A/N: Wow, it was difficult to come up with this chapter; I had major writer's block plus very little time. Hence this chapter is a little shorter than I'd like. I really wanted to take a hiatus this week, but I figured I might as well post this and move it along.

To all my reviewers for the previous chapter: I'm surprised at how all of you thought Amelie would do something without Erik's permission! XD It has never once occurred to me to make Amelie sneak pieces of Erik's work to Monsieur Reyer, so you guys can be rest assured. It comes across as pretty amazing to me how you all thought she would, though! Hehe.

Thank you to new followers/favourites: a1m0stxfam0us & SapphireBlueSea!

Chapter 20: The Storm Brewing

Paris, 1894

Amélie gripped the precious piece of card in her hand and practically ran to the chapel, almost tripping over her own feet in her excitement to see Erik. The card in her hand was embossed with the name of a printing company, its name scrolled elegantly across the card. Monsieur Reyer had handed it to her, with the request for her to pass it along to the mysterious composer whose music had grasped Reyer's heart in its delicate hands.

When the door slid open, she immediately grabbed Erik's hand, subconsciously giving it an excited squeeze. Erik paused and looked back at her quizzically. In the dim light filtering in from cracks in the wall, Amélie could see his intense green gaze staring at her. She coughed awkwardly, using her free hand to wave him forward.

The trip to his house seemed that much longer this time, as Amélie shifted restless in the boat, jostling it about on the waters. She could feel Erik's questioning gaze upon her face, but she chose to ignore it, wanting to wait until they reached his house. It would be a surprise that he would welcome, she was sure of that.

When the boat finally bumped against the opposite shore, Amélie leapt up with barely contained excitement and eagerly grasped his hand to step onto the sandy shore. If he noticed her excitement, he said nothing. Instead, he laid his cloak carelessly across the back of the divan and settled himself on the chair, as Amélie busied herself with preparing the tea. She had been here so many times that they were no longer master of the house and visitor; she simply saw this as her second home, one in which she could arrive and go about making tea casually as though it were her own house.

She brought the tray over to the table, almost upsetting it in her haste and giddy excitement—surely Erik would see this for the amazing opportunity that it was.

XXXXX

"No."

"No? What do you mean by no?" Amélie demanded incredulously, rounding on him.

"I mean exactly what the word 'no' is supposed to mean, Amélie." He said dryly. "The word generally means rejection, or answering a query in the negative form, or—"

"Oh, don't be so obtuse!" Amélie exclaimed. "I know what 'no' means!"

He raised an eyebrow, staring at her with that piercing green gaze. "You could have fooled me, then." He reverted his gaze back to the book before him, silently turning a page.

"Why not?"

He deigned to answer, merely frowning in concentration and turning another page. Undeterred, Amélie squeezed herself next to him on the divan, placing her hand directly on the page he was reading. He scowled at her in annoyance, but that stare no longer intimidated her as much as it had the first few times. The man was all bark but no bite, at least around her anyway.

"Why not, Erik?" She demanded again. "It's a brilliant opportunity! Just think about it—your music, published!"

"I value my own privacy." He gently pushed her hand off the page and continued reading. "Have you not thought about the consequences of such an act? The publishers will want to meet me, to discuss things like the scores and how much work I would have to offer them. I cannot, will not, do so."

"No, I do not understand why you cannot do so." She knitted her brow. He mutely tapped his mask a few times, and Amélie gritted her teeth in frustration.

"I understand that you're scared, Erik, but this is a chance, a wonderful chance, for you to shake off the shackles of your past and finally move on. There will always be people who will shun you, because they cannot understand people who are different from them, but then, there will also be people who will know you for your talents, for the person you are. We cannot always have everything, Erik, but you need to understand that you, and only you alone, are able to help you change your fate. And I know you can do this! I'll even accompany you to any such meetings with the publisher. Will you not consider Monsieur Reyer's proposition?" Amélie said this seriously. She had never felt more serious in her entire life. She knew of Erik's dreams, of his desire to see his music in print, his dream of letting his music be known to the world, to be enjoyed, appreciated, reveled in. And yet, here he was, refusing to make any moves toward his dreams.

When he remained silent, Amélie gave a huff of frustration and collected her cloak, making for the door. "Goodbye, Erik. I have to leave now, but I hope you will think about what I said." She left the card Monsieur Reyer had given her on a table, and opened the door to leave.

She made her way through the dark passageway, feeling the walls confidently in the shadows though she was alone. You alone are standing in your own way, Erik. Why won't you let yourself try again?

She sighed in disappointment, before realizing that in her moment of frustration, she had all together forgotten to ask him about the music score and the drawing of the princess and her knight.

XXXXX

After Amélie had left, Erik snapped his book shut irritably, letting his head fall back on the divan. He ripped his mask off and set it on the seat beside him. The porcelain, normally so cool, now felt like a hot, burning brand on his face, and now the white mask lay there, mocking him.

Publish my music? Of course I want to. Only a fool would say no. It had always been a dream of his, a strange need to see his music printed in a book, to know that somebody out there enjoyed it, played those very same notes with the some wonderment Erik felt every time he let music surround him. Music was his life.

But Erik was scared; he had spent his whole life being rejected by the people around him, shunned like a disease, excluded and ridiculed. He did not want to try again for the fear of being rejected again, for the fear of exposing himself to the world, only to be trampled on yet again. It has happened too many times. I can't, no, I won't let it happen again. It cannot happen again.

I am a fool.

He clenched his fists tightly and got up, pacing around his house restlessly. Monsieur Reyer's offer was tempting, so tempting, and it was taking all his determination not to let his hopeful side win over his cynical, bitter side. He marched into his music room, and let himself be lost in the tumultuous music that poured out from the pipe organ, washing over him, and ridding himself of his fears, at least for those few short moments.

XXXXX

Not long after Amélie had stepped out of the large doors of the chapel, perhaps not even ten minutes later, the heavy doors creaked open clumsily on their brass hinges again, this time pushed open by a girl with a mass of heavy brown curls and a tear-stained face. Christine Daae allowed the doors to swing closed behind her, and shivered a little as the doors shut tightly, blocking the sunlight streaming in and making the chapel seem even darker. Her hands clasped to her chest, she slowly, slowly, trudged to the front of the chapel, where a little table stood, awaiting with long tapers of beeswax arranged in a candelabra upon the table. Christine stood for a long time before the table, her hands clenched tightly into fists, fighting against the tears that came unbidden to her eyes.

She picked up one of the lighted candles nearby and lit one of the long tapers before her, closing her eyes in a silent prayer, before replacing the candle and kneeling reverently.

Papa… are you healthy now, papa? Are you happy, and safe, and healthy, wherever you are in Heaven? Have you finally met mama again? Are you playing your violin every single day, dreaming of a time when we two would stand on the stage together, you with your precious bow in hand, and me with my voice soaring alongside your notes?

I promise you, papa, one day, I'll stand on that stage you so longed for and desired. The crowds will cheer for Christine Daae, the girl whose papa had a dream that one day she would be the greatest opera singer in the whole of Paris. I will do it, papa. I know you will help me.

Papa, you spoke of the Angel of Music, and you promised that when you were gone, you would live on forever through the Angel of Music, and you would guide me in our shared dream, that I would definitely stand on the stage one day. You promised to send the Angel of Music, papa, and I am waiting for him. When will my angel arrive?

Because when he arrives, papa, I will beg him to teach me, to make the greatest opera singer that Paris has ever known. I will stand on that stage, papa, and I will make this dream of ours come true.

And yet, even then, you won't come back to me, papa. You're gone forever.

That thought caused her tears to spill once more, rolling down her cheeks as she huddled in the cold chapel, mourning for her beloved father. In remembrance, Christine opened her mouth and began to sing, a trembling yet bittersweet rendition of the songs her father had taught her, of the songs they had performed together in their small house, with only themselves as their sole audience, interrupted only by the harsh sounds of her sobs in the silent chapel.

Christine sang for her papa, her beloved papa who had lofty dreams for his daughter. She sang for herself, for her own dream of standing upon the stage of the greatest opera house in Paris. And she sang for her Angel of Music, whom she believed would grant her with his presence soon.

A/N: As usual, please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know what you think! Have a good week ahead. xx hazel