A/N: Well it looks like I didn't go on my planned hiatus, but the idea is really looking rather welcoming right now... This week, my favourite Korean drama You Who Came From The Stars is ending, and I might be too busy wallowing in my own pool of sadness and loneliness to write anything, but we'll see. Also, next week is supposedly the release of results for my college exams, which makes me nervous as heck, so I might be wallowing in my own pool of self pity and sadness. We'll see.

Guest: It's so funny how people keep telling me they look forward to Mondays now! I feel honoured! (:

Pineapple3000: Not really 'finally' yet... there's still more to come before she really finds out! (:

Masked Man 2: She'll remember it quite soon indeed! Kay's Phantom is definitely a very lovely book; I finished it in a day, as I couldn't put it down once I'd picked it up! Most of Erik's backstory in My Little Rose was influenced greatly by Kay, since I loved that book so much.

Many many thanks to new followers HellsAngel3196 & Rilette! It made me really sad because I thought fewer people have been reading this story, but having new followers makes me happy! (: Please leave a review and let me know what you think xx

And now, on with the story! (It's a little long again this week.)

Chapter 18: Realizations

Paris, 1894

A horse-drawn carriage rumbled to a halt before the Palais Garnier, and a woman alighted momentarily, to help a young girl of about thirteen down, along with a few bags of her belongings, before passing a sealed envelope to the girl and climbing back into the carriage. With a flick of his whip, the driver steered the horses away, and the carriage trundled away from the opera house. The girl looked frightened, and all alone. She looked toward the looming building before her, steeling her nerves, and then she walked toward the door.

XXXXX

That one phrase reverberated through Amélie's head many times. It sounded so familiar, and yet she could not place where she had heard it before. There was a startling sense of déjà vu, a feeling that she had heard someone say it to her before, but she had no idea where, or when, or who that person was.

'Goodbye, my little rose'? Why did that phrase sound so familiar?

Amélie was puzzled. Nobody called her 'Rose'; everybody preferred to simply call her Amélie, as most thought that her full name of Amélie-Rose was too much of a mouthful. Only Madame Giry called her that, and then, only when she was angry with Amélie. No, in Amélie's memories, nobody had ever called her 'Rose'. So why did the fact that Erik had called her that make her so confused?

She stepped into the dark chapel like always, wondering if Erik would be waiting for her in the passageway. Her heart beat furiously, as though she was nervous. But no, she could not be nervous; this was Erik, and she had met him so many times before. Every step she took toward the passageway was slow and filled with trepidation—what if he were not there waiting for her? What if he had decided not to meet her anymore?

The distance between her feet and the passageway narrowed far too quickly for her liking, and all too soon Amélie found herself just a few steps away from the passageway. A cold sweat had broken out on her palms and she rubbed them on her dress nervously. She had this strange notion that Erik would not be there to meet her, that he had fled after telling her his story. Silly girl! He trusted you enough to tell you about his past; why would he run now?

And yet her insecurities hammered away at her heart.

Three steps. Two steps.

One.

Amélie took a deep breath and placed a hand on the cool brick wall.

Almost immediately, as though the person behind had been waiting in anticipation, the wall melted away, and a black gloved hand was extended.

And in that moment, Amélie felt a strange beat in her heart, a strange warmth spreading through her.

And like always, she grasped the hand without hesitation.

In the dark passageway, talk came more easily—perhaps it was the way his large hand curled around hers comfortingly, or the fact that he always seemed more comfortable during the walk to his house in the darkness.

"You came." Amélie said cautiously, and was rewarded by a small chuckle from him.

"I did."

And there was silence after that. Amélie had no more words to say, and she did not need to either. The two simple sentences had confirmed everything. Nothing had changed between them, and Erik was still the same old Erik that she cared for.

And yet, there was that phrase that kept appearing in her mind, clamouring for her to take notice, to figure out what exactly it meant. My little rose? Who calls me that? Why does it sound so familiar?

Whatever it was, Amélie decided to put it at the back of her mind. There was no time to bother about such trivialities, not when there were rehearsals and dances to be learnt. As it was, Erik never mentioned it again and it was soon forgotten.

XXXXX

It was only a few months later, on her birthday, that Amélie-Rose made a very big, very startling discovery about herself, about her past, and about all the strange puzzle pieces that she had been unable to fit together.

The frustration she had initially felt over Erik's last sentence to her that day quickly waned, as rehearsals took up much of her free time. There was little time to ponder over a random phrase Erik had decided to say, and the mask was never mentioned between the two of them again. Amélie put it at the back of her mind and forgot all about it until the day of her birthday arrived.

Birthdays were somewhat of a muted affair in the opera house, as most of the employees there had little time to celebrate. Amongst the ballet rats, a small celebration would be held, consisting of sweets pilfered from the kitchen, eaten secretly without Madame Giry's knowledge –though she always knew somehow—and loudly sung, off-tune birthday songs. It was the year 1894, exactly fourteen years after Amélie had been found on the doorstep of the Palais Garnier, and Amélie was all of sixteen years old. As Amélie entered the silent dormitory room, having escaped from dinner early, she flopped down onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Sixteen was all grown-up. Sixteen was more mature, older. Some girls her age were already married, even. Amélie sighed. She had never even had a relationship, or even somebody who had taken an interest in her. Most of the ballet rats had many admirers in the form of stagehands. Not that Amélie wanted stagehands chasing after her with their quick hands and smarmy grins, but it would have been nice to have someone actually express an interest in her. She sighed again, flinging her arms outward onto the bed. There came a crackle, and Amélie looked to her right, surprised. Under her arm, a small scrap of paper was trapped. She sat up quickly and grabbed the piece of paper.

Box Five.

The paper held only two words, but Amélie immediately jumped up in excitement. She picked up her skirts, and ran.

When she entered Box Five, there was nobody inside. She looked around tentatively, wondering if he was hiding in the shadows.

"Erik?" She whispered. There was silence.

She felt mildly disappointed. She had hoped to see him.

She was about to leave, wondering if the note had just been a cleverly planned hoax by him, when she noticed something on one of the seats. She pounced on it almost immediately.

It was a scrolled piece of paper, with a ribbon tied around it. She recognized it as manuscript paper. After all, she had spent many a grocery shopping trip at the stationery store, poring over all the different types of manuscript paper available. Curiously, she pulled the ribbon loose and unfurled the paper. A small note fell out, and she read it first.

Happy Birthday.

Amélie could have squealed in delight. She clutched the scroll to her chest and gazed around the box, wondering if perhaps Erik was hiding somewhere within. "Thank you!" She called.
"Thank you so, so much, Erik!"

If Amélie had been able to see through walls, she would have seen Erik, nervously pressed against the inner wall of one of the pillars, holding his breath nervously and waiting for her reaction. She would have seen him exhale in relief upon her exclamation, a small smile passing across his face, just slightly, before he turned and left.

Amélie clutched the scroll tightly to herself, and sat on one of the seats in the box. She smoothed out the curled paper, curious to see what was written on it.

Across the top of the page, scrawled in Erik's familiar spidery writing, were the words 'My Little Rose', and beautifully illustrated on the scores, as some sort of background, was a lush scene of a forest, a little cottage, and a beautiful princess accompanied by a knight. The illustrations were coloured in, seemingly by watercolours across the top of the score, and Amélie stared at the princess, her brow knitting in confusion.

The princess had russet hair that gleamed, and she was swathed in a gown of bright red. Those blue eyes that twinkled out of the paper were unmistakable.

It was the same princess on her music box.

Amélie frowned. How did Erik know about the music box? Had he perhaps seen it while skulking through the opera house? The watercolour scene depicted an image that should not have been known to anybody but two people in the world, a magical scene woven by a young boy to intrigue a little girl. Amélie wondered how Erik had managed to pluck that very exact scene straight from her head. It had always been her favourite story.

Her favourite story. Yes, that was it. A story told by a friend long gone, a friend who never told her his name, who always called her by a nickname that she had used to love as a child.

What had he used to call her? She could not really recall exactly what it was; it had been so many years since she had last heard his voice. What had he last said to her during their very last meeting? That musical voice that had whispered one last sentence to her before he shut the doors upon himself, barring the world from knowing him.

"You're not ugly, you're my friend." …

…"Goodbye, my little rose."

Vague flashes of words and memories flashed through her mind. It had been so long that the old memories had been eroded to nothing more than brief remembrances of emotion, of words, of the tumultuous feeling of love, affection, friendship.

Goodbye, my little rose. Rose. Amélie-Rose.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. A beautiful princess? In a red dress? My music box.

Ugly knight. Handsome foreign prince. The princess chose the ugly knight.

Her name was Rose. Rose. She had beautiful hair that gleamed bronze in the sunlight.

Why did she choose the ugly knight?

He was ugly, my little rose. Rose? Amélie-Rose?

Erik. Erik.

And suddenly, everything clicked together, like the pieces of a puzzle finally solved. Amélie stared at his signature, a loopy 'Erik' scrawled across the top right hand corner of the page, then back again at the title of the piece, and at the drawing of the princess and her knight, and everything became clear. It was that moment of realization, when you finally figure out the answer to everything that has plagued your mind, and Amélie was stunned.

Her first instinct was to run down to his lair to demand answers, to ask why he had not revealed to her who he really was. Amélie knew that he had to know who she was; why else would he draw such a picture on her present? But she wanted to know exactly why he had seen fit to keep this fact hidden from her. It was quite obvious that when he had told her the story of his past, he had left some very pertinent details out.

A multitude of questions flooded through her mind, as always. Why had he left? Why had he not told her who he was? She had not even been able to let him know how much he had meant to her, simply because she had no idea that Erik and her childhood masked friend were one and the same. Again, she berated herself. How had she not remembered the adventures and excitement she had felt as a child, walking through the passages with her masked friend? How had she not seen that they were one and the same with the passages she walked through regularly now?

How had she not remembered that both wore a mask? She saw the parallels between the two now, the brilliance of their minds, that sheer creativity. Of course they are similar! They are the same person! She scowled at herself.

Amélie wanted some answers. There was one person she could ask, one person who had known about the existence of her friend from her childhood. She remembered that person bringing her back from her meetings with her friend, and she had seen that person speak to him. She had known him, even more Amélie had ever met him.

Amélie quickly tucked the scroll into her reticule and walked as fast as she could down the stairs and into the corridors of the opera house without appearing too suspicious.

"Ah! I'm sorry, Monsieur!" She squeaked as she almost crashed into Monsieur Reyer in her state of distraction. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly at her state of mind.

"Why, Amélie, your mind seems to be at all sorts of places today! Whatever has you so flustered?"

"Just… just some matters on my mind, monsieur! I have to go now, see you around!" Amélie muttered, before dashing off again.

When she arrived at her destination, she lifted a hand and knocked on the door as hard as she could. There was no response, and Amélie was about to rap on the door again when it opened, and an annoyed face poked out of the crack.

"What is it, Amélie? Kindly pray tell why exactly you are knocking on my door with all the force of a girl intent to ram it down?" Upon seeing that it was Amélie, Madame Giry opened the door wider, and crossed her arms across her chest. Amélie had never been more glad to see Madame Giry.

When they were both settled in chairs in Madame Giry's rather spartan apartments, with steaming teacups before them, Amélie spoke.

"Madame, I only ask that you answer me honestly."

"It depends on what the question is." Madame Giry said grimly. "There are some questions that even I cannot answer."

There was something in Madame Giry's tone that made Amélie think that Madame Giry already knew what she was going to ask. Amélie narrowed her eyes.

"He could be listening, couldn't he? Is that why you hesitate to agree to my request?"

"Nonsense, Amélie. He has far too many things to do and far too little time to eavesdrop on me; he knows I will never betray him. We have an unspoken promise that he will never attempt to listen in on my personal conversations."

"You speak of him as though you know him very well, Madame. You do, don't you? That one time you found me in his house… the way you spoke to him, the way he reacted to you, he, the great and fearsome Opera Ghost! The two of you have known each other for a very long time."

Madame Giry laughed, a short laugh. "The great and fearsome Opera Ghost? Is that what they are calling him now, the silly ballet rats? There was a time, indeed, when he was simply a young boy with enough talent to trump every singer in this opera house, and nothing to his name." And almost as though she had just realized what she had revealed, her lips clamped together into a thin line. "But enough about that. What is it that you wanted to ask me about?"

"If I made a rough approximation, I must have known him for almost as many years as you've known him, is that not right, Madame?"

Amélie had never before seen the colour drain out of Madame Giry's face as fast as it did at that moment. Madame Giry's normally calm, icy facade showed hints of a crack for a moment, and she simply blinked twice at Amélie before answering her smoothly. "Whatever made you say so, Amélie?"

And yet, there was an underlying hint of nervousness that Amélie did not miss, a strange feeling that Madame Giry was trying to gloss over Amélie's statement, to brush aside her question.

"He sent me a present, and on it was drawn a scene from one of the stories he told me when I was a child. Do you remember the music box my childhood friend left me? The scene shows the same princess!"

"A mere coincidence." Madame Giry's lips tightened, as though she was trying to stop herself from revealing anything more. "After all, princesses in children's stories almost all look the same."

"No!" Amélie protested. "I'll show it to you…" She searched in her bag for it, and realized that it was not inside; she must have lost it in her haste to reach Madame Giry's rooms. A heavy feeling of horror swept through her. She rummaged through the bag again, but came up with nothing. "I've lost it!"

"It must not have been anything of significance; as I said, it is only pure coincidence, Amélie."

"Madame, please! What is it that stops you from telling me the truth? I may not remember my childhood exactly, but it was him, wasn't it? Erik was the friend that I used to meet when I was a child! It was him!" Amélie clenched her fists. "The stories, the mask, that voice! How could I have forgotten? It was Erik who brought me through those tunnels to the storage room underground, and it was he who told me the stories. It was Erik who made me that music box, and it was he who left me suddenly! I-I'll find that drawing and show it to you!"

Her voice was getting slightly hysterical, and Amélie herself was alarmed. She rarely became hysterical. Madame Giry rapped her knuckles on the table.

"Enough with the histrionics, Amélie! Sit down." When Amélie glared at her, Madame Giry leveled her with a fiercer stare, and Amélie had no choice but to sit down.

"The reason why I did not let you know this earlier is because Erik himself asked it of me not to reveal it to you."

"Why-!" Amélie burst out angrily, but Madame Giry held out a hand to silence her.

"Erik had his reasons, misguided though they may be. I am not in a position to tell you everything, because Erik trusted me not to tell you, and I am not about to break that trust. If you wish to know his exact reasons, you will have to ask Erik himself." Madame Giry told her firmly.

"Madame, you know as well as I do that getting answers out of Erik is a feat that is quite impossible." Amélie argued back.

"That may as well be true, but I do not want to break his trust." Madame Giry said gently, patting Amélie on the shoulder. Amélie sighed and gritted her teeth, frustrated.

There came a knock on the door, and Madame Giry got up to answer it. The door opened to reveal one of the ballet rats, who looked quite flustered, as though she had run all the way to Madame Giry's rooms.

"Madame Giry! Someone is here to see you; she says she wants to live here in the Opera House."

Madame Giry frowned. The usual way of going about things would be to apply to the office for a job, where Debienne would review the person's resume and decide on whether or not an interview would be granted. Few people knew who she was, let alone ask her for a job in the opera house. "Who is it? Did she say who she was?"

"She gave her name as Mademoiselle Daae, Madame, said that if I told you her name you would know who she was." The ballet rat shrugged. "She's waiting downstairs if you want to meet her."

Amélie noticed that Madame Giry had gotten a little pale. She immediately grabbed her cane and hurried out of the room. A little nonplussed at what was going on, Amélie followed her out, curious to see what this was all about.

When they reached the theater, they were greeted by the sight of a young girl sitting in one of the front row seats before the stage, waiting for them. The young girl stood immediately upon seeing Madame Giry, relief coursing through her pretty face. Her clothes were well-worn and dusty from travel, but there was no mistaking the beauty that shone through her like the radiance of a pearl. Her skin was luminous and rosy, covered in a smattering of freckles, and dark brown curls tumbled down her back, held back from her face with a ribbon. She curtsied a little clumsily when Madame Giry half-ran toward her. Amélie had never seen Madame Giry run before.

"Madame Giry." The girl smiled sweetly, but her smile trembled a little, as though it was taking her too much effort to be holding her emotions in.

Madame Giry stepped forward and tilted the girl's chin upward so she could see her better. Something like shock and sadness passed across her face. "Christine? Christine Daae?"

The girl nodded.

A/N: Another cliffie! I do hope I'm up to posting a new chapter next week. As usual, please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know what you think! It means the world to me (: xx hazel