A/N: I'm back! I'm really happy that I got more comments from you guys for the last chapter, (though I do wish I had more, please do say hi! It makes me happy!) so I decided to post up another chapter quickly. This chapter is more of a transition chapter, meant to get the story moving along, so it's not fluffy or sad, but perhaps rather boring. But stick with me please! I promise that more fluff will be in store!

DISCLAIMER: There is one line in this chapter that is from G-Dragon's new album. I really love quite a few of his new songs (any G-Dragon fans out there?), so bonus points and cookies to any body who can spot the line/guess which song it came from!

Thank you to new follower PhantomHill, I really appreciate it!

Guest (Spirit of the Opera): Thank you! And yes, of course Erik will come back! He's almost already back!

Guestie: I felt so sad while writing it :') We will learn about Erik's travels, but here I have fast forwarded it ten years!

Masked Man 2: Yay! Goal achieved! #achievementunlocked, and well, we'll see if Amelié remembers Erik or not! (;

To all new readers, please please please leave a review! Or anything! Favourite, follow, review... I would love to know what you think about the story. (Part of me actually suspects that less than ten people are actually reading it...)

I hope you enjoy this transitional chapter, boring though it may be!

xx Hazel

Chapter 5: Rekindling the past

Paris, 1892

A lot had happened in ten years. The leaves on the trees had turned orange, had fallen, and then been covered by a layer of fresh snow as they lay abandoned on the streets each year without fail. As thirty-year-old Antoinette Giry walked up the stairs of the employees' entrance with a basket tucked in the crook of her elbow, she paused to look at the steps meaningfully, recalling that fond day so many years ago when she had first discovered little Amélie. The youthful eighteen-year-old Antoinette Bellamy of the past was no more, and in her place there was only Antoinette Giry, her blond hair pulled back tightly into a neat bun, clad in dour black widows' weeds.

Antoinette Giry made her way to the apartments in the opera house that she now lived in, and set the basket down on a table. She crossed over to her dressing table, and opened a drawer, pulling out a yellowed, ragged sheet of parchment that looked like it had seen better days. Smoothing out the crumpled paper, she scanned through the spidery writing again.

Antoinette, I have left… Farewell, Erik.

Over the ten years, Antoinette had never stopped thinking of Erik. That letter had been her last point of contact with Erik, and she had never heard from him again. From time to time, she wondered if he was doing fine, if he was eating well, as he had always been so skinny, and she prayed that he was still alive. She did not doubt his strange, innate ability to stay alive despite the most difficult of situations, but then again, she did not expect life to be kind to Erik. Part of Antoinette feared that he was no longer in this world, but wherever he was, she hoped that he was safe.

Ten years. Antoinette had only been prima ballerina for six months out of those ten long years.

Just one month after becoming prima ballerina, Antoinette had met Everard Giry, a new set painter at the opera house, talented and nimble with his fingers, creating brilliant backdrops for the productions the opera house put up. It had not been love at first sight, no, for Antoinette was too firm and rooted to confess anything romantic of the sort, but she had been very in love with Everard Giry, with his sandy brown hair and charming smile. When Everard Giry proposed not long after they first started courting, she had accepted immediately. Antoinette Bellamy was gone, and in her place there was now only Madame Giry.

It had only been a short six months of dancing solo on stage, before Antoinette had slipped and fallen down a slippery flight of stairs and broken her leg. It was only a slight fracture but the incident had been traumatizing for a young ballerina who had only just stepped onto the stage as prima ballerina. She had spent three agonizing months hobbling about with the help of a black cane. Debienne had assured her that once she was recovered, she would have her spot back as prima ballerina, but Antoinette had known then that her leg would probably never be the same again, and she would never dance with the same grace befitting that of a prima ballerina.

It had not mattered then, because while recuperating from her broken ankle, Antoinette had discovered that she was in fact, pregnant. It had been a happy event for the couple, and Antoinette had willingly tendered her resignation to the opera house. Debienne had been rather sorry to let her go, saying that if she wished to return, she could, and Antoinette had thanked him graciously, though they both knew it was rather unlikely, for Antoinette would be busy with the new baby.

Marguerite Lianne Giry, or Meg, as Everard had always called her affectionately, was born some seven months later in 1883, on a winter's day much like the day Antoinette had found Amélie, a squealing, red-faced baby with her mother's delicate features and blond hair, and her father's nose. To Antoinette, Marguerite was perfect.

And for a while, Antoinette had been happy. Everard brought home enough each month for the small family to live comfortably, and Antoinette did not miss her life at the opera house that much, though she did recall those days fondly, with an odd twinge in her heart. The only thing weighing on her mind occasionally would be Erik's whereabouts, but Antoinette reasoned with herself that she had no idea how to reach him in any case.

Then disaster had struck, and the stable, peaceful life that Antoinette had built up for herself had crumbled. Not long after Meg had turned two, on his way back home from work one day, Everard Giry had been mugged by robbers on the street, and when he had put up something of a fight, he had been stabbed by the robbers in their attempt to escape.

It had been early morning by the time somebody had discovered him in an alley, and by then, it was too late. A single silver crucifix had been found in one of Everard's inner pockets in his coat, with a scrawled note saying Happy Birthday Annie tied to the chain. The gendarmes supposed that the robbers had ran after stabbing the man, and had not bothered to search his inner pockets for valuables. Antoinette had cried the whole day, not bothering to respond to the anxious knocks on the doors from her worried neighbours, or the baby's shrieks.

Just like that, Everard was gone. Antoinette had barely spent more than two years with him, when he was wrenched out of her life. She had wanted nothing more than to crumble, to collapse to the floor, and cry, but Meg's wails from the cot had given her the strength to stand again. She had a baby to feed now, and Meg was her last bit of Everard. Antoinette had risen with determination the next morning, dressed in a black gown, and then made her way to the opera house, where she met Debienne, asking him for a job.

Debienne, thankfully, had taken pity on the new widow with her small child, and told her that while she was too out of practice to be a ballerina any longer, she could be the ballet mistress's assistant. Madame Filbert was growing too old, and she would need the help to control the boisterous ballet rats during lessons. Antoinette had accepted gratefully.

When she had arrived back at the opera house, Amélie, who had just turned eight and had just entered the corps de ballet as their newest, youngest dancer, had hugged her tightly, declaring that she had missed her greatly. Antoinette had returned the hug, grateful for the little girl's presence, and knowing that she was finally home again, in the opera house where she had grown up as a child herself.

Madame Filbert had retired after two years, claiming that the pain in her knees was too great, and she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the last few years of her life watching over her numerous grandchildren, living comfortably with her son who was a rather successful businessman. Antoinette had informed her landlord that she would be letting her small apartment go, and within a week, she had moved into the ballet mistress's quarters in the opera house, with Marguerite in tow. She had never looked back.

The years of toiling work in the opera house as the stern ballet mistress took Antoinette's mind off the grief she felt for Everard. She still missed him dearly, but the hurt and sadness she had felt ten years ago were not much more than a dull ache now. She still wore her black widow's gowns despite the mourning period being long over, partly out of respect for Everard, and also because she had no wish to entertain any more suitors.

Antoinette now looked down at the yellowed parchment and sighed. Where are you now, Erik? Are you well?

"Madame, are you in there?" A voice called. Antoinette recognized the voice, and called for her to enter.

"Madame, it is almost time for dinner. I thought you were not back yet." Amélie entered the room, with Meg following close behind.

"Amélie, Meg." Antoinette greeted them, tucking the letter back into the drawer and standing, brushing dust off her skirt. "Shall we head down now, then?"

XXXXX

"One, two, assemblé!" Antoinette moved around the room, correcting postures and giving the ballerinas advice. "Again, girls! That was one of the worst attempts I've ever seen from you." She tapped her cane sharply on the floor. Antoinette had grown rather attached to the cane that she had used when she had broken her leg, and she found that it also gave her somewhat of an authority over the girls. A single tap of her cane was enough to make the girls scramble to line themselves up neatly before the mirror.

Antoinette noted Meg and Amélie's dancing proudly. The two were quite easily the best dancers amongst the ballet rats around their age in the company. Meg twirled gracefully, light on her feet, resembling her mother from many years past. They were Antoinette's pride and joy.

"Oh goodness me, has practice started already? I'm only five minutes late!" A voice came from beyond the door, and Sorelli burst into the room, her black hair streaming behind her. Antoinette eyed her sternly.

"Being prima ballerina does not excuse you from my rule of punctuality, Sorelli. You will not be late again, yes?"

"Ah, Antoinette, always the strict one. Come on, Antoinette, I'm only five minutes late!" Sorelli chuckled, pinning her hair into a bun as she made her way to an empty spot in the dance room. Antoinette glared at her, and she giggled.

"All right, all right. I won't be late again! Though if you would just start practice a little later…" She trailed off as Antoinette glared at her again, and gave her a sheepish smile.

When practice was over, Antoinette clapped her hands sharply. "Today's practice was slightly better than yesterday's girls. However, you all have the potential to be even better, and I do not want to see any form of laziness from you lot! Now, I want to see better from all of you tomorrow! You're dismissed."

The ballet rats swept out of the room, chattering to each other about the latest gossip. Amélie linked an arm through Meg's and walked with her out of the room, the two babbling about the newest fashions in town. Antoinette watched them as they walked out and smiled a little wistfully, remembering her past as a ballet rat. She was glad that Amélie and Meg had become fast friends, and that Amélie was truly happy in the opera house.

Honestly, Antoinette was glad that Amélie had few recollections of Erik. When Antoinette had cautiously asked her about it a few years back, Amélie confessed to remembering a friend who had told her stories once when she was a child, but she did not remember what he looked like at all, or what he sounded like. Her childish impressions of him had faded with time. Amélie had told Antoinette that though she barely recalled even what he sounded like, she did remember that he had had a soothing, musical voice that had appealed to her as a child. For that, Antoinette was glad. She did not know how she would have managed the matter if Amélie had still been pining away for Erik, especially since she did not know if Erik was even still alive.

As Antoinette followed the girls to the dining room, a loud shriek stopped her in her tracks. The opera house employees started to murmur curiously, wondering what the fuss was all about. A crowd was forming somewhere in front already.

Antoinette pushed her way to the front, where Régine, a ballet rat not much older than thirteen, stood, being supported by her friends, her face pale.

"What's going on? What happened, Régine?" Antoinette demanded sharply. "Did you see a ghost perhaps?"

At that, the girl gave a loud squeal, and keeled over in a dead faint. Her friends gasped, trying to hold onto her dead weight, and Antoinette sighed. The ballet rats were often prone to hysterics, and she wondered what had caused this one to faint.

"Bring her to her room, I'll stay with her while the rest of you eat your dinner." She gestured to one of the stagehands standing around, who obligingly lifted the prone girl and carried her back to her dormitory room. Antoinette followed behind a little warily, feeling rather strange, as though somebody was watching her.

She had not felt that same feeling in ten years.

Antoinette shuddered. It can't be.

After the stagehand had laid the girl on her bed and Antoinette had dismissed her, she pulled up a chair next to the bed, and digging in a drawer, pulled out a bottle of smelling salts which she waved unceremoniously under the girl's nose. The girl woke with a splutter, blinking around wildly.

"Calm yourself, child. It is only me." Antoinette snapped. "Whatever could have happened that made you faint and caused a commotion?"

"Oh, madame! Madame Giry! I-I… I saw a ghost!" The girl choked out, looking around, with a terrified expression upon her pale face. "I was walking to the dining room when suddenly I saw a swish of a black cloak, and a ghost stepped out of the walls!"

"There is no such thing here in this opera house, Régine. I've been here since I was eight, and I've never even seen any trace of such a ghost. It must have been a stagehand hiding in the shadows waiting to scare you." Antoinette tried to dismiss the idea, even though there was a niggling suspicion growing in the back of her mind.

"Madame! I swear, it was a ghost! After I screamed, the.. the shape… its body… oh, I do not know what to call it! The ghost turned and walked straight back into the wall!" At that, the girl gave another little shriek and slumped back upon her pillows. Antoinette stared at the girl in distaste. The ballet rats were really becoming more prone to hysterics. Learning from La Carlotta, the lot of them!

Still, Antoinette was suspicious. Despite the ballet rats' tendencies to blow up and dramatize matters, it seemed strange for one of them to suddenly spout nonsense about a ghost when there had never been such stories before. What if..? She shook her head firmly, reminding herself that it was best not to give herself false hope. She had hoped, rather too many times over the past ten years, and each time that hope had been dashed. Hope was the parent of disappointment and despair.

Deep in her thoughts, Antoinette found herself walking down the flight of steps leading to the old, unused storeroom where she had met weekly with Erik so many years ago, gripping a lantern tightly in her free hand. She looked at the door, its paint peeling and chipped, and remembered a time when she had once heard happy laughter coming from the room within. I had never heard you laugh before then, Erik.

How many times had she walked down this flight of stairs in the last ten years to arrive at the door, only to open it to find an empty room and then chide herself for being silly? This will be the last time, then. I'll open this door, and there's going to be nobody inside, and I'll leave and never come back to this place again.

With that promise to herself in mind, Antoinette grasped the door handle firmly, and turned it.

The room was empty, as it had been since the day Erik had left ten years ago.

Antoinette was not sure whether or not to feel disappointed, or relieved. She sighed, not knowing what she had expected anyway. She slowly closed the door, feeling extremely tired.

When she turned, her eyes met a very intent, green eyed gaze in the corridors; a very familiar set of green eyes that she would have recognized anywhere.

Antoinette gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

A/N: I hope this isn't too much of a cliffie. Please read, review, let me know what you think! If I get new reviewers, I'll post up a new chapter quickly (: It gives me motivation to write!