his wickedness, knowing full well that he could cause her extreme harm, along with anyone else whom did not obey him.

She opened the scrolls to discover that they were in fact, blueprints. These were so complex she could hardly understand them. They were the sort of instructions to be followed by experts, not a ballet mistress, such as herself.

"Erik, this is not what the Populaire looked like. What are you doing?" She asked.

"Have them delivered to the managers. If they refuse to obey my commands, the Populaire will stand no longer."

"But Erik..." Madame Giry stated, before she felt the room grow empty. He was gone, that was for sure. When she was alone he always made his presence known to her, but he rarely allowed her to see him when he was doing the approaching. She placed a shaky hand to her forehead. This feeling was all too familiar. The Opera Ghost continued to haunt! She sighed. It would have to be done. They would have to find the money to hire such experts. She would not see the Populaire fall into ruin.

Erik knew perhaps he had been a bit dark in voicing his demands, but could he help it? He still felt so betrayed by the woman who allowed that filfthy Raoul to descend into his home and steal his intended bride. How would he forget that? how?

Kristen fell into a weary state as she approached waking up. The silk sheets of the bed which he had given her were so inviting, she felt that she would not have been able to leave them even if she was in full physical capability. Before, when she was able to see, the sun had always given her reason to jump out of bed and enjoy another day... but now that she would never againlook upon it's golden rays, she would forever face the damnation of praying to be left alone in the morning. At this thought she had to wonder what time it was.

"Erik?" she asked, when she heard not a sound. The lair was silent, the only noise audible was that of the water, delicately dripping at a steady pace, in the distance. She obtained no answer. He must have left again. She sat up in bed, and frowned upon realizing that something had changed.

Her bandages were tighter. Her jaw dropped in the realization that he must have taken the care to change them while she slept... how did he manage that? to handle her paining wounds so, without waking her. Magic... he was all magic. She did, however, realize that upon sitting up, she did not face the same surge of distress she had felt in previous days. She was beginning to heal! Oh how she thanked God for that. For a while she worried she would perhaps grow infected, and die some agonizing death.

Along with the bandages, she was dressed in the loveliest fabric. It was a gown, it's colour she would never know, but it seemed to fit her as if it was tailored for her. Feelings of guilt started to flow through her mind. He couldn't have spent money on her... could he have? Oh Erik... she thought.

She reached out to touch her ankle. The bandages there had been changed as well. Oh he was a demon! She thought. A nasty littletwo horned demon. How could he do these things without telling her first? Though she hardly felt invaded... not after the way the doctor's had treated her injuries... with their hands made of evil. Erik would have made a far better doctor than any of those idiots, she almost began to wish it was him who had been the doctor who changed the bandages to her burn scars, and not those fools, if he could change her binds without even waking her!

But where was he now? Gone again, she supposed. She was beginning to grow used to the idea of being left alone, she was finally feeling safe again. Nothing had warmed her like his music... and his embrace. Her thoughts traveled back to that moment of comfort, and instantly she fell back into the cozy cushions of which the bed was made. She felt so incredibly feeble-minded. It would be unwise to develop feelings for a Phantom, she chuckled at herself bitterly. She remembered the way her heart had fluttered over that idiotic boy from her home town... that Nicholas, that betraying... monster! The very memory of him made her want to smash something against the wall, but the only things within her grasp were the sheets and the pillows... wouldn't that make for a horrific scene, Erik returning to find her scattering feathers everywhere.

She quickly came to her senses, she did not have feelings for the Phantom! Oh how wonderful it felt to be held like that.that. Was her conclusion correct? Or was her heart, and her mind stillbattling furiously against each other?

Suddenly, as if she were a cat hearing the first call if it's enemy, she jolted back to a sitting position. Footsteps were the stuff of her hearings, but so unfamiliar they were. She could do nothing but sit still, and wait for the realization that these sounds were all in her strange imagination, but she could feel her heart begin to pound the blood through her body faster than it was intended. They drew closer. They could not have been Erik's. He moved gracefully, swiftly, as if he knew every off angled obstacle of the stone lair by heart. This invader was obviously new to the under grounds.

She tried with all her courage not to panic, and just when it seemed she could go no longer, she was brought back to a sense of relief. That was the breath of a woman, which she heard. The delicate breath of a young woman, and she almost recognized it.

"Who is there?" She called out, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and allowing all her weight to be pressed upon her good foot. When she placed her injured foot to the ground, she felt the familiar pain, only lighter now. How happy she was that she was beginning to heal. She remembered the direction that Erik had led her in. She felt her way, though limping a great deal, to the entrance of her room, and listened out into the murky dungeon.

"HELLO?" She called.

"Kristen! Oh Kristen. Oh thank God, thank God, thank God!" The childish voice cheered, running on uneven ground to squish her within her feminine little arms. It was Meg. Kristen knew the moment she heard the ballerina's voice that it was her old friend.

"Oh, Meg, please. I am injured, please let go!" she begged, and heard her friend sigh with such relief.

"Kristen. I thought you were dead! What has happened to you and how did you end up here? Oh please, you must tell me everything! everything!" She was about to say more, but she shut herself up for a moment to redirect the content of her speech. "We must leave here, Kristen. Please, follow me. I've found an easy passage from this disgusting place! You'll never have to spend another moment in this confinement. I can't believe he would hold you captive after the whole Christine affair."

Kristen was truly stunned. Held captive? hardly!

"Oh Meg, you've got it all wrong. I was not kidnapped, and I'm not being held prisoner here. I was rescued, not imprisoned... If it were not for him I would be dead. Meg gasped.

"Him... the Phantom?" she asked. "Oh Kristen, please tell me you do not still obsess over that crazed lunatic! Please tell me you do not plan to stay here?"

"I cannot leave now, Meg, I can barely walk, and..." Kristen turned her back to Meg, and stumbled back through the velvet curtains, towardsher bed. She sat down in a very calm demeanor.

Meg was astounded. "How can you live like this? in a cellar, a stone cellar! I can hardly see you it is so dark. Please tell me you are still sane!"

"If you can believe it Meg, I don't think I would be very joyous upon leaving this place. And what kind of light do you think I need Meg, I'm blind remember!"

"Oh I knew it" Meg said, entering the room and sitting beside Kristen. "You're obsessed! I told you not to fascinate over him... I warned you Kristen, I..."

"I am not obsessed" She argued, "But if you could see how kind he is, how compassionate. I've never met a man so complex. He is not a Phantom, Meg... he is not a monster to be feared."

"This coming from a blind girl" Meg said absentmindedly. She was always a bit foolish where words were concerned. "You have not the ability to see his ugliness. He is truly frightening."

Kristen gave Meg a horrid expression upon these harsh remarks. "How can you! How can you be so mean? You can't thrash a person because they aren't perfect!... And I have seen his face."

"But how? you cannot see at all" Meg asked curiously.

"I've touched his face." Kristen replied with a shy smile, "He is truly different"

"And you like that?" Young Meg was horrified.

"I don't think it's fair that he was born with such marks, but... Have you heard his music? have you heard him speak? he's amazing Meg, never was there ever a man so amazing"

"No, Kristen, I haven't." Meg replied. She was astonished. Kristen, such a lovely girl, in the thrall of the Phantom. "You must understand, it is not you who wishes to stay here, it is his music that enslaves you. Christine wrote to me not too long ago, she told me everything."

Kristen's heart began to pound. Meg knew the whole ordeal, and the information was now so accessible to her.

"Christine told me..."

"Shut up Meg, I don't want to know" Kristen quickly interrupted. Meg frowned,

"But why?" she asked, "Haven't you been the slightest bit curious on these facts? since becoming... enthralled?" she mocked. Kristen now realized that Meg was ridiculing her, but that couldn't be helped. Meg was always a bit immature.

"I have wondered. But he would not tell me. He doesn't want me to know, so... don't tell me" she stated firmly. "I know that Christine Daae did something terrible to him, I don't think I could bear to hear it from him either."

"You speak as if you are in love." Meg accused.

"No, I don't think you understand. He saved my life, and he's been so kind. How can I bear to see him in such misery? But I will not know the things he does not wish me to know. I will give him that small victory."

"Very well." Meg replied. "But, are you sure you want to stay here? I mean, what happens if you heal, and he doesn't set you free?" She asked.

"He's already told me that when I am fully recovered he will allow me to... go" she said. Why did those words have such a bad reaction within her? She could imagine herself every day in the future, wishing for one more song... for one more embrace. Letting go would be one of the hardest things she would ever learn to do.

Both Meg and Kristen jumped in their skin as they were greeted by a tall dark figure standing in the fabric doorway.

That voice was as dark as the voice which had stolen her from her dreams that night.

In a dark, and hissing whisper...

"What is she doing here?"