1851
There were some days where Erik was certain that a permanent scowl graced his lips. He wouldn't know, never looking in a mirror, but he could feel it. And the source for his particular scowl was currently flitting about in a corner of his domain.
He didn't like people. That was a rather gentle way of putting it. He despised people. People were cruel and caused pain to everything they touched, and what they didn't understand they shunned and attempted to destroy. Children, though new to the world and yet to learn of all its horrors, are still people; and they inevitably grow to follow the same path as those before them. They could laugh and taunt just as well as a grown person, sometimes more. They were all the same. There could be no beauty in people. There was rarely beauty in the world at all
Music, however, was the exception that he craved. Music was complex and filled with passion and desire, sorrow and hurt, and could fill a person with more joy and love that no person or thing could otherwise provide. Though it could hurt, it did so with meaning, and at the instruction of its composer. That was something that Erik could respect. So he surrounded himself with music of his own creation, having no need for the outside world. And he was content with that.
So, if that was the case...why was he allowing himself the company of one such child?
In his defence, he didn't go out searching for her. In fact, he had initially come about her existence rather accidentally. He remembered it well; talk around the Opera house that the Girys had stumbled upon a lost child close to death, and had taken her in, expecting her to not survive through the night.
How eerily familiar.
But the child survived, and as it were, grew up rather quickly within the confines of the Opera house, much as he did. Though really, their stories were hardly similar...
oOoOoOoOoOo
Many years ago...
He was barely ten when he first joined the travelling fair; a horrid life that he would not wish upon even his greatest enemy. Thousands of people would come and throw money to catch a glimpse of any of the oddities and so called freaks that the show had to offer. They had a sick obsession with it, perhaps it made them feel better about their own dull lives. How grand it must have been to be 'normal'. He was their star attraction, the one they flocked to see. 'Le Mort Vivant', the living dead. There were days where he wished he had been.
He was fifteen years old when Antoinette had found him; bruised, beaten and humiliated. He had seen her in the crowd; standing in front of his caged prison, dressed in white without a hint of amusement on her face. There was something else in its place, there was pity. After he had had his fill of it all, he let his rage consume him and kill the fiend that had kept him prisoner, strangling him with the whip that had been used to beat his hide raw day by day.
But she had come back, and to this day, Erik till had yet to figure out why. Was it pity? Compassion? No, those were things that were never spared onto him. He was not worthy of them. Antoinette snuck him out and given him solace within the bowels of the Opera house in which she lived. She gave him food and water and clothes, along with the promise that she would not reveal to him to anyone so long as he stayed inside. Of course, Erik agreed.
It was his first experience with anything that had resembled kindness.
Erik found shelter in a small abandoned space that had once been a store room for all manner of old props before the Opera house's heyday. It was small and rather cramped for more than one person, but in comparison to his cage at the fair, it was a comfort. It was dry, it was quiet and it was away from the rest of the inhabitants of the Opera Populaire. He and Antoinette had little interaction other than her providing what scraps of food she could manage to sneak away, not that he minded at all. He enjoyed the solace that the dark gave him, and took comfort in the music that he could hear drifting down from above on stage.
Despite his lack of exterior beauty, Erik was incredibly gifted in other areas. He was a craftsman, spending time crafting small trinkets and furnishings; he was a magician and a designer. But most of all, Erik was a composer. He heard music in his head and wrote it down to create the most beautiful and haunting notes that nobody would ever hear.
When he wasn't in his room crafting small trinkets out of old prop pieces, Erik spent his days working his way through the depths of the building; discovering hidden pathways that could get him to and from certain areas of the Opera house without being heard.
For almost two years, this was more enough for him. But eventually, he got restless and while he held disdain for the outside world, Erik felt a longing to live as others do, in his own space that was more than a cupboard. More than that, he longed to be closer to the music. Every day he could hear the beautiful tones drift down through the floorboards, muffled by the stone above. It was then that Erik decided he needed more. So he set to work in expanding his space the best he could, though he lacked the tools to make any proper construction with his own two hands.
It was then that Antoinette offered a revision of their agreement. There was someone she knew, a friend who worked within the opera house that could give him the use of proper tools that he could use to build whatever he needed. She gave him her word that this friend would never speak a word about his existence to anyone.
Erik found Luc Giry a strange man. When told that there was a deformed monster living beneath the opera house, all because one of their dancers snuck him in there, he simply accepted it. There was no admonishing Antoinette for bringing him there, nor was there wanting to hunt him out and kill him, or reveal him. Luc simply agreed to it and asked whether or not Erik would prefer him to deliver the tools or would he like them left for him to gather on his own.
This was his second experience with human kindness.
After almost a year of working on his own day by day; tools provided by Luc and fresh food and hydration by Antoinette, Erik made his first appearance to him. He kept to the shadows, not wanting the kind boy who had helped him to see his wretched face and recant his offer to help. But Luc barely said a word on the subject. He smiled kindly and offered his hand, which Erik admittedly flinched and recoiled slightly. But after a moment, he reached out and shook his hand, though still hesitant.
While Antoinette danced, working her way to the top of the Ballet Corps, Luc took any opportunity he could to help Erik. He provided tools and materials and offered suggestions to assist Erik in building a home for himself. Not once did he think it strange that all of this was occurring. He simply felt that this boy, only a few years younger than himself, had not been dealt a single kindness in life until now. Why should that continue when he could do what was right?
But Erik had once again become restless. His days building and creating, while a useful way to pass the time, were not enough to quench his spirits and make proper use of the talents he had been given. It was then that Erik decided to hire his talents out in contracting. Using Luc as a middleman, and becoming only known by a last name he had fashioned for himself, he created an identity as rather well to do but elusive architect and contractor. Within no time at all, he had established a considerable client base, and through word of mouth, had fashioned work for a great deal of Paris.
Around this time, Monsieur Lefèvre, the newly appointed owner of the Opera Populaire, decided that the grand building needed to undergo a little refurbishment and began scouting around the city for contractors who were willing to take on the task. Names came in yet none were able to match the grandiose plan that the man had for his business.
At least, that was until a certain stage hand suggested a name. A man named Destler, his brilliance spoke volumes in the rather detailed plans that he had sent to the manager. Lefèvre was astounded and wanted to meet with the genius right away. The only catch was, according to Luc Giry, that he would not be able to oversee the project in person, having become somewhat of a recluse, and would take the job if their mutual acquaintance could relay communication back and forth between them. Wanting to secure the job any way he could, Lefèvre agreed, having no clue that the reclusive genius was living beneath his opera house.
Erik had thought it a rather brilliant plan, if he thought so himself. He had come to love the building he had long since taken refuge in, and while the idiots running it left something to be desired, he could not see his home fall into the hands of a fool who knew nothing of its worth. And, with the job secured as his, while he dictated the refurbishments, his plans allowed him to make significant changes and advancements to his own developments below the surface.
The longer he spent living within the walls of the Opera house, the longer Erik wished to see it thrive. He cared little for the ticket sales or the ballet, despite owing a debt to the new Prima Ballerina, but the music, the art it conveyed, that is what held his interest. And the more he thought about that, the more Erik wanted to see it with his own two eyes.
Late at night, hours after rehearsal and long since the last candle was extinguished, Erik made his way above ground. Construction had all but been completed, and though rehearsals had been worked around it, they had resumed on the stage once more. He often did this, in the dark of night when every soul was home or in their dormitories. Erik took great pride in what he had put into his Opera house, even though he would never be credited with it.
Erik made his way along the rigging, preferring an overlooking view of the auditorium to take it all in. Though it was dark, he noticed a flicker of a candle behind the curtain near the stored scenery. That was strange. It was past midnight, and there was nobody that would have the need to be out this late at night. Unless some fool had left a candle burning, in which case all his heard work could quite literally go up in flames. Silently slipping into the shadows, Erik went down to get a closer look.
As he grew closer, he could make out a noise, gradually becoming louder. Heavy panting breaths and low cries, though muffled. It seemed that one of the young dancers and her beau thought it a good idea to take advantage of what they assumed to be a dark and empty auditorium. The blonde in question was pressed up against the curtained wall; her dress haphazardly unbuttoned at the bust as her lover lavished attention against her neck and chest. His hand was hidden deep beneath her bunched up dress hems at her waist, her hand gripping his hair tightly as both pairs of eyes remained closed in the apparent throes of passion.
A clanging sound from above caused the young dancer's eyes to fly open as she glanced around, clearly quite taken back by the sudden sound.
"Did you hear that?" she asked, trying to pry her lover from her body. He didn't reply, far too focused on his current actions to pay any attention to an apparent noise. The blonde didn't look convinced, yet turned her attention back to the matter at hand. It wasn't until the ropes holding the scenery beside them came loose, causing the large canvas to fall and extinguish their candle. The pair sprung apart, grabbing at their clothes as they looked around.
"What was that?" The boy asked, looking around, using a false sense of bravado to mask his fears. But there was nobody there.
"Perhaps the rigging just came loose?" she suggested dumbly. The boy, a young stagehand himself, didn't look entirely convinced, though he really had an alternative reason for the mishap. He nodded as he glanced around once more, unable to see her face grew pale as she glanced up at the ceiling. Her breath caught as she pointed a shaking hand to the rafters, spotting a human face in the shadows, surrounded by a flash of black. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again.
"I-it's a ghost!" she cried, scrambling for her clothes and taking his hand as they rushed from the auditorium. Erik watched in the shadows, surprised by the outcome of his little stunt. A small smirk taking over his features.
It took no time at all for word to get around of the ghost that had appeared in the auditorium the night before. The poor girl was so struck with fear that she could not give a reasonable excuse for her being in the auditorium so late to see such a spectre. Though Lefèvre and those in charge did their best to assure them that there was no such ghost, the corps de ballet were shocked and frightened to the core. As time passed, more and more young girls claimed to see the spirit, or the Opera Ghost as they had come to call him, though few ever really did.
While most in his circumstances would see this as a rather large problem, Erik was not immediately fretting. He had to admit that some of the recounts, especially from those who hadn't actually seen him were quite amusing. He had been seen as everything from a pale apparition to a skeleton in gentleman's clothing. There was also talk that he was missing his whole face, which was quite an exaggeration, considering he made it high priority that he would not show any part of his face.
Soon, the Opera Ghost, sometimes referred to as The Phantom of the Opera, had become rather renowned throughout the Opera Populaire and its inhabitants. Whether you had seen him personally or not, his presence was ever felt and his demands, expressed in notated form and given to the management often by Antoinette or Luc, were dealt with swiftly unless they heed the consequences.
It soon occurred to Erik that he could likely use this to his advantage. With the construction almost complete and his own hideaway's building drawing to a close, it seemed as though Erik had found away to have a larger say in the running of his opera house. Though he made sure to use his newfound power sparingly and only with just cause, it soon became a rather useful upper hand to have.
Erik had been at the opera almost five years by the time his underground home was completed. As it happened, the foundation beneath the opera house was rather sturdy, and given his allowances to design his own plans including the Opera house itself, he had managed to create a large rather extensive home for himself below the surface, surrounded by a large expanse of water disconnecting himself from the inner workings of passages and pathways that had been created beneath and within the opera house.
He furnished his home with artefacts and items he had collected over the years; some from the stores within the opera house from past productions, others he had accumulated though anonymous dealings with the outside world. The jobs that he procured thanks to his contracting dealings had, in hardly no time at all, made Erik an incredibly wealthy man.
It was with this wealth that Erik purchased the tools he would require to create the most beautiful instrument that he could; a large, hand crafted organ and he centrepiece of his home and his life. He spent months on its creation, pouring blood, sweat and tears into it until it was crafted to his intricate perfection. It was now that his music could be heard outside of his mind, and finally be given the chance to make his art more than scratching on parchment.
One of the first favours that Erik collected with his newfound wealth was the business of a nearby craft smith that often contributed to some of the costuming for the Operas productions. The man though old in age, had incredibly skilled hands, and was quite adept in the field of masquerade. Erik's commission was simple; something that would hide the 'birth defect' that he had been cursed with. The crafts man asked no questions, and accepted his payment before getting to work.
When he was done, Erik had been gifted with an assortment of masks to hide his wretched disfigurement. Though their purpose was grim, they were well crafted and perhaps, in another circumstance, could be quite beautiful. Masks made of leather and papier-mache, even one of the more traditional masks made of glass. But the one that Erik seemed to favour above all, was the white porcelain half mask. Though it initially hurt, spending hours resting on his blemished and raw skin, he adapted and adjusted to the discomfort, as he did with every aspect of pain in his life.
It would take no time at all for their styles to be replicated should he ever need more, but for now, they would serve their purpose.
It was painfully ironic in a way, that a rather large quantity of antique and ornate mirrors were found beneath the opera house in its stores. They were beautiful, and would have been thought even more so if it weren't for their reflective surface. Erik's first thought was to have them destroyed; they were of little use to him, he avoided looking at his own reflection at all costs. But he soon thought better of it, they were too lovely to be rid of. Some acted as a rather generous donation to the opera house, being placed within the rooms of both the Prima Donna and the Prima Ballerina. Others were fashioned into something useful for him; doorways within his passages around the depths of his home. Some had their mirrored reflections removed and replaced as doors fitted with two way glass. And some remained in his home, adorning the walls of his domain, though each reflective surface was covered completely, out of sight.
As the days seemed to move on and those in the Opera house above moved on with their lives, Erik became more regressed and isolated in himself. His methods of ensuring that his privacy was kept, using all manner of self made traps and tricks, it soon became dangerous for Luc and Antoinette to journey down into his underground labyrinth. Antoinette had been hesitant to make the journey at all, preferring her correspondence to occur above ground through being a messenger between Erik and Lefèvre. Luc, on the other hand was another matter entirely. Though he knew and understood of Erik's desire to be alone, it didn't sit entirely well with him, despite the younger man growing further and further apart from them.
Erik spent his days composing what he was sure would be his life's greatest achievement; a yet unnamed composition that he threw his blood, sweat and tears into. His time was spent creating music that no other soul would ever hear, and silently making his way through the realms of the opera house undetected, to ensure the running of the property was constantly at the highest level of competence.
And as it often did, things changed. Luc and Antoinette soon married in a little ceremony in the church by the opera house, an event that Erik was invited but declined to attend. They soon moved out of the opera house to their own little flat and soon their association with Erik was through the passing of notes alone. Soon, it seemed some days that the disfigured man they knew was nothing more than the ghost story he had willed himself to become.
When he had learned of the child, Erik had to admit that he was slightly interested, though he hadn't the faintest idea why. When the child had been old enough to walk and talk, she found her ability to make her way around the opera house whenever she pleased, apparently capturing the hearts of most, if not all who worked there. Erik failed to understand what was so intriguing about the small human that seemed to cause everyone to lose their wits. But he couldn't deny that some part of him was curious. That was how he found himself hiding in the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious creature; this tiny red headed sprite who seemed to not have a care in the world.
He had almost been caught more than once. When he thought he was being careful, he would misstep and the child would turn around, eyes searching for the sources of the sound but fortunately finding nothing. There were times when he was careful as he could, barely breathing and she would still get the feeling of being watched. Apparently this little thing was far more intelligent than Erik had originally given her credit for, even if she was only a child.
Erik soon found himself watching over the child more and more. She had developed a sense of adventure and an inability to sit still from an early age and often took it upon herself to explore every inch of the opera house she could. This, as Erik soon realized, meant possible danger.
On more than one occasion, he discovered that by coming above ground and remaining in the shadows he had inevitably found himself in 'the right place at the right time'. He had lost track of how many times he had somehow prevented her from getting hurt over the years. He didn't care at all, he reminded himself of that often. Yet he found that he couldn't stand aside and leave well enough alone.
Erik had made a mistake by getting too close to the girl. He was quite aware that he didn't need to watch over her, even though that wasn't at all what he was doing; it was pure coincidence that she had also discovered the best places in the opera house to listen to rehearsals. But he didn't stop visiting once he knew she was aware of his existence.
The child was no fool, it took him no time at all to discover that little fact. He supposed that he was rather impressed with the skills that she had shown during her short life at the opera house. She was clearly more intelligent than most he encountered in the building.
Erik remained silent, never answering her questions or verbally acknowledging that he was there at all, no matter how she pestered him about it. Verbal communication only brought interaction and confirmed his existence to her, and he couldn't have that.
But then she had almost died.
Erik knew that he shouldn't have cared at all. He supposed that she would have got what was coming to her, sneaking around in places that hardly concerned her. What was a six year old doing roaming around in dark passageways on her own? She was only lucky that he had been on his way returning to his home and managed to see her before she slipped. Had he not been watching, the girl would have plummeted below in an instant, never to be heard of again.
Perhaps he had been harsh with her, a little too rough. She was alive, that was what counted, wasn't it. He felt no pity for mankind, so why was the thought of seeing the terror in her eyes playing over and over in his mind?
Though he made no effort to return to the particular passage under the orchestra, Erik knew he would find her gift. She had every right to be frightened of him, but hopefully would find his peace offering. He had no idea what possessed him to actually reveal his name to the child; perhaps it was guilt? He had harmed her, so he owed her that much.
It had taken him the whole night to find spare rags of material to fashion the toy for her. It was by no means an attractive doll, and he honestly wouldn't blame her if she saw fit to dispose of it due to its hideousness... it would be something they had in common.
But she didn't.
Word travelled fast and it took him no time at all to realize that the doll soon became a permanent fixture in her life. She took it with her everywhere, the thing barely left her side. Erik found that he felt a certain amount of pride in that fact. Perhaps she didn't hate him after all?
It seemed as though her little taste of fear had done nothing to diminish the child's adventurous spirit, nor her interest in him. Erik tried harder to make each of his traps more efficient, but the child became more and more adept at making her way past them each and every time and soon, Erik found himself giving up the fight. He would sit at his organ, composing or writing a letter to the foolish management, and would know when she decided to come see him. In time, he had come to expect her daily visits, and soon Erik found himself caring less and less as time went by.
As she grew, Erik found that he could hold a rather civilized conversation with the girl – or Rose, as he had now been able to call her. She was thoroughly inquisitive, asking him about everything and anything she could. Erik had feared, early on as she spent more and more time with him, that she would question his mask. He hadn't the faintest idea what he would do if she did, but he tried to prepare himself when the moment inevitably came. But it never did. If she asked once, which was likely, she seemed satisfied with his answer and the subject was never approached again. She never questioned it, or tried to see what was hidden under it. For whatever reason that completely eluded him, the child trusted him.
Though he would never admit it, he found that he didn't entirely hate having her company, despite finding her and the lack of peace and solitude the bane of his existence at times.
oOoOoOoOoOo
This brought him back to such a moment, where he was determined to focus on his work, yet was finding it rather difficult due to the seven year old who was currently pirouetting from one end of his workspace to the other. How on earth was he expected to compose when he was constantly being distracted; looking up every few moments to ensure that he didn't have to pull the child from the lake.
"Must you keep spinning around like that?" he asked dryly, not lifting his eyes from the sheet music spread out atop his organ. Resting beside it, sitting up in a seated position, was the ragdoll he had made her.
"If you truly thought I was annoying, you would have gotten rid of me ages ago."
"Not for lack of trying." He murmured to himself.
"Mama says I have to practice." She told him with a childish smile, still spinning around and attempting to keep her balance on the points of her toes.
"I hardly believe she meant doing so down here." he replied, barely resisting a roll of the eyes. "I also know for a fact that if your parents knew you are down here, they wouldn't care for it very much."
"They haven't stopped me yet." She reasoned, stilling for a moment, needing to allow her head to stop spinning. "Besides, they're busy preparing for the baby."
It was with great sorrow that Antoinette Giry, the beloved Prima Ballerina of the Opera Populaire, had decided to step down from her position, due to the fact that she was now with child. Her final performance was something that the people of Paris would talk about for years. Such grace and talent, she had plenty of time left for the stage, but decided to give it up to expand her family. Not wanting his star to venture too far from the opera house, Monsieur Lefèvre offered her the position of Ballet mistress for the time being, and the offer that the position become permanent should she wish it at the end of her pregnancy.
"Ah yes. The impending arrival of little Giry." He murmured, his quill still scratching notes onto parchment. Why he included himself in childish conversations at times with her, he still did not quite understand. For someone who craved the solitude in the darkness, he was never so eager to push her away these days.
Rose stopped spinning for a moment, stilling her feet on the floor and appeared deep in thought. After a moment, she wandered over to the organ crossed her arms to rest on top of the instrument.
"The girls say that when the baby is born, Mama and Papa will forget me." She said her voice unusually quiet and sullen. Erik's hand stilled hesitantly, having never heard such worry in the young child's voice. Trust the spoiled, young ballet brats to be so cruel to one of their peers such she. He sighed and put his things down, shifting slightly in his seat to look at her. Her eyes were downcast to the organ, her attention focused elsewhere.
"Your parents will not forget you." He assured her, somewhat hesitantly. He was out of his depth with matters such as these. He never had a father, and his mother tossed him aside as though he were nothing. He was not socially or mentally equipped to answer any questions she would have, or assure her of things he knew nothing about.
"But I'm not really theirs." She replied, just as quietly as she rested her head in the crook of her elbow.
Erik looked at her in mild surprise. It was no secret that she was aware of her parentage. She had come to her parents one day and questioned why her hair was different; not rusted chestnut like her father's, or silken gold as her mother's. So Luc sat her on his knee gently and explained the night they found her, and while she did not come from them, that didn't make her any less their daughter.
And while he didn't know much on the subject of love, Erik knew how much Rose was cared for. While Antoinette attempted to distance herself from the child, as far as even reprimanding the child when she referred to her as 'mama' while at work, she still had her father. There was no possible way that anyone could love another as much as Luc adored his daughter, biological or not.
"Mon amie, come here." He told her, his voice quiet but commanding. Rose looked up, hesitant for a moment before he shifted and pulled herself up onto the seat beside him. She looked up at him with big green eyes, unsure.
"Where you come from does not determine who you are. It is the person that you choose to become that defines who you will be in this life." He told her. "Who are you?"
"I'm Rose." She replied, her small face creasing in confusion at the apparently ridiculous question. Despite himself, Erik chuckled lightly at her confusion and shook his head with a smirk.
"Yes, you are. But you are much more than that, little one." He assured her. "You are fearless, and you are kind. You are the daughter of two parents who love you, soon to be an older sister. And you are set to becoming the next Prima Ballerina, are you not?"
His words seemed foreign, unusually light and optimistic to be coming from the likes of him. And while Erik did not believe anything of what he said in regards to himself, he believed it about her. Rose took a moment to consider this; a small but sure smile growing on her lips as she looked up at him.
"Do you really believe I'll be the next Prima Ballerina, Erik?" she asked hopefully, the spark in her eyes hardly going unnoticed by him.
"With all the practice you have been doing, how can you not?" he proposed in reply. The thought made the younger girl grin and nod her head in thanks before she slipped off the seat and returned her attention back to her practice, filled with a newfound hope thanks to her masked friend. Erik watched her as she seemingly went back to her usual self, as though her bout of self doubt had ceased to exist. Shaking his head, Erik went back to his composition, but soon found himself giving up once more as he started to play a soft melody on the organ for her to dance to.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Marguerite Marie Giry was born late one evening in the spring. Meg, as she had been lovingly dubbed by her parents, was a small but sweet child with bright eyes and the beginnings of her mother's fair skin and blonde hair.
With the new addition to the family and that Rose was now living and training with the other girls in the dormitories, her small room at the family flat was converted into a nursery for little Meg, who became the doting recipient of her mother's newfound maternal love.
The little one was but a week old when she made her first appearance in the opera house. Much as they had with her elder sister, those in their makeshift rag-tag family oohed and ahhed over the new bundle of joy. Antoinette held her new daughter with every air and grace of an ex-ballerina; a smile on her lips as he thanked the well-wishers almost smugly, and a look of pride upon her face as she happily showed off this wondrous creation that she had made. Something, Erik had noticed even from the shadows, that she had not done with her eldest daughter.
Luc was as proud as the day they first brought Rose to the Opera house. No longer was he a father to one, but now two beautiful little girls who, if you asked him, were the reason that the sun rose each and every morning. While Antoinette showed off the newborn, his eldest, still the light in his eyes as by his side, now far too big to be carried in her father's arms, but still standing proudly with his hand in hers, every part of their little family unit.
One evening, after spending time with her family at home and her parents had gone for a quiet stroll around the block after supper, Rose was standing in her little sister's room while she slept, watching the infant with a quiet fondness.
"Was I ever really that small?" she asked the apparently empty room, not lifting her head but her question directed to the shadows by the door. Erik said nothing for a moment, merely wondering how on earth she could tell he was in the room without even glancing up.
"Yes, you were." He informed her, stepping out of the shadows into the dimly lit room. He moved silently to stand by Rose's side, peering down into the crib. "Though you were not as quiet as she is."
"So nothing's changed then?" The young girl asked with a wry smile as she glanced up at him. Erik hummed quietly in response, taking a moment to look down at the sleeping child as she shifted slightly, her hands moving in response to whatever visions she was seeing behind closed eyes.
He was still adamant that he did not care for children. What reason would he have to care about children? It did not help his case however that the person he felt the closest, even minute connection with was in fact a seven year old child, nor the fact that he was currently standing in a nursery looking down at another sleeping infant with said child. He would never speak of it out loud, but in that moment Erik felt a strong pull towards the two Giry children. It had happened with Rose, the day she almost fell, and it was happening with little Meg right now. He had no right to have contact with either one of them, and yet here he was.
"Are you going to make her a doll too?" Rose questioned, snapping the young man out of his thoughts. He looked up at her a moment, his mind recalibrating to the current situation before shaking his head in reply.
"No, that doll was for you and you alone." He told her, an almost fond tone in his voice. "But I did however, make her a small gift."
Erik moved from her side, disappearing into the shadows by the door once again before fetching something and returning to the crib. In the flickering lantern light, he held up a small delicate hanging mobile. Dangling from fine silk strings were small hand crafted ornamental stars, attached to a crescent moon at the centre.
"It's beautiful." Rose whispered in awe, smiling up at the creation as Erik attached it above the baby's cradle.
"And look." Erik prompted, reaching up and turning a small key at the base of the moon. After a moment, a soft soothing lullaby filled the room, and in no time at all, little Meg had fallen into a still slumber once more.
"Oh, Erik it's lovely. Did you write that?"
"I thought since you listen to my music every day, your little sister should be extended the same kindness." He reasoned, as though it were nothing at all; though very few people were willingly allowed to listen to his music such as this. Rose smiled up at him before turning her attention once more to her little sister, now sleeping soundly.
It was in that moment that Erik made a conscious vow to himself. No matter what happened, how many years passed or anything at all, he would make sure that no harm would come to these two little girls in his care, so long as he lived.
oOoOoOoOoOo
When Rose wasn't in rehearsal or practices, or when she wasn't spending time with Erik, she made it her mission to spend as much time as she could with her father. It was her favourite thing to do, her earliest memories of that which involved him taking her to work in the Opera house, as far back as she could remember.
She was sitting up in the rigging, her legs dangling from the rafters while she waited for her father to finish with one last job before they broke for a quick spot of lunch together. As she gazed out at the theatre below, Rose's mind seemed to be working harder than usual.
"Papa?"
"Yes, my darling?" he replied, not glancing up from the job at hand. It was not uncommon for them to have several conversations while working. Rose paused, deciding to chose her next words rather carefully.
"How did he come to live here?" she asked. She had no need to turn around to know that her father had stilled his hands and turned his full attention to his daughter.
Luc was silent, stunned by the frankness of her question. It was no secret between him and his wife that their eldest daughter had somehow befriended their acquaintance beneath the opera house, and often frequented his home on a daily basis. Though Luc was surprised that his seven year old was able to not only engage with Erik, but somehow manage to convince him that her company was not a hindrance. Despite the distance that had come between them and their young friend, Luc often thought about the boy, wondering if there was more that he could have done back then that would have helped him somehow. But Erik was a force on his own. He craved the solitude away from the light of day and others around him. However, it did in fact seem that his armour was not as tough as he wished others to believe. Or perhaps it was just one particular ray of light that he was willing to allow to break through the darkness.
The man sighed and moved to sit down beside his daughter, pulling her into his arms so she was resting in his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Rose leaned back into his arms and played absently with the thin leather rope that was wrapped around his wrist.
"He has not had an easy live, my sweet. While you and your sister have been fortunate to have so many around you who love and care for you, our young friend was not so lucky." He explained. "He was just a little older than you when he met your mother."
"Mama?"
"Yes, your mother. She showed him a kindness and he came to live here at the opera house. We helped him the best we could, and he's been here ever since." Luc told her. "I'm certainly surprised that he has taken a liking to you, my little one."
"He says that I'm annoying, but I don't think he means it. He doesn't tell me to leave...and I like spending time with him. I think he's lonely." Rose said with a soft smile. Luc looked at her daughter with a soft fondness and held her a little tighter.
"When it is all you have known in your life, it's very easy to think a certain way. But you, you're such a sweet girl so full of light. You see goodness in people even if it is hard to find. If anyone can be his light in the darkness, it is you." Luc smiled, pulling her into a tight embrace. "You need to watch over him, Rosie. Can you do that?"
Rose smiled as her beloved father held her tightly and returned the hug, nodding. "Yes Papa."
"Do you see down there? The gas lantern to the side?" He asked, pointing down to the stage where lantern stand stood tucked away to the side.
"Mmhm." She nodded.
"That there is the Ghost Light. Every night when the theatre is dark, we leave that one light on all night, right there in the middle of the stage." He explained to her. "Most believe it's so we do not hurt ourselves in the darkness. But others say that it is used to help guide the ghosts that live within the theatre."
"You mean like the opera ghost?" she asked, a small knowing smile on her lips. Luc merely chuckled and shook his head, tickling her side a little.
"Perhaps. But the light is guiding them. That's what you are, my little one. You're a light in the darkness. Never lose that, promise me?"
"I promise Papa."
Satisfied with her response, Luc pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. How had he been so lucky to have such n incredible little girl as a daughter? He had his wife, his angel, and two little girls. He was truly blessed.
Down below on the stage, Antoinette was returning from her class teaching the older group of girls. Hearing the sound of childish laughter above, she lifted her gaze to see Luc and Rose high in the rigging, smiles on their faces as they enjoyed a father-daughter moment. She pursed her lips in a tight thin line as she continued along her way.