1857

Fate was a tricky and often cruel mistress. It was a common belief that those will have done unto them as they have done unto others, and that the good shall lead a happy life. It was soon realized, in the most painful of ways, that this was rarely ever the case.

If that were true, that the good will survive, then how could it be that someone who had done nothing but good their whole life, who loved more honestly than another soul on the earth, could be snatched away in the blink of an eye? How could it be that someone is there one day, and the next they have vanished?

They were calling it a 'freak accident'. Those in the company were still unsure about the circumstances, and it was still unclear as to whether or not it could have been avoided. But none of that mattered anymore.

He had been up in the rigging, something he had done as often as breathing. It was his skill, his mastered work that he took pride in every day. He had been adjusting the staging for the evening's rehearsal. It was a simple task, one that would be finished quickly before he would break for lunch, but as thoroughly as he did every inch of his work.

Nobody had anticipated the loose rope that wasn't where it should have been. Nor did anyone anticipate that such a skilled stage hand would lose his footing, and that the young apprentice who was supposed to be in his post to spot him, was too busy trying to sneak his way into the girls dormitories.

He fell without anything to cling to. It happened fast, they were told. He was gone before he hit the ground. He never had the chance to feel any pain.

It was his cries that alerted the others that something had gone terribly wrong. Others had arrived just to see him land on the stage, never to move again. When asked what had happened, the young foolish boy who had been supposed to be there merely stated that he wasn't at his post. He was not fired, but demoted, as though that had the power to bring him back from the dead.

Rose had been out for a walk collecting an order for the costumers, blissfully unaware that her entire world was about to come crashing down. She had to hold herself from rushing back, the bolts of fabric nestled under her arm as her fingers played absently with the chain around her neck; a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday months earlier. A silver pendant engraved with the sun and the moon lay between her fingertips.

"To remind you that there is both light and darkness in the world. One is not good, while one evil and neither can survive without the other." He had told her with a smile. Since the moment he had placed it around her neck, she hadn't taken it off.

Upon her return to the Populaire, there was a silence. Everyone around her seemed to look at her with such pity, that she did not understand it. It wasn't until she was summoned to Leferve's office that she had learned of what had happened. The person she loved most of all, the centre of her entire world, was gone forever. She had only seen and spoken to her father that morning, mere hours before he had gone up into the rigging.

Antoinette had been distraught, screaming and breaking down so completely that she had to be sedated. Little Meg didn't, only six years of age, could barely register what was going on other than the fact that for whatever reason, her Papa wasn't coming home.

And Rose?

She ran. Faster than her dancer's legs had ever taken her before. She didn't know where she was going, nor what she would do when she arrived. She only knew that she had to get away. Tears were blurring her vision as she ran past the masses of mourning staff all over the Opera house. Some tried to stop her, others decided to let her grieve any way she knew how. One thing was for certain, life at the Populaire already seemed les bright without one of their most beloved of faces.

She didn't stop until her feet finally gave way and she fell onto cold stone. Somehow without realizing it, she had she had found herself under the stage. She gasped at the sudden impact when she hit the floor, her emotions finally catching up for her as the tears fell from her eyes, burning her cheeks like a flame. As she struggled to pull herself up, Rose let out a broken, anguished cry, her head falling into her hands as all the pain and darkness she was feeling began to consume her.

Her father was dead. He was never coming back, and that was partially because of someone's foolish mistake. A mistake he would not pay for in the eyes of those in charge. That fact hurt her deeply, but there was something that caused her more pain than anything else. She did not get to say good bye to her father. Nobody was given that chance. Her mother didn't, and was now left a widow to raise two children on her own; her little sister, who was only just developing a tight bond with their father. His brothers and sisters in the company, Erik...none of them had a chance to say goodbye to someone they loved.

In an instant, her tears of sorrow seemed to quickly change as a blinding rage seemed to fill her tiny form, buried deep within her burning core and threatening to spill out in any way it could. Blinded by pain and fury, Rose pulled herself to her feet and hurled herself full force against the wall. She thrashed against the solid stone, arms and legs kicking and punching as a means of trying to make herself feel even the slightest inch of relief.

She wanted to hurt. She wanted to scream and to feel the pain. It was almost as if she held some belief that all of this would miraculously bring her father back to her and that things would be okay. She felt as though her heart had shattered into a million pieces and they were cutting her to shreds from the inside.

She could have been doing it for mere moments, or hours, she didn't know. She couldn't feel anything anymore, not even the pain shooting through her wrists. It wasn't until she was forcibly pulled away from the wall and pulled into a pair of strong arms that she even realized anything was happening.

Erik pulled her away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her shoulders while the other tried to sill the punches she was still throwing in mid air. Rose was small, but it was evident that she had the strength to do some damage if he was not careful. He hushed her, pulling her close as she finally had a grip on her arms. Feeling someone beside her, Rose's attacks were slowly starting to lessen until finally she broke down against him, finally worn out.

It was no secret that Erik did not do well with human contact. However since the young redhead came bounding into his life, quite literally, he had come to terms that he must make allowances – most of the time against his will and better judgement. As she wrapped her arms around him in despair, his body stiffened slightly, if only out of instinct. But he didn't push her away, which surprised him more than anything. Instead, he pulled the crying child closer to him and backed slowly against the wall, sinking down to the floor.

Neither of them could tell how much time had passed as they sat there; Erik staring blankly into space, processing what had happened while the young girl sobbed in his still somewhat reluctant embrace. Finally, her cries softened until eventually they ceased all together, and Rose felt as though she was incapable of crying ever again. Instead, she felt hollow, like there was nothing left for her to give.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." She murmured finally, breaking the silence. "He was my father...my world, and I didn't get to say goodbye to him." Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible, and Erik was certain he never thought he could ever hear such softness leave her lips. The usually bright and energized thirteen year old was nowhere to be found, in her place was nothing but a shell, someone who had had everything they had ever known snatched so cruelly away from them.

"I know you didn't. I am sorry, mon amie." Erik murmured, trying to disguise the fact that his voice was cracking. When he had heard the news; the cries and the hysteria from up above drifting down to his domain, he had found himself part of his own episode. When he left his home to journey upwards in search of her, he had left barely a dozen mirrors intact in his wake.

Rose sighed as she lifted her head from his chest. She sniffed, reaching up to wipe her eyes and brush her hair away that had fallen over her face. Erik's eyes widened slightly as he reached for her hand, pulling it closer. It seemed that in her fit of rage against the unrelenting stone walls, Rose had done a significant amount of damage to her hand. The skin was bruised, broken in some places thanks to the coarse stone, and was bleeding onto her dress. She had been so consumed that she hadn't even noticed.

"Come." He murmured, getting to his feet and pulling her along with him, reminding himself to be gentle and to treat her with care in her fragile state. Rose said nothing as she followed him in an almost obedient haze. Her moment before had taken a lot out of her, and right now it was a miracle she was able to walk and stand on her own two feet.

The pair was silent as they made their way down underground. Erik made no move to get her to talk, simply knowing that it was best for Rose to move at her own pace. He just ensured that his grip on her did not waver as he guided her down to his home. Upon their arrival, he sat her down at his organ and went to fetch what little medical supplies he had.

For someone who was told she felt far too much, Rose was exceedingly numb. Her head was heavy, her face streaked with the marks of tears, though she found herself incapable of crying anymore. Was this how it was going to be always? Would she always feel this gaping hole in her being as though someone had simply reached in and pulled out her heart and walked away?

Luc Giry had so much life to live. He loved his job, it was his life. His family was his entire world his childhood sweetheart, their daughters – the youngest of which was but six years old. He was the greatest person that Rose had ever met, and would ever meet. He did not harm a soul but encouraged love and light in a world of pain and darkness, though he was never afraid of the dark. There was so much he had left to do, and now he would never get the chance.

He was only 31 years old.

Rose barely registered the fact that Erik had returned until she felt him take her hand in his. Snapping out of her daze, she looked down at her bruised and bleeding hands as Erik knelt in front of her. He cleaned them and dressed them in clean strips of fabric.

"Even you have to admit this was a rather foolish thing to do." He told her. While his told was light, there was a hint of admonishment lying beneath the surface. Rose didn't look up, her gaze resting on her tiny hands completely covered by his own.

"It seems that's all I seem to do these days." She murmured quietly, her throat hoarse from her cries. She felt barely present, like she was drifting through a series of motions, unsure of what to do or say or think, or even feel. "I didn't even realize what I was doing. It just felt good to hit something."

"You are not violent, Rose. It is not in your nature and I think it unwise for you pursue it more than necessary." Erik responded.

He tightened the last knot on the dressings and released her hand gently. Rose was only now starting to feel the ache in her knuckles, and knew she would feel it for quite some time by the looks of things. But it was nothing more than a tickle compared to the ache in her heart. She ran her hand lightly over the fabric wrapped around her hand, flinching only slightly when her touch grazed the open wound. Wordlessly, Erik got up from the floor and took his seat beside her on the bench.

"They're saying that one of the hands wasn't at his post. Nobody was watching him." She told him quietly, not looking up to meet his gaze. Erik stiffened at this new information. It was known above that any work in the rigging had to be at least a two-man job; even if it was simple, one man would always act as a second pair of eyes. He had hoped he was wrong, but by the sounds of it, the death of an innocent man could have been easily avoided by someone's thoughtless actions.

"Who?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even and not give away any hint of his anger. The young girl shrugged, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"One of the new boys." She said softly, trying to think of the name she heard in passing. "Bouquet I think? He hasn't been here that long."

Erik remained silent, though he found that his hands were clenched quite tightly. He did, however, try to hide this fact from Rose. She was dealing with enough right now, and surely did not need any added problems from the likes of him.

In himself, Erik was feeling as though the universe was dealing another harsh blow to those who did not deserve it. By taking Luc Giry away, he was not only taking away a good man, but someone who had unselfishly helped him from early age. He shows him unparalleled kindness, even more so than Antoinette and anyone else he had ever met, save for possibly his daughter. With that said, the moment that Erik had heard of what had happened, his thoughts went immediately went to the young redhead by his side. No cause for worried about his own reaction, or that of the company, but the young thirteen year old and her family, who would undoubtedly never be the same again.

And so the two sat in silence; the fact that they were not alone providing a small amount of comfort for one another, as the severity of the day's actions finally fell upon them.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose hated black. She loved the calm that darkness brought, and she longed for the quiet of night, but as a general rule, she hated the colour black. Black was dark and cold, it was the colour of morning. And painfully accurate, black was the colour of death.

Her father wouldn't have liked this. He wouldn't have wanted his loved ones dressed in the darkest shades of black, standing around his grave in tears. Luc Giry lived for colour and light and joy, all the things that made the world beautiful. If he had been alive, there wasn't a single doubt in Rose's mind that he would be striving to make each and every one of them laugh, or at least smile. He had the uncanny ability to make even the strictest of people laugh. It was his god given talent. He was the source of all the light in the world, leaving the sun far behind.

But that was just the thing...he wasn't alive, and they were dressed in black.

Everyone from the Opera had turned out for the funeral service. The stage hands, the costumers, even corps and performers. Monsieur Lefèvre made it known that he would offer whatever he could to the family. A collection of people who were known for dressing in bright fashions, aiming to make the world smile with their art, looked so sullen and broken at the loss of one of their most cherished and beloved brothers.

The Girys were by no means wealthy in any sense; Luc and Antonette's jobs were more out of love for the craft than for making a grand living. But Luc had been a cherished staple in their small community, and everyone banded together to give him a send off that he deserved; fit for a king among men.

That's what he was to them, and that was how his memory deserved to remain.

Antoinette had used up most of her strength to get out of bed that morning. While she had been strict and pragmatic in her ways even following her husband's death, behind closed doors, if one would look past the hardened exterior, they would see a fragile woman who had just lost the love of her life. She was standing still and almost rigid, dressed in a black gown with a veil obstructing her face. If she were to cry, she would not let anyone see it occur. Her hand was securely clasping that of her young daughter, standing dutifully by her side.

Little Meg. Sweet beautiful Meg with her perfect blonde curls falling neatly down her back. It had taken her a little while to come to terms with the fact that her father was gone. She had been her mother's pride and joy, but that did not deter from the loving relationship she had with her father. She was sad, of course, but it was more cause for lamenting the future that she had now been denied with the only man in her life.

Rose felt out of place. This was her father's funeral and yet it was the last place on earth she wanted to be. She was dressed in a modest black dress; her red hair braided and pinned, in the way her father would sometimes do for her before she went to bed of an evening. This didn't feel right, though she was forced to remind herself of the likeliness that nothing would ever feel right again. Somehow, she had to find a way to make peace with that fact. In the days since, she had been walking around like the undead. She had been unable to feel or think anything other than numbness. How could she, when her source of light, her entire world, had disappeared as quickly as the lanterns were extinguished at the end of each day.

The air was thick as she, her mother and her sister walked behind the carriage that held her father's coffin. Rose kept her eyes focused on the ground, knowing that if she could place one foot in front of the other and keep going then she was off to a good start. It didn't feel right, that this was for all intents and purposes, the last walk she would ever take with her father.

The service was simple, yet heartfelt. The priest spoke of Luc as he would have liked to have been remembered; a kind man who loved his work, loved his friends and above all, loved his family with every inch of his being. That though his body was no longer here, his spirit would live on without the lives of those he loved, and that God had a larger plan for him that he could not finish on Earth.

Standing there, listening to the sermon, Rose couldn't help questioning the apparent existence of this all mighty higher power. Her parents weren't instinctively religious, but there were others at the company who were, though it seemed that superstition outranked religion in the hallowed halls of the Populaire. While there were some things she knew she should be thankful for, namely how lucky she had been to live the life she had, there were many things about the entire concept that just did not sit right with her.

How could someone who was so mighty and just, deliver such hardships on those who did not deserve it? Her mind instinctively went to Erik. How could a good God curse such a man with the loneliness and heartache that he had been living with? How could he take away the one good thing in her life so unfairly? No, God was not just, he was cruel if he existed at all. So while the priest spoke of her father's soul, Rose knew that he had no close of what he was speaking of. Her father's soul, may he be at peace, would more than likely stay in the halls of the opera house than ascend to heaven as it had been apparently foretold.

The service soon came to an end, and all that was left to do was lower the casket into the ground. Rose wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see that, and it seemed as though most of those in attendance felt the same. People approached the small family, offering their condolences and telling the three women that they were in their prayers. Antoinette kept a polite facade, as she thanked each and every one of them as they passed to take their leave. She was the picture of a widow and mother who was keeping it together for the sake of her children.

Rose watched silently as those she knew passed to head back to their homes. The Populaire had called a day of mourning and had closed its doors out of respect for the family and for Luc. It seemed as though to the young girl, that that was all there was too it and soon her father would be in the ground and life would go on for all those who were left behind.

She turned silently to the coffin, not sure what had possessed her to do so. Perhaps the thought of it being the last chance she had to be near her father in a physical sense, or perhaps another reason all together. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something that she knew for certain had not been there before. Amongst the sea of black, laying atop the coffin, was a single red rose.

She knew instantly where that had come from, and the very thought that Erik had gone above ground and purposefully ventured out from the Populaire, simply to show his respect sent a flourish of warmth through her otherwise numb body. She looked around for any sight of him, though she knew better than to expect him to leave a trace, or risk the chance to be seen at all. But the fact that he was there, well, that in itself made Rose smile for the first time in days.

"Madame, please allow me to offer you my deepest condolences for you and your daughters." Monsieur Lefèvre said, bowing his head politely as he approached the family. Antoinette offered him a small smile in return and nodded head in thanks.

"Thank you kindly, Monsieur. You have been more than generous enough for us." She replied, her voice hoarse, yet unwavering.

"Believe me when I say that if there is anything else that myself or my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask." He told her honestly. She nodded her head once more in thanks. Taking his cue to leave, Lefèvre nodded once more, then once each to the girls before making his way out of the cemetery.

The three Giry women remained at the gravesite a little longer, simply staring at the casket unwilling to take that first step away from the man that they loved, knowing it would be the last. Finally, the sky began to darken and the wind grew cold, and Antoinette Giry turned with the two girls and headed back to the awaiting carriage.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It would seem that fate had a few more aces up her sleeve, as it were. One such trick occurred not too long after Luc's burial. Without the second income, it seemed as though Antoinette and her daughters could no longer keep their family home. It broke the woman's heart to be forced to leave the apartment that she had bought with her husband, and the home in which they had raised their children and planned to spend the rest of their day growing old together. But it seemed as though it was not in their plan, and soon Antoinette found herself being called upon once more to Monsieur Lefèvre's office.

It was fortunate for the family to have ties to the company, as it seemed to work in their favour. Aside from Luc an Antoinette, Rose had greatly impressed her teachers, and was well on the way to becoming the dancer she had dreamed her whole life of being, perhaps even the Prima ballerina after her mother. Lefèvre's offer was still on the table, and although it pained her for assistance, Antoinette knew she needed help.

So when she was summoned to the manager's office, she was presented with a choice; there would be a room for her at the opera house. It wasn't much, but it was a roof over her head. Meg was almost at the age where she could start training with the corps, so she could move into the dormitories with her sister. What was most important about the offer, was that the family could stay there free of charge, so long as they all found the need to.

Although she was astounded by the offer, and knew how badly she was in need of a solution, Antoinette was reluctant to agree to this ridiculous gesture of kindness from her employer. When she started to protest, Lefèvre put his hand up to politely silence her. All he asked for in return, was the continuation of their work within the Opera Populaire. She would continue to teach and run the ballet department, while Rose kept studying and working hard, and should she have time, continue the small jobs she had been doing since she could learn to walk. It was clear that the young redhead had developed quite a place within the halls of the opera house, one that did not go unnoticed by the man in charge. Not knowing what else to say, Antoinette agreed.

It wasn't long before the three had moved permanently into the opera house. They had packed up the small flat at the end of the street, bundling belongings and precious memories into boxes and taking them with them. Antoinette had her own private space, living on her own again for the first time since she was a small child. Photos from their family home displayed on her walls, and Meg's mobile was wrapped and safely stored away in her closet.

Meg moved into the ballet dormitories with her sister, temporarily sharing the bed until some of the elder girls left the corps in a few months time. Hard as they may have tried, it wasn't easy to adjust to life without Luc. Antoinette did her best to keep her personal destruction and her professional life from intertwining, while Meg, small and somewhat shy in her new surroundings, adjusted to life as a ballerina in training.

Rose found it hardest of all to slip back into life at the opera house. Normally when she felt ill at ease, her father would be there with a soothing word or a hug to chase the nightmares away. She no longer had that guiding presence in her life, and it left a large gaping hole that she wasn't quite sure she could ever fill.

At night when she couldn't sleep, and did not want to burden Erik with her childish nonsense, she would creep out of bed and sit on the stage in the darkened auditorium, gazing at the ghost light in silence. Her father's words playing in her head;how the glow both lights and protects the theatre and all those in it, acting as a balance between the light and the dark. In the time since her father's passing, and when she would spend her nights watching the lamp, Rose swore that the flame in the lantern flickered a little brighter than it used to. As she sat there, warmed by its glow, her hand clutching the pendant around her neck, Rose felt comforted in a way that if ever asked, she would never truly be able to explain.

"...Rosie?" a shy, timid voice asked, breaking the silence in the room. Rose turned around and even in the darkness, could make out the small silhouette of her sister hiding behind the curtain. Clutched tight in her hands was Rose's ragdoll, who often was a beacon of comfort for the youngest Giry.

"Meg, what are you doing out of bed?" she asked calmly. The little blonde girl looked ashamed as she stepped back behind the curtain, not yet as gifted in seeing in the dark as her sister.

"I woke up and you weren't there." She replied. Rose's face eased as she managed a soft smile, holding her arms out expectantly. The young ballerina fled from the curtain and rushed across the stage silently, into her sister's awaiting arms. Rose smiled and held her close, pulling her to sit down comfortably in her lap.

"You're going to be in trouble with Mama if she knew you were out here." Meg said quietly with a small smile. Rose looked down at her sister, her young pale skin shining even in the solitary light. She smiled and winked at her. She didn't want to say that it was likely that her mother did know she was out of bed, and certainly didn't want to say that it was more than likely that she didn't care. Though she knew that if there was a problem with it, there was very little that could do to keep her in bed.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." She assured the six year old, hugging her close. "You, on the other hand, need to get some sleep, not running around the opera house in the dark."

"I don't like it when I'm alone." Meg replied, nestling up against her sister. Despite being in a dormitory filled with a dozen other girls, Meg was still the youngest and didn't do well without a familiar face. "...I miss Papa."

The sadness in her voice, and how soft she was speaking almost tore another hole in Rose's heart. She had been blessed with thirteen years of memories with her father, but Meg was not so fortunate. She hugged the little girl closer, willing herself to keep her own tears at bay.

"I know you do, believe me so do I." She assured her sister. "But he wouldn't want us to be sad. He's going to be watching over us always."

"Like an angel." Mag supplied, a small smile on her lips at the thought of her father becoming their own guardian with wings.

"Exactly, like an angel. And you've got this." Rose smiled, picking up the young girls hand and running her finger over the leather cord she had wound around her wrist. "Papa rarely took this off, and I think he'd be happy that you've kept it and are wearing it close like he did."

"It's like he's always with me." The blonde nodded, leaning back into her sister's embrace. "Could you sing his lullaby?"

"Meg, you know I can't sing." Rose reminded her with a quirk of her lips.

"Neither could Papa." Her sister retorted. Rose had to admit, she had a point. Both her and her father couldn't sing at all, though she had been told her voice was sweet, nothing compared to the talent within these hallowed halls. But her father wrote this song one night when they couldn't sleep, and it always soothed them.

"And then we go to bed, hmm?" Rose reasoned. The blonde in her lap nodded as she nestled closer, her eyes slipping shut slowly.

'Lay by my side as we sail away, off to the shores of another day. All set to go as I hear you say, Goodnight my friend...'

oOoOoOoOoOo

Life at the Opera Populaire went on as usual. However, behind closed doors, the staff of those who ran the Populaire was finding it rather difficult to adjust to the large hole in their company. Employees left; they moved on to other jobs, marriage or retirement, but none of them had died on the grounds, and none so tragically as Luc Giry. The loss was still evident in the small community, one that seemed to be taking a toll on everyone. Jobs that were usually undertaken by Luc were divided between staff, though they almost cruel to step into another man's shoes. They all knew that there wouldn't be another like Luc.

In the weeks and months following the tragedy, there had been more disturbances from the Opera Ghost. Notes were received with critiques and demands about the running of the opera, as well as calls for when his monthly salary was due. Many a company member had claimed to see a ghostly figure wandering amongst the shadows late at night, and sometimes during the day. Though none of them could quite confirm what they saw, they were adamant that there had been someone there, watching them. It wasn't long before a sense of fear was struck through the company. The Phantom of the Opera, whether a person or not, was real and he was there.

Erik had since acquired his own permanent residence in Box Five, albeit forcibly, and Lefèvre agreed to the request. Managed by Antoinette, it was the Opera Ghost and he alone that could occupy, and Erik used the opportunity to sit in on performances, and the occasional rehearsal. Who was to say that he could not keep an eye on the Ballet Corps, namely the two Giry daughters while making his speculations?

In the months following her father's death, Rose threw herself into her dancing. Her mother was strict on rehearsal schedules and she followed it with severe dedication. While the other ballet girls were gossiping or treating themselves during time off, Rose was on stage or in the rehearsal space, going over her steps and perfecting whatever movement she could. When she did allow herself a break, she could be found curled up in one of the auditorium seats, or an unused prop backstage, with a book in her hand, completely oblivious to the outside world around her.

People soon learned that it was rather difficult to grab the attention of the young dancer in these situations. She had soon become known for her incredible focus, both on and off the stage. Everything continued on around her until Rose decided to return to the real world.

One such afternoon found her lounging on one of the larger props, her legs draped over the side as she immersed herself in worlds that differed greatly from her own. Many of the stagehands had gone for their breaks, before returning later in the afternoon to finish their work before the show the following night.

"I'm surprised you're not on stage."

Rose looked up, startled out of her daydream and looked around her, trying to locate the source of the sudden interruption. Eventually, her gaze landed on a boy, probably two or so years older than she. He was standing up on the rigging, the curtain ropes clutched tightly in his hand as he glanced down at her.

"...Excuse me?" She asked, thoroughly confused. She'd never seen this boy in her life, why on earth would he be making observations about her like that? He seemed to shrug at her response, adjusting his grip before he turned his attention back to her.

"Well, it seems every time I see you, you're dancing." He pointed out with another light shrug. "Either that or you've got your nose stuck in a book."

Rose glanced down and clutched her book closer to her before shifting her position so she was sitting straight. He had some nerve about all of this, though she found herself somewhat intrigued.

"Are you admitting to watching me?" she wondered, quirking an eyebrow as she glanced up at this strange boy. He didn't seem fazed by her accusation in the slightest. Though his grip on the rope seemed to tighten, he leaned forward against the railing to look don at her.

"No, just an observation is all."

"Do you often make observations aloud to people you don't know?"

"Only the pretty ones." He smirked, having the gall to send her a wink and a crooked smile. Rose couldn't help but let out a short laugh at that. She hadn't realized it was the closest she had come to a laugh since her father passed.

"Really? How often does that line work for you?" She asked, turning her attention back to her book. The boy seemed to consider this before shrugging once more.

"First time I've tried it." He admitted.

"Keep at it then." Rose said, not looking up from her book as she ended the conversation there. Hopefully this boy would have some sense and go back to whatever it was he was doing and allow her to get back to her book. It seemed for a long while that he had gotten the not so subtle hint and decided to leave her alone. At least, that was until he spoke up once more.

"Why ballet?"

Rose sighed in slight frustration, though she didn't look up at him. She still held onto hope that he would give up and leave her alone.

"Why ballet? I mean, you could do anything. Why this?" he continued.

"My mother was a ballerina." She told him, not even making an effort to hide the annoyance in her replies. The boy looked down at her, apparently not satisfied at all with her response.

"But why?"

"What do you mean?" Rose asked; closing her book and setting it aside before she looked up at him once more. Why could he not be satisfied with her answer and be done with it? "I like it and I'm good at it. Why else would I do it?"

"I suppose you have a point." He nodded, finally considering her words. Rose looked up at him a moment, studying him curiously. He had barely moved since their conversation began.

"Why don't you come down here and talk to me instead of hiding up there?" She asked.

"Can't come down until I sort this out." He replied, declining to go into any further details about the matter. Rose frowned at that. Sort what out exactly? There appeared to be nothing wrong with any o the curtain or the rigging as far as she could make out.

"What's the problem?"

"I'll figure it out." He assured her, apparently dismissing any involvement she wanted to have. Rose rolled her eyes, murmuring under her breath at his stubbornness.

"Because you're doing a splendid job so far, aren't you?" She reminded him. The boy seemed to fall silent for a moment, weighing up the consequences of letting her in on what he was doing.

"...the curtain's loose." He admitted finally, looking rather sheepish that he had resulted in bothering a ballet rat with his problems. Rose looked at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean it's loose?" She wondered, sitting up straighter in her seat. The boy shrugged, careful not to let go or move from his post.

"It's loose. Something's gone wrong with the ropes, so I've got to hold It in places until the others get back with replacement."

It was then that the pieces started to fit together, and Rose was able to fully understand. She bit her lip, trying to contain the laugh that was threatening to spill from her lips. After a moment, she regained her composure and turned her attention back to him.

"You're new, aren't you?" She wondered.

"...Why?" He questioned, sending her a look of utter confusion.

"Let go of the rope."

"What?"

"Just let go of it. Trust me." She assured him, crossing her arms over her chest as she patiently waited. His gaze shifted repeatedly between her and the rope, his lip caught between his teeth in fear as slowly and rather hesitantly, he let go of the rope. His eyes closed, anticipating the sound of a large crash to follow.

But it didn't.

Opening his eyes, he was astounded to find that there had been no crash or any real movement from the curtain at all. The rope simply felt from his hands, swaying slightly as it dangled against the ground. The curtain was still standing, as though it were a miraculous feat, seemingly unfazed by what had happened.

The boy looked confused, and once again turned his gaze from the curtain to the grinning redhead down below. Rose looked up at him, seeing no point in hiding her amusement at the entire situation any longer. She shifted and got to her feet, looking at him with almost a mock pride.

"You have passed your initiation trial. My sincerest congratulations to you." She told him rather bluntly. He looked at her as though she had just told him all the secrets of the universe in a matter of seconds; a look of sheer disbelief on his face.

"...What?"

"Don't take it personally. Every new hand that is recruited goes through the same thing." She explained, quickly dismissing his fears. "Though I am rather impressed you lasted this long."

"Oh..." He murmured sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to shake off his rather obvious embarrassment. After a moment, he lifted his head, seemingly shrugging off the whole incident. "How did you know that?"

"I've lived here my whole life. I've seen it happen before." She admitted, shrugging nonchalant. The boy looked at her as though she had in an instant grown another head on her shoulders.

"And you didn't think to tell me sooner?" he wondered. Rose smirked and shrugged again by way of response. The boy shook his head, but managed a light chuckle.

"What's your name?" He asked, moving to lean his arms against the railing, now free to do as he wished after letting the rope go free. Rose looked at him with scrutiny, taking her time considering whether or not she should answer.

"Rose."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Rose. You can call me Nicholas." He said, introducing himself with a polite but over exaggerated bow. Rose cracked a smile as she returned the gesture with a small curtsy.

"So, you know everything there is to know about this place then?" Nicholas wondered, standing straight once more. Rose furrowed her brow as she thought about it. She had grown up in the Opera house since the day she was born. She knew every inch of the building; the passages, the backstage and auditorium, the grand foyer. More than that, she knew the underground like the back of her hand.

"I suppose I do, yes." She replied, nodding as she looked up at him once more.

"How does a ballerina manage that?" He wondered, clearly impressed. Rose's smile faltered slightly, though didn't disappear in its entirety.

"My father was a stagehand. He taught me everything he knew." She explained. Nicholas could tell that there was more to it than that, but he saw the change n her features and decided that he wouldn't press any further.

"I see. Well, maybe you could fill me in on how things are run around here? You know, so I don't suffer from another initiation?" Nicholas asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Rose smiled softly and moved to get her book, clutching the worn cover to her chest. "Another time, perhaps. I have somewhere I need to be."

"More rehearsal?" Nicholas asked knowingly. Rose smiled and shook her head, dusting her skirts as she stepped off the prop piece.

"No, visiting a friend." She corrected him. With a smile and a small wave, she left her new acquaintance to his own devices as she disappeared behind the curtain. Storing her book in a small pocket of the stage for later, Rose disappeared behind a large part of the stored set, heading down to the caverns below.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose knew that something was wrong the moment she reached the lower cavern. She couldn't explain it, but there was a difference in the air that she had never felt before, and it unsettled her. Though the stone walls were always cold, there was an added heaviness the further down she travelled. Rose only hoped that Erik was alright.

The feeling didn't ease when she made her way down by the lake. While her friend was nowhere in sight, she knew he couldn't be far away, hearing a slight commotion from deeper within the domain. As she headed in, there were a few things that caught her eye which were amiss. Sheet music that usually littered the floor and the piano top were either neatly piled, or nowhere to be seen; books that he had let her borrow or gave the promise to do so in the future were out of sight. But her main concern was that each mannequin that held a mask was completely bare.

Something wasn't right, Rose knew that much.

"Erik?"

She could hear commotion coming from the other side of the domain, near where she knew Erik's sleeping quarters were located, yet she had yet to see any sign of the man in question. Rose looked around, trying to get a sense of what was going on. And then she saw it. Resting on one of the marble tabletops that littered the room, was a suitcase.

"Rose."

There was a tone to his voice that she had never heard before. It was quiet, almost pained. Rose slowly turned around and found him standing there before her, avoiding her gaze. Even with the mask, she could see an almost pained reaction on his face.

"Erik, what...what's going on?" she wondered, fear coursing through every vein and nerve in her body. Part of her had suspicions, and she didn't know if she wanted to hear his response. The little voice in the back of her head told her that she wasn't going to like it.

Erik seemed to think over his response very carefully, knowing that the precise wording was necessary in a time like this. His eyes were downcast to the ground, and Rose could practically hear the cogs whirring in his head.

"I'm going to travel." He said finally, managing a small nod to himself, pleased with his reply as he lifted his head to look at her. Rose wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Yes, Erik had read of places around the world in his books, but he had never expressed any desire to see it all for himself.

"Travelling? Meaning...you're leaving?" Rose said quietly, as though to convince herself that she had indeed heard right. Erik said nothing, but nodded once in confirmation. Rose sighed softly and nodded her head slowly.

"...For how long?"

Again, Erik didn't respond right away and remained silent, something that made Rose regret asking such a question. If she had thought he looked ashamed before, it had been nothing compared to the look he was sporting then and there.

"I'm not certain." He admitted finally, determined to keep his voice steady and in check. He had no reason to become emotional. "...Perhaps indefinitely."

Erik was unable to meet her gaze, though he could feel it burning through his skin with such intensity. She was young in age, but carried far more emotion than she should. Erik felt sick. He had wanted to avoid this, hoping that perhaps he could have slipped away without her realising, and would have been half way across the ocean far out of reach before she even noticed. At least then he wouldn't have to face the look of utter heartbreak on the young girl's face. The look that was present just now.

Rose felt as though she couldn't breathe; as though she had fallen in the lake and was being weighed down and crushed by the icy water. Erik was leaving, and he might not be coming back. First her father and now the only other friend she had in this wretched world. It took every strength she had for her not to cry. She wasn't going to allow that to happen.

"But...you can't leave." She told him quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

Despite himself, the corners of his lip curled at her comment. She would feel that now, but soon rose would see that her life was better lived without him in it. While Erik had been grateful for her years of dare he say it, friendship, he knew that a young girl such as she deserved much more. She had far too much to live for, and so much talent and warmth to share, Rose deserved the warmth of the sun, not to spend her days underground in the darkness to keep him company.

"I highly doubt that, mon amie." He assured her with a light chuckle. "You don't need me."

But Rose was stubborn, as he well knew. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, nor one as simple as that. She shook her head furiously, her emotions starting to get the better of her.

"This isn't fair! I lost my father, and now you!" she cried out, vigorously rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. "Why are the people I care about leaving me?"

Erik watched her as she slowly broke down and gave in to her emotions. Determined to look away from him, she marched over to his organ, sitting down on the seat and buried her head in her hands. He felt foolish, that a child's actions were having such an effect on him like this. With a sigh, Erik moved to her side and sat down on the bench beside her. Rose refused to look up at him, focused intently on her lap.

"Rose, come now. Do not cry for me." He urged her, his voice soft and pleading. After a moment, the girl lifted her head to look at him, tears clouding her vision.

"I'm going to miss you." She said with finality, conceding defeat and knowing that there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him. After all, she had no right to ask him to stay because of her.

"You'll find you won't even remember that I've gone. I have no doubt that you'll forget me soon enough." He quipped lightly, to which Rose shook her head in defiance. The thought made him smile, if only a little. He had come to realise that over time, he was truly lucky to have such unwavering friendship.

The pair fell into silence once more, the looming knowledge of his imminent departure hanging over their heads. Neither dared to speak, fearing that it would be their last spoken to one another.

"You will come back, won't you?" Rose asked finally. She knew it was a childish request, that he had no obligation to do any such thing, but the small glimmer of hope lay in the air, awaiting his response. Erik glanced at the small girl beside him, looking up with him with bright green eyes that were unsure whether to allow her hopes to be raised. He knew if he were to refuse her, he would break what was left of her heart, and the guild would surely be with him for the rest f his miserable life.

After a moment, he sighed softly and nodded his head. There was very little doubt that he would return to Paris, despite his constant desire to be rid of the city and its people. Whether or not she would be here when he did was another matter entirely. She could have a career, a life...a husband and a family, depending on how much time he allowed to pass. Erik figured that at least this way, he would never truly be breaking his promise to her.

Rose however, was not entirely convinced. She knew how he longed to flee the city, have the chance at possibly a new beginning elsewhere, and how there was little reason for him to return at all. As much as she cared for him, and he perhaps for her, there was nothing keeping Erik in Paris at all. That was what terrified her the most.

"Do you promise?"

Again, her words were childish. She was a young adult now, and should be beyond the realms of childhood fantasies such as promises like that. If her mother knew, she would admonish her, telling her not to worry herself with trivial things that had no importance. But they were important, to her at least. And by the look on Erik's face, it was somewhat important to him too. Slowly but surely, he nodded his head.

"You have my word." He vowed. Hearing his words, Rose had no fear or hesitation that he was telling the truth. His words soothed her fears, calming her to the point where she would not feel so distraught when the time came for him to leave.

In that moment, Erik wasn't sure what he could do to further prove himself. He knew she understood, yet he still felt unsettled, with a guilt that was lingering for his apparent desire to leave her behind. Gently, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I promise, I will always come back to you." He murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead in a move that surprised both of them. The moment she felt him pull away, Rose lifted her head to look at him. A small smile reached her lips as she nodded her head silently, making peace with his promise.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Rose didn't remember falling asleep that evening, nor did she remember how she managed to wake up in her own bed the following morning. She knew as soon as she adjusted to her surroundings that Erik had carried her and brought her back above ground. She knew, despite the fact that the rest of the girls were sleeping soundly in their beds, that it was morning, and that Erik would be long gone by now. Though she held onto his promise that he would one day return, there as a pain in her heart that rose couldn't shake. Settling down in her bed, she clutched the doll that he had made her to her chest and quietly sobbed at how cruel and unkind fate seemed to be. But more than that, she cried for the loss of her dearest friend.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song or lyrics to 'Goodnight My Friend'. That belongs to Alan Menken and the team at Galavant. I wasn't going to include songs in this fic but I have a feeling that might play a part later on down the track.