A/N: Gosh, I'm so busy theseadays that I haven't written anything new, all these chapters were written a long time ago, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes! I don't have time to proofread as much as I used to, but I do hope I'll be able to post up a new chapter weekly! I had problems posting up a new chapter on Monday as the site kept giving me error messages every single day, so here is this week's chapter a few days late!

Thank you to new followers/favourites: camsam17, Swirlingdreamkeeper, Pineapple3000, & Spirit of the Opera; I really really appreciate it and knowing that you guys like it makes me really happy!

Wild Concerto: Just one more chapter! -squeals-

Spirit of the Opera: I did have a lovely Christmas! Happy New Year to you too!

Pineapple3000: Thank you! I update weekly on Mondays, so check back on Mondays for new chapters! (:

Masked Man 2: Amelie is too curious for her own good! Hahaha. I'm not too sure what you mean by the error, though! If you mean 'sweetmeats', it actually is a word! It means candied fruits, but I used it as a general term for sweet stuff (:

Chapter 11: Correspondence

Paris, 1893

Monsieur Le Fantôme

May I visit your home, please? I've always wanted to know where a ghost lives.

Erik snorted as he read the latest parchment tucked into his shopping basket, placed neatly next to a white paper bag filled with sweets. He set the parchment aside, and picked up the paper bag, hoping that it was filled with the same chocolate peppermints. He remembered Antoinette's shocked expression as he had handed her the shopping list, and she had seen the first item, 'chocolate peppermints', right at the top of the list. He had shrugged casually and disappeared into a secret tunnel nearby, leaving her to gape at the shopping list.

To his disappointment, the paper bag was not filled with chocolate covered peppermints. However, it was filled with a strange sort of coloured hard candy, along with a small, hastily scribbled note in Amélie's familiar loopy writing.

The shop was all out of peppermints. It seems we are not the only two people who enjoy them, monsieur. Here is some rock candy instead, I hope you enjoy it.

Erik cautiously popped one of the brightly coloured pieces into his mouth, wondering why sweet makers found it necessary to colour sweets all sorts of colours. He much preferred red and black, his favourite colour, but it seemed that few sweets came in those colours. He tentatively bit down onto the softening candy in his mouth, raising his eyebrows in surprise as it crumbled into delightful pieces of hard sugar. It was good, but he found that he still preferred the peppermints anyway.

To Mademoiselle Amélie: No, you may not. Thank you for the rock candy. I do still prefer the peppermints.

Amélie frowned upon reading the note. She had bubbled with happiness at receiving yet another note from the mysterious Opera Ghost, but her excitement had died quickly upon scanning through his polite rejection. She knew the old adage about curiousity and cats, but her sense of curiousity overcame that fear anyway. She wondered how long it would take before she managed to chip a crack in the Opera Ghost's impenetrable defenses.

The next week's shopping basket arrived in Box Five right on time, again with another scrap of parchment tucked within the groceries. Erik could not help his burgeoning curiousity as he plucked the letter out. He tried to reason with himself that he only wanted to see what she had written out of curiousity, but deep down, Erik knew that he secretly hoped that Amélie would continue writing to him. He had never had much human contact, and it rather thrilled him to know that he was receiving letters just like any normal person.

Monsieur Le Fantôme, you're very welcome. If I may not visit your home, may I at least see you?

To Mademoiselle Amélie: No. Why ever are you so curious?

Amélie ground her teeth in frustration at the latest reply. This Opera Ghost was proving to be a tough nut to crack, but her curiousity would be sated some way or other. She could not imagine what would cause a normal man to haunt an opera house under the guise of a ghost, but from his correspondence, he seemed to be a perfectly polite gentleman, and she wanted to know more about this enigma of a man.

Monsieur Le Fantôme, I simply want to get to know you better. What harm could there be in that? Can you not satisfy a young girl's curiousity?

At the corner of the parchment, Amélie had drawn a rather terrible rendition of himself, a strange amoeba-shaped object with two holes for eyes, seemingly to resemble the ghosts that children drew to decorate their rooms during All Hallow's Eve. Beside the ghost, there was a stick figure of a girl with a curious expression on her face.

And on a whim, Erik made a very impetuous, very rash decision.

XXXXX

The next day, when Amélie walked through a corridor, she heard a low humming coming from within the walls. She stopped and looked around nervously.

"Why so frightened, mademoiselle?" The humming stopped and a deep, lyrical voice sounded instead. "Did you not want to meet the Opera Ghost, hmm? Are you scared now? Are you regretting your desire now, your terrible curiousity?" The voice sounded almost amused. It was right next to her ear. Amélie jumped slightly and turned, but of course there was no one there. The voice laughed, and Amélie turned slightly red.

"Of course not! I am not a pansy! I was merely shocked. Is that really you, monsieur? Can I see you?" Amélie tried her best to brush off her fears, but her heart was still thumping fast within her chest. She could not believe that she was actually talking to the Opera Ghost, the so-called ghost who had been terrorizing the opera house members for the past few weeks.

"No, you may not. You will have to make do with this."

"Please?" Amélie tried to put on her best puppy-eyed face, staring at the wall, though she was not sure if he could see her, even. She opened her eyes wide and put her most woebegone expression on her face. When there was no response, she let her lower lip tremble a little. "Monsieur, please! I only ask for one little trip down to your house, or perhaps a glimpse of you! I wouldn't tell a soul!"

"No, Amélie. My home is not open to strangers."

"We aren't strangers!"

"My answer remains the same."

If anybody had walked past the corridor at that moment, they would have seen Amélie sulking at a wall, which made a very strange sight indeed.

"Well then, I won't buy any more sweets for you on my weekly trips to the shops." She threatened jokingly. There was silence for a moment, and Amélie feared that the Opera Ghost had gotten annoyed and left. She sighed, and turned to leave in disappointment, when his deep voice echoed from within the walls again.

"I believe a short trip down to my house for a quick tea would be rather delightful, mademoiselle. When may I expect you?" The voice sounded rather strained now. Amélie squealed in delight. She was surprised mostly, as she had only wanted to tease him, but she knew that the Opera Ghost had developed somewhat of a sweet tooth ever since she had introduced him to her favourite sweets. She had just not expected him to take her joke seriously, but since it had worked out all the better for her, she kept that fact to herself.

"I'm free almost all the time, except for rehearsals! When are you free, monsieur?" She cheered happily, almost jumping with joy. A trip to the Opera Ghost's house! She could hardly wait to see his house, and to see what he looked like, this mysterious man who had the voice of an angel, but pretended to be a ghost.

"Will Friday be fine for you, mademoiselle? I will wait for you in the chapel at three o'clock. I know you do not have rehearsals on Friday."

"Yes! Yes!" Amélie beamed happily. "I'll be there! Thank you monsieur!"

When she heard a ballet rat calling her from somewhere down the corridor, she bobbed a quick curtsey to the wall, and rushed off.

Deep within a secret passageway, Erik could not stop himself from knocking his forehead against the wall in horror. What have I done now? Sold my soul for a few sweets, he told himself grimly.

XXXXX

That week's shopping basket arrived on Tuesday with a note as usual. Erik looked at it, surprised. Had Amélie perhaps decided that she did not want to meet with him anymore? Had she been frightened off by the Opera Ghost's antics? Just earlier that week, he had dropped yet another sandbag beside La Carlotta on the stage, causing several ballet rats to shriek almost as loudly as the hysterical diva. He had noted with a little pride that Amélie had just sat quietly to the side, observing the proceedings silently, before casting a sharp eye around the ceiling of the theatre. He had made sure to stay out of her sight, but he was intrigued by the fact that she was so curious about his identity.

Monsieur Le Fantôme, I hope you have not forgotten our meeting. I look forward to it! I'll bring a surprise.

Erik traced the loopy words on the parchment slowly, exhaling a breath that he had not known he had been holding. He admitted to himself that he had been nervous about the letter's contents, believing it to be a letter politely rejecting his invitation to tea. He re-read it with a frown upon his face. A surprise? What's that? Should I do something too? He decided not to, as he had no idea what she meant, and also no idea what a surprise constituted of.

Amélie spent the whole week dancing as though she were on wings. Some ballet rats commented that she looked extraordinarily happy, but she brushed their comments off with a casual shrug. She was rather excited to be meeting the feared Opera Ghost, and she wondered what he would be like. She could sense Madame Giry eyeing her suspiciously from the other end of the practice room, but she decided not to let Madame Giry know about her meeting with the Opera Ghost, in case she did not approve. She most likely would not approve, and might even forbid Amélie to go.

On Friday morning, Amélie woke up earlier than normal, and hastily dressed herself. She crept out of the dormitory room, and made her way through the opera house, unlocking the door to the employee's entrance and slipping out of the building quietly. It was still early, and the chilly morning air chaffed at her cheeks. Amélie shivered, rubbing her cheeks with her palms to warm them slightly. She pulled her scarf around her neck more snugly, and set off for the shops.

The baker's had only just opened, and the shop was filled with the aroma of warm bread and flaky pastries. Amélie's stomach rumbled ominously as she entered, and the baker looked up at her in surprise.

"Why, you're early today, Amélie! Will you be wanting your usual loaf of bread, then?" He gestured to the freshly baked golden-brown loaves sitting upon the counter. Amélie shook her head.

"No, monsieur, I was looking for something sweeter! Something that could be eaten for tea?" She was not exactly sure what she wanted to get for her visit to the Opera Ghost's house. The baker looked thoughtful for a moment.

"How about these chocolate dipped croissants, then? They're small and perfect for an afternoon tea party. Having some sort of party with the other ballet rats, are you, Amélie?"

"Well… something like that." Amélie hurriedly agreed with the baker. I can't be telling him who I'm having tea with, anyway.

She paid for the small chocolate croissants and thanked the baker.

"It's a pleasure, Amélie. Now, you take care of yourself! I heard rumours about some new ghost at the opera house from one of the stagehands… keep yourself safe, now!" He called after her as she left.

Amélie shivered slightly, though not from the winter chill. She doubted that the ghost could be anything more than harmless, as he had not hurt anybody at all, asides from frightening them, but she still wondered if she would be at any risk by meeting him. If he murders me, nobody will find my body and it will likely rot somewhere, unknown. She shook her head and chided herself for having such thoughts when the Opera Ghost had been nothing short of gentlemanly toward her in his letters. He could not be a raving madman. Or at least she hoped.

When she arrived back at the opera house, she stashed her croissants into one of her drawers to prevent one of the ballet rats noticing, and hurriedly ducked under her covers to pretend that she was still sleeping. She was too nervous and excited to sleep, though, and simply lay there staring at the ceiling until most of the ballet rats had risen and were getting ready for breakfast. The rest of the morning was spent rather restlessly. She could not concentrate on her mending, and decided to read a book, but got bored rather quickly, and put her book down. She paced her dormitory, grateful that most of the ballet rats were either playing in the snow, or flirting with the stagehands, too preoccupied to notice that she was not with them. She brushed her hair and tied it back carefully with a ribbon, and made sure that her dress was not too wrinkled. There was nothing else she could do besides sit on her bed and wait for the meeting time with the ghost to arrive.

When she noticed that the clock's face showed a quarter to three, she took the croissants from the drawer, straightened her dress, shoved her feet into her shoes, and made her way to the opera house's chapel. The chapel was somewhere near the back of the building on the ground floor, and Amélie pushed open the heavy doors, creeping in quietly. She stared around the empty room in dismay. Has he forgotten his promise?

"Good day, mademoiselle." A voice came from right beside her ear. Amélie turned sharply, but saw no one there.

"Where are you?" She asked nervously, trying to discern something in the darkness of the chapel.

"Behind you." The musical voice came again, this time from her behind her. Amélie spun, and saw, in the shadows, a dark figure. It was the Opera Ghost.

The phantom lifted a hand and beckoned, reaching out the hand to her. And without hesitation, Amélie stepped toward the shadows and took his hand.

A/N: Please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know you like it! It makes me really happy after a long day at work, and keeps me writing! xx hazel