Erik ran his slender fingers over the dark spruce of the piano, moving down to the cool ivory savouring the smooth texture of the keys before flicking the tails of his coat and sitting on the stool. He took a deep breath, strengthed and flexed his fingers, and momentarily closed his eyes. He always felt conflicted when he performed in public - and that was something that was becoming increasingly common since he had arrived in the USA. Like all composers he was elated whenever his music was performed in public; afterall music was meant to be performed and appreciaited, but he dispised having to perform it himself. That being said, he also hated having his work performed by subpar artistes as they fail to do the music justice, but he needed to chose the lesser of two evils: perform himself or aide the development of a pianist so he wouldn't have to risk ridicule or persuit from across the Atlantic.

As soon as his fingers touched the ivory the room became engulfed by the mellifious sound of his own composition; a unqiue peice that would take center stage in the upcoming performance at the new Metropolitan Opera House, he closed his eyes and let the music flow through his very being. As he played the room became hushed, several of the men and women had closed their eyes, allowing the music to surround them, while others stood open mouthed in amazement.

Since arriving in the USA (six months ago) Erik had inadvertantly built a strong reputation among the upperclass as a talented composer, and somehwat surprisingly, an eligible bachelor. He had found that his mask didn't appear to repulse or terrify women in the city, instead it added an air of mystery, and his musical skills, along with his French accent made him appear exotic. Of course, Erik wasn't a fool - he knew that the primary reason he did not scare or repulse the uppercrust of New York was due to his wealth. His growing reputation and wealth led to him being invited to various high society events , many of which he declined, which ultimately added to his mystery.

Once his fingers struck the final key Erik opened his eyes and lifted his head. In one swift movement he rose from his seat, turned and bowed, only to be engulfed in a tight hug the moment he resumed his normal stance. Shocked Erik became tense. His arms remained firmly at his side unsure of what to do, he glanced down to see a blonde haired woman grasping him tightly, he head resting upon his chest with her hair radiating the smell peppermint. Her body was warm against his, and he suddenly felt guilty as a warm sensation started to grow in his abdomen; he didn't know who the woman was, but her touch and smell reminded him of Christine. Erik had spent months trying to distance himself from the memories of Chrstine, only allowing brief moments to reflect upon his love to aid in his composisitions - he knew that if he remained in this perilous situation with the unknown girl he would likely lose track of reality. To aviod embarrassment he firmly gripped the young woman's arms and pushed her away. When he saw the woman's face he was momentilarily stunned and filled with guilt and disgust at his thoughts - it was Meg's face and green eyes looking up at him.

"Meg Giry, leave Monsiour Destler be", a firm yet familiar voice said from the crowd, "can you not see he is busy with his public?"

--xXx--

Erik waited nerviously for his dinner guests. He may have found himself ingratiated into New York high society, but he turned down every dinner invitation and rarely ate out. It was uncharacteristic of him to be sitting in a resturant awaiting the company of anyone, let alone two women.

He had been surprised to see the two women at the Met's gala last night, he was even more surprised by the warm greeting he had recieved from them. He had practically ran away as soon as they disembarked from the ocean liner, he hadn't even bid them goodbye before he disappeared into the shadows. Typical of the Opera Ghost.

At the time of his departure from his eldest friend and her daughter he firmly believed that both Antoinette and Meg were safer without him - he didn't want his negative and corrupting influence to infultrate their lives anymore than it already had. He owed Antionette Giry a great deal; she had saved his life on two occasions, once as a child escaping the gypsies and again when escaping the mob.

Considering all that the two women had sacrificed for him Erik knew he needed to repay them; the first way was with his absence and the second was with the bag of jewels and gold he had put into Antionette's bag. He knew that the value of the items on the bag would not only prevent his oldest friend and her daughter from being destitute, but would also secure them a place in American high society and hopefully aid Meg in finding an eligible husband. When he had been dividing his Persan treasures Erik had made sure that the Giry's had recieved the lion's share - that was the least he could do.

When his dinner guests arrived Erik upheld all the formal pleasentaries associated with formal dining. He had greeted them with a slight bow and kissed both their hands. He had pulled out their chairs, pushed them back in, and bid them good afternoon.

He felt slightly smug when he saw Meg's apparent surprise in response to his behaviour, "I may not have had much experience eating in resturants my dear Meg, but I assure you that I know how to behave".

Meg felt her face turning scarlett out of sheer embarrassment, "I am certain thg you are nothing less than a gentleman Erik". Her mother's disapproving look may have been missed by Meg, but it was not lost on Erik.

Meg had dominated the converation for the majority of their luncheon. She had explained to Erik that she had been overcome by the beauty of the composition he had played at the gala the previous night. She had continually asked him to dissect his composition further; she wanted to know and understand his choice of notes, the various instruments that would accompany the piano and his choice of lyrics for the upcoming performance tomorrow night. Although Erik declined to comment on most things, he enjoyed listening to the young girl's speculations.

It would be clear to anyone that had known (or observed) Meg while in Paris that the USA had been good for Meg - she appeared more confident and more at ease than the timid ballet dancer she had once been. Furthermore she was enjoying herself immensely; laughing and throwing her head back in enjoyment. As he watched her he noticed how her eyes were the colour of emeralds, and that the left had a slight goldern speck that brought out the goldern tones of her hair. He had never paid Meg much attention while at the Populaire - he had seen her as Christine's friend and Anionette's daughter - her dancing wasn't as accomplished as her mother's but it certainly wasn't subpar, but seeing her act in thi manner made him realise just how beautiful Meg Giry really was.

"I can see why you are the talk of New York society" the young ballet dancer teased. Erik raised his eyebrows in response, causing Meg to continue, "many of my female acquaintances talk as though you are classical diety".

She put on an American accent "Mr Destler is unbelievably talented. He is a composer with a voice from heaven, he can play multiple instruments, is very mysterious and has an alluring French accent". She giggled at her own impersonation of a woman neither Erik nor her mother knew before returning to her normal voice, "Plus, you have shown yourself to be kind during our passage. I can see why you have American society eating out of the palm of your hand and socialites falling at your feet". She smiled as her eyes met his, momentarily forgetting that she was in her mother's presence. She reached over and placed her hand atop of his "I have missed our midnight strolls".

Erik quickly pulled his hand back and broke eye contact. Meg allowed her hand to linger on the place where his hand had been before placing it in her lap.

Anionette was not happy with the exchange she had just witnessed and gave Erik a displeased look before addressing her daughter, "Meg - Erik does not need you fawning over him. Think of your fiancé"

Meg felt her cheeks redden and she bit her lip. She wasn't fawning over her mothers friend, she certain of it. Erik had been kind to her during her difficult passage across the Atlantic - without his help she would've suffered for two entire weeks, but his company and medicinal knowledge had been enough to enable her to plough through. She was happily engaged to be married and all she wanted was for Erik to believe in his own personal worth.

"Meg my dear, I would be pleased to hear of your, fiancé" Erik interjected in an attempt to save the girl from further embarrassment.

Meg recounted how she had met her bethrothed and how happy he made her feel. Erik felt a twinge of jealousy as he listened to Meg recount stories of her beloveded as he had longed for Christine to speak of him in that way. He wondered whether Meg had sat with Chrstine while she recounted tales of Raoul, and whether she'd had the glassy-eyed look and sparkle in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned.

He knew that he shouldn't think of the young soprano, for she would be his undoing. He knew that analysing the past several years would make him fall into a deep depression and possibly cause him to behave in an unforgivable way. He had to ground himself: remind himself that if it had not been for Antoinette then his life would have ended the night of Don Juan.

Erik was releaved when Anionette turned the discussion to his music. He recounted how he had found himself composing for the new Metroplian Opera House and had been invited to an increasing number of society events. Based upon his friend's blaise responses and generally uninterested look it was apparent that she was more than aware of his story, and that the line of questioning had been a distraction - time filler even - for the real converstion that would occur after Meg left.

After their main course Meg excused herself due to a prior engagement leaving Anionette staring at her companion with narrowed her eyes. "I do not like the way you were looking at my daughter Erik. I will not allow it"

Erik waved his hand in a dismissive way and smirked, "I assure you Antoinette that I see Meg as nothing more than a friend, as a niece even". He could see Antoinette did not believe him and he was certain there ws little he could say to reassure her of his intentions, "honestly my dear old friend, Meg is a lovely girl, but I do not see her in the way you suggest"

"I have seen the way you look at her. She is happy. Young. Innocent"

"And you do not corrupt her with my distorted soul and face" his voice had became harsher, deeper and darker. The malace interwoven through the words did not go unnoticed.

"I have never said such things to you Erik. It was not I who said your soul was distorted. It was not I who rejeceted you for youth and beauty over genius".

Erik leaned forward placing both palms firmly on the table. His voice took a more sinister turn. A sneer appeared across his lips, his eyes became narrow nad shrp as he looked down on her. His mismatched eyes burning into her very soul "Is that so my dear? You never rejected me? You never chose beauty?"

Anionette shook her head and furrowed her brow. She was confused. Erik was her eldest friend and she had been there for him whenever he asked. She would've followed him wherever he led; she never rejected him, it was he who rejected her by disappearing without a trace - no note, no goodbye

There was an awkward silence between the two as she tried to understand his words. It was when she looked into his eyes she had finally realised, it was at that moment the puzzle pieces fell into place, a shroud of darkness has been lifted: he had loved her.

"I didn't know". It was a feeble response, but all she could manage given the curcumstances.

Erik scoffed "Tell me how I was meant to feel about you Antionette? You saved me from the gypsies, helped hide me while they hunted me down. You showed me compassion that no one else did". He cast his eyes downward. "I am a monster my dear Antionette, a monster deviod of human interaction, a face even a mother couldn't love. How could I persue you, a beautiful and enchanting ballet dancer, when I look like this?" he made a violent gesture towards his mask.

Her own eyes were now downcast unsure of how to respond.

"I heard you speaking with the clerk Julian Giry one night. It was clear that he was your suitor. I left knowing you would have a normal life with him, believing you could be happy. Little did I know that he would become a drunkard" he continued.

"I'm sorry Erik" she wasnt sure what else to say, but it seemed like it wasn't enough. "I didn't know, I honestly didn't know".

She thought back to previous interaction, considering if there were any signs that she had misread. She recalled a time when she had brought a picnic into the catacombs, laying the blanket on the bank beside the underground lake. She had laid out a meal of breads, cheeses and grapes, and the pair had talked about her aspirations to be a prima ballerinia, with Erik explaining why her talent far exceeded that of the other dancers. She had considered his kind words to be a sign of their friendship, but had he showered her with compliments as an attempt to woo her?

Another was her husband's death, which had been somewhat strange. They had pulled his body from the Seine, with the police claiming he had fallen into the river due to intoxication, however Antoinette had noticed the very fine red line around his neck: the mark of the punjab lasso. Had Erik killed her husband? She did consider the possibility at the time of his passing, but had pushed the thought into the recesses of her mind. Her husband had been an awful drunk who was verbally abusive to both her and Meg on a daily basis, and Erik had just referenced Julian as being a drunkard. Either way, deep down she knew it didn't matter. Although she would never publicly admit it but she was relieved he ended up in the Seine - he wouldn't be able to hurt herself or her little Meg any longer.

She looked up at the former Opera Ghost avioding eye contact and repeated, "Honestly Erik, I didn't know"

"Would it have made a difference?" it was a metaphorical question: he didnt want an answer as either response would cause him unnecessary pain. "No matter now, the past is dead. What I find intreguing about Meg is that she reminds me of you. I've witnessed her sharp wit and independence first hand."

"Don't insult my intelligence by changing the subject Erik" she spoke with a confidence that had been lacking a few moments earlier. She was not going to allow him to aviod this conversation: not after so many years.

With a heftysigh Erik conceeded conceded defeat, "Rest assured Anoinette, my feelings for you changed while I was in Persia.I walked down a path that cannot be altered. From that point onwards I knew for certain I don't deserve love".

Erik had never spoken about his time in Persia, all the ballet mistress knew was that he designed palaces and created inventions for the Shah - but he had never given the impression that his time there had been unforgiving - she assumed he had thrived due to the number of jewels he had brought back to France. She took a deep breath, knowing that her next question would likely cause her to be subject to his rage.

"If you are so undeserving of love, what of Christine? what made you..." she trailed off realising she had over stepped a line. She saw Erik's eyes darken, he pursed his lips and rose to his feet.

"Don't talk to me of her!" he roared in almost a growl. Antionette leaned back on chair in a feeble attempt to distance herself from him. Even though she had witnessed his anger she had never been on the recieving end of his wrath. His eyes were darker, his hands in fists, and his stature and presence become more menacing.

Seeing Antionette, the strongest woman he had ever met, shrink back into her chair and look at him with wide-eyed terror, made Erik relaise how aggressive he must seem. It took him mere seconds to realise that all the eyes were on them. He had worked hard to distance himself from the persona of Opera Ghost, and he didn't intend on allowing one outburst driven by the long dead past to destroy it. Ever the showman, Erik started to laugh - it wasn't genuine laughter, but it was enough to fool the other patrons. Although Antionette was intinally confused by Erik's sudsudden change of emotion she quickly realised what was occuring and joined him. Her attempt to save her friend from embarrassment and disgrace had worked and soon the other resturant-goers lost interest in the unusal couple.

"My symphony is being performed at the Metropolitan Opera House tonight. I would be honoured if you, Meg and her gentleman friend would join me. I will be in box five."

--xXx--

Erik found Meg's gentleman friend to be satisfactory. There appeared to be genuine concern for Meg's wellbeing as well as having a clear understanding of proprietary and etiquette; something that impressed both Erik and Antionette. On a more personal level Erik was particularly please that he never addressed the elephant in the room: his mask. He knew it was quite likely that either Meg or her mother had advised him to steer clear of the subject, but his ability to ignore its presence resulted in the man earning respect from the former Opera Ghost.

Erik found Americans to be strange creatures, they were often crass, loud and judgemental, but also understanding and accepting - that is if you were white. He had noticed that there were clear societal divisions between those of different skin tones, which was something Erik always failed to understand. In his experience man and woman were equally heinous and angelic regrdless of their heritage. He knew this first hand; he had participated in some unthinkable acts, created devices whose only aim was to torment and kill, murdered when ordered, and hypnotised people under the direction of the Shah - knowing full well what he intended to do with them. He had been the Angel of Doom, and he would've perished in that forsaken place if it had not been for Nadir Khan, which probably would have been a more fitting end for him, rather than attempting to be a fully functioning member of society. These memories made him physically shudder and he glanced over at Antoinette and once again wondered if things could have been different between them - whatever would have happened probability would've not predicted this outcome.

The standing ovation that Erik's score recieved brought a tear to both Antoinette's and Meg's eyes. It was truly beautiful - deep and meaningful, filled with love and torment. Antionette knew it had been written with Christine in mind - that the soaring notes and melodies refkected his desire for his possession of her voice and soul, and the dark, deep rapid notes reflected her rejection of him and his own inner torment of what he was.

Meg turned and hugged Erik tightly while gently sobbing, her tears creating a small damp patch upon his shirt. When she pulled away all she could do was repetedly apologise as she stroked the wet patch. Erik flinched slightly at the contact, stepping back to ensure distance between them. As far as he was concerned Meg didn't need to apologise for being moved by his music; music was meant to move people, and her tears showed he had succeeded.

It wasn't long before the threatre managers entered box five and asked Erik to join them backstage. Ever the recluse Erik declined, but the managers were insistent. It transpired that the opera house had been visited by a well-known European patron of the arts and his wife and that the gentleman in question had been insistent that they meet the talented composer who had enticed them with his spellbinding music. Erik had rolled his eyes, knowing that the managers were hoping for a hefty donation from their European visitor, and he contemplated appeasing them by increasing his own contribution as to aviod an awkward social interaction.

Seeing her friend's wkwardnes and reluctance Meg quickly moved to Erik's side and clutched onto his arm. She whispered into her ear - using her fake American accent - the various comments she had heard about his performances and music - in an attempt to stroke his ego and put him at ease. She even offered to accompany him to the meeting. Meg's idea was reinforced by her fiancé; he claimed it would look good for Erik to have a beautiful woman on his arm.

Erik glanced towards Antoinette as though he saught her approval - he didn't want a repeat of the previous day where he had been chastised for "making eyes" at his friend's daughter. Seeing the shrug of her shoulders and the roll of her eyes Erik stepped towards Meg offering her is arm. They followed the threatre managers, arm in arm, as they led them backstage.

--xXx--

"I cannot wait to meet the maestro" said the Vicomte de Chagny as he eagerly shook the director's hand. Although Raoul did not consider himself an expert on such matters, he believed the score to have been written by a musical genius and was adament he would meet the man prior to investing in the new opera house.

As Roaul spoke at lenth with the director and conductor Christine hung back, something she had learnt was appropriate for upper class women, and surveyed her surroundings. She deeply missed being part of a company; he noted the jovial tones and smiling faces of the chorus members and ballet dancers, the beauty of the various props and pieces of set that the stage manager and stage hands were carefully preparing for the next performance.

Her attention brielfy returned to Raoul. His time was now being monopolised by the leading soprano in a clear attempt to secure individual patronage. Christine didn't make many demands of her husband - she had quickly learnt that as an aristrocrat she was subservient to her husband - but she would not allow him to patronise an individual performer; not when he wouldn't allow her to perform. At first he had convinced her she needed to step back from the company to aviod scandal following the events of Don Jaun and that she would be able to return once that night had become a distant memory for Parisian society, but the events of that night hadn't been discussed for months and now she was certain that he simply didn't want her to sing.

As if on que the room became hushed and the members of the company begn to clapped and cheer their composer as he entered the room with a beautiful blonde woman on his arm. The first thing that Raoul and Chrstine noticed was his white mask.

The subsequent events happened in slow motion: Meg registered the guests and her hands went to her mouth, Raoul took a sharp inhale of breath before stepping forward as though to intimidate the taller man before realising he needed to look behind and check on his wife's wellbeing, Christine's face had drained of colour and was deathly pale, and Erik merely stood dumbstruck unsure of how to proceed.

As soon as the former phantom's eyes met those of the Vicomtess, Christine fainted.